Page 55 of The Stolen Queen

Mrs. Vreeland excused herself. “I must see to my remaining guests. Apology letters must go out first thing in the morning, and it appears that I will be writing them all myself.” She frowned at Annie.

Annie squeaked out “I’m sorry” before the woman stepped out of the room like a Russian tsarina heading to the firing squad.

Mr. Fantoni turned back to Charlotte. “Charlotte, can you tell us what the man looked like?”

Charlotte’s mind went blank. She could envision his hulking figure, but when she tried to imagine his face, it was all a haze. “I didn’t get a good look at him, unfortunately. He pushed me from behind and then I fell to the ground.”

“He was tall,” said Annie, “with dark eyes and thick brown hair, cut short. He wore a dark suit, no tie, the collar open. There was a funny silver necklace around his neck. Like a cross, but with a small circle at the top.”

Charlotte recognized the shape immediately. “An ankh. The Egyptian symbol of eternal life. Which means he might be Egyptian.”

Charlotte caught Annie’s eye. It was all connected: the missing file, the missing statue, and the broad collar—she was sure of it.

If only she had a way to prove it.

Charlotte stood at the top of the steps to the Met, looking out into the black night. Around her, party attendees were still filing out, chattering to each other about what had happened, looking shocked and slightly weary.

“Charlotte.”

Mark was halfway up the steps, his tux peeking out from beneathhis trench coat. She let him fold her into his arms and buried her head in his chest. Her stupidity—leaving her file on her desk where it could be easily snatched up, allowing the Cerulean Queen to be plucked from under her nose, going after the thief and putting not only herself but also Annie in danger—flooded back. It had been a disastrous evening.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “And why is everyone leaving? I thought this thing carried on late into the night. I was hoping to surprise you.”

She brushed away her tears and looked up at him. “It was a nightmare. A thief stole one of our most important pieces, and when I confronted him with another employee, he went after us.”

“What? Are you all right? Did you get hurt?” Mark held her arms and looked into her face, then glared up at the building as if he were going to run inside and punch someone.

“I’m fine. We’re both fine.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“A young girl who works for the Met Gala.” She blinked back tears. “And my Hathorkare folder was stolen. Three years of research. Gone.”

“Stolen? By who?” A vein in Mark’s forehead pulsed.

“The same thief, I’m guessing, took the file and left a threatening note for me to stay out of his business.”

“What business is that?”

“I was looking into the provenance of a new piece that’s on display. A loan. I believe it was stolen.”

“Are the police involved?”

“The security team is working on it, along with the director.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

His questions were becoming overwhelming. All Charlotte wanted was to go home, get out of her dress and into sweatpants, andcurl up on the sofa. She needed time to think about what had just happened and what she should do next. Tonight, in the basement, it was as if the Hathorkare curse had arisen once again to punish her for being part of the discovery of the broad collar, for having held it in her hands. For having loved the man who tried to take it away from the land of its origin. Her head spun with long-lost memories.

Mark sighed. “I’m sorry for not being here. I should’ve been.”

Charlotte stayed silent for an extra beat. “How is Lori doing?”

“We worked on the audition, and she was excellent, a natural. I think she has a chance at this, believe it or not.”

“Great.” The word came out flat, bordering on sarcastic, even though she hadn’t meant to say it that way.

“Look, I understand it’s been a tough week,” said Mark. “But I assure you, Lori is a good kid. I’m willing to give her a little slack and I hope you will as well.”

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