Page 49 of Damaged

It’s the kind of thing that would get aDaily Mailarticle about it before it went to auction.

This crap is priceless. I’m nervous as can be. I can’t decipher the value of these items on their own.

I set the amulet down and do what I was planning to do all along—base my appraisals on recent comps, too. Maybe even the same comps Karim’s appraisers used.

I sit cross-legged and take my laptop out. I sit with my computer on my legs as it searches for a signal. None. No Wi-Fi to choose from.

I go back out to the library and set it on the table. Now there’s half a dozen to choose from. He must have a lot of foreign guests, because the names are in both Arabic and English.

I picklibraryand let out a sigh of relief when it connects with no password needed.

I pull up the auction records of artifacts I have already bookmarked, take out a pencil and paper to keep a ledger, and I get to work.

Two hours later, I’m still smiling. The artifacts elicit a childish sense of wonder. These things were touched and worn by pharaohs and princesses.

My hand is sore from writing by the time I’ve got my number, and it’s a big one. I double and triple check. Based on all auction records of similar Egyptian artifacts in recent years, I’ve got my closest number.

I go to the man Karim posted at the library door. It’s not the butler. From his suit coat and earpiece, he’s some kind of security. He leads me to an open-air room where Karim and James sit across from each other in leather chairs, smoking cigars. Even though a ceiling fan whirls at full speed, I can still feel how hot the day has gotten.

“I’ve got my estimates.” I hold up my notebook.

James looks over at me. He doesn’t respond right away, as his eyes dance over me from head to toe.

It looks like he’d forgotten I was here and was happy to see me. I watch him break the trance and lean towards the ashtray to snuff out his cigar. He holds his hand out to Karim, and they shake. “I’ll review them and get back to you with our final offer. Tomorrow.”

“Wonderful, James.”

Karim stands to shake my hand, too. He says his goodbyes here and stays put as we’re led out of the house and back to the air-conditioned Rolls Royce.

“So, what now?” I ask. “Would it be crazy to try to go see some crocodiles?” Ever since realizing that such deadly predators live in the river, the idea of trying to see one has fascinated me.

James lifts one brow at me. “You don’t want to go to the pyramids? Or the Museum of Antiquities?”

I squint to think about it. The pyramids would be cool. So would the museum. But for some reason, seeing a riverbank with giant, dinosaur-sized reptiles sunning themselves on it sounds cooler. “I mean, sure. But you don’t care for animals?”

“Sure, I do. I have a cat.”

“You do not have a cat. That’s the least James Callaway thing I’ve ever heard. Besides, your apartment may be big, but cats love me. And I never saw one when I was there.”

“Big Kitty lives in the country.”

“Big Kitty?”

“I didn’t name him,” James says quickly. “He was my drunk uncle’s cat. He ended up moving to rural Pennsylvania before he passed, and when he died, I bought his house so Big Kitty didn’t have to go to the pound.”

“Who lives there now?”

“Big Kitty.”

“What? You’re confusing me. You mean the cat?”

“Yeah. That’s his name. And I just said. It’s his house now.”

“He’s alone?”

“Trust me. He prefers it that way. I tried to hire a cat sitter and almost got sued. He’s never cared much for people. A relatable trait. I’ve visited once or twice, but I was still an unwelcome guest. The cat sitter is part-time now. Wears gloves and a parka even in the summer.”

“So, he’s safe just chilling there?”

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