Page 73 of What the River Knows

She arched a brow. “Your uncle doesn’t share much with you, does he?”

“Unfortunately not.”

Isadora let out a thoughtful hum. “He’s not the sort of man you can ask directly, I suppose.”

“None of my tactics have worked thus far.”

“Then I would reevaluate your strategy.”

She had a direct manner, honest and unapologetic. Despite her youth, I got the impression she viewed her circumstances with a world-weary and jaded perspective. I wondered what her life was like, where she had traveled, the people she had met. I wondered why she’d have to come up with strategies in the first place.

“This is an odd conversation,” I said with a laugh. “What would you recommend?”

She gave a dainty shrug, her lips twitching. “There are ways to get what you want, but it requires a subtlety one has to learn.”

I couldn’t quite keep the disapproval out of my voice. “You mean manipulation.”

“When the occasion calls for it.” Isadora let out a delighted laugh. “I see I might have offended you. Well, no matter. I enjoyyourcompany, Señorita Olivera.”

“Thank you.” I scrunched my brow. “I think I feel the same?”

Another twinkling laugh. “I’ll tell you what your uncle won’t. Señor Marqués felt pressure from the Antiquities Service to provide stricter protection for the excavation team. Your parents were the darlings in Egypt and their tragic demise caused much speculation. None of which painted your uncle in a favorable light. His reputation suffered greatly, and I heard he almost lost his position and good standing with Monsieur Maspero. Are you familiar with the gentleman?”

I nodded. The dinner I shared with them felt years ago, but I recalled the strained tension between the three men. Isadora’s information tracked.

“Do you mean to tell me your father was hired for appearance’s sake? Not because of any real reason?”

She gave a dainty shrug. “Losing all respect seems reason enough for me, Señorita Olivera. I would fight to keep my name out of the mud. A good name is immeasurably useful.”

What a pragmatic way to view one’s need for a good character. “Where did you hear about my uncle almost losing his position?”

Isadora tucked a wayward strand of gold hair behind her ear. “My father often hosts museum and government employees in our hotel suite. He likes to maintain open avenues of communication, and people talk. Sometimes, they talk in front of me as if I’m not there. Quite shortsighted of them.”

My lips flattened. The more I learned about her father, the less I liked. In fact, my opinion of him had swerved into sharp dislike. He sounded like a mercenary. She must have seen my expression because she laughed again.

“Trust me, Señorita Olivera. My father is his own person. He never does anything without good reason or benefit to himself.”

“You’re trying to tell me Mr. Fincastle isn’t under anyone’s thumb.”

“Well,” she said slowly, drawing out the word, “he’s working for your uncle, isn’t he? My father must not have paid any attention to the gossip.” She paused, visibly musing, and then with a slight shake of her head she seemed to discard whatever thought had struck her.

“What?” I asked. “You were thinking of something.”

“Oh,” she said. “Nothing of import.”

Isadora turned away from the railing, but I reached out and took hold of her arm. She raised her brows inquiringly.

The question bubbled to the surface, without my meaning it to. “Would you teach me how to shoot?”

“You’d like to learn? It will take hours and hours of practice and work to become competent.”

“I don’t mind the effort or the challenge.”

She dimpled. “I’ll teach you, if I can call you Inez.”

I knew I liked her. “It’s nice to have a friend, Isadora.”

“Likewise,” she said with a smile before walking away to join her father on the other side of the boat.

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