The Oracle (Fargo Adventures 11)

The woman sized them up, no doubt trying to decide if they could afford to shop there. “One moment, please. I’ll get the manager, Monsieur Karim.” She disappeared down a hallway at the back of the store and returned about two minutes later with a white-haired man in a dark suit.

He smiled at them both, then directed his attention to Sam. “May I help you find anything in particular?”

“You’ll have to ask my wife. I’m just here to write the check.”

“Of course. And so I may know whom I have the pleasure of assisting …?”

“Sean Longstreet,” Sam said, “and my wife, Rebecca.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Please, come in, feel free to look around.” He followed them about the room as they stopped to admire figurine after figurine. “And where are you visiting from?”

“Boston,” Remi said. “We were in Italy for business. My husband’s, of course. I came along for the shopping.”

“What sort of business, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Sam said, “SRF Import/Export.”

“Import/export.” Karim glanced at the young woman, who was waiting just outside the hallway near the back of the store, giving her the slightest of nods. After she left, he clasped his hands together, smiling. “And what brings you to Tunisia?”

“A side trip,” Remi said, picking up a small statue of a satyr. “A friend of mine found some stunning antiques in your country. I’m hoping to find something equally stunning for my own home.” She returned the statue to the shelf and gave a disinterested look around the room. “I was hoping for something to hang on the wall.”

“Perhaps something like this …” He led her toward the back of the shop, pointing to a large embossed copper plate mounted on a stand. “This one is a sublime example of a Roman charioteer, circa early seventeenth century.”

Remi reached out, touching the small card set in front of it that listed the price at seventy-five hundred dinars, which put it over twenty-five hundred dollars. “It’s beautiful,” Remi said, “but not quite what I’m looking for.”

“And what is it you’re looking for, madame?”

“Something that will give the room more of an ancient Roman villa look. Rustic, but with a much needed pop of color.” She sighed. “Sadly, while in Italy we didn’t have time for a proper shopping trip and all we found were cheap reproductions.”

“And your budget would be …?”

“Budget?” Remi looked at him. “If I find the right piece, I’m willing to pay whatever it takes to acquire it. I don’t suppose you can recommend a shop that carries the rare, authentic pieces?”

Sam, doing a splendid job of looking bored, frowned at his watch, then looked at Karim. “I hate to cut this short, but we’re under a time constraint. Is this all you have?”

Karim hesitated the barest of instances. “Let me check to see if any of our new stock is ready for sale. Sometimes we set pieces asi

de for the more discriminating buyer. I’ll return shortly.” He walked to the hall. “Leila?”

The young woman stepped out of the office. Remi moved closer, pretending interest in a nineteenth-century vase while listening to Leila telling him in rapid-fire French that her internet search brought up their import/export business and the profiles of its very wealthy owners.

“C’est une bonne nouvelle,” he replied and turned their direction, his grin wide. “My assistant tells me we do have some items new to our inventory and not yet out on the floor. This way, please. I think you’ll find what you’re looking for back here.”

CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE

A man does not run among thorns for no reason;

either he is chasing a snake or a snake is chasing him.

– AFRICAN PROVERB –

Monsieur Karim led Sam and Remi down the narrow hall to a room with a digital lock. He stood so that he blocked the keypad from their view as he entered the code. It clicked and he pushed the door open. “Perhaps you’ll find something in here more to your liking.”

The Echo mosaic was set on a small easel to their left next to an Etruscan vase and numerous pieces of jewelry displayed on black velvet. Remi, however, turned to the right, leading Sam past several Roman busts on pedestals. She stopped to look at them and shook her head. “No,” she said, moving past. “I’m not sure I want them watching me.”

She paused to look at a mariner’s brass astrolabe, then wandered over to the table, admiring the jewelry, finally stopping before the fragment of Echo’s face. “I love the vibrant colors in this mosaic. Is she anybody important?”

“I believe, madame, that she is thought to be a wood nymph.”