Joseph Palmeiro himself greeted his guests inside the palatial Renaissance palazzo. Holding court in the grand ballroom under painted tray ceilings and walls lined with marble statues, Palmeiro shook gloved hands until he saw Helen and Reuben heading his way.

The smile evaporated from his face, and his jaw hung. He leaned heavily on his cane.

“You look like someone I know,” Palmeiro said to Helen. “Your name?”

“Helen Hu.” She did not extend her gloved hand to him.

A moment of recognition alighted on his face. “You were named after someone?”

“My grandmother.”

“Is she still in Taiwan?” There was sadness on his face. “I haven’t left this house in thirty years, except to go to church.”

A thief goes to church…

So many things crossed Helen’s mind.

Then again, God forgives. Redeems. Heals.

“Grandma? She passed away before I was born,” Helen said. “How would you know about her?”

What is Palmeiro up to?

“Your mother?” he asked.

So many questions.

“My mother is missing.”

Alarmed, Palmeiro’s face changed. “What?”

“Someone abducted her in Athens on Friday. Something to do with the Petros eggs.” Helen watched Palmeiro’s face.

“Did you say Petros?” Palmeiro made a loud grunting noise. “She’s worth more than all the Petros eggs in the world.”

“You know my mother too?” Helen wondered how. Mom had never mentioned him.

“It has taken me sixty-eight years of waiting.” Palmeiro grunted again. “When we find her abductors, I will kill them, of course.”

The way he said it, it sounded as nonchalant as, “I will drink tea, of course.”

“Where have they taken her?” Palmeira asked.

“We don’t know. We’re unable to track her. She could be anywhere.” Helen tried to keep her voice even, but it was increasingly hard.

“Criminals!”

“Isn’t everyone here a criminal?” Helen dared to ask.

“We’re honorable criminals.”

Is there such a thing?

“You tell me what happened to your mother and who you think is responsible,” Palmeiro explained.

“We have no idea.”

“Someone she knows?”

“Mom knows a lot of people. She has too many best friends. Talks entirely too much.”

“Like her mother. Helena…” Palmeiro quietened. “Ah… So long ago.”

“You do know my grandma.”

“She was a tour guide in Florence. Seventy years ago.”

Seventy years ago. Helen couldn’t process the new information. “You didn’t answer my question. How did you know my mom and grandma?”

Palmeiro eyes were far away, as if going back in time. “Is your mother… Does trouble follow her like pollen on a spring day?”

“Oh yes.” Helen’s eyes widened.

“Like mother, like daughter.” His eyes glistened.

“If you care for them at all…” Helen’s breath caught. “Mom is still missing.”

“What?” Palmeiro leaned toward Helen.

“I told you. They have mom. Do you know who might want her?” Helen asked. “Or do you know who might be searching for those Petros eggs.”

“I don’t have any Petros eggs. Not anymore,” he said. “I stored five or six—I can’t remember—of them in my vault. Someone robbed me while I was at church one Sunday a few years ago. I suspect that my butler did it, but I can’t be sure. Can’t get good help these days.”

“Your butler?” Helen had asked.

“Well, yes, don’t you have one?” Palmeiro asked.

“I DIY everything.”

“DIY?”

“Do it yourself.”

“Well, it’s grammatically incorrect to say ‘I do it yourself everything,’ is it not?” Palmeiro asked.

Helen didn’t want to argue with the nonagenarian, especially one who carried such a big stick in the art underworld.

It was becoming clear to her that whoever had tried to point at Palmeiro had an agenda.

Palmeiro was only the smoke screen.

“When I had those seven Petros eggs, it seemed prudent then to try to find the rest,” Palmeiro said.

“You said earlier it might have been five or six eggs. Now you said seven.”

“Well, Helen, it’s been a while. I can’t remember everything. All I know is that now I have zero eggs. I wasted forty, fifty years on all that. It’s over for me.”

“Someone wants to collect all twelve eggs. Why?” Helen asked.

“These are puzzle eggs,” Palmeiro explained. “You’ll see your treasure if you make it to the end. Or it will be the end of you before you make it. Either way, it’s not worth the stress.”

Not worth the stress.

Several people came to shake Palmeiro’s hand, interrupting their conversation.

Helen was thirsty. “I’d like some water, please.”

Palmeiro made eye contact with a server, and he came running.

The mineral water was refreshing, but Helen wanted to sit down now. Reuben seemed to sense the discomfort she felt.

“Perhaps we can sit down somewhere,” he said.

“Yes, yes.” Palmeiro led them to a settee.

On the way there, he turned to Reuben. “I know your father. He was an honorable man, albeit with poor judgement of women. You’re doing better than he did.”

“Thank you, I think.”

“That woman was no good for him,” Palmeiro added.

Helen gasped. Not Mom!

“I warned Frederico. That Agneta was keeping two beds warm, but he refused to listen.”

What? Who?

Helen tugged Reuben’s sleeves. He looked a bit shocked as well.

She felt that Mom had been vindicated.

“When she passed away fifteen years ago, it was tragic. Such a senseless accident.”

“Oh?”

“She was crossing the street to meet someone. Right in front of a bus.” Palmeiro shook his head. “Your father was devastated. Gave up on life. What’s the lesson there, son?”

“Trust God alone?” Reuben offered.

“I was going to say that it’s important to look to the right and left—and then right again—before you cross a busy road.”

“That too.”