Pushed into the limousine, Helen and Reuben sat next to each other, thigh to thigh, holding hands tightly. Ten blocks away, the vehicle turned into a tree-lined driveway that went for a long time until it came to stop at a porte cochère.

The door opened, and the bodyguard’s handguns ushered them into the house, through grand hallways, and into a spacious parlor. There was a grand piano and several stringed instruments. Holding court in what looked like a comfortable antique armchair, Uncle Javier eyed them both.

“Do you play any musical instrument?” Javier asked Helen.

“Poorly at the piano.”

“You will play the Steinway. It’s long unused. Gathering dust and all that.”

Helen didn’t respond.

Javier turned to Reuben. “I hope you took a nap today. It’s going to be a very long night for you.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“More Petros eggs.”

“You! It was you.” Reuben lurched forward.

The two armed bodyguards pushed him back violently.

“Don’t break his ribs—not yet.” Javier chuckled. “He still remembers how to be a thief. That’s a skill long lost these days.”

“I don’t know where those eggs are,” Reuben said.

“You don’t, but I do. I know exactly where they all are. It will take you four days to gather all of them. My men will go with you.”

“Helen goes with me too,” Reuben said.

“No. She stays. She’s insurance.”

Reuben was about to say something, when Helen touched his sleeve.

Their bodyguard tried to separate them.

“One minute with my boyfriend?” Helen pleaded with Javier.

“All right. One minute!”

“A bit of privacy?” Helen asked.

“Talk here.”

Helen leaned against Reuben and pressed her face against his shoulder. Then she raised her chin close enough to whisper in his ear. “You must return.”

“I will.” They were forehead to forehead. “I’ll take you to dinner.”

“Where?”

“I found a place in Fira.”

“It’s a date, then.”

While they were talking, Helen slid her pocket watch—a gift from Dad—into Reuben’s tuxedo pocket.

He didn’t react, but Helen was sure he felt the weight of something new.

“I’ll miss you,” she pressed her lips against his chin.

His eyes seemed to cloud over.

And he held her tightly.

Midnight came and went, but Helen couldn’t sleep. The guest bedroom was simple in its decoration, but the windows were covered with steel grids. The door was locked.

She was a prisoner here.

She had changed out of her ballroom gown into a pair of sweatshirt and track pants that Uncle Javier had so graciously provided his guests.

Helen checked all four walls for panels and passages out of this rectangular room.

There was no way out.

The door, then.

The maid had left, having forgotten something.

Helen reached for the pins in her perfectly coiffured hair. She bent the pin slightly and began to pick the lock of the only door out of this bedroom.

The door clicked open.

Unfortunately, the only shoes she had brought with her were high-heeled shoes. The villa had provided her with slippers, but they were too big for her feet. They made flopping noises when she walked. In the end, she kicked them off.

Barefoot, Helen tried to remember where the stairs were. There were so many doors on this floor that the entire place looked like a puzzle box.

Gilded trims lined wall after wall, reminding Helen of the 1920s. After running around the hallway in circles and returning to where she had started, she began to wonder if this was an M. C. Escher nightmare.

She ran around it again, this time taking a sudden turn down another hallway. It was dimly lit and foreboding. At the end of the dusty hallway, gilded spiral stairs led down somewhere.

She felt like a bird in a golden cage as she climbed barefooted down the cool, steel steps.

Gradually, she could hear the piano.

Was it the same piano as in the parlor?

She nearly slipped down the last few treads, but landed safely in what looked like a massive library of old, unread books.

She checked all the doors. They were locked, except one.

She prayed for mercy from God.

Don’t let this be a mouse trap.

Down the carpeted hallway was another flight of stairs. She went down the steps, as there was nowhere else for her to go.

She began to hear muted humming. And distant coughing.

Eighties music in between bouts of coughing.

She sounded like—

Mom.

Helen drew closer to the humming, which seemed to come from the other side of the wall. She tapped the wall in Morse code.

Someone tapped back.

Helen found a light switch and flicked it on. And searched the wall for buttons or an out-of-place panel.

She wasn’t sure how long she was at it.

She felt someone standing behind her. She turned around slowly.

Rather tall and imposing, with a mop of short, cropped hair on top of his head, the guard carried a sidearm and walked with a gait of a weight-lifter. But his eyes were soft, as though he were looking for someone too.

“I’m looking for my mother,” Helen said.

“Everyone is looking for his mother.” He laughed.