He didn’t look happy but he left me to it. And so I crawled into the dark dusty passageway and up those narrow stairs, my phone lighting the path. Two little notes scribbled on pink paper had been dropped like bread crumbs along the way. One said Follow me and the other just said Ana Marie.
When I reached Senhor Carvalho’s closet, I didn’t know what I expected—to see the entire Carvalho family sitting around having breakfast, maybe—but the room was as empty as the house.
I spun around, scanning every inch. The same signs of a calm, seemingly organized exit greeted everything I saw right down to the made-up bed. Nothing seemed amiss except…the large photo of Queen Isabella now sitting on the dresser. I swear I would have noticed that before.
Picking up the ornate frame that encased it, I studied the photo—a paper photocopy, I realized. Turning it over in my hands, I noticed that one of the frame’s ornate roundels centering each of the four corners seemed loose, and it fell off in my hand.
Seconds later I was on the phone to Evan: “Senhor left me sign—a signal of some sort. I just activated it. If my hunch is correct, the family is about to return.”
And home they came nearly an hour later. By that time we had received calls from Rupert and Peaches, heard a rush of facts about hidden corridors and escape plans.
Senhor Carvalho and Rupert had cooked up a strategy to employ the property’s secret passageways and tunnels to take the family safely from the castle to the village. There they had remained hidden in the homes of loyal employees until the police arrived to round up the Divinios and supporters. Senhor Carvalho and Rupert had only waited long enough for the infiltrators to reveal themselves before enacting their exit plan and had remained hidden until we returned to Portugal. Only then did they believe that it was safe to come home.
Evan and I were waiting on the walkway when the cars drove up the drive—five of them. In minutes, out came Senhor Carvalho, Adriana, Ana Marie, and Peaches, plus many of the staff. Rupert arrived in the last car looking pleased with himself with Senhors Abreu and Afonso.
Ana Marie burst out of a green sedan and dashed up the walk to hug me. “Phoebe, you came!”
“Of course I came,” I said, hugging her back.
“They caught the evil ones! Mama, Senhorita Peaches, and I hid with Alma until the bad men went away! Grandpapa and Senhor Fox stayed with Senhor Abreu!”
Adriana, standing beside the child, nodded. “Please forgive me,” she said quietly.
“There’s nothing to forgive,” I said over Ana Marie’s head. “You were only trying to protect this little princess here.”
“Indeed she was.” Senhor Carvalho had arrived. “Phoebe, you are amazing. I could not believe it when I heard the details. You destroyed the crown? I swear I could never have done such a thing, though I admit that it had to end in such a manner. My Spanish friend was enraged at first but has come to see the light. We will talk more later. The staff is preparing a celebration feast for us tonight and I agree that it is time we celebrate. Until then.” He raised his hand and shuffled away.
Peaches was standing by to deliver one of her enormous hugs. “So you went to Granada without me? You took on the Spanish army without me? That’s going to take one pile of smoothing lotion to make better, woman. Better order up a year’s supply.”
I laughed and disentangled Ana Marie’s little arms to ready myself for one of Peaches’s mega-hugs. “I’ll make it up to you somehow,” I said, trying to breathe as she squeezed the breath out of me.
“Damn right you will. Are those Spanish soldier dudes as hot as I’ve heard?”
Ana Marie was looking up at us and asked: “What are hot dudes? Do they light up?”
“Kind of,” Peaches said, finally releasing me. “They are like heating blankets for us ladies. You’ll find out when you get older, honey.”
Adriana took the child’s hand and led her toward the house. The staff were bringing along bags and boxes of food as they wound their way into the castle, Ana Marie waving back to me. Turning, I caught Peaches’s eye.
“Shit, woman, you had a hell of an adventure without me and that bodyguard of yours is looking pretty battered.” She thumbed toward Evan, who was now embracing Rupert. For a moment we just stood together watching the two men hug one another. “What’s up with those two?” she whispered. “Sometimes I swear that they’re—”
“They’re not,” I assured her.
“They can’t be. Evan’s smitten by you.”
“He asked me to let him catch me when I was ready to fall for a man again.”
“And you said?”
“I said I wasn’t ready and then ran away sniffling.”
She slapped me on the arm. “Crap! When are you going to come to your senses?”
But luckily Rupert’s arrival saved me from having to reply. “Well, Phoebe, you have done it again and with media-ready aplomb, too!” He was holding up his phone replaying the moment when I tossed the crown. “The daring triumphs of the Agency of the Ancient Lost and Found will now ring out across the globe and you will reach new levels of fame as the world watches art historian Phoebe McCabe—”
“Destroy a priceless piece of history—got it.”
“But, Phoebe, you are a hero!”
“Let’s go inside and have tea,” I suggested before the moment became more painful. “I’m parched.”
Because heroic was not how I felt—exhausted, maybe, definitely depleted, but not heroic. After a bath, a little breakfast, and a long nap, I awoke later that afternoon in much better spirits. By the time the big gala feast began, I was even ready to throw myself into the festivities, relieved that we’d all survived and that the Divinios had been bested if not eradicated. Actually, we had plenty to celebrate.
“Was Markus rounded up with all the others?” I asked Senhor Carvalho somewhere between the second course and the third, already stuffed with more food than I’d seen in days.
“We have not seen nor heard from him. I had expected the police to find him when they combed the property but there has been no sign.”
“It’s like the chap simply grabbed his bags and skedaddled,” Rupert remarked. “He wasn’t the bravest of sorts.”
“It’s still odd, even for him,” I remarked, nabbing another piece of roast beef.
“The authorities will keep searching,” Senhor Carvalho assured me.
“Phoebe!” Ana Marie interrupted. “Did you see the notes I left on the stairs?”
“I did,” I laughed. “You are a princess. Maybe your mother will even let you have the turret room now?”
I caught Adriana’s eye and she smiled. “Perhaps,” she said.
But of all the matters I could not achieve amid my supposed successes, I could not bring the child’s father back home. “You are not a miracle worker,” Peaches told me later. “Ana Marie will survive and grow into the resilient, brave young woman we see in her now.”
Still, it felt like a failure.
Much later, after our celebration in the main hall had wound down and most of the household had dragged themselves off to bed, Rupert, Evan, Peaches, and I withdrew to the library to sip port and regroup. Senhor Carvalho joined us briefly before heading to bed.
Pulling our chairs close to the hearth, we settled in to wind down for the evening. Though the night wasn’t cold, dampness would have chilled our bones without the fire’s warmth.
“Will you forgive me for mucking up your Titian?” I asked our host as I gazed across at him. Though he looked weary, a resurgence of energy had returned and his eyes were alight with youthful enthusiasm.
“Absolutely. There is nothing to forgive and, as always, I admire your audacity.” Senhor Carvalho smiled and lifted his eyes to the portrait. “The empress herself remains unblemished and that is, indeed, the important thing. Besides, you were only carrying on a long line of female tampering.”
“Titian tampering,” Peaches murmured to no one in particular.
“Anyway, I doubt my rushed cover-up job will
cause any damage. I used a very diluted wash to cover the carnation and the watchtower.” In fact, the green foliage had already begun to run.
“Never mind. All will be duly restored and the portraits given to the Portuguese Museum of Ancient Art in Lisbon. It is time, as our Isabella has served her intended purpose. As much as my friends in Spain believe otherwise, Portugal is where she belongs since the empress herself had requested that her likeness be returned to her people. And what a story this painting tells. How incredible and inspiring! To think that three women in King Philip’s court, along with an order of nuns, conspired to bury clues to thwart the Divinios—”
“And succeeded,” I added.
“And succeeded,” Carvalho acknowledged. “And you believe that Sofonisba Anguissola painted that carnation?”
“I believe it absolutely but I’m not certain about the watchtower. To me that looks much cruder. I’m guessing that one of Sofonisba’s students at court may have painted that, perhaps even Queen Elizabeth of Valois herself.”
“Amazing. Dear Phoebe, what would we have done without the Agency of the Ancient Lost and Found? Please do let me see those photos you took of the reliquary and crown one more time, if you please,” Senhor Carvalho requested.
“I’ll send you the photos.” I passed him my phone, which he peered at for several minutes.
“Or you can download them from the Internet. They’re everywhere, I believe,” Evan commented, catching my eye with a smile. He sat with his long legs extended before the hearth, the picture of the adorable man-spread. Every inch of him appeared to be healing nicely from what I could tell.
“Extraordinary,” Senhor Carvalho announced after a moment. “The workmanship was truly exquisite. Whatever we may think of Antonio Pérez, he did not scrimp in the making of this piece.”
Rupert, sitting to his left, the two men having become great friends in the past few days, agreed. “He required it to be a magnet for his diabolical brotherhood and to presumably trick the prince when Pérez and his henchmen arrived to perform the ungodly coronation,” he mused. “Imagine how that would have played out.”
Me, already a bit too relaxed after several sips of the rich liquor, kept my eyes fixed over the mantel on the portrait of Queen Isabella. “I can’t—well, I can but it’s too gruesome to dwell on for long,” I said. “In many ways, I’m sorry that the crown is gone but not so much that I’d ever want to see it again. Hopefully, someday, somebody will find the skull since the Divinios aren’t talking. Was it ever determined that Prince Carlos in his final resting place in Madrid is incomplete?”
“My friend has made inquiries. Unfortunately, the pandemic has delayed everything, including that investigation.”
“Makes sense,” I said.
“At least the reliquary still survives,” Rupert remarked. “That much your Spanish friend will be able to place in one of his museums.”
I took another sip of the port, not caring whether it would sail me into oblivion. Oblivion was what I craved just then.
“Indeed,” our host said with a sigh.
“Senhor Carvalho,” Evan began, placing his glass on a side table and leaning forward, “I realize now that your friend is a member of the Spanish royal family. I don’t expect you to say who exactly, but it’s clear to me that few people would have such a vested interest in the outcome of this case or the resources to commandeer the armed forces as the Spanish monarchy.”
Peaches sputtered into her glass and sat up. “Seriously? The Spanish Señor Anonymous is really King Anonymous?”
“Or Queen Anonymous,” I remarked.
“Did you know?” she asked me.
“I wondered,” I admitted.
“I overheard Sofia speaking to her employers on the phone,” Evan said. “The title ‘your highness’ was used at least once.”
“You must tell no one,” Senhor Carvalho cautioned. “We have been working with the House of Bourbon-Anjou for decades, striving to track down the Divinios to their source. The king is supportive of our efforts but it is not he who has emerged as the leader in this particular quest. I will say no more and I request that you do the same.”
We all gazed at him and nodded.
“It has always been my theory that the queens lead the frontlines in this particular battle.” Returning my gaze to Queen Isabella, I raised my glass. “To the Divine Right of Queens!”
“To the Divine Right of Queens!” everyone chorused.
And then the door flew open, pitching us all to our feet.
“Holy shit!” Peaches cried.
There stood Markus, looking as though he’d been dragged through the mud on his knees. His pants were embedded with grime, his face and beard filthy, and his jacket hung from his back in shreds. And yet a fever of triumph burned in his pale eyes.
Oblivious to the carpets, the tiles—anything—he tramped into our midst and dropped a moldy, lichen-covered sack to the floor. He glanced down at the bag and muttered, “Sorry, old chap,” before facing us. “So, you thought I was in league with the devil, did you? Meantime, I’ve been working on the side of the good guys all along and it’s been hell, I can tell you.”
“Is that—?” Rupert began.
“The skull of Don Carlos? Yes. It’s in a protective grille, don’t worry.”
“So you found a way to get the head, how exactly?” Peaches demanded.
“By pretending to be on the side of the brotherhood. That night in the morgue I said I’d act as their spy if they let me live. They needed an archaeologist with background knowledge of their quest with access to the Carvalhos and I needed to stay alive. Seemed like a good partnership at the time but never once did I waver in terms of whose side I was on. I did the double-agent thing.”
“You bastard!” Evan stepped toward him.
Markus held up a grubby hand. “Never once did I give away anything that might cause you harm, either. In fact, I fed them lies, which they swallowed only too eagerly. If it weren’t for me, they would have tracked down the Carvalhos to the village and killed them all. If it weren’t for me, they would have shot that helicopter down sooner, too!”
“But where were you hiding?” Senhor Carvalho demanded.
“In the tunnels. They had a room set up there with an access route to the forest—quite undetectable unless you knew where to look. That’s where they’d hidden the skull. Through them, I got to penetrate parts of the tunnels that even Ricardo didn’t know about. Poor Ricardo. They really did do him in, by the way—my sympathies, senhor. I managed to find out where, but anyway, at least you can now reunite this poor bastard with the rest of his skeleton in Spain.”
We all stared at the bag.
“Do you want to look at him?” Markus asked.
“No!” That was unanimous.
And then Senhor Abreu dashed into the room speaking rapid Portuguese, steering a blonde woman in head-to-toe camouflage by the arm.
“Connie?”
“What is going on?” Rupert erupted.
Connie shot us a little wave and stepped beside Markus. “Sorry I’m late but once I parked I couldn’t find the entrance.” She spread her hands. “Big place but luckily this nice chap helped me out. Right, so it’s a bit of a long story but Markus got himself into a spot of trouble here and needed assistance. I tried to contact you but you refused to answer, Phoebe.” She shot me a recriminating glance.
“I was a bit preoccupied,” I countered.
“Yes, well, I took the next flight out, rented a car, and managed to pick him up before the Divinios caught up with him. Very exciting.”
“Actually, they were about to toss me down a hole but I escaped,” Markus explained.
“Yes, but I’m the one that picked you up on the road, Markus. Don’t ruin my story.” She slapped him playfully on the arm. “So I picked him up running away with part of Prince Carlos in his bag. We hid in the forest for a couple of days and now here we are. We saw that clip of you throwing the crown in the ocean—what a head
line!”
“Yes, but let’s wind back to the beginning for a moment, shall we? You got me into this business in the first place, sister dear,” Markus accused. “Tell them.”
“What do you mean by that?” Evan asked, hands on hips in full glower mode. “I thought that Markus approached you for help?”
“Mea culpa!” Connie threw up her hands. “So, I admit that I have been in league with a network of fellow historians to uncover this mystery for some time. I wanted to be more forthcoming, honestly.”
“But?” I asked.
“But,” she said, almost sounding a bit annoyed, “this was a secret initiative—we even took an oath, Phoebe. I asked my little brother to join our efforts a few years ago, which he did, and then his team discovered the skull. We couldn’t disclose the whole truth, could we?” She turned her blue gaze on each of us in turn. “Sofia and others—all of us—were sworn to secrecy. But once we were certain that your reputation was well-deserved and that you truly were working on our behalf, we agreed to tell you everything. I sent you messages, Phoebe. I wanted to call but I was blocked. By then we were afraid our communication networks had been compromised, anyway. Forgive me?”
“So you were part of the counter-Divinios all along?” I asked.
“In a manner of speaking, yes, but you uncovered the originals! What a coup!” She clapped her hands together. “The art angle eluded us all, but you were just brilliant! What a story!”
“We were all brilliant,” Rupert interjected. “Like any good team, we each played a part.”
“Absolutely. We are a team,” Peached added.
“You did! You are all simply brilliant!” Connie said. “And you’ll feature on my show, won’t you? This is already making international headlines!” I swear she was jumping up and down. Either that or the port had taken hold.
Of course, we forgave them both.
The moment Senhor Carvalho bid us good night, the drink began to flow in earnest. Someone brought in the wine. I have no memory of when that photo of us all standing in front of the fireplace toasting Queen Isabella was taken. Maybe Senhor Abreu snapped it, maybe not.
The Crown that Lost its Head: A Historical Mystery Thriller (An Agency of the Ancient Lost & Found Mystery Thriller Book 2) Page 28
