“She thought you were your mother come back from the grave.” She shook her head. “A nuisance. The whole town will know by now.”

“Um Salih was my mother?” “No.”

“Who was?”

“So many questions, miss.”

“I know I’m rude. I’m sorry. I need to know.” “Then I will tell you.”

She told the story bluntly and quickly. When it was over, Laila felt nearly as shaken as the old aunt.

“My mother was killed with stones because of me?”

“Because of the law and God’s will, miss, not because of you.” The old wet nurse had become increasingly nervous with each passing minute. Clearly, she was anxious to have this sudden guest leave. “Miss, your father had been generous over the years. You have money for me?”

“Money?”

“Miss, by coming here you may have killed me. I must go somewhere, some- where far. Do you have money for me?”

Laila gave her every rial she had. “I didn’t know I was putting you in danger.” “You beware, too, miss. Here is not a good place for you. Not just this poor village, but al-Remal.”

A small crowd had gathered outside. Laila drew her veil. The driver forced their way through. Back at the hotel, Laila used a credit card for more cash and tipped the taxi man exorbitantly.

From her room, she called California. She needed David’s voice, his calm- ness, his love. The marina manager told her he was on a weeklong cruise down the Baja.

She reserved a seat on the morning flight to Paris, went to bed early, slept fitfully, and was at the airport two hours before departure time. While she waited, two men, who were obviously police, approached.

“Laila Badir?”

“Yes.”

“Come with us, please.”

They took her to the little room, where she met the man with the oddly familiar name: Prince Ali al-Rashad.

O

“You are Laila Badir, and your father is Malik Badir?” “Yes. What’s all this about?”

“About violations of our law, Miss Badir.” The prince, a short, slight, distinguished man about her father’s age, seemed pleased with himself.

“What violations? What laws?” “That will become clear later.”

He would say nothing more definite, and after taking her passport, he left her alone in the room.

What had she done? Was it that she had violated the dress codes? No, they wouldn’t send a prince for that. It had to be something big, something about her visit to the village. But why should that bother anyone? It came to her that she was the daughter of an executed criminal—if the village woman had told the truth. Maybe that was all it amounted to—she was being detained while they checked her out.

None of it felt right. She tapped at the door. A guard opened it. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

He thought it over, then accompanied her and stationed himself outside while she went in.