Free Murphy's Law by Kat Attalla Page B

couldn’t thank the man, but Jack instructed her to speak to no one until she was inside the apartment.
    With five apartments to each floor, she had to walk up four flights of stairs to find number seventeen. She gasped for air, wondering if these people had ever heard of elevators. The veil stuck to her face, and the caftan tangled around her feet, making her feel like the biggest klutz in the world.
    Half way up the deserted stairwell, she raised her long dress and extracted the letter from her jeans pocket. After catching her breath, she climbed the rest of the way and stopped in front of the door. She knocked and leaned against the wall.
    Soft footsteps and the tiny cry of an infant floated from an open window. The door opened slightly, and a dark haired woman peeked out.
    “Aywa. Who is it?”
    Lilly slipped the letter in the narrow crack. The woman took the envelope and read the contents. A few nervous seconds passed. The door closed in her face. Lilly’s heart sank. What should she do now?
    Suddenly, she heard the chain slide, and the door opened again. Her hostess peered out into the hallway before speaking. “Come in, please,” she said in perfect English.
    “Thank you.” Lilly entered and pulled the infuriating piece of material from her face. “I’m Lilly,” she said, offering her hand. “I’m sorry. No one remembered to tell me your name.”
    She smiled as if to say, “how typically male”, and took her hand. “I am Hanan. I didn’t know Jack had married. How long has it been?”
    Lilly swallowed a cough. That bit of news must have been written in the letter. “Just a few days,” she lied.
    “Come into the salon and have a seat. I just have to check on my son.” She led Lilly into the living room and then left to tend to the squawking baby.
    Lilly sank down into one of the brightly colored floor pillows in the traditionally   furnished room. Hand woven tapestries depicting local scenes adorned the walls. A Persian rug in red and gold hues covered a tile floor. She took a moment to formulate her story before Hanan came back.
    She hadn’t prepared herself to answer questions about her “husband”, about whom she knew nothing. She had no idea what Jack had told Mustafa. Men could easily be fooled about such things but a woman would see right through a phony story.
    Hanan returned holding a tiny bundle in her arms. She held out the baby towards Lilly. “Would you mind holding him while I get some tea?”
    She took the infant in her arms and cuddled him close to her. “I don’t mind, but the tea isn’t necessary unless you were going to make some for yourself.” Hanan shrugged and took the seat next to her. “Maybe later, then.”
    Lilly stroked the sleeping child’s cheek. “He’s adorable. What’s his name?”
    “Mohammed. What else? Every first son is named for the Prophet unless that is his father’s name. So tell me about you and Jack.”
    Lilly kept her eyes on the baby to hide her guilt. “There’s not much to tell.”
    “When did you meet? Where?”
    “Well. We sort of met through his work. I’d seen around him a couple of times, but it wasn’t until he introduced himself in Lisbon that he really caught my attention.” That came close to the truth.
    She still lied , her conscience mocked back.
    “Was it love at first sight?” Hanan asked, obviously caught up in the romance of the adventure. “I’m sorry. Jack is like a brother to me. He introduced me to my husband.”
    “Really? He never told me.” Perhaps she could keep Hanan talking about herself and avoid further questions about Jack.
    “Have you known Jack long?”
    “About six years. He saved my father’s life. A robber came into his store late one evening and Jack happened to be there. Jack disarmed the man and held him until the police arrived.”
    “That is lucky.”
    “He’s been very good to us. He helped us get the fishing trawler. It had been confiscated in a customs raid, and when it went on the