Controlling Interest (19 page)

Matt knew he had little of interest to tell them. After greeting both families, he took the wing chair beside the fireplace and crossed one ankle over the other knee.
Never let 'em see you sweat
.

“Why you are not looking for Yasmine?” Mostafa Haq — Jarrar's big-wheel dad — bore the expression of one accustomed to being instantly obeyed. “It is necessary that we find her.”

With the full brunt of six pairs of night-black eyes focused on his face, Matt addressed the Commerce Minister. “Can't be in two places at once. I'm here talking to you.” He neglected to mention he'd been planning to spend the afternoon watching the backs of his eyelids while a baseball game played on TV.

“It is the Christian holy day.” Deema Haq laid a gentle hand on her husband's wrist. “I'm sure Mr. Hogan was in church.”

Matt eyed the woman with respect. Haq could take lessons in diplomacy from his elegant little wife. “Actually, I was, ma'am. But I'm hoping to get a lead from an email I'm expecting this afternoon. I'll follow up on it and keep you informed.”

“What kind of email? From who?” Abid Patel sat on the edge of the sofa, hands planted on his knees. His body was taut as a bowstring, his thin face gray with fatigue and worry.

“I think I may have found Rafiqah Akbar, your daughter's friend who has been here in the States for over a year. Thanks to Liba.” He nodded at the teenager curled up in a side chair. Matt squinted. She had a book in her hand,
The Secret Life of Beekeepers
, or something like that.

Liba blushed and looked down at her novel. “I worry for my sister,” she said quietly. “I want you to find her.”

“Do you need money?” Patel reached for his wallet. “I can give you a thousand dollars. Two if you want.”

Matt resisted the urge to hold out a hand. “Not at the moment. If we have to travel I'll take you up on it. But right now we have clues that lead us to believe she's never left Memphis.”

Jarrar Haq scowled. “Then perhaps we should set a watch at the airport. Do you not think of this? What about the bus stations?”

“Yasmine is a gently reared young woman,” said Shazia Patel. “She would no more get on a public bus than she would fly to the moon.”

Matt reached for the knot of his tie. “She may be gently reared, but we know for a fact that she stayed at a local homeless shelter Friday night.” He ignored the Patels' collective gasp of disbelief. “Matter of fact, I've been asking for her at the bus stations, and I've got some contacts at the airport. But it's more likely she'd just rent a car and go wherever she wanted.”

“We do not know how much American money she had.” Yasmine's father brushed an agitated hand over his thinning black hair. “If she uses her credit card, can you trace her?”

“Yes, but she hasn't used it yet. Your daughter's a smart woman. If she doesn't want to be found, which looks to be the case . . .” Matt paused. “Mr. Patel, I have to tell you, that's the strange thing about this. Why would a wealthy young woman like Yasmine be so determined to avoid us? A couple of times we've gotten close, and then she disappears like a puff of smoke. If you have any idea what she's running from, I need you to be straight with me.”

The question had been aimed at the Patels, but Mostafa Haq got to his feet, outrage in every line of his tall, dignified body. “Mr. Hogan, do you accuse this good family of some kind of abuse?”

Matt blinked. “Of course not. But there's got to be some reason — ”

“I assure you my daughter has no reason to run away.” Abid Patel had stiffened in outrage. “If anything, she has been well and truly spoiled, and my wife has been overly lenient in her upbringing. Allowing her to work in the embassy in Islamabad may have been our most critical mistake.”

“Abid!” Shazia laid trembling fingers against her lips. “Please, in front of guests — ”

“Alright.” Matt held up a hand. “Forget I mentioned it. Don't everybody get all in a flap.”

Jarrar Haq gave him a cold smile. “We simply want to make sure that you are doing everything possible to bring Yasmine back to us. We worry for her safety.”

To Matt's relief, his phone buzzed against his hip. “Excuse me, let me see — ” He flipped open the phone. “Natalie! What's the matter?”

“Hey, I'm down at the docks. Get over here right now. Yasmine just got on a riverboat, and it's taking off.”

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

N
atalie did not swim. Not only did she
not
swim; she
couldn't
swim, because she was
afraid
to swim. A very bad experience in a neighbor's pool when she was in the first grade had left her with something akin to hydrophobia. Even now, taking a shower was only tolerable because the alternative was to smell.

But as the
Delta Queen
pushed away from the dock with a groan of paddlewheels and earsplitting whistle blast, she'd actually entertained an impulse to jump into the muddy black water and dogpaddle after it. One nanosecond later she was ten yards away in the landing area, jumping up and down and screaming, “Come back! Yasmine, don't go!”

But the boat kept chugging downriver on a Mississippi current.

Natalie sat down on the crumbly concrete and dropped her head onto her knees. So close. The only option was to wait for Matt to arrive.

Ten minutes or so later, a shout came from the bluff above and behind her. “Hey, Trouble! Are you alright?”

She looked over her shoulder to find Matt vaulting down the steps like an Olympic athlete.

Halting, he stood over her panting. “What happened? Are you hurt? Where's Yasmine?”

“Headed downriver on the
Delta Queen
. Keturah showed me where she spent the night under one of those tents set up for the barbecue cook-off. I let her get away.”

Matt held out a hand. “Natalie, get up off the ground.” His voice sounded oddly strangled — undoubtedly what he'd like to do to her.

She looked away and sighed. “Why? I'm a terrible detective.”

“Look, you better stand up. There are ants crawling into your shoes.”

Natalie shrieked and scrambled to her feet. She yanked off her sandals and brushed at her feet. “If that isn't just par for the course!” She slapped the soles of her sandals together to shake off any remaining ants.

He grinned as he inspected the tail of her skirt “You might want to take a swipe at your posterior too.”

“Would you stop laughing? This is not funny.”

“I never thought I'd say this, but my life has sure been more entertaining since you busted in.” He picked up one of the sandals she'd dropped and handed it to her. “Here, put these on before you blister your feet on the pavement.” He tipped his head. “You have pretty feet. The toe ring's a nice touch.”

Natalie slid into her sandals. “I almost caught her.” She looked for the boat, now a tiny dot against the horizon. The sun glared off the water and bounced against the steely backbone of the Arkansas Bridge, and she lifted a hand to shade her eyes.

“Okay, so you didn't catch her. Let's find some shade and you can fill me in.”

Because he was being so calm, she drew herself up. “I need some serious caffeine.”

“That's my girl.” He grinned at her. “Life goes on, babe.
C'est la vie.
What goes around comes around. If you can't beat 'em — ”

She had to laugh. “Shut up, Matthew. Your clichés are getting farther and farther off-base.”

“Is that farther or further?” He swung in the direction of the parking lot. “I never can remember.”

“Like it matters.” Natalie trudged up the ramp behind him.

Matt stopped and faced her. “Listen to me. There are going to be breakthroughs and there are going to be setbacks. This, my dear, is a breakthrough.”

“I don't know how you can say that.” Natalie twisted her hands together. It was crazy how much she wanted Matt to think well of her. She looked away, acutely aware of his solid presence. She could almost hear his heart pumping, and his tie smelled like baby food. “I never had to study anything in my life. High school or college.”

She heard the smile in his voice. “That's sick.”

“I know. This is way harder than I thought it would be.” She looked up at him and was surprised by an odd, soft expression in his eyes.

He turned and bolted the rest of the way up the hill. “Look, we've got it made,” he tossed over his shoulder. “We know exactly where Yasmine is. We'll drive to wherever the first stop is and wait for her. Come on, my dear Watson, we have a case to solve.”

“I said I needed caffeine, not pork.”

“Protein's good for the soul.” Matt pulled Natalie along to the next booth under a red-and-yellow striped awning. He hadn't planned on attending the World Championship Barbecue Cooking Contest, but if Yasmine had spent the night here, it was worth scoping out. He glanced at Natalie's sunburnt face. Besides, safety in crowds seemed like the wise course. “I bet you never made it over to your mom's for lunch, did you?”

“No, but — Matt, come on. We've got to figure out what to do next about Yasmine.”

“Relax. We'll get to Helena in plenty of time to meet the boat. All you have to worry about is whether you want ribs or pulled pork.” He winked at her. “What happened to your little buddy in the track suit?”

“I don't know. I saw Yasmine running toward the boat and took off after her.” Natalie screeched to a halt. “Keturah was helping me ask around, and next thing I knew, she'd disappeared.”

“Hey, y'all,” boomed a large, sweaty man behind a grill in the shape of a potbellied stove. His wiry brown beard fell onto the bib of a crimson apron, and he brandished a stainless steel fork the size of a backhoe. “What can I do you for?” A banner at the back of the booth read, “Welcome to the College of Pig Knowledge.”

“I'm not hungry,” said Natalie stubbornly.

“Hogwash, if you'll excuse the pun. Everybody needs a little meat on their bones.” Mr. Piggy eyed Natalie's lissome figure and elbowed a woman shoveling baked beans and potato salad onto plates for a family gathered at the other end of the table. “Ain't that right, hon?”

The woman, who was roughly the same size and shape as the grill, winked at Matt and filled another plate.

Matt pulled out his wallet. His meal at the shelter had been interrupted too. “We'll take two pulled pork plates with all the trimmings.”

“Sure thing.” The grill-master skewered a chunk of meat and plopped it onto a cutting board. “You folks enjoying the concerts?”

“No, we're not here for the festival.” Natalie stood on her toes to peer over the counter. “We're detectives working on a case.”

“That right? Sounds interesting. I like those
CSI
shows. A little gory, but then I work with meat all the time.”

Matt watched the meat fall apart under the onslaught of a massive cleaver. “It's not a murder case. Missing persons.” He extracted a photo of Yasmine along with a twenty. “This girl right here.”

Their host laid down his fork and took the picture between a sticky thumb and forefinger. “Pretty gal. She came by here right about the time we were shutting down.”

“Really?” Natalie's glum expression disappeared. “You saw her?”

“Yep. I offered her some of our leftovers. Acted like she was starving to death, but all she wanted was beans and salad.”

Matt nodded. “She's Muslim. They don't eat pork.”

The man's wife twitched the photo out of his hand. She examined the picture, her beehive hairdo wobbling as she shook her head. “She ducked out the back of the tent when a Hindu-looking man walked past. Looked scared to death.”

Natalie gasped. “Maybe somebody else is chasing her after all!”

“She left her totebag behind. Maybe you can get it back to her. Me and Dewey are clearing out of here first thing in the morning.” She reached under the table for a small black canvas backpack with pink trim. “Here ya go.”

Matt and Natalie grabbed at it simultaneously, but Natalie was quicker. She backed away with the bag clutched to her stomach. “You can't look in a girl's bag.”

“Why not?” Matt demanded.

“There might be something personal in it.”

“Well, yeah. That's the whole point.”

“You two don't look like you're related to that little girl,” said the man in the apron, looking a bit apprehensive. “Betty, I don't think you should've handed it over like that. We ought to've given it to Security.”

“No, no, we'll take care of it, I promise.” Natalie, fortunately, looked both honest and kind. “We work for her family. Matt, give him your card. Yasmine is a runaway oil heiress, and she's on a riverboat cruise headed to New Orleans. The only way she'll get this back is if we take it to her.”

Matt took out a business card and handed it to Dewey. “If you saw the man Yasmine was running away from again, would you recognize him?”