Date with a Sheesha (31 page)

“You’re Rob, right?” I’d met the young researcher earlier in the week. He was a colleague of Neil’s.

“Yeah, I, uh, sorry, I didn’t expect anyone to still be here. I know I shouldn’t be using Neil’s office, but I like the quiet. And no one’s been in here for days. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” I told him in a reassuring voice (the guy really looked spooked). “Why should a perfectly good office go to waste, right?”

“Uh, yeah, right, I guess.”

“Have you been here all day?”

“Sure. I’ve got this journal article I’m working on with a killer deadline…”

“You didn’t happen to see Neil’s cousin here earlier today, did you? You remember her? You met a few days ago. Pretty, not real cheery.”

“Sure, Hema. She was here.”

Yowza. “Did you speak to her?”

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“No. She looked kind of busy with those other guys. And the next time I checked, she was gone.”

“The men she was with, do you know who they were?”

He shook his head.

I pulled out my phone and pulled up the photo of Stretch and Squat. I showed it to Rob.

“Yeah, that’s them.”

My heart soared and fell at the same time (if that’s possible).

The good news was that I hadn’t lost my carpet thieves after all; I was only one step behind them. The bad news was that I’d just solidified my growing suspicion that Hema Gupta was somehow involved in all of this. Her bad attitude. He predilection for working alone (i.e. without yours truly). Sending me and Umar to the wrong address in Fujairah. Then skulking around when we got it right. Her sudden disappearance from Jeddah, and now Dubai.

The three stooges who stole the Zinko out from under my nose hadn’t all been identified. It was stupid of me, but I’d never asked if the third one was a woman. Could Hema possibly have had a hand in Neil’s death? Her own cousin? Rob had just placed the same men who stole the Zinko, and who’d been in the souk with Neil the night of his death—and more than likely were responsible for his death—with Hema, right here in Dubai.

“What was she doing with these men, Rob?”

A shrug. “I don’t really know. They were in the lab most of the time. Not up here in the offices. And I was pretty busy doing my own thing, y’know.”

“The lab? What goes on in the lab?”

He gave me an are-you-stupid look. “Uh, lab stuff. Testing things. I’m assuming if Hema was with them, it had something to do with the package they brought in with them. Probably a carpet or carpet sample they’d picked up somewhere. That’s what it looked like anyway. They might have been checking authenticity trace markers, that type of thing.”

“How is that done?”

He thought about that. “Well, not much can get done in the short amount of time they were here, except…” he cocked his head as if considering something.

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“Yes? Except what?”

“Well, if they were working with a carpet, I suppose they could have been testing its age. They wouldn’t have had time to test how old a carpet is, but they certainly could have done an exception test.”

“What does that tell you?”

“It won’t tell you how old a carpet is, but it could tell you how old it isn’t. There are a lot of crooks out there nowadays. Carpets are hot. Some of the shiftier merchants try to falsify a rug’s age, make it look really old and stuff, to increase its value. It’s pretty easy to do actually. And they fool a lot of people. The ones who don’t really know what to look for. Tourists mostly. But a professional with the right tools can find out for sure.”

“So basically you can tell whether or not it’s a fake pretty quickly?”

“It’s not my specialty, but yeah, I think so.”

If Hema and her henchmen were here with the Zinko, I was dying to find out what their tests told them. “Thank you, Rob,” I said with a smile. “You’ve been very helpful.”

“Really?”

“I don’t suppose you know where they were going when they left?”

“No. Like I said, next time I checked, they were gone. Too bad.

Hema, she’s hot, right? I wouldn’t have minded getting to know her a lot better.”

First Alastair, and now this guy? Hot for Hema? Hema! What was wrong with these straight guys?

I called a cab. Real or fake, it seemed certain that Hema had the Zinko. Either way, she had nowhere else to go but home. And I’d be right behind her.

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Chapter 16

Moving from sand to snow, sultry to frigid, spice to ice, I was still overjoyed at the thought of going home. As much as I love travelling to foreign locales, I never tire of setting foot back in my home-town. Even in winter. Home is home.

Prior to our descent into “The Dief” late Thursday night, our captain informed us that we were being greeted by a minor bliz-zard, with temperatures hovering around the minus twenty-five Celsius mark. Even that did little to dampen my mood. Soon I’d be back in Ethan’s arms, nuzzling the furry snouts of Barbra and Brutus, amidst familiar surroundings, and tonight I’d be in my own bed. Glo-ri-a!

The landing was respectably smooth, despite the conditions.

As I towed my carry-on behind me, off the plane, through the arrivals lounge, down the escalator, heading towards the doors that would take me out of the security area, I felt myself getting more and more excited. Of course I was happy to be home, but this time was different. I was about to be welcomed by the man I 216

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had decided to marry. I felt giddy, every nerve in my body jangling. Would he be able to tell? Would he take one look at me and know my secret?

I pushed through the door, behind a gaggle of fellow travellers. Over their heads I caught sight of Ethan in all his sandy-haired, sturdily built, boy-next-door glory. He was searching the crowd, looking for me, a sweet smile at the ready on his face. He was wearing the cream-coloured parka Anthony had bought him for Christmas. He’d thought the colour was impractical, but he looked wonderful in it, especially with the turquoise and beige scarf my mother (with my help) gave him to match.

I was almost upon him when he finally caught sight of me. We kissed and embraced and kissed again. I barely resisted the urge to drop to my knees and ask him right then and there. How was I ever going to wait? But I would. I wanted to do this right.

“Here,” he said, handing me my red, North Face Himalayan parka. “You’ll need this.”

“That bad?” I asked as I slipped on the coat.

“Not really. The worst of it is over, I think. But it’s supposed to go down to minus thirty-five tonight, minus forty-seven with the wind chill.

“Dang! I forgot to bring your gloves. Do you have any on you?” Ethan asked.

“Yeah, in the side compartment of my carry-on. You wanna dig them out for me? I’ll go round up the rest of my luggage at the carousel.”

I was back in a few minutes with my suitcase. Ethan stood waiting for me, a strange look on his face.

“You okay?” I asked.

He handed me my gloves, then held out his right hand, palm up. “What are these?” he asked.

It looked like a small pile of black feathers.

I studied it closer. My heart skipped an extra beat, my mouth grew dry.

It wasn’t feathers. It was petals. Black petals.

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As I strolled up the pristinely shovelled pathway leading to the front door of the Gupta house, I marvelled at how quickly the results of a winter storm can be tidied away and tamed, as if it had never happened. Friday morning dawned clear and cold, nary a cloud in the ice-blue sky. I’d arranged to meet my client at his home at eight a.m. The meeting had been my idea, the time had not.

Pranav Gupta answered my knock and invited me in. The first thing that struck me was how different the house felt from the last time I was there. Gone were the commiserating, grieving relatives, and gone were the buffet tables weighed down by endless food, and the aromas that went with it. However, as he led me down the hallway to his office, I noticed the battle between contemporary Western and traditional Indian decor raged on unabated.

We entered his office, he offered me a seat on the guest side of his massive, ornate desk, then rounded it to sit opposite me. I glanced to my left and saw that the shrine to Neil’s memory also remained untouched.

“May I offer you a coffee?” Pranav asked once we were settled. “It is no problem; I have a carafe right here.”

“Actually, I’d love a cup.” It was eight in the morning after all.

I hadn’t had time to zip to Starbucks. Even if I had, I’d thought it might be odd if I walked in with a steaming latte for myself and nothing for my host.

Pranav poured our drinks. When he was finished, he sat back in his chair and regarded me. “You must be very tired from all your travel? I’m sorry we had to meet so early, but with the symposium beginning today, it seemed to me that we should get this out of the way as soon as possible. As it is, my wife has already gone to the airport this morning to greet the final arrivals. After that, I told her I would be at her disposal. This is a very important time for her, you understand.”

I nodded and sipped the delicious blend. “Of course.”

“So, tell me everything.”

I guess we were done with preamble. Suited me just fine.

I caught him up on my activities since I’d last talked with him on the phone. I ended by asking whether he or his wife had heard 218

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from or seen Hema.

“Wait just one moment, Mr. Quant. Are you telling me you suspect Hema of somehow being involved in her cousin’s death?”

This was going to be touchy. But I was ready.

“Of course not. I’m only saying that the men Hema was last seen with in Dubai are men of interest in my investigation. One of them pretended to be Neil and purchased the Zinko. They are also the same men an eyewitness saw with Neil in the souk the night he died.”

I’d let Pranav come to his own conclusions. At least until I had proof of something. He was right to be doubtful. I was too. Right now, all I had were suppositions and theories. Damning as the evidence might seem, it was my job to be skeptical until I could prove otherwise. The non-detective part of me, however, thought Hema looked about as guilty as Lizzie Borden in a hatchet store.

Pranav sat silent for a moment, mulling over all I’d told him.

His head moved back and forth very slowly, as if trying to dis-lodge his own suspicions of a guilt-ridden niece.

“Are you sure you are right about all of this? Are you sure Neil’s death didn’t have something to do with his being gay, rather than all this carpet business?” It sounded almost as if he’d prefer it. “I asked Unnati about this Zinko. She’s never heard of it.

Are you sure you haven’t gone down the wrong path? It seems to me that both Neil, and now Hema, have been wooed and led astray by this mythical thing. Have you been too?”

I knew he might be right. But I didn’t think so.

“There’s nothing to say this Zinko has anything to do with why Neil was killed.”

“Possibly not,” I allowed.

Pranav studied my face. He knew I was saying as little as possible about what I personally thought. “But possibly so,” he said, each word coming out slower than the one before it.

I nodded.

“I see.” His face was grave.

“There is one other reason I have that makes me believe I am on the right track,” I told him. “I found more black petals in my carry-on luggage when I arrived in Saskatoon yesterday. I 219

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checked that bag before I got on the plane. The only time those petals could have gotten there was during the flight. Maybe while I was in the bathroom or asleep. Whoever put them in there, Mr.

Gupta, was on the airplane. And now, they’re here in Saskatoon.”

The older man’s face was suddenly ashen. “What are you talking about? Petals? You received black petals?”

I quickly tried to think back. Perhaps I’d only spoken to Hema about the petals when I’d first found them amongst Neil’s possessions, and then amongst my own. “Are you all right? I know about the superstition, Mr. Gupta,” I said. “Hema told me about it.”

“That’s not it, Russell. That’s not it at all. You see, I too received black petals.”

My eyes narrowed. “What? When?”

“The day of Neil’s funeral. A flower box—you know the kind that long-stemmed roses would arrive in?—came to the house. It was filled with black petals.”

“Have you any idea who sent them?”

He shook his head. “There was no card or note. I called the people at the flower shop right away. But they could not identify who sent them.”

“Curse or blessing?”

He stared at me. “I do not know. But it seems you may be right. You received these petals on last night’s plane. There were many WACS delegates on that flight. The petals must have come from one of them.”

I wasn’t willing to rush to that conclusion quite yet, but I was grateful to have Pranav closer to my way of thinking about his son’s death. Neil Gupta died for some reason other than that he was gay. I just knew it. And I was betting it had something to do with old carpets. In particular, the Zinko.

“I’d like to attend the conference,” I said.

“I will arrange it,” he agreed without hesitation.

“And, I think I should go to the airport. The balance of the delegates are arriving throughout the rest of the morning, correct?”