Tulip Season (28 page)

“Kareena, we need to talk. About everything. Why did you leave so suddenly, without a word to anyone? We were so close. What you did made me feel like I don't know you anymore.”

“There's a lot you don't know, that I didn't tell you. I'm so sorry that I haven't called. I didn't mean to freak you out. Much has happened. Time just flew. And now I'm not so sure …” Kareena's voice tapered off.

“Did you hear what I just said? What happened to you? What could Adi possibly have done to make you ditch your life there?
Why did you treat me this way? I thought we were the best of friends. I deserve at least an explanation.”

“It's a long story, too long to talk about here.”

“Listen, I have a car waiting. We can go any place you like.” Mitra raised a hand in assurance. “We'll drop you where you want to go afterward.”

Kareena looked absent for a moment, as though considering what to do next. “Okay, we'll get together, but my chauffeur will drive me. Jay has ordered that I don't ride in any other car. With his status, he has to be careful.” She paused. “How about meeting at Chitra's on Nutan Lane in an hour?” She glanced at Mitra out of the corner of her eye, but Mitra couldn't read her expression. She couldn't read her at all anymore.

“Could you give me your mobile number?” Mitra asked. “Just in case?” She got pen and paper out of her purse.

Kareena hesitated, then recited the numbers. Without delay, she slipped out the powder room door, her sari sliding off one shoulder. Her ornate sandals clattered; they didn't seem to fit well and her steps lacked rhythm.

Mitra stood for a moment, unable to shake off her uneasiness. The walls, that were so bright only a minute ago, seemed to be drained of their lustrous pink shade.

She hurtled across the dining room toward the exit, barely noticing what was ahead, and ignoring the curious eyes of the onlookers and the heated gaze of Jay.

The waiter's voice receded behind Mitra as she rushed out of the door. “Your table is ready, madam.”

FORTY-SIX

AT THE CRAMPED NOISY FRAGRANT
chai shop, Mother and Preet turned to look at Mitra. Bright ceiling lights magnified their wide-eyed astonishment. They must have been thinking:
Back so quickly?
A few patrons from neighboring tables stole glances at her as well. Whether they were staring at her sari or necklace, or perhaps her awkward entry, Mitra couldn't tell. She slid onto the hard bench next to Preet.

“How about chai?” Mother asked, with her usual wisdom and tact. At Mitra's nod, she placed an order with the serious-faced waiter, adding, “My daughter doesn't take any sugar. She doesn't like her tea too strong. And make that a big pot and extra hot.”

A chattering group took the table next to them. Mitra was grateful for the bustle, so she could have time to think.

Preet stroke her hand. “You look lovely. I'm sure every head turned when you walked into that restaurant.” After a pause, “Wasn't Kareena there?”

Before Mitra could answer, Arnold came through the door. From around the room, patrons' eyes were drawn to his white satin maharaja jacket, he, so obviously overdressed. He glanced at Mitra and grabbed a chair.

“Did you find them?” Arnold asked. “Or was our actor-friend with another hyper-model?”

Mother smiled at his mangling of the term supermodel. “Hush, someone could be eavesdropping,” she said. “‘The walls have ears.’”

Mitra whispered a few details about her reunion and impending rendezvous with Kareena.

At the next table, an elderly American man talked about flying a racehorse from India to the U.S. on a chartered plane. “Did the horse jump around and shake the plane?” a boy at the same table asked. “Did it have dinner and movie on the flight?”

Mother chuckled at their exchange. Mitra tried to join in the laughter, in a gesture of being part of the group, but couldn't make a sound. Kareena—was she okay? She looked so different. Would she show up at Chitra's?

“You're not going back to see your friend, are you?” Preet poured chai into Mitra's cup. “I don't think you should. Why don't I take us all out to dinner at the Empress? How would that be?” She said the chef there made sauces that were “diabolically tempting.”

“I wouldn't want to ruin your beautiful sari with some evil sauce,” Mitra replied.

“The sari is now yours.” Preet took Mitra's hand in hers. “It's gorgeous on you.”

“Oh, by the way, I forgot to tell you, Mitra,” Mother said. “Your friend, Veen, called from Seattle last night. You'd already gone to bed. It slipped my mind this morning.”

Mitra's jaw tightened as she recalled Veen's last words:
Adi has disappeared.

It crushed Mitra, as she rose from her chair, to shatter the buzz of intimacy. “You guys go ahead. I have to call Veen, then meet with Kareena. Sorry, I can't have dinner with you.”

Preet handed her a cellphone, saying, “Take this, since your cellphone doesn't work here. Just in case you need to call us.”

“Shall I go with you and wait outside?” Arnold asked Mitra.

Mitra thought for a moment. “If you show up in about an hour, that'll do. But don't wait in front.”

“Okay,” Preet said. “We'll wait in an alley a block north of the shop. Just take a right when you leave.”

Mitra thanked them and slipped out.

FORTY-SEVEN

IN THE NEXT BLOCK
, Mitra located a telephone kiosk. It'd be morning in Seattle. Her fingers numb from anxiousness about Adi's status, she had to dial several times before she got the number right.

Veen answered at the first ring. “My God—I can't believe it. Yesterday, the police found Adi. He's dead.”

Mitra strained to catch Veen's words. “What did you say? I can't hear you too well.” Her voice cracked; hot tea swirled in her stomach.

“He's been murdered,” Veen said, her voice turning hoarse. “Some hit man.”

“Hit man?” Mitra stood there dumbfounded, as though blood had drained from her body, as though someone had erased all her knowledge, memory, and power of comprehension.

“Shit,” Veen said. “I can't eat or sleep. I drink fifteen cups of tea a day and still I'm in a fog.” She took a moment. “Are you okay, Mitra?”

“Can I ring you back?”

“Yes, let's talk in awhile. Meantime, you need to call Detective Yoshihama. He wants to speak with you urgently.”

Mitra limped out of the kiosk, eyes welling with tears, her insides knotted, thoughts scattered. Hard to believe she was in such a state of shock for a person she didn't once care for.

She circled the block. Patches of dark shadows on the street obstructed her vision. Returning to the same kiosk, she dialed Yoshihama's number.

A sleepy voice answered.

“Mitra here. I've just heard about Adi. How could this have happened?”

“I'm so sorry.” Yoshihama said. “Mr. Guha shouldn't have involved himself in the ransom negotiation.”

Holding on to the phone box, Mitra learned some facts. Adi was found in Cowen Park. His throat had been slashed. God, the body
had been chopped up. The tongue had been taken out. The cops had cordoned off his house. Yoshihama began providing more details—fingerprints, exact time of murder, the murderer being at large, forensic examiners working—but not all of it registered. Mitra stood in a dazed state.

“Seems to me this was an act of revenge,” Yoshihama said. “The bad guys didn't get their loot quick enough, so they did away with Mr. Guha.”

“But I'd heard from Veen that Adi was selling his business.”

“Correct. We found a huge amount of cash in Mr. Guha's house. He was obviously getting ready to meet the rest of the money demand.” Nobuo paused. “I've been consulting with the Kolkata police. Mr. Guha's murder is similar to a crime that happened over there several years ago. In both cases, the tongue had been taken out.”

Mitra gave out a shriek. She couldn't speak for a moment. “Are you talking about the Ray murder case?”

“Yes, that's the one.”

“I can't think straight … let me collect myself.” Mitra paused. “I've found Kareena and made plans to talk with her shortly. Jay is with her. I'd seen him twice in Seattle.”

“He must have been toying with the law enforcement. Criminals often do that, thinking they have the upper hand. Robert believed that.”

Memories of Robert floated back to Mitra, scenes she wished hadn't happened. Weeks ago, seated at his desk, Robert had asserted his knowledge of the Ray murder case. Mitra had told him about Kareena's liaison with Jay Bahadur, and about the film book she'd bought containing details about the Bollywood mafia. Robert connected Jay with the mafia. Without Mitra's knowledge, Robert might have opened his own investigation, and which might have gotten him on the path of the assassin.

“Do you suppose there's a connection between the two murder-deaths, Adi's and Robert's?” Mitra asked.

“Yes, there are similarities in the physical evidences. Robert's killer might have made it seem like a suicide.”

“And I suppose because Robert had bouts of depression, his friends and colleagues believed he'd taken his own life.”

“Correct. Please be careful in Kolkata, Mitra. If Mr. Bahadur is involved with Mr. Guha's death and he suspects you know his past, then he may be a danger to you. I can't have you at risk that way.”

Mitra heaved a sigh. couldn't leave Kolkata immediately. Wheels had been set in motion. “My work's cut out from here. I'll be back after I've gotten what I'm after. There are still missing pieces. I'm going to see Kareena now. I'll have to give her the news.” Her voice faded.

As she bid him goodbye and stepped away from the telephone booth, a feeling of terror sprouted in Mitra's mind. She saw what she'd refused to see before, despite many warnings, like leaves gathering on a sidewalk and obscuring the pathway: Jay Bahadur and his criminal pals appeared to have collaborated in a case of extortion and two murders. They would stop at nothing.

Adi's sad face, his distracted expression, and the pain in his eyes hung before Mitra. He'd loved Kareena. He'd died for her. Justice was called for.

Which meant that Mitra would have to wring out the whole story from Kareena. However much that tore Mitra apart. However nauseated she felt. However much that affected their sisterly ties.

FORTY-EIGHT

UNDER THE NIGHT SKY
Mitra walked the three blocks to her destination. Her sari and high heels hampered her movements, as did the unfamiliar sights: a row of electrical shops, a dairy outlet, an astrologer's cave-like den, and lots of alleyways. Most businesses had shuttered for the night. Still, Mitra stayed vigilant. She kept a watch over any pedestrian who happened to pass by, but they were few and far between. A uniformed policeman, a long bamboo baton in his hand, marched past, giving her a curious look.

She located Chitra's, a small upscale second-floor café, situated atop a bookshop. Entering, she saw Kareena, who occupied a large table, her hair glistening in the ceiling light, the purple of her sari contrasting with the white tablecloth.

Kareena looked up from the menu, her eyes sparkling, and acknowledged Mitra with a big “Hi.”

Mitra grabbed a seat across from her. “Hey, this is just like Soirée.” She considered it good fortune that their table wasn't within hearing distance of other patrons. “Remember how we used to share all that had happened to us during the week?”

“I miss it so much,” Kareena said soulfully. “I've met lots of people here, but so far there's been no one to kick back with, like you.”

A sullen white-jacketed waiter approached their table. Kareena ordered for both of them, which suited Mitra just fine. Glancing down, fiddling with the open purse on her lap, Mitra turned on the voice recorder. She bit her lip. How horrible of her, how devious to pretend to have tea with her sister, but actually try to make her spell out a secret story.

Kareena placed a bejeweled hand on the table. Gazing warmly at Mitra, she appeared more relaxed. “You've gone to a lot of trouble to see me. That means a lot. Had I known you were coming, I'd have arranged a party for you. But we're leaving town in the next couple of
days. We'll stay in Jay's village for at least six months.” She paused. “How are our friends in Seattle?”

Mitra filled her in with a rushed account of their mutual friends and the search party they'd formed. Kareena listened, a wistful light in her eyes.

“Can you tell me why you left Seattle without saying a word to anyone?” Mitra asked. “Your friends miss you. I'm sure your clients wonder about you.”

Kareena appeared to search back to the past, her eyelids weighted. “I was getting ready to quit my job. Such depressing people to be around all the time.”

Mitra seized the opening. “Was it because of Adi that you finally left? Was he mistreating you? Those bruises on your arm—”

The waiter placed a wedge of pound cake before each of them. As a child, Mitra had loved the dense, buttery moist, richly brown slices. Now she barely glanced at it.

“No, whatever else he is, Adi's not a wife-batterer,' Kareena said. “He's too chicken. But he hurt me, with his constant suspicion. You remember how you were concerned when a stranger stalked me on my way home once, creeping me out? You guessed it was the husband of one of my clients. Actually, it was someone Adi had sent. We got into a big argument over it.”

“Was he trying to find out if you were sneaking out? That'd be like Adi, wouldn't it?”

Kareena stabbed her cake with a fork more aggressively than necessary. “Yes, I was seeing Jay.”

“How did you meet him?”

“I met him in India during a trip almost two years ago. I'd gone to a movie premiere with a wealthy aunt who moves in high society. Jay had a starring role in the movie and a dancing role too. Could he dance! At the reception afterwards, we flirted. He called me the charmer, the angelic beauty, the glamorous. When I got back to Seattle, I couldn't get him out of my mind. He wrote to me and I wrote back—we exchanged many love letters. A month later, he came to visit me secretly in Seattle for a week. Three months later, he came again to see me. Our relationship started to grow serious.” She
paused. “One day I couldn't take it any longer—living with Adi, living a huge lie.”