Kapoor turned away. Saffi wanted to reach out again and pull the arm free to study, but she didn’t. Just to prove she hadn’t completely lost it. Instead of slipping into the armchair, Kapoor sat directly on Saffi’s desk, giving a clear view of her thigh as her dress rodeup.
The next time their gazes met, Kapoor seemed amused. She was too observant. That was supposed to be Saffi’s job. “Are you going to inquire about all my injuries? Should I tell you about the papercut I got this morning?”
It was strange but not entirely out of character for the ever-secretive, ever-elusive Dimple Kapoor. Saffi filed the information away for later and lifted her glass of whiskey. She hadn’t touched the stuff since she’d arrived in California despite how much Andino and Taylor begged her to go out with them, so this was long overdue.
Glass pressing against her lips, Saffi made inadvertent eye contact with Kapoor as she began to tip it back. The actress was staring at her, tracking every move. She would’ve appeared perfectly at ease, her shoulders relaxed and posture comfortable, had it not been for the slight tick in her jaw.
Saffi thought about what she’d read regarding Anya Kapoor and paused. Dropping the untouched glass to her lap, she traced the rim consideringly.
“Were your aunt and uncle alcoholics?” It hadn’t been officially stated in the reports, but it would make a lot of sense.
The way Kapoor momentarily stilled was confirmation enough, even if it was gone in the next second. Her pleasant expression hadn’t budged. It was terrifying how good an actress she was. Except Kapoor’s magnum opus wasn’t any of the work she’d done on-screen—it was the performance of her life.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Kapoor said.
“You don’t have to lie about everything,” Saffi replied dryly.
“I don’t.”Lie.
“Getting me drunk won’t make it any easier to kill me.” Saffi attempted to joke, but it fell flat.
“I would never harm you.”Lie, again.“You fascinate me too much.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be smart. We are in a PI agency.”
“There’s also the factor of me not being a killer.”
“I wonder if you’ll be saying the same thing when I catch you red-handed.” Saffi dropped the whiskey straight into the plastic bin beside her desk, glass and all. Some of it splashed onto the floor. Kapoor watched, at first in disbelief, and then, slowly, her mouth twisted into something wild and dangerous. Something pleased. And despite herself, Saffi felt a sense of accomplishment.
“You look especially smug lately,” Saffi said. “Find something you were looking for? Should I be concerned?”
She was curious to test just how good of a liar Dimple Kapoor was. Thanks to Martinez, she already knew that Kapoor had figured out who the other suspects in this case were. And soon, the actress would be making her next move. Saffi was prepared.
“Of course not.” Kapoor waved off her concerns. “You seem to be in a rather celebratory mood, though. ShouldIbe concerned?”
Denial, deflection, and redirection. Impressive work. Saffi couldn’t have done it better herself. Was this something Kapoor had practiced like her acting or did it come as naturally as breathing?
Saffi would bite—for now, at least. Let Kapoor think she had the upper hand.
“Of course not,” Saffi echoed. “Kitchen fires are pretty common, after all. Not particularly unbelievable when it comes to careless drunkards like your aunt and uncle.”
Kapoor didn’t so much as flinch. She did, however, pull something free from the folds of her dress—a lighter—and held it loosely in her right hand. “I suppose so,” she said, flicking the flame to life. Saffi couldn’t help it, she laughed. Even backed into a corner, Kapoor never failed to surprise her.
“Lucky Anya was at school when it happened,” Saffi said.
“One of the few times luck favored her, I’m afraid.”
Kapoor was transfixed with the flame. Orange danced in her irises, melting the dark brown into a molten gold. For a moment, there was the irrational fear that the fire would consume her, but then Kapoor blinked out of her trance and the flame died out.
“What did they do to you?” Saffi asked.What made you want to kill them?
“It will not help you with your case.”
Regardless, Saffi wanted to know. If she understood Kapoor better, maybe then she could finally file her away into the appropriate box and move on. “Tell me anyway.”
“It makes no difference. They’re gone.”
“You’re not.”
