“How would he know that?” Meera asks.
“He’s here all the time,” says Talia. “He would know whether Amanda could have snuck in last night.”
Meera relents. “Fine.” In Tamil, she briefly explains the situation to Aarav, saying they think someone snuck into the office last night after closing and left something in Talia’s desk. “I just want to know, is there any way for someone to get into the building overnight? You spend more time at this place than anyone—would it ever be possible for someone to trespass?”
“Absolutely not.” Aarav shakes his head firmly. “Not without a key card, no.”
“No?” His insistence surprises her. “Well, did you happen to see anyone unfamiliar in the office this morning?”
“No. You were the first person to arrive after me.”
“What did he say?” Talia asks.
Aarav turns to her and, in English, says, “No key card, no entry.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” Aarav says, switching back to Tamil. “Someone would either have to steal a key card or know someone on the inside to help them.”
“What did he say?” Talia asks again.
“Nothing.” Meera watches as Talia deposits the bat into the plastic bag Aarav holds open for her. Then she smiles and nods at Aarav, dismissing him. “Now can you please go wash the disease off your hands?”
After work, Meera and Talia visit Goldie’s at the Austin Proper, because they both agree that a dead bat in a desk drawer calls for a drink or two. With its rose-printed wallpaper and plush velvet seating, the space is an Instagram influencer’s dream, and cocktails are stupid expensive—Meera shouldn’t be spending twenty-six dollars on a truffle old-fashioned right now—but she orders one anyway. This is where Talia wanted to go, and Meera wants to be a good sport. Her friend has had a shitty day, after all—though you wouldn’t know it to look at her. Talia seems strangely calm, really, as she repositions the mint-leaf garnish in her coupe glass before snapping a pic.
“You’ve been posting a lot more often on Instagram,” Meera says, an observation that comes out sounding more judgmental than she intends.
Talia doesn’t seem to notice. “Have I?” Eyes still glued to her phone, she adds, “Gracie would love this place. You should take her here for afternoon tea.”
“She would.” Meera’s heart hurts just thinking about Gracie.
“Is she still at Hari’s?”
“She is.”
Tucking her phone away, Talia gives her a sad smile. “I’m sorry, Meer. You must miss her like crazy.”
“You have no idea.”
“How long is she going to stay there?”
“Until Amanda is caught, I guess.” Meera stares into her overpriced cocktail, willing herself not to cry. “Do I have any other option? I need to keep her safe.” Since that night at Talia’s place, when they found the note in the bathroom, Meera hasn’t even spoken to the cops—thoughshe was tempted to after the incident in the park with Gracie. With Amanda after her daughter now, it made sense to involve herself in this mess as little as possible. And that meant no police.
Talia deflates, sinking back into her velvet club chair. “I’m sorry, Meer,” she says again. “Really, I am. You didn’t ask for any of this, and yet you’ve found yourself in the middle of everything.”
“It’s not your fault,” says Meera, before adding under her breath, “It’s Townsend who should be sorry.”
“What about Townsend?”
“Forget it.” Meera shakes her head. She’s not looking to start an argument. “How are you two doing?”
“We’re good. Really good, actually.” Lips curling into a grin, Talia leans forward conspiringly. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Always.”
“I think he’s going to propose soon.”
The admission hits her like a punch to the throat. Meera lets out an involuntary gasp. “Already?”
