Cinnamon and cardamom and other crushed spices laid a film on my tongue that I couldn’t wait to wash out with water. “Wow,” I said. “Can’t believe you managed this with the ingredients you had.”
“I had to grind it all up with a makeshift—” Her head spun to Diya, who’d put her chai aside and was getting shakily to her feet. “Dee?”
“I feel a little sick.” She shot me a look when I started to rise.
Oh.
I let Shumi jump to her aid. “Do you want to go to the bathroom?” the other woman said.
Diya nodded.
I’d had a whole excuse lined up about how Diya hated having me see her be sick, should Shumi turn to me, but the other woman walked Diya out without giving me a second look.
I was up and off the sofa a second after they vanished around the corner, and by the time they returned, the poor potted plant had had a healthy drink of lukewarm chai—but I’d left a little bit at the bottom of the cup, the part thick with masala.
I wasn’t stupid. I knew how to cover my chai-hating tracks.
The sound of voices in the hallway. “Baby.” I rose when Diya and Shumi walked back in. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. Just stress, I guess.” She came into my arms for a cuddle before taking a seat again and picking up her chai to finish it. “Did you already guzzle yours?”
“Hey, it’s good.” Retaking my seat, I met Shumi’s eyes. “Thanks, Shumi.”
She smiled, but it was wrong, all tight and fragile.Shit.The breakdown was coming. I squeezed Diya’s hand between our bodies, and she squeezed back.
“Shall we watch some TV?” she suggested. “How about that matchmaking show, Shumi? You love Auntie Seema.”
“Ugh, she’s such a harridan.” Shumi finished off her own chai. “And yet strangely watchable.”
The two women shared a smile before Diya picked up the remote. Taking it from her, I said, “Man privileges,” but what I really wanted was to ensure Diya didn’t accidentally trigger a news channel.
Ackerson had tipped me off that at least two major journalists were determined to dig deeper into the story of the Lake Tarawera Incident, as it had become known—figure out all the layers of it. “One’s even starting to wonder if Bobby could’ve been a serialkiller—I feel for Andrea Smithy-Carr, but she’s making my job very fucking hard.”
Yet, despite the statement, there’d been an edge to her voice. And I knew Detective Ackerson was already looking into that possibility herself. Especially since she knew about Ani.
Those two specific senior journalists had been keeping the story alive on television, too—no knowing if tonight was one of the nights they’d feature the murders again from some new angle. It was mostly talking heads, but the last thing Diya and Shumi needed was for photographs of their family to be flashed on-screen.
It was even worse because the media had been using photos from the engagement party since the day of the murders. Those had been the newest photos and the easiest to acquire due to the number of guests who’d shared images online. The cynical part of me knew that the photos from the party also had the most mass appeal because of the contrast with the horrific events of the morning after.
One particular photo that included the entire family laughing and holding each other, everyone dressed to the nines, had become the lead photograph on all the stories. I wasn’t in it because I’d taken it. I’d then immediately sent it to the entire family—and Sarita had apparently uploaded it to her public social media page early the morning of the fire, next to a photo of a toddler Diya wearing a floofy blue dress.
Can’t believe my baby girl is engaged!
“Bobby liked to be the king of the remote, too,” Shumi said just then, her voice strangely flat.
I shot Diya a look but she gave me a small shake of the head.
So I navigated directly to the streaming channel that hosted the show.
The two women focused too intently on it, their comments light,as if they had not a single care in the world. Shumi close to breakdown and Diya on edge waiting for it.
Diya began to get quieter ten minutes in and I wasn’t surprised when she yawned and snuggled into me. Putting my arm around her, I glanced over at Shumi, who was also looking heavy eyed.
Good, maybe the other woman would sleep through the worst of the crash and we could all be fresh in the morning when we had to face the confronting truth.
I wasn’t feeling exactly wide-awake myself, but I didn’t want to leave Shumi alone, and she was still fighting sleep. So I kept on watching Auntie Seema try to match these men and women who…
…humming.
