Saving Kabul Corner (14 page)

“S
OMEBODY, GET THE DOOR
!” hollered Nasreen as the bell rang the next afternoon.

With none of her brothers in sight or earshot, Ariana trudged over to see who it was. As the door swung open, she froze. It was Officer Nguyen and his partner standing on the front step. As she took in his friendly, tanned face, the line he'd written in the police report flashed in her mind.
We found no sign of forcible entry into the store.
For a brief second she was tempted to blurt out that a mysterious third party might be behind the horse meat flyers and the break-in at Kabul Corner. But she kept her mouth shut. Officer Nguyen would most probably think she had an overactive imagination, especially since there was no real proof to support the claim.

“Hello,” she croaked, taking a steadying breath.

“Hi there. Is Jamil Shinwari home?” asked Officer Nguyen.

“Uh, yeah,” said Ariana. “I'll go get him.” She raced to the kitchen, where her father was reading the newspaper over a cup of tea and uneaten toast.

“Dad, Officer Nguyen is at the door with his partner. He wants to talk to you.” Jamil practically jumped from his seat, his body tense as he rushed to the door. Ariana followed him back, noticing that he looked thinner; all the stress of the past few months was taking a terrible toll on his health and he was barely eating or sleeping.

“Good morning, Officer Nguyen,” said Jamil. “Is there another problem at Kabul Corner?”

“No, nothing happened at your store.”

“Thank goodness,” said Jamil, his smile strained.

“But we're here because of another incident at Wong Plaza,” explained Officer Nguyen. “There was a fire at another store there last night.”

“Oh, no,” said Jamil, gripping the door, his knuckles white.

“Unfortunately, the damage to Pamir Market was severe,” he added, pulling out his notebook.

“Pamir Market?” Jamil repeated, the color draining from his face.

What?
thought Ariana.
How could this have happened?
Then she remembered the wail of the fire trucks passing by the night before.

“It looks like an accident,” said Officer Nguyen.

“An accident?” repeated Jamil, as if not quite believing the news.

“Yes, one of the ovens in the bakery short-circuited, causing an electrical fire.”

An oven caught on fire?
thought Ariana.
That sounds way too convenient.
“There was no sign of a break-in?” she blurted out before she could stop herself.

Her father and Officer Nguyen both gave her an odd look. “Actually, no. There was no sign of forced entry. Both the front and back doors were locked when the fire department arrived.”

“Oh,” muttered Ariana, and she ducked away into the living room, still within earshot of what they were saying.
There was no forced entry, like at Kabul Corner!

“We're asking all the tenants a few questions.”

“Of course,” said Jamil.

“Can you tell us where you were last evening, between six and eight o'clock?”

“I was home,” said Jamil, “handing out candy to trick-or-treaters. My wife and mother were home with me.”

Ten minutes later the police were gone and Jamil left for the store. Ariana paced the kitchen, not fully comprehending what had happened. Laila sat at the table, a forgotten bowl of soggy cornflakes in front of her.

“I looked for Wali at school all day and now I know why he wasn't there,” exclaimed Ariana. “I bet his father is going to blame the fire on Father. I just know it.”

Laila nodded. “Call him. Find out what's going on at his house.”

Ariana dialed Wali's number with shaking fingers, hoping his father wouldn't pick up. A feminine voice answered the phone.

“Hi, um . . . this is Wali's friend from school. Is he home?” Ariana asked.

“Just a sec,” the voice replied.

“Hello?” said Wali.

“Wali, it's Ari,” she said breathlessly.

“Hold on,” he whispered. “I've got to find a quiet place to talk.” There was a rustling noise and the click of a door closing.

“I'm so sorry about your store,” Ariana burst out. “A police officer just came to our house and told us about the fire.”

There was a pause at the other end of the line, and Ariana's heart pounded at twice the speed.
Does he think my father or Uncle Shams did it?
“My father didn't have anything to do with it,” she said, close to tears. “I swear—he was at home giving candy out to the trick-or-treaters. My uncle was at his house too.”

“I believe you,” Wali finally whispered. “But my dad is beyond angry. All the money he put into the store is gone. He wants
badal
.”

Ariana sank to the kitchen floor, clutching the phone to her ear. She glanced at Laila, who mouthed
Ronald Hammersmith
to her. Ariana nodded. “Hang in there, Wali. I'm going to call Ronald Hammersmith's office and find out the name of his printer,” she said. “Maybe that will get us closer to whoever is behind all of this. I'll call you right back.”

“Okay,” said Wali. “I'll be here.”

Ariana ran into the garage, followed by Laila. Inside the file of clues lay Ronald's campaign flyer with his website address. Within seconds Ronald's smile filled the screen. He sat beside his wife and two sons, posing next to a vibrant rose garden blooming beside a sprawling mansion. The white stucco and red tile roof reminded Ariana of the house they would never own, and she felt a twinge of sadness. The other night she'd been tempted to ask her dad if he'd forfeited the deposit, but hadn't had the guts to do it.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself. We have a mystery to solve before it's too late.
On the right side of the screen was a button labeled
Contact us
. She clicked through and found the address for his campaign headquarters, which was located at his office building, along with his e-mail address and phone number.

A breathless woman picked up the phone after a few rings. “Ronald Hammersmith for mayor, campaign headquarters. How can I help you?”

“Hi,” said Ariana. “I'm a big supporter of Mr. Hammersmith and need some information about his campaign.”

Laila gave her a thumbs-up.

“Oh, is this the press?” asked the woman. “Ronald is happy to make time for an interview, though elections are four days away.”

That's right
, thought Ariana. Elections were the first Tuesday in November.

“No, no, I'm not from the press,” said Ariana hastily.

There was a momentary silence at the other end. “Oh, then what can I help you with?” asked the woman, sounding less interested.

“You see,” said Ariana, “I'm a student from ­Brookhaven Middle School in Fremont, and I'm the president of a club called the . . . er . . . the Green Recycling Society. Our teacher told us that Mr. Hammersmith is dedicated to green practices and that he uses recycled paper for his campaign flyers.”

Ariana collapsed in a chair, slapping her head.
I sound like a moron!

Laila patted her on the shoulder. “You're doing great,” she whispered.

“Recycling society?” said the woman. “Look, honey, elections are coming up and things are very busy here.”

“I know. I'm
really
sorry to bother you, It's just that we wanted to know where you had your
amazing
­flyers printed up.”

“Is that it?” grumbled the woman.

“Uh, yes,” said Ariana, her fingers crossed.

There was a pause and a long sigh. “Hold on. Let me look that up for you.”

Ariana jumped up and down and gave Laila the thumbs-up.

• • • 

Leaf Designs was located in downtown Fremont, on the corner of Mowry Avenue and Paseo Padre Parkway. Ariana was winded after the twenty-minute bike ride there. Wali was waiting by his bike, helmet in hand.

“Before we go in, I have something to tell you,” said Ariana, huffing from the long ride. “Something Officer Nguyen mentioned when he was at our house.”

“Okay,” said Wali. He looked terrible. His usually smooth hair was in tangles, and he had circles under his eyes as if he hadn't slept for days.

“He said that both the doors at Pamir Market were locked when the fire department got there.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Wali. “The fire marshal explained that to my dad, and that's why he doesn't know whether to be mad at you guys or not. There's no proof someone broke in and started the fire. Supposedly one of the ovens shorted, causing a spark.”

“I know, but then Officer Nguyen used the same words he'd written in the break-in report for Kabul Corner. He said there was
no sign of forced entry
.”

“But why is that so strange?” asked Wali, rubbing his eyes as if his head hurt. “Only my dad and Tofan
Baba
have keys to the store, and they locked up before they left. No one else could have gotten in without a key, or locked up after.”

“Well, what if someone wanted to make it look like an accident?” pondered Ariana, pacing next to their bikes. “Whoever got into Kabul Corner didn't have a key either—only my dad and Uncle Shams did. Maybe someone got into Pamir Market the same way, without using force, set the fire, and locked the doors behind them when they came out, covering their tracks.”

“But who would go to so much trouble?” said Wali.

“That's what we need to find out,” said Ariana, her fist clenched.

Wali paused a moment as he opened the door for her. “You know, we wouldn't have gotten this far if it weren't for you,” he murmured.

“It's just that I . . . well, I pay attention to details,” said Ariana, her cheeks reddening.

“Yeah, well, we're darn lucky that you do,” he said, allowing her to pass through.

With the two flyers safely in a folder, she practically ran into the brightly lit store, which thankfully didn't have too long a line at the counter.

“Hi. My name is Melody. How can I help you today?” asked the petite clerk with long, frizzy brown hair. Her bright green shirt had a leaf stenciled on the pocket.

Ariana pulled out Ronald's campaign flyer and placed it on the counter. “Mr. Hammersmith's staff mentioned that they had these printed here.”

“Oh, yeah,” she said with a white toothy smile. “We designed and printed these up for them. They spared no expense, only wanted the best. They have a lot of their printing done here. They say we're the best in town.”

“It's really very nice,” said Wali, causing the girl to smile wider.

Ariana pulled out the bright yellow horse meat flyer and placed it beside the other one. “Was this printed here too?”

Melody frowned, picking up the flyer. “We didn't design this,” she said, causing Ariana's heart to plummet. “But yes, we did print them.”

Wali and Ariana exchanged a triumphant look.

“Who was it?” they asked in unison.

“Huh?” asked Melody.

“We mean, who placed the order?” asked Wali, his excitement coursing toward Ariana like an electric current.

Melody frowned. “Well, it's against our company policy to share customer information.”

Disappointment left a bitter taste in Ariana's mouth.
We've come so close to finding out!

“Look,” said Wali, giving her his most charming smile. “I realize you don't want to break any rules or anything, but this is really important. Mr. Hammersmith wouldn't have sent us to you if it weren't.”

Ariana blinked at the white lie, and caught on to what Wali was trying to do. Ronald hadn't
exactly
sent them
personally
; his secretary had just given them their printer's name. But the fib seemed to have gotten Melody's attention, and she stared at the flyer, biting her lower lip.

“Ronald said you would totally help us out,” ­Ariana jumped in.

“Oh,” said Melody, looking a little confused as ­Ariana apologized to God for yet another white lie.

“Yup, that's what he said,” emphasized Wali.

“Okay. It's a little odd he'd say that, but I guess I can tell you who it is, since you already kind of know,” said Melody.

Ariana shared a confused look with Wali, who asked, “We already know?”

“Well, yeah,” said Melody. “It was his assistant.”

“Whose assistant?” asked Ariana, perplexed.

Melody's friendly smile faded as she stared at them with uncertainty in her eyes.

“Oh,
that
assistant,” said Wali with a fake laugh. “There are
so
many of them.”

Ariana looked at Wali like he'd lost his marbles.

Melody shrugged. “Yeah, I know. Mr. Hammersmith has a lot of people who work for him. They're always coming in and out of here, but I'm talking about Paige, the tall girl with the long blond hair.”