The Cosmic Clues (35 page)

Nidhi put out a paw and played with the tiny silver bell hanging on the Christmas tree. As the bell swung, the cat cocked her head and stared at it. Sonia laughed.

“Don't you dare contemplate pulling off my decorations,” she warned the cat, as she placed a star on top of the tree.

“You really meant it!” Mohnish exclaimed, observing the activity in the inner room of the office.

“Meant what?” Sonia asked over her shoulder.

“That you celebrate Christmas, although you are a Hindu. I remember you specifically added that to your long list of likes in our second meeting!” Mohnish settled into a chair.

“Doesn't the tree look beautiful? Nidhi loves it, too!” Sonia stepped back and admired her work. “I've asked Jatin to fetch some thermacol for snow.”

The three-foot tree in a medium-sized earthen pot was placed on the multi-coloured Panchgani carpet, beside the window. Laden with silver and gold paper frills and curls, the fir tree looked charming. Gifts, wrapped in glossy paper, nestled at its foot, and tiny ones even hung from the branches.

“It's amazing! You take this as seriously as a true Christian.” Mohnish couldn't hide the surprise he felt. “How did this come about—I mean, you celebrating Christmas?”

“Oh, it's a long story. You wouldn't be interested.” Sonia turned from the tree and lifted the curious Nidhi, before the cat was tempted to fiddle with any more bells.

“Try me,” he offered.

“Okay!” Sonia seated herself in her chair and Nidhi immediately curled up in the warmth of her lap. “I studied in a convent school, where nuns taught us. I was in the first standard when my teacher explained how Santa Claus comes home on Christmas Eve and brings presents for good children, stuffing them into their stockings. I was curious. I went home and asked my parents if that was true. My mom confirmed it and suggested that I try putting up my stocking on Christmas Eve. I was a little anxious because I was not a Christian, but my mom assured me that it made no difference to Santa. A good child is a good child! So that twenty-fourth, I brought a tree and decorated it and put up my socks. At the stroke of twelve, I cut a cake for Jesus and prayed. Then I tried to sleep, but I was so excited that I lay awake for hours hoping to meet Santa. But of course, I didn't. Then on Christmas morning, I saw these gifts around the tree and I was so happy! After that, I celebrated Christmas every year, and Santa never failed me. I really and truly believed in him. As I grew up, I went to church on Christmas Eve and prayed—I still do sometimes.”

Mohnish gazed at the serenity that had stolen over her face. “But that wasn't really Santa, was it?” he prompted.

“No, of course not. It was my mom. She was so good at making me believe in Santa. She would hang up strings of sweets with Dad's help and later I could even write letters to Santa. I tried to be especially good the whole year, just so that Santa could visit a Hindu household.” An amused smile lit up Sonia's face. “I was in the eighth standard when a friend declared that Santa did not exist. I challenged her, insisting that he did and that he visited my house every year. She laughed at me and called me a baby. It was then that I realized the truth. I cried and cried! I was heartbroken! It was not just the gifts. It was my total belief in a father figure, in magic, in the rewards of being good. . . . My mom had to work hard at consoling me. She explained to me how Santa and the concept behind him could live on. We could give each other gifts and continue our very own Christmas. This would be the time of the year when we would think of others, give them what they need in the form of gifts, and spread peace and harmony. I love the month of December. It heralds the arrival of Christmas, the season of peace and harmony. I truly love it.”

“Wow! What a fascinating story.” Mohnish expelled a slow sigh.

“I've never told this to anyone,” Sonia added, a little abashedly.

“Thank you for sharing it with me.” Mohnish held Sonia's gaze.

“This year my parents are out of town, so I thought I'd celebrate the festival in the office, which is the day after tomorrow. It will also be Stellar Investigations' first Christmas. I have a present for the office, as well!”

“Boss, does that mean we have to buy presents for you, too?” Jatin entered, with a box of thermacol.

“No compulsions,” Sonia assured him, although she'd noticed that her assistant had already hung up a colored parcel on the tree. “And anyway, it's the thought that counts.”

Mohnish's mobile trilled. He took one look at it and rose. “Well, I've got to get going.”

“Be here on Christmas morning to open your present,” Sonia reminded him lightly.

“I will. Bye.”

Sonia glanced out of her bedroom window. The man was still on the same spot. Reading a newspaper and leaning casually against a Banyan tree. She frowned. She felt positive now that he was keeping a watch on their bungalow. Attired in casual blue jeans and a grey shirt, he'd been standing under that tree for the last hour. She didn't like it one bit. Who was he and what did he want?

Ten minutes later, she stepped resolutely out of the house and reversed the van out of the garage. At the gate, however, she paused, deliberately looking in the direction of the tree. The man had vanished. Thank God. Perhaps she'd been wrong after all. The overtime work of her skeptical detective mind, she realized.

Jatin was already in the office, intently reading a book on Astrology. He greeted her with a bright smile.

“Good morning, Boss!”

“Good morning.”

“Firstly, Mohnish was here. He waited for you for quite a while in your office but finally left. I think he's added a gift to your tree! And secondly, your active admirer has sent you another bouquet of fresh, sweet-scented roses!” he reported with a grin. “I've left it on your table.”

“Thanks.” Sonia nodded.

The bouquet looked inviting and pretty as it sat waiting to be appreciated. Sonia hung up her handbag and glanced at the card.

There's so much I want to say,
So much I must tell you.
For me, it's a year—a day
When I don't see you!
How long will this go on?
When will the sun shine?
Will I never see dawn?
Will you never be mine? . . .

Sonia stared at the lines of the poem, printed in a beautiful hand. It was signed “Your Secret Admirer.” She frowned.

She'd received roses before of course, each with a card signed “Secret Admirer.” Despite his denials, she'd assumed that the sender was Mohnish. But for the first time, she was disturbed. The poetic lines were poignant. If meant in earnest, they could spell trouble. She shook her head, smiling. Now she was taking this a bit too seriously. It was meant to be just a joke and she ought to treat it as one. She picked up the bouquet, so as to move it near the window, and as she did so, her eye fell on a white envelope and a leather wallet beside it. She flicked the wallet open and realized at once that it belonged to Mohnish. He must have forgotten it on the table. She shut it immediately. For a moment, she was tempted to riffle through its contents, but tamped the thought. She laughed. Her curiosity was certainly playing dangerous games today. Her personal interests were infringing on her investigative ethics. She took up the envelope instead and extracted a single sheet of paper. Surprise speared through her as she read the scrawled, handwritten words.
Midnight. The Owl.

The Owl? In Mohnish's handwriting? What did it mean? Apparently, he'd forgotten both his wallet and the envelope while waiting for her. Sonia sat down at the table, her mind churning out a combination of ideas and answers. What did she know about Mohnish? Nothing really, except that he was a journalist, appeared on and off on Television, and owned a flower shop, a garage, and a photo studio. But he hardly ever seemed to be working. And he hardly ever appeared to write! He materialized at her office when his heart pleased and vanished just as mysteriously. And she still had not forgotten how he had appeared in Panchgani, where she'd attended the film shoot—almost as if he were following her.
Mysterious.
The word lingered in her mind. It was time to take a good long look at Mohnish's horoscope. She'd taken it from him weeks before with a view to studying it, but had never got down to it. Now was as good a time as any.

She opened the drawer and extracted a cream booklet. Moon sign Sagittarius with Scorpio in the ascendant. Sun in the first house in conjunction with Jupiter, Mercury, Neptune, and Venus. That's where his good looks came from. Not to mention a highly imaginative brain, courage, and dynamism. It also indicated a great deal of success and fame. But on the flip side, Saturn also aspected the first house. It certainly revealed a streak—a cunning streak. Uranus or Harshal in the eleventh house. Strange array of friends—eccentric, whimsical, dubious? Sonia paused. Mohnish's horoscope had told her more than she'd have ever discovered from him. One thing was for sure, there was more to this man than he let on. Which provided her with the perfect motive to try to strip away the hidden layers of Mohnish Rai.

A little distraught, Sonia fondled Nidhi, who was basking in the winter sun. The cat was more interested in pawing the silver bells on the Christmas tree, to see them swing, than in paying attention to her troubled mistress. Sonia moved her hand over the little cat's steel-studded leather collar and wondered for the nth time who the little animal belonged to.

Jatin bustled in, looking positively excited.

“Boss, there's a guy outside who looks like a film star! In fact, I'm quite sure he is a film star. He's too handsome not to be one!” Jatin gushed.

Sonia was amused. “Doesn't sound like a client to me.”

“Client or not, it's worth meeting him,” her assistant proclaimed.

“And what happened to all those fancy ideas of postponing appointments for a week, creating an image . . .” Sonia teased.

“Exceptions to every rule, Boss. This is one, mark my words. This guy spells business,” Jatin prophesied.

“Fine, send him in.”

Sonia automatically adjusted her lemon-yellow
kameez
and
duppatta.
The upsurge of her inherent curiosity amused her. Knowing how finicky Jatin was, she was all the more keen to meet this definition of film-star looks.

The door swung open and she glanced up. A pair of sea-green eyes set in a lean, fair-complexioned face studied her. A strong chin and thick brown hair, swept backwards to reveal a shapely forehead. Veering on mid-thirties; more than six feet tall, with a perfect body which emanated dynamism; a presence. The stranger almost took Sonia's breath away.

“Hello!” His voice was deep and cultured and laced with the faintest accent. “Sonia Samarth?”

“That's me!”

“Varun Thakur.” He proffered his hand.

She took it. It was an unimpeachable and flawless handshake. Firm, friendly, and warm.

“Please sit down and tell me what I can do for you,” she offered.

Varun drew a chair. “Thank you. I must admit that I've come here on impulse.” He had a pearly set of teeth. And a dazzling smile. Jatin couldn't have been more right. He really was a specimen of good looks.

“Impulse?” Sonia raised an eyebrow.

“Let me explain. I'm heading the Orphan Children's Centre in the South Asia region and we are planning a big function, with plenty of competitions for children. I want you to be the Chief Guest.”

“Chief Guest!” Sonia remarked, astonished. No one had ever invited her to be one before.

“And that's not all. I was wondering if you could design a game for the children—you know, the treasure hunt kind?” His smile widened disarmingly.

“A game? I'm afraid I'm not good at such things,” Sonia admitted.

“Oh, don't worry, I'll help you. And there's another thing,” he added almost apologetically. “Two of the teenagers from the Orphan Centre have fallen in love and are very determined to get married. I've kept them on hold, saying that we should at least match their horoscopes. But as luck would have it, we don't have their horoscopes. I was wondering if there's any way of finding out if the two are compatible?”

“Yes, there is. But unfortunately, I don't do matchmaking. I use my Astrology knowledge exclusively for resolving crime-related issues,” Sonia explained.

“Oh, I'm aware of that. I just felt that since these are orphans you would make an exception. . . .” His green eyes were on her.