The Sari Shop Widow (11 page)

“All right.” Jeevan deposited the gun on the table and went back to finishing his meal, astounding Anjali once again. Five years ago, he would have done exactly as he pleased, but now he’d actually agreed to abide by his young partner’s request.

What sort of hold did Shah have over her uncle? No one else had that kind of influence over the old man. But whatever it was, it worked, and she was grateful. For now, the gun was safely out of her uncle’s hands.

Anjali sent Rishi Shah a silent look of thanks across the table. He acknowledged it with a nod and went back to eating. The food was terribly bland this time around because of Jeevan-kaka’s gastric problems, but nobody was complaining—not even Jeevan-kaka.

The rest of the folks still seemed a bit on edge. Sejal and her mother threw quick, nervous glances at the gun. Nilesh was still sulking from his mother’s reprimand.

Anjali felt her stomach tremble at the thought of having a firearm in the house, in the hands of a madman like her uncle. She wasn’t sure if he knew how to use it properly. She also wondered how Shah put up with that sort of thing. Unless…he carried a gun, too? Was that why he was serenely polishing off the food on his plate, like a gun on the dining table was an everyday occurrence?

Her uncle had said he needed a firearm to protect himself in present-day rural India. Anjali had often wondered why her uncle had moved from his spacious city home in Anand to his farm in the country, and why he’d continued to live there when all his siblings lived either in the U.S. or the U.K. But then he had a lot of his money invested in Gujarat, a legacy that had come down from his father, Anjali’s grandfather, who’d started out as a clerk but had worked hard to start a small cloth mill and eventually succeeded.

As the meal came to an end, Anjali was somewhat grateful for the gun episode because it had diverted her uncle’s attention from the food. Another round of critical comments about her mother’s cooking would have resulted in some major fireworks. Although the rest of the group was made up of family, Rishi Shah was an outsider and she didn’t want the embarrassment of a family feud in his presence.

A little later, her mother brought out dessert—
doodh paak
. She had remembered to make a separate batch with low-fat milk and a sugar substitute for Jeevan-kaka. Anjali watched him finish two helpings of the rice pudding garnished with almonds and pistachios.

Anjali’s aunt and cousin helped wash the dishes and when the kitchen was neat and clean once again, everyone settled down in the family room to chat over a cup of
chai.

What caught Anjali’s eye was her cousin Sejal slanting coy glances at Rishi Shah. Was shy little Sejal beginning to develop a mild crush on Shah? It was understandable, of course. Sejal was raised in a very strict home and not allowed any real social contact with men except the nice and nerdy Gujarati guys her parents tried to fix her up with.

Shah, on the other hand, was an entirely different species of male: suave, successful, older, and far more mature than the men Sejal was used to. He exuded cool confidence—exactly what Sejal would consider sexy and a bit of a challenge. And his unusual Caucasian looks were probably enticing, too. More disturbing was Shah catching Sejal’s eye once or twice and smiling—just a quiet hint of a smile, but a smile nevertheless.

Sejal blushed violently each time.

Anjali bristled. Shah was flirting with her young cousin. If he thought he could find some free entertainment in Sejal during his visit to the U.S. he was sadly mistaken. He could even be married, with kids. Well, if he made a move on Sejal, Anjali would tell Jeevan-kaka about him and have Shah properly chastised.

But somehow Anjali doubted if anything or anyone could intimidate Shah. He looked much too self-assured to be easily scared away, and looked entirely too comfortable in the U.S.

Chapter 8

A
njali came awake to the ear-shattering sound of a bell ringing. What the heck was that? Then it struck her. The house was on fire! She shot out of bed, the adrenaline instantly spiking in her blood. It was dark in her room and she groped frantically for the light switch till she found it. At least the electricity was still on.

With no thought other than to get herself and everyone in the family out of the house, she opened the bedroom door and ran down the hallway yelling, “Fire, you guys! Get out!”

Her heartbeat thundering in her ears, she managed to turn on the hallway light and sped down the stairs. Downstairs in the foyer, she skidded to a stop. Oh God! Nilesh was sleeping in the basement. What if the fire had started there? That boy was so careless sometimes.

She ran to the kitchen, opened the door that led to the basement, and stumbled downstairs in the dark, yelling again. “Nil! Honey, get out! Fire!”

Turning on the basement light with shaking fingers, she looked around. Nilesh was stretched out on his stomach, his head buried under the pillow. Her heart skipped a beat. Was her baby brother unconscious from breathing carbon monoxide fumes? She rushed up to the sofa bed and poked a finger at the long, hairy leg that stuck out of the covers. “Nil?” No response. “Nilesh?”

Nilesh stirred a little, shifted, and went right back to sleep. Fear zipped through her chest. He wasn’t waking up. Oh boy! That wasn’t a good sign. She poked him hard in the back this time. “Nil…baby…”

“Damn it!” Nilesh turned onto his back and tore the pillow off his face. “What the fuck are you doing?” He squinted at her.

She bent down and peered at him. He seemed okay. “There’s a fire, you silly boy. Get out of bed. Now!”

He frowned at her and snorted like a cantankerous horse. “What fire?”

“Don’t you hear the alarm? It’s been screaming for several minutes.”

He sat up groggily. “What the—” He shook his head. “That’s not what our fire alarm sounds like. That sounds like…” He listened more carefully. “Like temple bells.”

Several sets of quick footsteps could be heard stomping on the floor above. The others had obviously woken up and rushed downstairs. Anjali cocked her ears. “You’re right; it does sound like bells.”

Her father came down, his hair standing on end and his hunter green pajamas looking rumpled. “What are you two doing? Your mom and I are trying to get some sleep.”

Nilesh pointed an accusing finger at Anjali. “It’s
her
fault. She’s running around screaming like a damn lunatic. She stabbed me in the back and disturbed my sleep, too.”

“Oh stop it, you big crybaby. I didn’t stab you.” Anjali turned to her father with a sheepish look. “It sounded like a fire alarm, so I decided to wake everyone up.”

“And you did a fine job! Now we’re all up.” Her father ran all ten fingers through his hair and stared at her.

Before Anjali could say anything else, her mother appeared on the steps, wrapped in a pretty pink robe, frowning delicately. “What is all this commotion about?”

Anjali glanced at her mother, wondering how she could look so good at such an ungodly hour while her father looked like a troll. “Mom, what on earth is that sound if it’s not the fire alarm?”

Usha sighed long and loud. “It’s your uncle doing his morning
pooja
. He has brought a big brass bell for the purpose. I forgot to tell you last night.”

“Oh man, I should have known it was Jeevan-kaka. The guy’s a menace.” Nilesh stuck his fingers in his ears and fell back on his bed. “Just shut the fucking door, you guys, and let me get some sleep.”

“No need for obscenities,” Usha warned Nilesh, then turned around and started up the stairs, with Mohan in tow. “Let’s all get some sleep. It’s only four-fifty in the morning.”

Anjali stood still for a second, the clanging bell wreaking havoc on her already frayed nerves. “Oh, Jeevan-kaka, what am I going to do with you?” She stomped up the stairs and shut off the stairway light before closing the door. “The man needs to be brought under control,” she murmured to herself.

The sound of the bell was coming from the family room and the light was on in there, so she headed toward it, fully prepared to deliver a lecture to her uncle.

She found Jeevan-kaka dressed in nothing but white pajamas. Sitting cross-legged on the floor with his bare, hairy back to her, he looked like a hunched-up teddy bear. His bald head was sprinkled with age spots of various sizes and shades of brown. A low stool with silver idols of Krishna and Ganesh was placed in front of him. In his right hand he had a huge bell that he was swinging with all his might.

He was chanting something in a low murmur and seemed entirely immersed in his ritualistic homage to the gods. An incense stick burned in a small silver holder, perfuming the air with some sort of tropical floral scent, and a tea light flickered before the idols.

Anjali was tempted to rush in, seize the bell from his hand, and toss it out the window, but something stopped her. Her uncle looked peaceful, despite the racket created by the bell. All the rest of the noise—her yelling and the family running up and down the stairs—had apparently not made a dent in his concentration.

She stood in the doorway, contemplating. Since when had the wily fox become so spiritual anyway? Five years ago he wasn’t into anything religious. She’d have remembered the bell, if nothing else. Back then, all he had cared about was money. How to make lots of it. And how to keep all of it.

Gradually her irritation receded. He was just an odd old man praying. A bit extreme to conduct one’s
pooja
in such a thoughtless manner, but he was still being a devout Hindu. What could she do but overlook it?

With a resigned sigh she headed back upstairs. With any luck, she’d be able to stuff some cotton balls in her ears and get a couple of hours of sleep. The
pooja
had to end at some point. She hadn’t been able to fall asleep until well after midnight. Jeevan-kaka’s gun and Rishi Shah’s silent flirtation with Sejal had bothered her.

Speaking of Shah, as she reached the landing she saw him leaning against the frame of his bedroom door, arms folded across his middle. Other than the navy robe, worn over navy pajamas, and big bare feet, there was no other sign of his having been awakened unexpectedly. His hair looked neat and even the dark shadow of beard didn’t look all that out of place. His gaze was fixed on her. “Is the fire emergency over, Miss Kapadia?”

She sent him an apologetic look. “Sorry, but Jeevan-kaka’s bell sounded like the fire alarm. It was a gut reaction on my part.”

To her surprise, Shah smiled, sending a mild and unexpected flutter through her system. “I don’t blame you. It is rather loud.”

“It’s enough to bust one’s eardrums. I don’t know when he became so religious. He wasn’t into this kind of stuff the last time he stayed with us.”

“He’s been at it for a while now. And you’re not the first to mistake his bell for a fire alarm.”

“No?” She wasn’t a lunatic after all.

“We were in a hotel in Singapore last year and several of the guests on our floor ran out into the corridor half naked and screaming bloody fire because of his bell.”

Anjali couldn’t help chuckling. “He performed his
pooja
in a hotel room?”

“He takes his morning worship very seriously. I was in the bathroom when his bell pealed and I rushed out with just a towel covering me. I made a complete idiot of myself and sent one nice old English lady into a dead faint.”

Despite her misgivings about Shah, Anjali burst out laughing. “A serious attack of the vapors, as some old-fashioned Brits would say.” She couldn’t stop laughing. Maybe because of the lingering effects of the adrenaline, she nearly doubled over with mirth.

She could only imagine the chaos in a grand hotel, with those prim and proper rich folks running around, distressed about being seen in all their semi-naked glory. Her hilarity abruptly subsided when she remembered the last part of his anecdote. “You didn’t really run outside with just a…towel, did you?”

His eyes danced with humor. “I did, and I must have looked like a clown, too. I had shaving cream over half my face.”

Anjali’s stomach clenched. Holy cow, he looked good when he laughed. His eyes turned to pure smoke. She couldn’t help the hot color rising in her cheeks. She was picturing him wearing nothing but a scrap of cloth, and the image was…driving her pulse rate up. “W-what did you do?”

“I convinced Jeevan-kaka to use a smaller and less boisterous bell. I even went out and bought him a small bell from a souvenir shop.”

“Did the old tyrant agree to use it?”

Shah drew a dramatic breath. “Yes, a bit reluctantly. But then we had another catastrophe the next morning.”

“No!”

“His incense sticks, those jasmine
agarbattis
he uses, set off the real smoke alarm and it was bedlam once again at five A.M. in the hotel.”

She went into a hysterical fit of laughter again. She could picture the pandemonium the second time around. “So what happened then?”

“We very nearly got ousted from the hotel, but I had a talk with the hotel’s management. The owner happens to be an acquaintance of mine.”

“Damage control, huh?” Suddenly conscious that her hair was a complete mess and she was dressed in a skimpy, emerald green nightgown with no sleeves and a low neck, she moved quickly toward her bedroom door. The hemline barely came down to mid-thigh and her legs were completely bare. Now
she
felt almost naked. “I…uh…think I’ll try to get some sleep now. You might want to do the same.”

“Miss Kapadia.”

“Hmm?”

“You have splendid legs.”

She drew in a sharp breath. “Oh.” She frowned. “Oh.” She had no idea how to handle that.

“A modern American woman like you ought to be able to handle a simple compliment.” The amusement still lurked in his eyes.

She stepped inside her room and shut the door, then stood leaning against it, shaking. He was definitely a very strange man.

But he sure looked good in his monogrammed silk robe, and his smile was brilliant. And best of all, he’d laughed at himself when he’d recounted his hotel escapade and Jeevan-kaka’s bells. Now that she thought about it, she wasn’t sure if Shah had made it all up just to amuse her.