Tulip Season (11 page)

Mitra rose from the sofa. She loved her mother to a degree that went beyond the rational. How desperately she wanted to close the distance between them and establish a deeper intimacy that allowed no secrets to lurk.

SEVENTEEN

A DAY LATER,
on a balmy afternoon, the doorbell shrilled and Mitra saw Veen standing there. She flung one arm around Mitra in an embrace. On the other arm, she toted a plastic bag containing several cartons of food. In a camel-colored pantsuit, Veen appeared professional, as well as approachable, but Mitra couldn't ignore the look of concern on her face.

“I decided to bring you dinner,” Veen said. “You probably won't even eat otherwise.”

They settled on a bench in Mitra's backyard and served themselves pullao rice, vegetable kebob, samosa, mint chutney, and lustrous chai, all carried out from Bombay Grill on Roosevelt Street.

A stray black curl straggled down Veen's forehead. “I wanted to see you before I left,” she said. “I'm taking off for Bangalore tomorrow to attend my niece's wedding. It happened quite suddenly. She's younger than me and getting married. That's not fair. You know how in India they think you're an old maid if a younger sister or cousin gets hitched before you do. Anyway, I'll be gone for a week.”

Oh, no. Veen, her biggest supporter, would be gone.

Veen then shifted the conversation over to Kareena. “Something peculiar about Adi's routine. He's been telecommuting a lot these days. My neighbor sees him coming in and out of his home in the daytime a lot. Last night, I knocked at his door just to check up on him. He pissed me off. He's found out about our task force and fucking demanded that we disband it to ‘reduce redundancies.’ He's also extremely irritated that you've been talking to Detective Yoshihama.”

“Adi's extremely irritated with me? What else is new?”

“Goddamn it, he's hired a private eye.”

“Well, isn't that a bit late? After he's gotten a ransom demand? By the way, I'm the one who'd suggested that he hire a P.I.”

Veen caught a breath. “Listen, we've gone through so much together. I must warn you. For my sake, be extra careful. The P.I. is not to find Kareena. Adi didn't mention her in that part of our conversation, but he sure mentioned you. How you've rushed into ‘uncharted territories.’ How he'd like to keep an eye on you no matter where you go. I got the impression that he'll have you watched.”

* * *

The next evening, despite that threat from Adi hanging over her, Mitra took time to dress up. Her cool Deutscher was taking her to Ponti Seafood Grill. She coiled up her collarbone-length hair for added height. The white sequined top draped gently over her shoulders. The black pencil-thin skirt gave her more shape than she believed she had. A gold necklace and high-heels completed her look. Kareena would approve of this outfit, this hairdo, and the restaurant.

Ulrich parked two blocks away from the place, a pleasant walk, except that the night had smoothed out the sharp edges of the street. Happily careless, Mitra tripped when one of her heels caught on a crack on the sidewalk. Her quick and observant date grabbed her arm. She stood up straight and laughed. He hung on to her until they reached the restaurant door.

They talked over a leisurely five-course meal made richer by soft light, unobtrusive staff, and the most terrific marinated asparagus she'd ever tasted. He told her his last name is Schultheiss. She liked the consonants or rather the way his lips curled and plumped as he pronounced them.

Halfway through the meal, he looked in the direction of a departing family of four—father, mother, and two quarreling teenage princesses.

“I'm of the opinion,” Ulrich said, “the family as a nuclear unit is dead.” He blamed mechanization and human greed, and expressed fear that the demise of the nuclear family signaled the demise of civilization.

“I disagree,” Mitra replied, taking a sip of the jaunty mint tea. “We'll revert to larger units of living and sharing like our ancestors did. That's my hope.”

“Hope makes you look beautiful,” he said. “And I like your new hair-do.”

They returned to her house and watched the full moon from her back yard as their “nightcap,” surrounded by greenery tinged with a silver sheen. Together, they speculated on the makeup of the moon's core.

“Molten rock,” Ulrich said, “nothing more.”

“But there's more.” Mitra spoke of an age-old Indian belief that the moon's benevolent shine, the life force inside it, nourished the plants.

Clouds obscured the moon and soon the first drops of rain anointed Mitra's skin. They went inside and danced first to Bhangra-pop, then cello music, laughing like teenagers, working up sleepy muscles. After a few songs, he begged off and grimaced, one arm going across the opposite shoulder and rubbing.

“I love to dance, but my back hurts,” he said.

“Would you like a back rub?”

He nodded. She stood behind him, as he perched on a chair. She started at the spine, her fingers gliding outward and making deep circles to loose the tension knots. Her fingers adjusted the pressure as needed; no thinking required. Nothing else existed for her but the warm touch of his skin, the strong resistance of the bones, the rise and fall of his chest as he took a breath. She melted, and watched him yielding to the workings of her hand, as though similarly giving in to the moment.

He smiled at her when she finished. “You make me feel so much at home. This will get me through the night. I should have had the pain medication with me, but I forgot.”

Mitra did a rewind and went back to that morning to that yellow pill lying on the bedroom floor, the first time he was here. Casually, she mentioned it to him and asked what the med was meant for.

He startled and looked away. Then, after a brief pause, “Oh, it's for a sinus condition I have.”

She didn't believe him. What might he be avoiding to discuss? Her thought pattern was interrupted when he rose, turned, drew her to his arms, and kissed her deeply. He put himself so much into the kiss that her concerns faded. Later, they made love, which happened naturally and rhythmically, going slower, longer, and deeper than before. Mitra sank, floated, and soared in the comfort that was Uli. He was fully present. He was there only for her. Any reservation she had about him about holding a matter of importance back dissolved into nothingness.

Climbing out of bed the next morning, Mitra put on her favorite navy wool slippers that covered her feet like a blanket. Kareena had given her these slippers on her last birthday. They'd come encased in a gift box wrapped in gold paper and tied with green ribbon. Stylized letters on top of the box had proclaimed: Sabnam's Sandals.

“It's a nice little shop,” Kareena had said. “I know the owner—she was a client of mine. We still have coffee every now and then. I'd buy out her whole inventory if I could. Oh, by the way, Sabnam will take these back if they don't fit or you don't like the color.”

Sabnam—Mitra liked the music of that name.

At the kitchen table, Ulrich poured Swiss muesli into his bowl. Mitra slid a coffee mug toward him, then ran down the steps of her investigation so far into Kareena's disappearance.

“I've talked to just about everybody who knew Kareena, but not the store clerks of shops where she bought her clothes and shoes,” she said. “I want to get started on that. I'll show them a picture of her, ask if they recall her, and when was the last time they'd seen her. She was a big shopper.” She looked down at her slippers. “I'll start with a shoe store owner.”

“Plan your questions,” he replied.

“Here is one of my planned questions to you. Could you tell me when and where you met Kareena?”

Ulrich frowned at the milk carton. “You don't have whole milk? I can't stand this skim stuff.”

“Sorry, I don't. I'll put it on the shopping list.” She dropped into the other chair. “When you said you recognized Kareena, how did you recognize her? Did you know her?”

Ulrich reached out and gently traced the scar under her left eye caused by a childhood brush with a low-hanging tree branch. “Let's drop the topic, shall we? She isn't important to me. You are, sweetheart. You're more beautiful than her.” He paused. “Let's enjoy the breakfast together.”

Mitra grabbed the muesli box, thoughts fluttering around her mind. They'd had a terrific night together, but his reactions about Kareena gave her unease, as did his line:
You're more beautiful than her.
She didn't trust those words. Nor did she like the comparison. Mainly because he seemed to be avoiding a discussion about Kareena.

EIGHTEEN

IT HAD BEEN
eleven days. Kareena—her desertion had the flawless perfection of a blank sheet of paper. Every evening, Mitra curled up with the Police Beat and neighborhood tabloids, searching for any snippet of evidence. The papers had a discount-store smell. Their greasy print stained her fingers. They made for an altogether depressing read and provided no answers. And yet, Mitra never considered giving up.

Haunted by her thoughts of Kareena, on this afternoon, Mitra went to work in her adopted grandmother's yard. She hoped that turning the soil for the flowerbed and tidying a lot choked with weeds, grass, and rocks would diminish her nightmarish concerns. The air was redolent with the faint fragrance of newly opened pear blossoms. A robin chirped from a treetop. In this perfect ambience, the long oak handle of the spade felt like an extension of her arms.

She heard the click of the back door. Glow, dressed in relaxed-fit aquamarine sweats, her rouged cheeks shining peachy-bright in the sun, approached her. “You're moving all those rocks by yourself?”

Mitra wiped the sweat from her forehead. “I'm used to it. Mother Nature willing, this garden will be ready in time for your birthday.”

Grandmother broke into a smile. Her small eyes closed, as though she were receiving a blessing. She settled into a deck chair beneath a forsythia bush. If the arthritis in her knees hadn't been acting up, she'd be on her feet, meandering around and plucking a vagrant root here, stick or pebble there, Mitra was well aware. Grandmother asked about Kareena.

Mitra's spade struck a walnut-sized pebble, making a grating metallic sound. She leaned down, picked up the pebble, and tossed it aside. “There are times when I wonder if Kareena's not contacting me intentionally.”

“That wouldn't surprise me. I've never told you about my daughter Alice. She ran away from home when she was seventeen.” Grandmother's voice trailed off; the contours of her face hardened. “We had no contact between us for a whole year. Then Alice called to say she'd been living with a man in Bellingham. She was pregnant and had decided to keep the baby. Boom. She hung up. That was twenty years ago. We didn't speak again till last May when I met my granddaughter Isabel for the first time.”

Might Kareena be pregnant? Mitra tried to picture her with a baby. Kareena—lovingly glancing at the warm bundle in her arms. The picture formed so easily that it astounded Mitra.

She took a few steps back, skirting a heap of stones. “Kareena would love to start a family, but Adi doesn't. Hard as I try to connect that information with her disappearance, I don't come up with an answer.”

“Well, you've done all you could. She's lucky to have a friend like you.” Grandmother nodded, radiating sympathy Mitra could feel from several feet away. “But is it necessary to spend so much time on it? It's like holding two fulltime jobs.”

“I couldn't bear any harm coming to her. I won't rest until I've unraveled the mystery.”

“Drat!” Grandmother said. “My intuition isn't worth a dime today. Or I'd be able to tell you where she is, what her scheme is.”

“She's not cold and scheming. She's a generous soul. Last winter, she even organized a huge fund-raising dinner for abused women. I helped her out on that.”

Grandmother twisted a dandelion bud between her coral-tipped fingers. “Could that have earned her a few points at work? Did she take that on because she could count on your help? Listen, I used to be a saleswoman for a greeting card company, which had a friendly working atmosphere. I was still new when one of my colleagues organized a Tupperware-style party and asked for my assistance. I spent hours of my spare time on it. She never returned the favor. She was just taking advantage of me. I must tell you I've been disappointed by women more often than men, in spite of my four failed marriages.”

Mitra watched a blue jay strutting along the ridge line of a neighbor's roof. Once again, she and Grandmother weren't in sync. In the past, she and Kareena had leaned toward each other in support, like plants naturally bending in the sun's direction. She'd never thought of Kareena using her.

“My experience has been different,” Mitra said. “My women friends are like family to me.”

“You're still such a romantic, my dear.”

It became clear to Mitra, vivid as the sun flaring on her forehead, where Grandmother stood. The woman lived alone. She'd once alluded, with a catch in her throat, that her daughter Alice didn't send her a Christmas card. No wonder she felt clingy toward Mitra. She'd rather not have Kareena's shadow falling between them.

“As you grow older,” Grandmother continued, “you stop treasure-hunting. You start worrying about what you might lose, rather than what you might gain. You keep an eye out for the quicksand.”

Mitra spread organic matter—a mixture of steer manure, compost, and peat moss, each component asserting its own smell—into the dense clay soil. The flowerbed was ready.

“It's best to let the bed rest for a day,” she said. “Then we'll plant.”

“Righto, Mitra, my garden nymph. Mitra—what a pretty name. Does it have a meaning?”

Mitra brushed dirt off her dark workpants. “Yes. Mitra means friend. My parents wanted to give me a more poetic name, like Anamika, Sukanya, or Neelanjana. But they chose Mitra. It's short and brisk. And isn't a loyal friend the best thing you can be? That's what my mother said.”

“You're way too loyal, Mitra-friend. Loyalty never pays much, just gives you a stomach-ache.” She scrutinized Mitra's face and figure in a motherly vein. “You're stressed. You're ruining your health over something you can do nothing about. Let her go. Goodness knows what she's up to. Besides, I worry about the risk you're taking, the danger.” She paused. “You've exposed Kareena's vanishing act as well as Adi's lack of effort to the community. If he has something to hide and, more than likely he does, he's not going to like that. He's
already warned you, hasn't he? Or it could be some other criminal altogether. In any and all cases, you're interfering.”