Such a Perfect Family, page 28
A pause before he’d added, “I still don’t believe you about Jocelyn Wai, but as far as the department is concerned, you’re no longer under investigation in any capacity.”
It was my father who’d filled in the gaps about Jason’s headline-making arrest for the murder of his mother, having weaseled the information out of his contacts. “Some witness saw him tinkering with Virna’s car the day before the accident.
“Virna was right there with him, offering him a glass of iced tea. Pretending to fix Mom’s car while setting her up to die.” Pure disgust in my father’s voice. “Word is the man has two wives, two sets of kids, a champagne lifestyle with both families—and, despite appearances, his finances are in the toilet due to a string of bad investments.”
I’d told Diya about Jocelyn that night she’d asked about my nightmare, but we’d never talked about Virna. I knew she had to know, however. We lived in a world of search engines and information at our fingertips—if she hadn’t done the search herself, her family or friends would have.
That she’d never once brought it up with me told me all I needed to know: Diya trusted me.
It hurts when you fall that far, that fast. I felt my bones break when I hit the pavement.
Jocelyn’s vengeful ghost ran her long red nails over my spine, but I shook off the sensation, shoving her into the past where she belonged. Behind a locked black door where I couldn’t hear her scream as she fell.
My phone flashed.
When I glanced at it, I saw a new alert on the name Andrea Smithy-Carr. She was finally having her moment in the sun—and in doing so, fueling the interest in the Prasad family all over again. Her constant appearances and accusations had led to the reporters becoming emboldened in their attempts to reach Diya and Shumi. Two had tracked us down to the short-term rental I’d found for us in a quiet suburb of Rotorua, going so far as to knock on the door.
So I’d spirited them away in the night.
I’d hesitated on choosing a property with a lake view, but both women had mentioned how much they missed the peace of the lake, so I’d taken the risk—the city of Taupo itself was only a short distance away, so I’d figured I could always switch over to a place without this view if they didn’t like it.
As it was, they’d both spent the sunny hours after our arrival sitting out on the deck chairs, watching the sun glitter on the water. Neither had wanted to talk much, and I hadn’t forced it—though there were a number of important things about which we had to talk.
Shumi and Bobby’s home had been used either as collateral for a cash injection into the business, or to guarantee a business loan—I wasn’t sure of the details, but I knew it was currently tangled up in the bankruptcy proceedings. It wasn’t looking like Shumi would see anything out of it once all was said and done.
The end result was that the Lake Tarawera land was the only thing tying either woman to that region, and it would sell once put on the market.
But the sale wasn’t necessary.
Rajesh and Sarita had left their only surviving child a rich woman—and Diya had already decided to sign over half of her inheritance to Shumi.
“It’s what they would’ve wanted,” she’d told me. “They loved her, thought of her as another daughter.”
My wife still couldn’t understand how Bobby could’ve done what he had, no matter the evidence. She kept returning to the subject each time we were alone, her expression a dark cloud. “I knew my brother. He didn’t hit girls or women. I hate that people are saying that about him.”
I hadn’t pointed out that Shumi herself had confirmed Bobby’s tendency toward domestic violence. Diya was already heartbroken; if it made her feel better to pretend the world had it wrong, so be it. And she wasn’t hurting anyone else with her beliefs; she followed Shumi’s lead where Bobby was concerned, never brought up her brother with the other woman on her own.
This time was for healing, for peace—and for privacy. I’d chosen a house on a hill, the lake some way in the distance, no neighbors close by to spy on us. Looking out at the lights of other houses reflected in the dark sprawl of Lake Taupo seemed to give Diya solace. My wife had been quiet today, but I’d felt her relief as we left Rotorua and its memories behind.
“We could plan our trip to Fiji while we’re here,” I murmured, very aware of the urn of ashes stored at our rental in Rotorua.
Quite frankly, I wanted it gone, but despite her words at the hospital the day Violet visited, Diya wasn’t quite ready to let go.
Today, however, she nodded. “Yes, let’s do that.” She looked up. “I know I’ve been dragging my feet, but how I felt when we drove out today…I want them to have their freedom, too.”
While we sat talking quietly in front of the large window that framed the view of the lake, Shumi hummed to herself in the kitchen.
She’d made me stop at a local grocery store on our way to this house and stocked up on supplies with feverish intent—including liters of milk for the chai she was now making. An excessive amount of chai for the three of us, even had I liked the stuff.
Shumi was too much bright chatter and a refusal to discuss anything that had happened. She’d been like that since the first few days after she woke up. Like she’d shut a door and wouldn’t look behind it lest she see a monster standing there.
I don’t want to say.
She’d gone from not wanting to say to not wanting to even think about the events of that bloody morning. The other day, she’d chirped about how Bobby had always brought her coffee in bed each morning, and how he’d never forgotten to pick up her special spices from a shop in Auckland when he drove up for a business trip.
“He was such a good husband,” she’d said with every indication of sincerity.
I was waiting for her to snap, just collapse into a screaming mess of grief. But I was also glad that she hadn’t yet—it gave me time to hold Diya, focus on her heart.
“Shumi’s hurt bad,” she whispered after her sister-in-law sang out that the chai was almost ready. “The last time she got like this, it was after Velvet, her miniature poodle, died. She loved her so much—Bobby gave Velvet to her on their one-year anniversary.”
She swallowed hard. “When Velvet got hit by a car and died, she got like this. Smiling real hard and trying to do everything at once. She made two enormous pots of biryani, baked a cake, and was in the middle of mixing dough for naan when she just…crumpled onto the floor. Like her strings had been cut. And she rocked and rocked and cried.”
“We’ll be ready,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple. “When it hits her.”
Diya nodded and settled back against me. “I just…I don’t understand it,” she said again. “Why would Bobby do that to our parents? To us? He never hurt me, not once in our whole life. If anything, he drove me crazy with his overprotectiveness.”
I knew by now that she just needed me to listen, so that was what I did, stroking my palm over her shoulder and dropping kisses on her curls.
Diya’s tears were silent. “My parents loved him, Tavi. He was their firstborn, the child that made them parents. And he loved them. Loved all of us.”
“I know, baby.”
She spread her fingers over my heart. “I was holding my pills the other day, thinking I could take a few extra and just make it all go away.”
My heart kicked. “Diya, no.” This was the first time she’d even mentioned the idea of suicide.
“I won’t.” A firm promise. “Because the next second, I saw my wedding ring and I thought, how could I do that to you? Leave you to grieve me, too?” She shook her head. “No, Tavi, we’re in this for the long haul. Me and you.” A look toward the kitchen. “I’ll talk to Shumi about finding her own place. She already mentioned how she knows we probably want to be alone as a couple, so she’s expecting it.”
“Can’t say I’m not ready.” I ached for alone time with Diya, but I hadn’t wanted to kick a woman at such a low ebb in her life, so had kept my mouth shut. “Ajay’s being really good with her. Maybe they can salvage a bond. He might even want to stay with her for a while.”
“I’m hoping that for her.”
I stroked her back. “Have you talked to the therapist about your thoughts? About the drugs?”
“No, but I will.” She looked up to give me a soft smile. “I’m not going anywhere, Tavi. I just…I just have bad moments.”
“Do you want me to hold your drugs for you and just give you what you need for now? Until you feel steadier?”
I half expected her to be furious, but she nodded. “Yes, I think that’s a smart idea. I don’t want to do anything, but my emotions are all over the place. It’s not only the grief…I just don’t understand. Bhaiya loved me. He used to call me his tagalong when he was in high school and I wanted to hang out with him and his friends at the lake—but he never told me to get lost. He’s the one who taught us how to swim, back in Fiji.”
Then she laughed. “You know the irony of it? He was a great teacher, but a terrible swimmer himself. Got freaked going out into water where he couldn’t touch the ground with his feet.”
He drowned my Rhi, my sweet girl. She was such a strong swimmer that he had to have held her under or done something else to her. She used to swim out to that far buoy and back without problem.
I frowned. “I thought your brother loved the ocean.”
“He did, but mostly the beach. He liked to pretend he was cool with the water when his friends were around, but he stuck to the shallows most of the time or talked people into going out on the four-wheelers instead of into the water.
“That’s why I always knew he didn’t hurt Rhiannon, no matter what anyone said. They found her way out by the buoy, tangled up in the rope. Bobby bhaiya could’ve never made it there.”
Chapter 72
Rhiannon
“You want to come with me? I’m swimming out to the buoy,” Rhiannon said.
No one else was around, everyone having either headed off for a walk or to go take a quick dip and then sunbathe. And while Rhiannon didn’t mind swimming alone, it was more fun with company.
“Yeah, okay.”
Rhiannon smiled and grabbed her towel.
Chapter 73
Cups clinking in the kitchen.
Diya looked up, whispered, “Drink a bit of Shumi’s chai, okay?”
I indicated the potted plant by the television. “It’s okay—I already scoped out my next victim.”
Her lips twitched, and I was glad to see a flicker of her luminous light. “You have no taste,” she muttered, then wiped at her cheeks with her fingers to get rid of the evidence of our emotional conversation.
Trying to be strong for the sister-in-law who had lost everything overnight. All of Shumi’s love, all her hopes, everything she was, had been tied to Bobby and his family. Without them…
“Here we go!” Shumi walked out with three cups and a plate of cookies on a wooden tray. “I got the chocolate raisin cookies you like, Dee. You should eat something.”
Taking the tray from her, I put it on the coffee table. “This looks really nice, thanks, Shumi.”
She smiled that too-bright smile, picked up a cup, and gave it to me to hand to Diya. The next one, she put in my hands. “Extra sugar, just as you like,” she said.
“You’re the best.” Bringing it to my lips, I took a deep breath. The rich scent of cardamom flooded my nose—I liked the spice, just not in tea. “Too hot to drink right away, but it smells fantastic.”
“My special recipe.” She took her own cup and curled up in the armchair kitty-corner from us. “I had to make do with grocery store items rather than the blend that I make at home with fresh spices, but I did a taste test in the kitchen, and it’s good.”
Putting my chai on the side table, while Diya cradled hers in her hands, I picked up one of the cookies. “Diya?”
But she shook her head. “Not yet. The chai is what I need.” She took deep inhales of the aroma. “It’s the smell of home.”
Shumi accepted a cookie when I lifted the plate in her direction.
Then the three of us just sat there staring out at the lake while I ate two cookies to stave off the inevitable need to force down the chai, and Diya sipped at hers.
Shumi took a bigger sip of hers just then. “It’s not too hot now,” she said to me, and since she was staring straight at me, I smiled and picked up my cup, then, girding my loins, took a sip.
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 serial killer—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.
Someone was humming.
Mouth dry, I tried to lift my lids, but they felt sticky and heavy. It was the hint of smoke in the air that kicked my adrenaline into overdrive, giving me enough strength to push those damn lids up.
Disoriented, I stared at the blank television screen.
One of the women must’ve turned it off, I thought dully, before realizing I couldn’t see either of them. And the room was pitch-dark except for the red power light on the television, and what little light fell through the windows from what felt like a strangely large moon.
Humming.
It stopped. Words came through, fuzzy and barely understandable, with patches cutting in and out, as if my brain was a radio that couldn’t hold on to a signal.
