Page 20 of Wham Line
“I think we should keep an open mind.Itisstrange Nalini disappeared last night and kept checking on her aunt’s location.”
“It’s not weird.She’s a young, attractive girl who clearly enjoys attention and has been sent to spend a few weeks with her—let’s face it—terrifying aunt.She probably thought Indira being questioned was a misunderstanding and, uh, took advantage of the opportunity.”
Bobby shrugged.
“Bobby, why would she kill Mal?What could have happened in five minutes to make her go from rubbing against him like a cat to murder?”
“Lots of things.And maybe she never liked Mal.Maybe she was putting on an act.Maybe she finally saw an opportunity.”
“With the gun she somehow acquired in the few weeks she’s been here?”
“All I’m saying is we shouldn’t close any doors.”
I chose not to respond to that.Yes, Bobby—and Millie—were technically right; there was no reason to make up my mind about Nalini right now.And I couldn’t help hearing in Bobby’s words an echo of what Sparkie had said to me: that everyone who had worked with Mal had wanted to kill him.
Indira’s flat was on the second floor of the coach house, and it was accessible via a flight of interior stairs—if Indira had owned a car, it would have been perfect because she could have parked on the ground floor and gone upstairs without having to go out into the weather.Bobby and I let ourselves into the coach house through the pedestrian door.The familiar smells of old wood, motor oil, and cold concrete met us.We made our way up the steps, with the treads creaking comfortably underfoot.A little burr of anxiety was starting to tumble in my chest; I’d never been invited inside Indira’s flat before, and I hated that my first visit was going to be to interrogate her about a murder.
If Bobby felt any of the same compunctions, though, they didn’t show; he knocked on the door at the top of the stairs and then waited.The spill of his hair and the faint hint of stubble seemed more pronounced in the oblique shadows.His eyes, I noticed for the first time, had the beginnings of circles.I was used to Bobby being tired.The last year had been particularly hard, as he’d picked up extra shifts at work—the Hastings Rock’s Sheriff’s Office was perpetually understaffed.Although that situation had improved and Bobby’s work life had gotten significantly easier, I was reminded that at one point in our relationship, Bobby had sought to escape from difficult feelings by keeping himself busy—and, more importantly, by doing tremendously stupid things, like surfing alone in the middle of winter.
How long?How long before the numbness faded and he started to hurt?How long until the hurt got so big that Bobby, who hated feeling out of control more than he hated anything else, began to feel overwhelmed and started to panic?
A check-in was on my tongue—How are you doing?sounded painfully banal, but I couldn’t come up with anything better.Before I could ask, though, the door opened.
Fox stood there, dressed today in a pair of dungarees and a striped silk top that looked like it had come from a pajama set.They had on a checkerboard fedora and wore a necklace that consisted of a bright pink whistle on a silver chain.I wanted to say they were some sort of fantasy train conductor who might also sing in a nightclub.Their eyes studied us with unfamiliar wariness.
“Took you long enough,” Fox said.And then their expression flickered.“God, Bobby, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Bobby said.“There’s a lot going on.”
Fox retreated into the flat, and we followed.It wasn’t what I was expecting.And yet, somehow, it was.The space was low and intimate, the ceiling following the roofline, but tall enough that I could stand up straight—if only barely.On three sides of the room, windows allowed sunlight to enter and offered views of a stretch of woods, the ocean, and Hemlock House’s main drive.The walls and ceiling were painted white, which gathered the light and made the space feel bright and alive.The furniture was all clean lines and modern touches, in comforting neutrals with texture—a fuzzy pillow, a decorative marble block, a blanket of such coziness it had tremendous napping potential.None of this had been Vivienne’s; I knew it immediately.This was Indira’s.And it was her space, which she had guarded so carefully.
She sat in an accent chair, a cup of tea on a side table next to her.She was dressed as always: sensibly, practically, and still somehow fashionably, in a black blouse and dark jeans, with a single, heavy gold pendant to break up the austerity.She didn’t have the unwashed, red-eyed manic energy I remembered from my own brush with the law; she didn’t exude panic or shame or dismay.She looked a little tired—not that I’d ever think of saying that to her—with a faint cast to her expression that I didn’t know if I should call defensiveness or distance or maybe simply caution.
I was painfully aware of the noise Bobby and I made as we trooped into this private space, but Indira simply rose from her seat and let us hug her.
“Sit down, please,” she said.“Would you like some tea?”
We both declined.
“I’m so sorry about your mother,” Indira said.“How are you doing?”
It didn’t sound banal when Indira said it.It sounded like she meant it—and like she expected an honest answer.
Bobby shifted in his seat.He looked out the window and then back, not quite at Indira but somewhere in between.“We’ll get through this.”
Indira nodded.“If there’s something I can do to help, please let me know.”
“Thank you.”He only let a heartbeat pass before he said, “Indira, I want you to know that I’m on leave from the sheriff’s office.I’m not here in an official capacity.But Dash and I want to get to the bottom of this.”
Taking a sip of her tea, Indira watched us over the rim of the cup.When she lowered it, she said, “That’s very sweet of you, but there’s no need.”
The gulls turned in a pinwheel above the cliffs, and the way the light hit them robbed them of color so that they looked like black dots spinning against the backdrop of the sky.
“I’m sorry,” I said when I finally found words.“What?”
“There’s nothing to worry about, Dashiell,” Indira said.“Everything is fine.”
“Uh, I’m not sure about that,” I said—not exactly my strongest opening, but then, this was Indira.
