Chapter 71
Six weeks after Diya walked out of the hospital, and I continued to dream of the horror of that day, continued to grapple with the idea of Bobby being so consumed with his own image that he’d destroyed his entire family.
I’d probably never understand.
Diya, still mentally dazed and in psychic shock over the events that had forever altered the course of her life, sat quietly beside me on the sofa with its view of Lake Taupo.
I’d rented the house with its sweeping views of a lake far bigger than Tarawera, then driven all three of us here through the night hours.
The renewed media storm that came with the revelations about Bobby had passed while the women were in the hospital, Ackerson turning up for most of the questions.
The media must’ve known it’d be a bad look to hound a grieving family member, so they hadn’t attempted to beard me, and the only articles about my past had been in the gossip rags.
When contacted by one of those rags during the tail end of November, Detective Baxter had, surprisingly, come through for me with a blunt “No, Tavish Advani isn’t a person of interest in the Musgrave case.”
Five days later, he’d called me and said the last words I’d ever expected to hear. “I owe you an apology. I did get tunnel vision with you when it came to Virna, and didn’t look hard enough at Jason.”
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.”