Chapter Thirteen
Thirteen
It’s not supposed to be like this.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” The best man adjusts the microphone. The high-pitched feedback makes everyone wince. He clears his throat and tries again. “If we can have your attention, please.”
At this late hour, we should be gearing up for the final mehndi rituals. The drink of milk the bride’s sisters will offer the groom in exchange for money. Aunties should be lining up to feed them each a bite of sweet laddu.
Instead, Tanvir’s father hovers next to the emcee. He buttons and unbuttons his sherwani vest. Despite the frigid air-conditioning blasting through the ballroom, his forehead gleams with perspiration. The police crowd before the stage like groupies waiting for the main performance.
“If I could just have a moment of your time,” Tanvir’s friend says. “We wanted to see if anyone has heard from Lena or Tanvir and—”
The groom’s father snags the mic from him. When he speaks his voice is three octaves higher than I expected from the tall, imposing individual. “There’s no need to worry,” he says hurriedly. “But if you have any ideas where they might be, or if some sort of situation came up, we’d love to be apprised of it as soon as possible.”
Guests break off into groups. Mumbling in hushed voices.
“Some sort of situation?” a woman near me asks. “What does that mean?”
“Feema told me they ran off to Vegas this morning,” another woman standing next to us says as a growing crowd of ladies huddle closer, all dripping in gold.
“They’re eloping?” gasps another. “What was this all for if they never planned on showing up?”
“We all know how dramatic Tanvir can be.”
“How much do you wager that he’s changed his mind?” someone else asks. “You know he was still moping over the elephant.”
“Goodness. I hope the marriage is still on. Canceling could certainly complicate things,” says another woman. “I don’t know if you noticed, but Lena was looking a little…healthy at the bridal shower, if you know what I mean.”
“I noticed that too!” someone else says.
I move away from them. Darcy hurries after me.
“Shouldn’t we keep listening?” she asks. “Maybe they know something.”
“They’re pretending to be concerned, but they’re really devouring gossip,” I say bitterly. “This is more entertaining than the event was ever going to be. Any luck reaching Lena?”
“It’s going straight to voicemail.” Darcy bites her lip. “Radio silence isn’t like her.”
“Let’s check in with Genevieve.”
Moments later, we’re squeezed into Genevieve’s car in the parking lot. The laptop illuminates her worried face in the dark night. It’s obvious by now that there is no mehndi taking place tonight—but every car is still parked exactly where it was.
“They didn’t make it to the hall,” Genevieve says as she types. “Not since I’ve been parked here, anyway. And look, she shared a post about getting her nails done this afternoon. She seems as happy as could be. Whatever went down, it was recent.”
“ If anything happened,” Darcy interjects. “She might have gotten cold feet at the last second or something.”
“Both of them?” I ask. “Tanvir’s missing too. And if she was getting cold feet, she would’ve reached out…. She would have said something to us, right? Or at least her mother would have touched base! They shared all the highs and lows with wedding prep. Why would both of them have stopped now?”
Genevieve’s phone dings. She reads the text. “Frank over at the control towers at Dekalb-Peachtree says the Kamdar private jets are still on the tarmac.”
“Borzu said they didn’t fly commercial either,” says Darcy, looking at her phone.
“So they drove?” I ask. “Where?”
“It looks like their car’s device location system was disabled,” Genevieve says. “Ditto for their phone trackers. Borzu can’t get any read at all.”
“I-I don’t understand. Why would they do that?” I ask.
“No idea. But even without the location tracker, if they’re in the Atlanta area, their plates will get picked up at an intersection at some point,” says Genevieve.
“Someone inside the mehndi hall was saying they heard rumors that she was thinking of eloping to Vegas,” Darcy says.
“She’s not eloping on her mehndi night,” I say. “She picked out everything from the flowers to the napkins. There are millions of dollars on the line in endorsements and sponsorships.”
We fall silent. I take in the lit-up venue. The lavish orange-and-red drapes hanging from the windows.
“Something’s happened to them,” I say quietly.
“She’s the heir to a billion-dollar cosmetics empire. There’s no telling who’s got a vendetta against her so…” Genevieve’s voice trails off.
“Or maybe the vendetta’s against us,” I say quietly.
Genevieve and Darcy don’t reply. Which means they’re thinking it too.
“I’m going to chat with the security team,” Genevieve finally says. “I’ll let you know if I get any insight.”
Genevieve exits the car as Darcy pulls out her phone. She scrolls a bit, then grimaces.
“What is it?”
“TikTok’s talking. The guests are sharing videos of the police storming in.”
“Didn’t they sign legally binding nondisclosure agreements?”
“How’re they going to enforce all of them? Oh, wow.” She cringes. “People are starting to list out theories about what happened.”
“Like what?”
“Mostly what we’ve already overheard. This one’s speculating that they ran off to Vegas.” She points to her phone. “Oh, here’s another one. It says they heard from someone who heard from someone else that they called it off last minute after a major elephant-related fight. And now this new one…” She reads the text flashing on the screen. Her lips press tight.
“What is it? Tell me.”
She glances at me, her eyes bright against the glowing device. “Someone suggested that Tanvir might have done something to Lena. Wedding tensions boiling over.”
“That’s…that’s ridiculous!” I sputter. “I just talked to him this morning.”
“It’s gaining hundreds of likes as we speak.” She scans the parking lot, her expression grim. “They’d kept the location of this venue private for tonight, but I bet the paparazzi will be here any minute.”
The paparazzi. Followed by articles. Endless speculation. My head hurts.
“We’ll know what’s going on soon enough,” I manage to say.
My phone rings, and my heart leaps with hope. It’s Borzu.
“Got a tip on the police scanner,” he says without fanfare. “Someone spotted a silver Aston Martin a few hours ago speeding down Interstate 85 near Buckhead.”
“License plate?”
“No identifiers. Tanvir’s not the only one in the city with a silver Aston Martin, but the timing is suspicious.”
Borzu promises to keep me posted. We hang up as Genevieve slips back into the car. No updates. I tuck my phone into my clutch and look at the wedding hall. I need to check in on her parents.
It takes a few minutes, but eventually I find them in the back kitchen. I’d expected them to be surrounded by concerned relatives, but they are alone. The room is cold and empty. Trays of cooled tandoori chickens and racks of lamb rest in rows in the distance.
“Raheema,” I say softly as I approach.
“Can you believe this?” Her voice comes out as a strangled cry.
I place my arm around her, comforting her as best I can.
“The police are only here because of who I am,” says Lena’s father. “They’re convinced Lena and Tanvir ran off. It’s complete hogwash.”
“They may have spotted Tanvir’s car. Hopefully we’ll know what’s going on soon.”
At this, they look up at me.
“They found Tanvir’s car? Where did you hear that?” asks Raheema.
“One of my associates got a tip about a silver Aston Martin spotted near Buckhead.”
Raheema frowns. “When was this?”
Crap. The police didn’t tell her. The sighting must have been unrelated. Or else unsubstantiated.
“It’s probably nothing,” I say. “I just want you to know we’re looking into things on our end as well.”
Raheema looks at me. Unspeaking. Then her eyes narrow. “If you’re so good at looking into things, how did this happen? Tanvir has been getting more and more out of control with his demands these last few weeks. I’d about had it with him, and now this…. If he did something to her…” Her voice is low. Practically a growl.
“Raheema—”
“I trusted you.” Her voice breaks. Her husband puts a hand on her shoulder, but Raheema lunges toward me. She presses a manicured finger against my collarbone; it pinches against my skin. “WHERE ARE THEY, NURA? WHERE IS MY LENA?”
Her cry is guttural. I shiver as her husband pulls her back. She pulses with rage. I get it. She’s a mama bear searching for her cub. She will lash out at anyone. Still, it doesn’t stop me from recoiling. For guilt to seep in all the same.
Tanvir didn’t kidnap Lena. I know this as sure as I know my own name. But I think of the podcaster’s menacing voice. The note at my doorstep. Gertie. What if what happened tonight has nothing to do with Lena and Tanvir? What if it has everything to do with me?