Chapter Fourteen
Fourteen
Forty-eight hours have passed. I have felt each and every one of those hours, minutes, and seconds as they ticked by. There are no new updates. No clue whatsoever about where Tanvir and Lena vanished to.
A part of me still clings to hope. They’re in a cell signal dead zone. Or on a flight that Borzu somehow missed. With each passing hour, though, this wishful thinking becomes more and more fanciful.
Darcy nudges open my office door. “We’re placing a group order. Chinese or Indian?”
“It’s too early for dinner.”
“Nura, it’s nine o’clock at night.”
I check my watch. She’s right. This means we’ve been here for over fourteen hours at this point. Darcy’s got faint circles under her eyes. She looks as exhausted as I feel.
“Go home,” I tell her. “That goes for everyone. It’s too late to still be here.”
“Are you going home?”
“I can’t.”
“Then neither can we.”
I bury my face in my hands. “I don’t understand how there’ve been no sightings of them.”
“No credible sightings.”
That’s true. Social media has turned up numerous sightings. They’ve been spotted in Belize. At a cantina in San Jose, California. Someone reported a man matching Tanvir’s description who was seen digging a grave in the middle of an abandoned park near dawn this morning. The anonymously posted grainy footage garnered millions of views—but it turned out to be the local arborist, planting a crepe myrtle.
“How bad is the coverage lately?” I’ve been studiously avoiding seeking out the conspiracy theories for myself. If I start down this rabbit hole, I may never climb out.
“The prevailing theory is still the same, that there was trouble in paradise, he killed her, and now he’s on the run,” says Darcy. “But other conspiracies are gaining traction. There are some truly wild ones like how they tempted fate by throwing a wedding-related festivity on Friday the Thirteenth. Then there’s growing speculation that her parents might have done it for the insurance money—apparently Karma Cosmetics had a rocky few months on the stock market leading up to the wedding. Someone also pointed out a few hours ago that Lena’s former driver conveniently moved to Italy the day after she disappeared, and people are raising questions about the timing of that.”
“So everyone is a suspect.”
“Which means no one is. Not really.”
“What about us?” I ask.
Darcy bites her lip. My heart sinks. It makes sense, though. If people think Lena’s fiancé is behind this, they’re going to blame the agency who set them up.
“Nothing online yet,” she says. “But our inbox is…”
“A shitshow?”
“It’s just trolls being trolls.”
Of course our inbox is a hot mess. The Tanvir-related theories validate all the haters who flooded in after the Vanity Fair piece posted. This moment gives them a proper opportunity to gloat.
“Sherri said she’ll get us something by morning,” says Darcy.
“Good. We definitely need to put out a PR statement soon.”
Because this time, the haters have the kindling they need to destroy everything my aunt and I worked so hard to build.
I draw in a deep breath and try to steady myself. Growing up, Khala always taught me the importance of inner stillness. In the early days when I still woke crying for my mother, she taught me how to meditate. To breathe . How to erase all thought and focus on my steady breath coming in and out. She told me to see my worries as though they were floating past me on clouds above or tumbling past me like sticks on a river while my true heart stayed centered. Be present. Be here. Be with me, she’d say as she would wrap me in her arms.
Now that I’m older, I understand Khala wanted to make sure I had tools to access peace in the chaos of life. Because no matter what the world throws at you, the earth continues to spin. One must keep moving forward. There is still work to do. And right now, my work is finding Lena and Tanvir, except—I brush back tears—there’s nothing. Absolutely nothing I can do. The helplessness is killing me.
When Darcy leaves, I refresh my inbox. No updates. Tapping my legs, I look down at my phone. Then, as though my fingers have a mind of their own, I click Instagram. There’s a new photo on Zayna’s account. Or rather, photos . Featuring her and Azar. They’re at a restaurant. At the movies. At…I pause. I look at this selfie of the two of them. His arm around her waist. They’re both mid-laugh. She looks up at him as he’s gazing down at her. I don’t need to see the geotag to know they’re at the botanical garden. The edge of the green-flowered Medusa off to the edge of the photo. A knife twists inside of me. This location has shown up in countless movies and television shows. It doesn’t belong to us. Except it does.
That’s our spot. It’s like he’s taking her to every place that’s ever meant anything to both of us. Like he’s erasing me from his narrative.
“Who’s that?”
Genevieve. She’s standing over my desk. Her hair’s tied in a messier-than-usual topknot. I’m fairly certain she’s in the same white T-shirt and jeans as yesterday.
I flip the phone facedown. “Oh, nothing. It was just Azar.”
“I meant the woman.”
“Her name is Zayna. She’s Azar’s girlfriend.”
“Ah. So do we hate her?”
“It’s more that I love him.” I draw a sharp intake of breath. The sleep deprivation is getting to me, isn’t it? Why am I even looking at her social media account at a time like this? “I didn’t mean that—It’s just…”
“Nura. Of course you love him.” Her green eyes are filled with sympathy. “Doesn’t require a PI to figure that out.”
“He’s happy,” I say quickly. “Clearly, he’s happy. So I’m happy for him. But…”
“You’re only human?”
“Something like that.”
“Been there,” she says. “You know what might make you feel better? Food. We just placed a huge order from Zyka. Should be here in a few. I made sure to get two orders of their chili chicken.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Not an option.” She leans in. “How long can you stay holed up in this stuffy office? Come out and join us. You need to stretch. Drink some water. You’ve barely moved from this spot all day.”
Grudgingly, I follow her into the main office. Borzu’s on his computer. Darcy is sifting through file folders. The moon is round and bright through the window next to the wall clock. I can’t remember the last time we’ve stayed here this late, but it looks like we’re all settling in for a long night. My phone buzzes. A new email.
Hi, Nura,
I had a chance to speak with Avani, and between her wedding fiasco and the Lena situation, there is a lot to unpack. Let me know when you can discuss.
Best,
Logan
“Well, now we know someone is drawing a connection.” I sigh. “Logan wants to talk. He’s putting the pieces together. And he managed to convince Avani to cooperate.”
“Why hasn’t he written anything yet?” Genevieve frowns. “It’s been a while at this point. It’s weird he hasn’t.”
“Logan Wilson is not a salacious journalist,” Borzu says. “He’s respected for a reason. The D’Angelo piece? He worked on that for a full year.” He turns to me. “I know you didn’t ask my opinion here, but I really think you should talk to him.”
“You want to reward him for his harassment?” Darcy retorts.
“He’s just trying to get the story!” Borzu exclaims. “Maybe we join forces and get to the bottom of it? He’s good at what he does. I bet he can offer us a lot.”
“What are you? His number-one fanboy?” Genevieve retorts.
“I don’t think—”
They continue bickering, but my attention shifts to my phone. Nina is calling me. She never calls me.
“Is everything okay?” I ask once I answer.
“You need to come over. Now.”
Her voice is tense. As though she’s speaking through clenched teeth.
“Are you all right?”
“We’ll talk when you get here.”
“Is Khala—”
The call ends. My heart lodges in my throat. Another stroke? It has to be.
“I have to go,” I tell the team. “Family stuff.”
Genevieve grabs her keys. “I’ll be right behind you.”
“What? No.”
“Your security detail starts in the morning,” she says. “You need coverage in the meantime.”
“Genevieve, you’re working on no sleep as it is. And food is on its way.” Before she can continue, I remind her, “I already shared my location tracker with all of you—you’ll know where I am. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
I squeal out of the parking lot. Khala’s been racked with guilt about forgetting Lilah. Stress can trigger just about anything with her. Including strokes.
Please be all right, I silently pray as I pull into Khala’s driveway, as I race up the steps. Breathing heavily, I fling open the front door and toss my purse on the nearby ottoman. Still gripping my keys, I hurry to Nina. She’s in the family room with her arms crossed, her mouth pressed tight. Lilah hugs me, and I at last exhale when I spot Khala. She’s over by the television. I can’t make out her expression, but she’s standing. She’s okay.
“Lilah, can you go upstairs and brush your teeth? I’ll be there in just a second,” Nina tells her daughter.
Once the bathroom door swings shut upstairs, I turn to my cousin. “Nina, you made it sound like a life-or-death emergency. What happened?”
“What happened ?” Nina repeats.
My head throbs from sleep deprivation, hunger, and confusion. I don’t have time for her passive aggression.
“When were you going to tell me about the missing couple?” Khala asks.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Wh-who told you?”
“Are you not following the local news at all ?” Nina asks. “This was airing when I called you.”
She flips on the television in the family room and unpauses the frozen image. A reporter holding a microphone looks straight into the camera. She’s in front of a sprawling home in what the lower third identifies as historic Brookhaven. My heart sinks. That’s Lena’s parents’ home.
“While Officer Delray provided no comment, we can confirm from a neighbor that the abandoned vehicle found off the highway tonight did indeed belong to Lena Kamdar. There was, however, no sign of Lena or her fiancé, Tanvir Bashir. Based on evidence collected at the scene, inside sources can confirm that foul play is suspected.”
Nina flips the television off. Foul play is suspected. I knew this. Of course I knew this. A billionaire influencer doesn’t go missing on the eve of her wedding because she decided to go off the grid. Still, the confirmation leaves me woozy. I’m certain Tanvir didn’t do it, but it’s clear something has happened. They’re in danger.
“How could you keep this from me?” Khala asks.
“I—I didn’t want to add more to your plate.”
“Is the Piyar agency not my business as well?” Her voice rises. “I am still a partner, am I not? I should not have to learn about this from the local news.”
I sink into the sofa. The room is spinning. I don’t have it in me to defend myself.
“Nura.” Khala sits next to me while Nina hovers over us. “It’s been clear to me that you have been preoccupied for some time. Do you think I do not notice the circles under your eyes? Your clothes are practically hanging off of you. I think it’s time for you to finally tell me what is going on.” She places her hands on mine. “Sweetheart, I need to know everything.”
Maybe it’s how she’s looking at me. Like I’m seven years old again. Maybe it’s because I’ve barely slept in forty-eight hours. Whatever it is, the words come tumbling out of me. I leave nothing out about the mehndi. Tanvir’s father’s high-pitched plea for aid. The gossip echoing off the walls.
“Nura.” Nina covers her mouth with her hand. “This is serious.”
“There’s more.”
I tell them about the note. The canceled wedding. The podcaster. All descending on me at once. And…
“Gertie’s missing.” My voice cracks. “The front door was open…. I don’t know for certain if it’s related. My front door was finicky. But we haven’t found her yet. I’m so sorry, Khala. For not looking out for her the way she deserved.”
When I finish speaking, I feel shaky. The room is silent. Khala is a ghostly shade of white. She grips the edge of the seat as though she might pass out. What was I thinking? She wasn’t having a stroke before, but she might now. I start to minimize what I said, but what she says next erases those words from my mouth.
“It’s happening again.”
“Wh-what’s happening again?” I stammer, unsettled by both of their expressions.
“Mom. No. Please,” says Nina.
“You were right.” Khala looks at her daughter. “We should have stopped this whole matchmaking business years ago. He is onto us.”
“No one is onto anything,” says Nina.
“What else could it be?” Tears slip down her cheeks. “This harassment is exactly the kind of thing he would do.”
“Who is he ?” I stare at both of them. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s nothing. Mom’s having a moment. You know stress does that to her.”
She’s right. Stress can cause Khala to relapse, summon memories from long ago. Whatever this conversation has stirred up, it’s clearly traumatic. Before I can bring her water and reassure her, she looks at me and croaks, “I only ever wanted to protect you.”
“You always have protected me, Khala.”
“It seems I did not protect you well enough.”
“Mom. Enough. He’s dead,” says Nina.
“Are we absolutely certain? Perhaps his family is behind this. They are not the sort to let things go.” Her lower lip trembles. “They were biding their time, waiting to strike. Fiaz can be tricky.”
Fiaz? I’ve never heard that name before. Have I?
“Who is Fiaz?” I ask.
“It—it’s not important,” Nina mumbles. She won’t meet my eyes.
“Forgive me, Madiha.” Tears stream down Khala’s face. “I thought we were safe. I truly did.”
“Khala, it’s me,” I say gently. “I’m Nura. Your niece.”
“You are Madiha.”
Nina takes Khala’s hand. She tugs. “You need to lie down. This was a lot of information thrown at once.” She glances toward me. “Why don’t you go? We could all use some rest. We’ll talk about this later.”
I can’t move. It’s not what Nina said. It’s the way she said it. How she won’t meet my eyes. How badly she wants me to go.
“Who is Madiha?” I ask again.
“Madiha is your real name,” Khala says.
“This isn’t the time or the place for this, Mom.”
“It needs to become the time and place,” I say. “I’m not leaving until you tell me.”
“You are right,” says Khala. “It’s long past time you learned the truth.”