“And no one else from the family is coming forward?”
“There’s nothing recorded in the arrest register,” Yusuf said, tapping his pen against the notepad. “The chief of police said only that there were no witnesses to the murder, but then nearly the entire neighborhood was there to see the body and Zeba sitting there, covered in blood. There doesn’t seem to be much room for doubt.”
“Talk to the neighbors. Someone must know something. The sun cannot be hidden behind two fingers.”
Yusuf bit his lip. He’d taken the arrest report at face value, but Aneesa was right. He had no choice but to make a trip to Zeba’s village. Why not, he thought, looking at his cell phone and seeing that no one had called.
THE QUIET OF HIS APARTMENT WAS BROKEN BY THE SOUNDS OF traffic and daily life filtering through the window. Mischievous boys chased after a dog in the alley, just as Yusuf had done as a child. The bustle of the market had settled as the skies turned hazy and aromas from food carts swirled into the evening air. Yusuf considered shutting his window to block the noise, but he found that the passing voices both comforted him and helped him focus.
What were Zeba’s children thinking? Her son was old enough that he would have known if something was amiss at home. Would he be willing to speak about his father? Was it at all possible that Zeba hadn’t killed her husband? Yusuf closed his eyes, trying to imagine his client burying a hatchet in the back of her husband’s head. How tall had her husband been? Was he thin and wiry or heavyset? How close was the nearest neighbor’s house?
Yusuf began to pace. Aneesa had given him some ideas today, some direction. He would need to see Zeba. They had much to talk about.
He pulled out his yellow pad and made a few notes. He circled some thoughts, scratched out others. He rubbed his eyes.
His phone rang. He looked at the number and saw Meena’s name flash on the screen. Should he answer? They’d spoken on the phone several times, each conversation more comfortable than the last. Three days ago, though, Meena had surprised him. Her tone had been polite and reserved. When Yusuf asked her what was wrong, she’d told him she was not honestly sure if they should continue their phone calls. Yusuf had been taken aback and abruptly asked her why. He wondered if she was uncomfortable spending so much time on the phone with him. Maybe she wanted confirmation of his intentions. But Meena had hesitated, leaving his question unanswered but promising to call him in a few days.
He pressed the talk button.
“YUSUF,” SHE STARTED, HER VOICE SMALL AND SERIOUS. “I DON’T want you to think badly of me. I didn’t know my mother had given my number to you. She likes you so much. . both my parents do. My whole family loves yours, actually.”
“Meena, what’s going on?”
“I need to tell you something. I’ve been trying to find a way around it, but I can’t come up with anything and I feel like you deserve the truth.”
Yusuf leaned forward, elbows on his thighs.
“Go ahead, Meena-qand,” he urged, wondering if he was going too far by using endearments. “Tell me what it is.”
“I. . I’ve been in love with someone for the last year. My parents are not happy about it because they don’t like his family but. . but that doesn’t change anything for him or me. I’m so embarrassed to tell you this.”
In love with someone else. Yusuf blinked rapidly. He’d thought Meena had pulled away because she wanted more from him when the truth was that she wanted less.
“Oh, I see,” he said, wavering between anger and sadness.
“I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to make it seem like. .”
“Listen, Meena, you don’t have to explain.”
“My mother was hoping that seeing you. . talking to you. . the possibility of going to America. . that it would change me. You know what I mean?”
He’d been a ploy — an unwitting pawn in Khala Zainab’s strategy.
“Listen, Meena. You should follow your heart,” Yusuf replied curtly. “No hard feelings. Thanks for letting me know. I’ve got lots of work to do here so. . good night, okay?”
“Oh, sure. Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your work. I just. . yes, good night.”
With a click, it was over, and Yusuf was more disappointed than he should have been. They’d only spoken on the phone for a couple of weeks. They’d never held hands or talked over a cup of tea or brushed shoulders as they walked down the street. Why should he feel like he’d lost the girl he was meant to be with?
Yusuf groaned angrily, rolled onto his belly, and buried his face in his pillow. Maybe his mother was right. Maybe he did need to get married.
CHAPTER 20
MEZHGAN SAT CROSS-LEGGED IN FRONT OF ZEBA’S BED. SHE rarely woke this early in the morning, but she’d been particularly restless since Gulnaz’s visit.
“Zeba-jan, I want to ask you something.”
Zeba did not respond.
“Please. I know you’re awake. I can tell by the way you’re breathing.”
Zeba moaned, quietly enough that Mezhgan didn’t hear it. She sat up and yawned, wondering what could be so urgent that it had the girl rising with the sun.
“When is your mother coming back? Maybe you can ask her to help my situation. Would she do it?”
“My mother would tell you that this is your own mess and that you’ve got to deal with it. She would tell you it was a mistake to fall in love with a man before his family fell in love with you.”
Mezhgan was unperturbed. She blinked rapidly and pressed her palms against the small round of her belly and looked thoughtful.
“I bet you can help me. I bet you know how she does it anyway. You’ve got to tell me everything you know. Surely she must have done something similar in the past? Is there something I should eat? Maybe something I should feed my fiancé’s mother?”
“Fiancé?” Latifa laughed, awake now. She stood up and stretched her arms over her head. “If he were your fiancé, you wouldn’t be here. You want Zeba’s mother to wave a magic feather around so your movie star boyfriend will go running to your parents and beg for your hand in marriage. Psht, maybe if she does too good a job with it, you’ll have a whole crew of boys asking your father for your hand in marriage. Wouldn’t that be nice? You and your harami baby can choose a man together.”
“Don’t say that, Latifa. He wants to marry me but his parents. . they just haven’t agreed yet. You probably don’t know anything about jadu, but I know it can work. My uncle is married to a hideous-looking woman he wouldn’t otherwise have looked at, and my whole family knows it’s because she cast a spell on him. He wanted nothing to do with her one day and by the next week he was begging his parents to ask for her hand. Jadu, for certain.”
Latifa sat back down on her cot and rolled her eyes.
“Your uncle sounds an awful lot like a pregnant girl.”
“You’re curious, too,” Nafisa said, inserting herself into the conversation. “You nearly climbed the fence to get a better look at her when she came to visit!”
“What else is there to do here? I’ve been in this chicken coop with the same women for months and I’m tired of hearing all your stories. If Judgment Day comes and God has any questions about either of you, He should call me first. I’ll fill Him in with what you did with whom and when,” Latifa joked.
Nafisa and Mezhgan covered their mouths and squealed.
“Latifa! Watch what you say! God forgive you.” Nafisa sat up and let her legs dangle over the side of her bed, the one above Latifa’s.