"Afraid it's really an innocent little mixture, Jack. If you're looking to sic the Health Department on whoever's peddling it as a laxative, I think you'd be better off going to the Department of Consumer Affairs."
Jack had been hoping the little bottle would yield a dazzling clue that would lead him directly to Aunt Grace, making him a hero in Gia's eyes.
So much for hunches.
He asked Joey what he thought his unofficial analysis was worth, paid the hundred and fifty, and headed back to his apartment with the little bottle in the front pocket of his jeans. As he rode the bus uptown, he tried to figure what he should do next on the Grace Westphalen thing. He had spent much of the morning tracking down and talking to a few more of his street contacts, but there had been no leads. No one had heard a thing. There had to be other avenues, but he couldn't think of any at the moment. Other thoughts pushed their way to the front.
Kolabati again. His mind was full of her. Why? As he tried to analyze it, he came to see that the sexual spell she had cast on him last night was only a small part of it. More important was the realization that she knew who he was, knew how he made a living, and somehow was able to accept it. No… accept wasn't the right word. It almost seemed as if she looked on his lifestyle as a perfectly natural way of living. One that she wouldn't mind for herself.
Jack knew he was on the rebound from Gia, knew he was vulnerable, especially to someone who appeared to be as open-minded as Kolabati. Almost against his will, he had laid himself bare for her, and she had found him… "honorable."
She wasn't afraid of him.
He had to call her.
But first he had to call Gia. He owed her some sort of progress report, even when there was no progress. He dialed the Paton number as soon as he reached his apartment.
"Any word on Grace?" he said after Gia was called to the other end.
"No." Her voice didn't seem nearly as cool as it had yesterday. Or was that just his imagination? "I hope you've got some good news. We could use it around here."
"Well…" Jack grimaced. He really wished he had something encouraging to tell her. He was almost tempted to make up something, but couldn't bring himself to do it. "You know that stuff we thought was a laxative? It isn't."
"What is it, then?"
"Nothing. A dead end."
There was a pause on the other end, then, "Where do you go from here?"
"I wait."
"Nellie's already doing that. She doesn't need any help waiting."
Her sarcasm stung.
"Look, Gia. I'm not a detective—"
"I'm well aware of that."
"—and I never promised to do a Sherlock Holmes number on this. If there's a ransom note or something like that in the mail, I may be able to help. I've got people on the street keeping their ears open, but until something breaks…"
The silence on the other end of the line was nerve-wracking.
"Sorry, Gia. That's all I can tell you now."
"I'll tell Nellie. Goodbye Jack."
After a moment of deep breathing to calm himself, he dialed Kusum's number. A now-familiar female voice answered.
"Kolabati?"
"Yes?"
"This is Jack."
A gasp. "Jack! I can't talk now. Kusum's coming. I'll call you later!"
She took his phone number and then hung up.
Jack sat and looked at the wall in bewilderment. Idly, he pressed the replay button on his answerphone. His father's voice came out of the speaker.
"Just want to remind you about the tennis match tomorrow. Don't forget to get here by ten. The tournament starts at noon."
This had all the makings of a very bad weekend.
5
With trembling fingers, Kolabati pulled the jack clip from the back of the phone. Another minute or two from now and Jack's call would have ruined everything. She wanted no interruptions when she confronted Kusum. It was taking all her courage, but she intended to face her brother and wring the truth from him. She would need time to position him for her assault… time and concentration. He was a master dissembler and she would have to be as circumspect and as devious as he if she was going to trap him into the truth.
She had even chosen her attire for maximum effect. Although she played neither well nor often, she found tennis clothes comfortable. She was dressed in a white sleeveless shirt and shorts set by Boast. And she wore her necklace, of course, exposed through the fully open collar of her shirt. Much of her skin was exposed: another weapon against Kusum.
At the sound of the elevator door opening down the hall, the tension that had been gathering within her since she had seen him step from the taxi on the street below balled itself into a tight, hard knot in the pit of her stomach.
Oh, Kusum. Why does it have to be like this? Why can't you let it go?
As the key turned in the lock, she forced herself into an icy calm.
He opened the door, saw her, and smiled.
"Bati!" He came over as if to put his arm around her shoulders, then seemed to think better of it. Instead, he ran a finger along her cheek. Kolabati willed herself not to shrink from his touch. He spoke in Bengali. "You're looking better everyday."
"Where were you all night, Kusum?"
He stiffened. "I was out. Praying. I have learned to pray again. Why do you ask?"
"I was worried. After what happened—"
"Do not fear for me on that account," he said with a tight smile. "Pity instead the one who tries to steal my necklace."
"Still I worry."
"Do not." He was becoming visibly annoyed now. "As I told you when you first arrived, I have a place I go to read my Gita in peace. I see no reason to change my routines simply because you are here."
"I wouldn't expect such a thing. I have my life to lead, you have yours." She brushed past him and moved toward the door. "I think I'll go for a walk."
"Like that?" His eyes were racing up and down her minimally clad body. "With your legs completely exposed and your blouse unbuttoned?"
"This is America."
"But you are not an American! You are a woman of India! A Brahmin! I forbid it!"
Good—he was getting angry.
"You can't forbid, Kusum," she said with a smile. "You no longer tell me what to wear, what to eat, how to think. I am free of you. I'll make my own decisions today, just as I did last night."
"Last night? What did you do last night?"
"I had dinner with Jack." She watched him closely for his reaction. He seemed confused for an instant, and that wasn't what she expected.
"Jack who?" Then his eyes widened. "You don't mean—?"
"Yes. Repairman Jack. I owe him something, don't you think?"
"An American—!"
"Worried about my karma? Well, dear brother, my karma is already polluted, as is yours—especially yours—for reasons we both know too well." She averted her thoughts from that. "And besides," she said, tugging on her necklace, "what does karma mean to one who wears this?"
"A karma can be cleansed," Kusum said in a subdued tone. "I am trying to cleanse mine."
The sincerity of his words struck her and she grieved for him. Yes, he did want to remake his life; she could see that. But by what means was he going about it? Kusum had never shied away from extremes.
It suddenly occurred to Kolabati that this might be the moment to catch him off guard, but it passed. Besides, better to have him angry. She needed to know where he would be tonight. She did not intend to let him out of her sight.
"What are your plans for tonight, brother? More prayer?"
"Of course. But not until late. I must attend a reception hosted by the U.K. Mission at eight."