by N. H. Senzai
“Hey,” interrupted Omar. “Mom said no playing anything till our homework’s done.
“Aw, man,” complained Hasan. “We can do it after playing.”
“Yeah, you tell her that,” Omar shot back.
Darn, thought Ariana. They’d been invaded by the boys. “Come on,” she told Laila, pulling an evasive maneuver. “We have a lot of work to do before tomorrow night.”
“What’s tomorrow night?” asked Laila, blinking in confusion.
Ariana gave her a playful punch on the arm. “It’s only the best night of the year! Halloween. We dress up and go trick-or-treating.”
“Oh, right,” said Laila, perking up a little. She’d been amazed when they’d explained to her how you went to people’s houses and they gave you free candy.
Before they could slip into the garage, they ran smack into the boys in the hall. Spotting Laila, they instantly quieted and gathered around, their eyes downcast.
“Hey, guys,” said Omar.
“We heard the rumors about your dad,” said Hasan, his voice low. “I’m really sorry.”
“Yeah,” added Omar as Marjan leaned over and hugged her.
Little Taroon, feeling left out, snuggled into Ariana. Taken aback, she squeezed him with one arm and kissed the top of his head. He smelled like strawberry shampoo and popcorn.
“We all prayed that he’ll be found soon,” said Baz, his freckles bright against his pale face.
“Thank you so much,” said Laila, looking away to stop herself from crying.
Sensing tears about to erupt, the boys dispersed like ghosts, and the girls entered the garage to inspect their costumes. Every year Ariana and Mariam made their costumes themselves. Last year they’d gone as salt and pepper shakers, and the year before they’d been Little Bo Peep and one of her sheep. This year Laila was joining them, so they’d decided to be different-colored M&M’s. Mariam, of course, was going to be pink, even though it wasn’t a standard color. The boys were going to be one superhero or another, again, which was easy. They recycled the Superman, Spider-Man, and Hulk costumes amongst themselves. Zayd thought Halloween was childish, so he and Fadi were hanging out at home, watching a movie.
“Come on,” said Ariana, grabbing the two huge circles of blue and green felt. Hava Bibi had sewn two rounds together, then turned them inside out to hide the seams. Luckily, the seams weren’t touching Ariana’s skin, so she was okay with that. She’d just wear one of her supercomfy T-shirts and sweatpants underneath. Their grandmother had left open sections on the top and bottom for their head and legs. Two small holes on the sides were for their arms. Now all they had to do was cut out an M from white felt and glue it on.
While they waited for the glue to dry, Laila found a cozy spot next to the desk and cracked open a book they were reading in language arts, Shaka, King of the Zulus. Ariana debated reading but decided to sort through her origami supplies instead. As she went to pick up her box, she noticed a bag of colorful scraps of paper, probably from her father. Usually if he came across interesting paper, he saved it for her. She dumped out the bag and started sorting. Most of it she’d throw away, but she found a nice piece of metallic paper that felt rough and crinkly, and a silky square of leftover wrapping paper. At the bottom of the pile she came across a couple of familiar faces—Ana Cardoso’s and Ronald Hammersmith’s campaign flyers from the fall festival.
Ronald’s flyer, made of heavyweight and slightly textured stock, felt pleasantly solid in her hand. She remembered that she needed a green shade of paper like this to make the trees for her zoo menagerie, so she took it over to the desk. When the page caught the light of the lamp, its blue-green hue brightened, and as her fingertips slid across the page, it somehow felt familiar. With a slight frown she reached for her magnifying glass and looked more closely. Her breath caught in her throat; tiny smudges peppered the page. She opened her father’s filing cabinet and yanked out the folder of clues she’d hidden in the back. She removed the sunflower-yellow horse meat flyer and laid it beside Ronald’s flyer. In comparing the two she noted that the paper quality was the same—expensive, manufactured of cotton pulp that, when torn, frayed ever so slightly.
“Laila,” she whispered, her tone urgent. “Look at this.”
AFTER SCHOOL THE NEXT day Wali, Ariana, and Mariam biked over to Krishna Kopymat, a few blocks away from Wong Plaza. The night before, Ariana had sent Wali and Mariam an e-mail as soon as she and Laila had stopped puzzling over the two flyers. Today Laila had gone home to cover for Ariana with her parents and Hava Bibi. If they asked, her cousin was to tell them that she’d gone over to Mariam’s to drop off some schoolbooks. The trio locked up their rides and pulled off their helmets.
“Show us,” said Mariam with an eager smile as she and Wali crowded around.
“Look,” said Ariana, holding up the two pages. “This is the same type of paper—heavyweight, a bit textured. And notice how they both fray at the edges? The ink smudges on both of them too.”
“Wow,” murmured Wali, rubbing the paper between his fingers. He glanced up at Ariana with newfound respect. “It’s amazing how you could know all that from just looking at them. To me all paper looks the same.”
Ariana blushed at the unexpected compliment. “I just know a lot about paper,” she managed to mumble.
Mariam grinned. “All those years of origami paid off.”
The bell at the top of the door clanged as they entered Krishna’s, startling the skinny young clerk who was stacking boxes at the other side of the store.
“How can I help you?” he asked. His nametag read Raj K.
“Hi,” said Wali. “We need your help with these.”
Ariana laid both flyers on the counter. “We think they were printed by the same print shop. Was it here?”
Raj examined the sheets, holding them up to the light, feeling the texture and examining the torn edges. “Well. Although the color is different, this is definitely the same brand of paper.”
Ariana released a pent-up sigh. I was right!
“How can you be so sure?” asked Mariam.
“When I just looked at it through the light, I saw that both have the same thickness and transparency, which allows a sheet of paper to conceal print on the opposite side. And they have the same grain direction, since paper, like wood, has a grain.”
“What’s that?” asked Ariana, fascinated.
“Grain is created in the paper-making process,” said Raj, warming up before his audience. “The fibers of the raw pulp are poured over a continuously moving fine mesh belt. The water is drained and pressed out of the pulp, and the moving belt causes the fibers to line up in the direction of the motion. Paper can have either a short or long grain, and both of these have a long grain. They also have the same slightly rough texture and matte finish.”
“Wow,” muttered Wali.
“Yeah. Well, my dad is pretty serious about this stuff since it’s our business,” said Raj with a hint of pride.
“So do you have this type of paper?”
“Nah, we don’t carry recycled paper.”
“Recycled?” said Ariana.
“Yeah,” said Raj. He held up the page and showed a small watermark in the bottom corner—the symbol for recycling. Three mutually chasing arrows forming a Möbius strip. Ariana hadn’t thought to hold the paper up to light, so she’d missed the marks. “This ink is also unique,” added Raj, smelling both pages. He held it out to them to sniff. “Notice how it doesn’t smell harsh, like chemicals?”
The others nodded. It smelled a little waxy.
“That’s because it’s not a regular ink,” said Raj. He put it down and rubbed the front with his thumb.
“It smudges a bit,” said Ariana.
“Because its soy ink,” said Raj.
“Soy like soybeans?” asked Mariam.
“Yup. So
y ink is made from soybeans and is environmentally friendly, unlike traditional petroleum-based ink. And the clincher is that it doesn’t smell like harsh chemicals. Some say soy-based inks provide more accurate colors. It does make it easier to recycle the paper it’s printed on, but soy ink is also slower to dry, so we don’t use it.”
“Oh,” said Ariana, deflated. “So you definitely didn’t print these?”
“No, these aren’t ours, though they’re beautifully made.”
“Do you know who could have printed them?” asked Wali.
“I’d suggest a green, ecological printer,” said Raj. “Check the yellow pages. There are a few in the area.”
“Thanks for your help,” said Mariam.
“No problem,” said Raj.
The trio tumbled out of the store, energized by their first real clue.
“That was awesome,” said Wali. “He knew so much about paper. Who knew there could be so many kinds?”
“Too bad the flyers aren’t from his store,” said Ariana.
“I know,” said Mariam, staring at both the flyers clutched in her hand. “But he provided us with a really important clue.”
“What clue?” grumbled Ariana, desperate to find answers.
“He showed us that Ronald’s leaflet and the horse meat flyer were printed up by the same store,” said Mariam.
“That’s right,” said Wali. “We just need to find that store.”
“We need to find the store fast,” said Ariana, thinking back to Uncle Shams and his anger toward the Ghilzais. “I’m worried that something else is going to happen—something bad.”
“I’m worried too,” said Wali as Mariam nodded.
“Okay, Mariam. Can you dig up a list of green printers?” asked Ariana.
“Sure, no problem,” replied Mariam.
“Wali and I still need to follow up on the last couple of suspects on our list—Mr. Hooper, who’s retired, and Fiona.”
“Didn’t Mr. Martinez say Fiona was in the hospital the night of the break-in?” asked Wali.
“I know, but we can’t cross her off till we know for sure,” said Ariana.
“Okay,” said Mariam. “Let’s do it.” With that the trio headed home, the weight of their tasks heavy on their shoulders.
• • •
Ariana paused at the front door, inhaling the crisp autumn air. It smelled faintly of wet grass and ash from cozy fires.
“Have a ghoulishly fun time, girls,” Jamil said. He was wearing a jester’s hat and was loading up the candy bowl.
“Thanks, Dad. We will,” replied Ariana. She paused a moment as the other two girls said their good-byes and headed outside for a much anticipated night of trick-or-treating.
“Dad,” said Ariana. “Whatever happened to that woman, Leslie something or other, the one who wanted to rent Kabul Corner to turn it into a pizza parlor?”
“Oh, she was just scoping out locations,” said Jamil, dumping out the bag of mini chocolate bars.
“So she didn’t call again?” prodded Ariana.
Her father gave her an odd look. “No. I sent her to Lucinda, since I knew John Hooper wanted to cancel his lease after his heart attack. The diner already had a kitchen, so it would have been perfect for her. But I guess she never followed up.”
“Oh,” said Ariana, mentally checking Leslie off the list. If she’d been serious about the pizza joint, she could have converted Hooper’s Diner.
“Why do you ask, jaan?” asked Jamil, his jester bells ringing.
“It’s nothing,” said Ariana, hurrying out the door. “Just curious.”
Jamil shrugged and picked up another bag of candy.
The sun had set half an hour before, setting the scene for a spooky night. The girls headed out in the opposite direction from the boys, who were being chaperoned by Sara Khala. Even Laila had a carefree smile as she clutched her pillowcase, anticipating the night’s haul. Her eyes wide, she looked down the street, admiring the jack-o’-lanterns sitting on windowsills, the flying witches, cobwebs, and other decorations adorning the houses. There had been no news from Afghanistan, which in a way was a good thing, as they kept praying that Uncle Hamza would be found soon, safe and sound.
“So, what did you find out about green printers?” asked Ariana, taking the lead down the sidewalk toward the Huntington house, where they gave out full-size Twix bars.
“There are eleven printers that do some kind of environmentally friendly printing, all within a fifteen-mile radius of the city,” said Mariam.
“That’s a lot,” muttered Ariana. “Is there any way to narrow them down?”
“I called one of them, and they said that they’d have to see the flyer in order to see if it was their print job or not.”
“That could take forever,” said Ariana, ready to ring the Huntingtons’ doorbell.
After depositing the candy in their bags, they plodded on.
“The Krishna Kopymat guy said that the flyers came from the same place, right?” asked Laila.
Mariam and Ariana nodded. Ariana had filled her cousin in on all that they had learned from Raj.
“Well, you know one of the customers already,” said Laila.
A grin spread across Ariana’s face. “Ronald Hammersmith!”
“Well, why don’t you just ask him where he had it printed?” asked Laila.
“That’s a brilliant idea,” exclaimed Mariam, patting Laila on the back.
Ariana laughed, giving Laila a hug. “I’ll call his office tomorrow.”
As they rejoiced by sharing a box of Milk Duds, the familiar, sharp wail of a fire truck siren echoed up the main road, parallel to them. Ariana’s ears perked up. It was accompanied by the wail of a police car.
“I hope no one’s hurt,” said Mariam, stopping at the next house.
Laila looked in the direction the sirens were heading and pointed up to the sky. Ariana saw silvery smoke billowing up, veiling the bright white moon. A hard knot developed in her stomach; the Milk Duds suddenly were making her nauseous. She had a terrible feeling about the fire.
“SOMEBODY, GET THE DOOR!” hollered Nasreen as the bell rang the next afternoon.
With none of her brothers in sight or earshot, Ariana trudged over to see who it was. As the door swung open, she froze. It was Officer Nguyen and his partner standing on the front step. As she took in his friendly, tanned face, the line he’d written in the police report flashed in her mind. We found no sign of forcible entry into the store. For a brief second she was tempted to blurt out that a mysterious third party might be behind the horse meat flyers and the break-in at Kabul Corner. But she kept her mouth shut. Officer Nguyen would most probably think she had an overactive imagination, especially since there was no real proof to support the claim.
“Hello,” she croaked, taking a steadying breath.
“Hi there. Is Jamil Shinwari home?” asked Officer Nguyen.
“Uh, yeah,” said Ariana. “I’ll go get him.” She raced to the kitchen, where her father was reading the newspaper over a cup of tea and uneaten toast.
“Dad, Officer Nguyen is at the door with his partner. He wants to talk to you.” Jamil practically jumped from his seat, his body tense as he rushed to the door. Ariana followed him back, noticing that he looked thinner; all the stress of the past few months was taking a terrible toll on his health and he was barely eating or sleeping.
“Good morning, Officer Nguyen,” said Jamil. “Is there another problem at Kabul Corner?”
“No, nothing happened at your store.”
“Thank goodness,” said Jamil, his smile strained.
“But we’re here because of another incident at Wong Plaza,” explained Officer Nguyen. “There was a fire at another store there last night.”
“Oh, no,” said Jamil, gripping the door, his knuckles white.
/>
“Unfortunately, the damage to Pamir Market was severe,” he added, pulling out his notebook.
“Pamir Market?” Jamil repeated, the color draining from his face.
What? thought Ariana. How could this have happened? Then she remembered the wail of the fire trucks passing by the night before.
“It looks like an accident,” said Officer Nguyen.
“An accident?” repeated Jamil, as if not quite believing the news.
“Yes, one of the ovens in the bakery short-circuited, causing an electrical fire.”
An oven caught on fire? thought Ariana. That sounds way too convenient. “There was no sign of a break-in?” she blurted out before she could stop herself.
Her father and Officer Nguyen both gave her an odd look. “Actually, no. There was no sign of forced entry. Both the front and back doors were locked when the fire department arrived.”
“Oh,” muttered Ariana, and she ducked away into the living room, still within earshot of what they were saying. There was no forced entry, like at Kabul Corner!
“We’re asking all the tenants a few questions.”
“Of course,” said Jamil.
“Can you tell us where you were last evening, between six and eight o’clock?”
“I was home,” said Jamil, “handing out candy to trick-or-treaters. My wife and mother were home with me.”
Ten minutes later the police were gone and Jamil left for the store. Ariana paced the kitchen, not fully comprehending what had happened. Laila sat at the table, a forgotten bowl of soggy cornflakes in front of her.
“I looked for Wali at school all day and now I know why he wasn’t there,” exclaimed Ariana. “I bet his father is going to blame the fire on Father. I just know it.”
Laila nodded. “Call him. Find out what’s going on at his house.”
Ariana dialed Wali’s number with shaking fingers, hoping his father wouldn’t pick up. A feminine voice answered the phone.
“Hi, um . . . this is Wali’s friend from school. Is he home?” Ariana asked.