Season of Sacrifice
Page 25
He started for the door, turned back and gave her a wistful look.
Maya heard the click of the door. She remained seated; her memories swirled around their time together. At one point, she wondered if Justin had ever loved Jennifer. She answered that question herself. That tramp was trouble and, as a dedicated cop and a decent person, Justin doted on that aspect of her character. He’d stayed with her, giving her the support she needed, hoping to alter her behavior. Somehow Maya would have to let go of that painful realization along with the push-pull of old memories.
She rose and rearranged the furniture in the living room, lifting and dragging, taking into consideration the best-lit spots in the room and areas of shadow. The sofa was now placed against the wall that faced the door, which seemed like a more inviting arrangement. And now, without the sofa blocking the window, more light poured into the room. She put a crystal vase on the coffee table, which accommodated a bunch of pink coneflowers that harmonized well with the red throw pillows on the sofa and added to the overall effect.
Time to check her messages. She found a text from Hank saying he was cutting out early to have dinner with Sophie. She could almost see his eyes, alive with excitement as he danced out of the office. She sent him a congratulatory note: GLHF (Good luck. Have fun.)
Now in a better mood, she went to the mailbox that hung on the patio railing. Among overly cheerful junk mail and a stack of boring bills, she found a personal letter addressed to her – a five-by-seven-inches cream-colored linen envelope. A bit on the pricy side, it exuded a mild lavender scent, the penmanship unknown.
She checked the top left-hand corner. Atticus Biswas’ name was scribbled on it, but no return address. With the letter in hand, she exited through the back door, eased into the yard and pulled up a patio chair. There, surrounded by the red carnival of nicotianas, she tore open the flap. Inside rested a sheaf of fine yellow paper written in longhand.
Dear Maya,
By the time you get this, I’ll be sunning myself in Bora Bora. No joke, I really am flying out there for a vacation. After a week or so, I’ll head on to another equally sunny pasture. After Guru Padmaraja’s death I couldn’t eat or sleep or work and opted to take a long break.
I must thank you for all you did for me. You pinned it down: the gangsters who’d beat me up were Ivan’s buddies. In fact, you exposed a much bigger crime involving both Ivan and Viktor that explained our loss of Sylvie.
Please allow me to make a confession right away. You asked me more than once, I so painfully remember, if the man in sunglasses had given me a warning and if that’s why I prevented you from rescuing Sylvie. You were correct. I’d lied to you. But please consider this transgression from my perspective. After getting my leg broken by those goons, I couldn’t take another chance. I had to go along with that nyet in order to protect myself. I had to play nice. As a result, I’ll forever have to bear the burden of my duplicity. Please forgive me if you can.
Incidentally, it was I who had asked Arthur, the derelict poet (who dedicated his latest poem, ‘Tax Shelter’, to me), to watch out for you. Whenever you showed up in his part of the woods, he was to make sure you were safe. How do I know Arthur? I met him through Cal Chodron. You see, I do Cal’s taxes. Seattle is still, in many ways, a village of like-minded people.
You’ve already figured this out but please allow me to repeat it. Our guru, although falsely blamed by Ivan, had no direct involvement with Sylvie’s suicide. The police are still investigating, but my suspicion is Ivan or an accomplice is responsible for the hit-and-run that took away our guru’s precious life on this planet. I found out after the fact that Ivan did have an appointment to meet with the guru that evening, which was what led him to that challenging intersection. And Samuel, the guru’s dedicated assistant, betrayed us. He’d been bribed by Ivan to make that appointment. Samuel managed to leave early that day at short notice, leaving the guru protection-less.
My heart aches as I write this. I am trying my best to forgive myself; that’s what our guru would surely have wanted. When I return to Seattle, I’ll reopen the meditation center, take over its operation and resume the classes. The guru would have liked to see the center continuing to operate in his absence.
It was my good fortune that our paths crossed, even though it was under terribly dark skies. You’re an able private investigator and I see you catching many more perpetrators, doing good for us all.
I hope to get back in touch when I return for old times’ sake. Let’s talk over chai.
Ever yours,
Atticus
Maya stuffed the letter back in its envelope and placed it on the patio table. She could see and hear Atticus: his odd behavior, mathematical humor and protective fatherly ways. It’d still take her a little time to get over his lies.
Her eyes swept the yard. This summer had been a season of many tears and disappointments but also a few gains. Autumn was just around the corner. But before she could welcome the new season, she’d have to take care of that which had sustained her in the past. The overgrown, silvery sage needed to be controlled, the daisies were waiting to be dead-headed, the fuchsia had to be trimmed back before the onset of cold weather. Only then would she be able to till the soil and plant new seedlings for the next season. And that forlorn, single-stalked snapdragon – come next summer, she’d replace it with a cluster of cosmos.
Meanwhile, she’d look for a suitable case to work on. She’d also try to rebuild her social circle, one friend at a time, knowing loneliness would often haunt her steps. Another visit from Uma would be welcome, this time with her gentleman friend, although Maya understood someday that would end as well.
The summer, still lingering in all its magnificence, reassured her. She marveled in its form and rhythm, drank its goodness and rejoiced in its strength. Then she rose, readying herself for whatever challenge awaited her.