‘Okay. Please come in. This sunlight is too strong for my eyes,’ he said and moved aside to let them in. Maria saw that his T-shirt was stained with oil, as if he had sat on a plate of greasy curry. The man opened the glass door that led into the house and as soon as the air conditioner’s cool air touched her face, Maria felt she had been transported to another country.
The room was huge, with glass windows that went all the way up to the ceiling. The walls were painted white but a glossy, blinding white Maria had never seen before. The bulging leather sofas with massive silver feet were white and the carpets were black and white. There were at least two dozen black and white cushions strewn all over the place. For a moment Maria felt she was surrounded by a herd of baby zebras. Black-and-white paintings of naked bodies hung on the wall and giant silver vases filled with artificial white lilies were placed on the tables. A chandelier with pieces of shining glass leaves winked at her from the ceiling. Beyond the windows, a swimming pool shimmered and a pink plastic raft shaped like a woman’s body floated on its surface. Two crows were perched on its head.
The man picked up a chiffon scarf and pair of high-heeled shoes from the sofa and sat down with a groan. Maria and Bobby kept standing near the door. The room was a mess. There were marigold garlands strewn on the floor and a lamp had overturned, spilling oil on the white, marble floor. A strong smell of incense and something rotten floated in the air and Maria began to feel a bit sick.
‘What kind of job are you looking for, Miss . . .? I forgot your name, sorry.’ The man mopped his face with a red handkerchief that had ‘RH’ embroidered on it in gold.
She had seen a handkerchief like this before. But Maria could not remember where. Who had shown it to her? Was it at the Happy Home or the Tip Top Cafe? Where?
‘I can do housekeeping and cooking. Bobby here is an expert gardener with a degree in botany from Goa University. We often work in big houses like this during the summer to earn some extra money. I have an old mother whom I am looking after. Medicines are so expensive now,’ said Maria, on a roll. Once you started telling lies, it got quite easy. She was no longer feeling nervous and she pushed Bobby forward. Why was he standing so quietly? He should help to get some information too.
Bobby cleared his throat and said, ‘Your garden really needs a total overhaul. Those shrubs are dying. If you like I will do a soil analysis and give you a report of what kind of plants are suitable for your garden.’ The man took off his dark glasses slowly and looked up at them. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy and Maria could now smell stale alcohol on his breath. ‘Please sit down, Miss Mary. I am Rana Hooda, by the way. I cannot offer you tea or anything since the servants seem to have vanished. You can see everything is a mess,’ he said. ‘I would like to employ you both. It is so difficult to find good staff in Goa though we pay so much. They just keep running off. My wife lives in Delhi. Can you cook Goan food?’ he asked. ‘I love Goan food but Olga hates it. She says it gives her a stomach ache. These Russian girls can drink a bottle of vodka happily but a bit of chilli scares them. Olga is my . . . err . . . she is my personal trainer,’ said Rana and suddenly burped loudly.
‘Sorry. I am not feeling too well. I don’t know what I ate last night. Some Russian food Olga had made. Half-cooked chunks of meat. Olga is the only person I know who can burn meat and still leave it uncooked.’ He frowned and twisted the heavy gold chain around his neck with his fingers.
‘Olga?’ said Maria softly. Could this be the same Olga who had come to the Tip Top Cafe with the bundle of stolen jewellery and tried to frame Yuri? There were so many Russian girls in Goa but still she must ask him.
‘Is Olga living here too? I think I met her the other day. Tall girl, very beautiful?’ asked Maria, trying to sound casual, holding her breath.
‘Beautiful? Yes. Olga is very beautiful but she is a greedy, cruel-hearted bitch. She is an evil Barbie doll. Do you think you could make me some tea and toast? I am feeling a bit ill. If I eat something, I might feel better. By the way, we are hosting a party this evening for some very important people from abroad. Come and help to serve the drinks. I will pay you . . . pay you whatever you ask. Ten thousand . . . twenty thousand rupees. Wear a black dress. Olga will give you an apron. She loves uniformed servants, though she is a bloody peasant herself.’ Rana lay down on the sofa. He yawned a few times, snapping his fingers in front of his mouth.
Maria nodded. ‘Sure. We are free this evening. I will make some tea for you now. Can you show me where the kitchen is? Okay, don’t worry, I will find it,’ said Maria as Rana gave her a confused look. She went out of the drawing room and opened the first door she found. It was a gym with a row of machines and a giant television on one wall. There were blown-up photos of Hollywood stars and one of a small dog on a bicycle.
Maria came out and turned into the corridor. She opened another door and almost tripped over a heap of wet towels as she stepped into a large bathroom with a shining marble floor. The ceiling was painted with flying cherubs and a black, round bathtub sat like a giant spider in one corner. The taps were golden. Maria was very tempted to jump into the bathtub and turn the golden taps on. This luxurious bathroom belonged to a movie star. The perfect setting for a bubble bath scene. There were large bottles of various green and red gels, a basket of multicoloured soaps and a tall vase filled with fake lilies. The bathroom mirror was steamed as if someone had just had a bath. Maria could smell a strange, unpleasant aroma of burnt oil and flowers. The next door she opened led into a dining room with a glass table balanced on four silver legs shaped like a tiger’s paws. Golden chairs with swans painted on their backs surrounded the glass table and Maria felt she was in a magical zoo. She quickly shut the door and came back into the drawing room.
‘Excuse me, Mr Hooda, but I cannot find the kitchen,’ she said.
Rana Hooda was sprawled on the white sofa, snoring loudly with his mouth open. His shirt buttons were open and his hairy chest rose and fell with each breath, reminding Maria of a gorilla toy she had once seen that grunted when you pressed its stomach.
‘Great. Now we have to wait till he wakes up to ask him about this Olga. I am sure it is the same girl who came to meet me at the cafe,’ said Maria as she looked at Rana.
‘Now what should we do? Shall I wake him up?’ asked Maria as Bobby came and stood next to her.
‘No. Let him be. This is perfect. We can have a quick look around while he is asleep.’
‘Glad to know you’re still here with me. You really impressed him with your garden talk, Bobby.’
‘You are much better at talking than I am, Maria, and you know it. Come on. Let us look through the drawers over there. We might find a letter addressed to this Olga.’ Bobby pointed to a large desk.
‘‘No, I’ll go upstairs. If Olga lives here, her bedroom must be upstairs. I might see a photograph of her. She looked like the kind of girl who takes pictures of herself all the time, though she probably has to hide them when the wife turns up,’ said Maria, turning towards the stairs.
Her footsteps made an echoing sound on the marble floor and Maria tried to walk softly, holding on to the wall.
A giant stuffed leopard standing in the corner gave her a start and she stopped and touched its head. ‘You poor creature. I hope the person who shot you gets punished,’ she said, patting the leopard’s rough, dusty head. There was a door to her left but it was locked. Maria went to the door next to it and tried to turn the knob.
It opened at once and a whiff of strong perfume hit her face as she walked in. There were clothes lying all over the bedroom floor and the large bed too was covered with silk scarves, underwear and gowns. The carpet was black and white but covered with red stains. Maria was not sure if it was part of the design or someone had spilled red wine on it. A fine white powder covered the glass on the dressing table that was loaded with jars of perfume and make-up bottles.
Maria picked up a silver-framed photograph of a woman lying on the floor, half hidden under the
bed. It was not Olga. This woman was much older and had beady, suspicious-looking eyes. Could this be Rana’s wife? She looked familiar but Maria could not remember where she had seen her. She looked around but there were no other photographs. An ashtray filled with cigarette butts lay on the floor. Maria walked out of the room, closing the door gently behind her. She stood for a moment wondering where to go next. She suddenly heard someone calling out downstairs.
Maria quickly tried to open the door on the other side of the staircase. She hoped Rana was still sleeping, otherwise he would think it very odd to see her wandering about the house like this. Maria looked out of the window in the corridor and saw Cyrilo gazing up at her. He smiled and waved and she lifted her hand and waved back at him in surprise. Then she saw Deven getting out of the van. ‘They must have followed us. I knew they would.’ She opened the door and went into the next bedroom.
It was much bigger than the last one and the ceiling was covered with silk drapes like a stage. A large, heavily carved four-poster bed sat in the middle of the room and there were at least twenty soft toys huddled on the pillows. As Maria stared at the pink and blue velvet rabbits, woolly cats, puppies and monkeys she heard a soft whimpering sound and quickly turned around.
A large rat was watching her from under the bed. Maria opened her mouth to scream and then she saw it was not a rat but a very small dog. She went closer and the dog began wagging its stump of a tail and looked up at her with sad eyes.
‘You poor thing. Someone has chained you to the bed.’ Maria stroked the dog’s head. She saw it was a female and wore a collar with ‘Armani’ written on it in diamante studs. The dog began to whimper, and Maria untied her chain and pulled her out. She ran to the bathroom and made a big puddle on the black marble floor.
Then Maria looked up and saw the photographs.
Olga, the same Olga she had met at the Tip Top Cafe, was staring at her from the bathroom wall, naked as a newborn baby except for a fur stole wrapped around her neck. There was another photograph of the ugly older woman but someone had put it behind the cistern. Olga had probably switched the photographs around as soon as the wife left. ‘My personal trainer’, he had called her. What a complicated life this Rana Hooda led. No wonder he looked so miserable and unhappy.
The dog began running around in circles near Maria’s feet, barking loudly. Maria filled water in a mug and placed it on the floor. She took a half-eaten bun from her pocket and gave it to the dog, who sniffed at it but did not eat it. ‘Fussy thing you are. I have to leave you now, sorry.’ She quickly shut the door. She did not want the dog’s high-pitched barks to wake Rana.
Maria opened the bedroom door quietly and went out. She noticed there was one more photograph of Olga beyond the corridor but in this she was wearing a beautiful, formal gown and heavy diamond jewellery.
The girl obviously liked her diamonds.
‘This man is still asleep. What should we do? I cannot find anything in the study. Shall we look in the other rooms?’ asked Bobby when she came back into the drawing room.
‘No. I have found what we were looking for. Olga lives here. Olga is the connection to the Happy Home. She is connected with the woman’s death,’ said Maria. She heard a faint bark again and wished she could take the little dog home with her.
‘Look, Cyrilo and Deven are in the garden,’ said Bobby.
‘Yes, I saw them from upstairs. I was going to ask them to come in. They would love to see this house. It’s like being in an old Hollywood movie. What on earth are they doing? Why are they crawling?’ Maria went to the window.
‘Probably searching for clues like true detectives. You know, cigarette butts, torn bits of cloth, lost shoes.’ Bobby smiled.
‘I will call them in,’ said Maria, walking to the door.
As soon as she touched the door handle she heard Rana mutter in his sleep and she quickly turned around. He was still fast asleep, his cheeks puffing up with each loud snore. His face was glowing with sweat though the room was freezing with all the air conditioners on full blast.
‘I think he is on drugs. This kind of heavy sleep is not natural. It is certainly drug-induced,’ said Bobby, staring at him.
‘There was a sprinkling of some white powder in the bedroom upstairs. Do you think it’s cocaine? I didn’t want to touch it. I think we should let him sleep. Now that he knows us, we can always come back later in case we need to find out anything more,’ said Maria. ‘And he has employed me. I have to help with the party in the evening. You are coming with me, Bobby.’ She opened the door. The dog was still barking upstairs but Rana Hooda slept on, dead to the world.
Cyrilo circled the villa and came back to the van. He was happy to have spotted Maria inside the house. Hopefully that meant she had found out something important. Luckily there were no guards around and he had had a good look at the garden. He tapped on the window of the van now and said to Deven, ‘The coast is clear but first I need to do a small job.’
‘Why is your bladder so weak? You must learn to control yourself. There are some yoga exercises I can teach you,’ said Deven, coming out of the van as Cyrilo got up too.
‘It can wait. I am not going to start doing yoga here to control my weak bladder,’ muttered Cyrilo and disappeared behind a shrub.
Deven looked around. It was so quiet here. They could not hear the sound of traffic at all though the main road was not very far. The new villas already had green gardens with fully grown trees. Deven wondered if they had all been transplanted from the forest to create an instant garden for these rich people. When you had money you did not have to wait for anything.
Cyrilo came back, humming, and then saw Maria waving to them from the door of the villa.
‘Come in. Be very quiet. The guard is still not back,’ she whispered.
‘I have no control over anything. My bladder is weak, my blood pressure is high, my hearing is bad and my eyesight is weak. My blood sugar is high and my libido is low. But I am alive and kicking. I am sixty-nine years young,’ sang Cyrilo, walking into the villa.
Deven followed, took one quick look around and said, ‘There has been a puja in this room. I can smell sandalwood agarbatti. Why has this man passed out like this?’ he asked, pointing to Rana slumped on the sofa.
‘You smell agarbatti everywhere. This man looks happily drunk to me,’ whispered Cyrilo, opening the door nearest to him. ‘I am going to check out the rooms. Wow. Deven. Look. What a bathroom! I might take a quick shower here while you glare at that blissfully drunk man on the sofa. Let the sleeping drunks lie, I always say.’
‘Everyone looks drunk to you,’ muttered Deven. ‘I can see something very strange is going on in this house. Why is there so much stuff on the floor? It seems someone has done a puja but then someone has also smoked marijuana in this room.’ Deven touched the wet surface of the glass table. It was oily and a brass lamp lay on the floor. He quietly opened a drawer next to the table but then heard footsteps behind him and quickly shut it.
Cyrilo came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, his hair wet and plastered to his head. He was reeking of strong perfume.
‘I had a quick wash with some imported soap but it really smells foul. Look at that old chandelier. They must have bought it from one of those old villas in Goa. This table is antique too. My grandmother had one just like this,’ Cyrilo said, looking around.
‘I could never live in a house like this. It is like a hotel. Not very clean either. Look at all the mess on the carpets.’ Deven went towards the door that led into the garden.
‘Well, I don’t think you have to worry about that. How can we ever live in such a house? It’s only for millionaires like this fat fellow. Anyway, I love the Happy Home the best. Who needs costly chandeliers? But I wouldn’t mind having a giant TV like that. Watching football on that screen would be so great,’ said Cyrilo, following him into the garden.
Maria wanted to show them the dining room but they heard Rana muttering loudly as he turned restlessly on the s
ofa. ‘Time to depart,’ said Bobby and quickly pushed all of them out. He shut the door quietly behind them and walked out. He opened the car door and waited for Maria to get in. She shook her head and laughed. ‘Don’t spoil me like this, Bobby. I am not used to it.’
Bobby opened his mouth to say that he wanted nothing more in life than to spoil her, give her all the comforts she ever wanted, but he said nothing. As they drove off, he began practising what he would say to her later, as he had done so many times at home. He had sat day after day by the water lily pool and thought about laying his heart bare to Maria. He had told her how he had fallen in love with her from the first day he saw her at school with her long curly hair tied up with a blue ribbon. He had long imaginary conversations with her as he walked around the spice garden and he was sure all the trees, shrubs and flowering plants knew every word he had spoken to Maria. Everyone knew so well what was in his heart, except Maria.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘WHAT A GRAND villa. It’s like something out of a Hollywood movie. This Rana Hooda must be loaded,’ said Cyrilo as they walked to their van parked farther down the road. The guard had now come back and was staring at them suspiciously. ‘We could have robbed the whole house if we wanted to. This guard fellow is useless.’ Deven gave the guard such a stern look that he promptly jumped up to salute him. ‘All made with black money,’ he added as he turned the van around. The street was empty except for a big red car under a tree. A stray dog slept in its shade and a few urchins were trying to look at their faces in the side mirrors. Cyrilo waved to them and they ran away. As they drove back, Cyrilo kept talking about the villa they had just seen but Deven said nothing. ‘What are you thinking about?’ Cyrilo finally noticed and asked.
Murder at the Happy Home for the Aged Page 16