by Leena Clover
I stopped at Sylvie’s after work.
“How’s your grandpa doing?” she asked the moment she saw me.
I shrugged. I hadn’t had a chance to call home during the day.
“Haven’t you talked to Motee Ba today?” I asked her.
Sylvie shook her head.
“Honey and your mother have gone shopping.”
“Oh yeah,” I remembered.
Pappa must have been alone at home all day.
“I better go and check on him, Sylvie.”
Sylvie waved me off and I sped home.
Pappa was outside, pacing in the yard. The weather was milder than winter but there was a nip in the air. What was he doing out in the cold?
I took his arm and nudged him inside.
“They should have been home by now,” he muttered.
His hand was almost frozen.
“Why don’t I make some tea?”
My grandpa can make tea in the microwave but he doesn’t like it that way. I made Masala Chai the traditional Gujarati way, just the way he drank it.
He sat at the kitchen table, smacking his lips.
It was way past his tea time. My family is used to having some heavy snacks with their afternoon tea. We eat dinner late around 9 PM.
“What do you want to eat, Pappa?”
He was quiet. I decided to make some vegetable puffs to cheer him up.
I set out the puff pastry from the fridge and washed some frozen peas. It was too early for peas from our garden. I pulsed peas in the Cuisinart along with some garlic. Luckily, there were some boiled potatoes in the refrigerator. I rolled out the pastry and soon my puffs were in the oven.
Jeet came in and looked around.
“Are you making some chicken puffs?” he asked.
“Not today,” I said. “Where have you been? Couldn’t you get Pappa his tea?”
“I asked him. He said no.”
Jeet went out to watch some TV. Pappa sat in his chair, looking gloomy. I didn’t know what to say. There was nothing I could do to console him.
The oven dinged and I heard a car outside. Pappa tapped his cane and started to get up. Sally came in with her arms full of stuff, followed by Motee Ba. Jeet was dispatched to help them unload the car.
I set out the steaming puffs and pulled out bottles of chili sauce and tamarind chutney. The Masala tea was poured and the ladies sighed with relief.
“That was some trip,” Motee Ba said, taking a long sip of her tea.
Sally nodded and smiled. There’s a pattern to her smiles. I can almost decipher them now. She was agreeing with Motee Ba.
Pappa finally ate some puffs and drank his tea. He bounced back with a burst of energy.
“Did you get everything on the list?” he demanded.
Motee Ba looked apologetic.
“Well, we forgot the Doritos.”
My grandpa made a rude sound.
“Who needs that orange dust anyway?” He gave me a quelling look. “Ten days on the road – you better eat homemade snacks as much as you can.”
“We’ll start cooking for the trip tomorrow,” Motee Ba promised him.
They had come up with a list of stuff that would last a few days. We made short work of the puffs, even the second batch. I set a couple aside for Dad.
I thought about Charlie Gibson as I came out of the shower. The phone rang and it was Stan Miller.
“Hey Stan,” I said with bated breath.
For the first time, I wasn’t keen on getting the skinny from him.
“We just got the preliminary autopsy report. It was the knife alright. He died almost instantly.”
“He didn’t try to defend himself?” I asked.
“Doesn’t look like it,” Stan said. “He was stabbed from the back. I don’t think Charlie even had time to turn around.”
“So you think it was someone he knew? How did he let someone get that close?”
Charlie Gibson wasn’t an extrovert. I doubt anyone other than his housekeeper or Leo ever entered his house.
“That, or the person was very stealthy. Charlie didn’t hear him, obviously.”
“What about Bandit?”
“Charlie’s mutt?” Stan asked. “I didn’t think of that.”
Stan sometimes overlooks obvious things. Okay, he often overlooks the obvious. At least he owns up to it nowadays.
“Where was he this morning?”
“In the hallway between the kitchen and his bedroom.”
“Was he all riled up?”
“Wake up, Meera. He was dead!”
“Who, Bandit?”
“No, Charlie Gibson!”
“I’m talking about the dog. Where was the dog when you went into the house today?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t notice. Maybe someone let him out.”
“How come he wasn’t barking all night?”
I heard the sound of pen scratching on paper.
“Let me find out,” Stan said.
I held myself back. I didn’t want to get involved.
“So…you’re leaving on this trip of yours?”
“Oh yes! We are all going.”
“You were a big help on the last two cases,” Stan mumbled. “I’m sort of used to discussing stuff with you.”
Was Stan Miller finally giving me a compliment?
“I guess we can talk on the phone,” I said grudgingly.
“Do you have a cell phone?” he asked.
He knew I didn’t. He was angling for Dad’s cell phone number. There was no way I was sharing that with him.
“You know I don’t, Stan. I’ll have to call you myself when we check into our hotel at night.”
Stan thanked me for the offer.
“You can always send me a message via Becky.”
Stan hung up and I went to bed, not sure of what I had signed up for.
Charlie Gibson’s memorial service was to be held in Sylvie’s Café on Friday night. She made it happen just so Pappa could attend. He had lost most of his enthusiasm for the trip.
“Why don’t you say something at the memorial service, Pappa?” I asked.
Maybe talking about his friend would be cathartic.
“You mean like a eulogy?” he asked. “I’m not much of a speaker, Meera.”
“What are you saying, Mr. Patel? Don’t you remember all those speeches you gave at the mill?”
“That was fifty years ago, Hansa. I’m old now.”
I left them arguing over it.
“Good call, Meera,” Dad patted me on the back as he went into his office.
He must have heard me talking to Pappa. Dad had been closeted in his office like it was the end of the world. He had never taken a one week break from work. That’s what academia does to you - one of the reasons I stay away from being a professor.
I put in a load of laundry and thought about meeting Leo at the memorial. I wanted to ask him why he’d ignored me at the food court.
Chapter 3
Leo Smith stood just inside the entrance to Sylvie’s, greeting people as they arrived for Charlie’s memorial service. The days were lengthening, and the sky was streaked orange and pink near the horizon. It was 6 PM and it had been a long day. We had an early start planned for next morning. But there was no way we would miss this final farewell to Charlie Gibson.
“Thanks for coming, Mr. Patel,” Leo shook Pappa’s hand. “Charlie would have wanted you here.”
“Don’t tell me what he would or would not have wanted, boy!” Pappa boomed. “Known him a lot longer than you.”
Pappa can sound really gruff at times, but he was just putting on a front.
Leo bowed his head but remained silent. His eyes were swollen and red rimmed. His gray eyes seemed to have sunk deeper in the last two days. There were dark circles under his eyes. Whatever Pappa thought about him, Leo was grieving.
I patted him on the back and ushered Pappa to a table. Jon came over to talk to him. Sylvie had arranged a buffet table at one
end. I handed her a Crockpot full of queso and a bag of tortilla chips. I spied some corn bread and a pan of fried chicken. Baskets of muffins vied for space with cookie platters and casseroles.
Small town life has a certain pattern. Casseroles are du jour for a house of mourning. I doubted if anyone had cared about taking food to Leo. They wouldn’t turn up empty handed at a public place though.
Dad and Sally arrived just after us and gave their condolences. Tony arrived with Aunt Reema. He made a line for the buffet table. I got up to join him.
“Looks like you’re loading up for tomorrow,” I teased, eyeing Tony’s heaped plate. “You know we’re not going on a walking trip, right?”
“Skipped lunch,” he said through bites of fried chicken.
Almost everyone had arrived and people were settling in at their tables. Leo still stood by the door, lost in thought.
I filled a plate and took it to him.
“I’m not hungry,” he shook his head.
“When was the last time you ate?” I reasoned. “You need to keep your strength up.”
Tears flew down Leo’s cheeks. He turned away, trying to hide his grief. I put the plate down and hugged him tightly. He returned my hug with fervor. I had a nasty suspicion. I was probably the first person who had hugged him since Charlie’s death.
“Charlie was so good to me,” he sobbed. “He was a kind man. I can never repay him for what he did for me.”
“You made him happy, Leo,” I consoled.
“I wasn’t there for him,” Leo said through his tears. “Not when it mattered, when he needed me.”
Charlie Gibson had walked into Sylvie’s one Saturday morning a few months ago, accompanied by a tall, skinny kid. His unruly mop of hair needed a cut and his clothes had seen one wash too many. Charlie introduced him to everyone.
“This is Leo. He’ll be living with me now.”
No one knew where Leo Smith had come from or who he was. Some said he was a long lost relative of Charlie’s. Some said he was a foundling. Others were sure he was a punk who just got out of juvie. The gossips wondered if there would be a sudden influx of drugs in Swan Creek. All kinds of nasty things were whispered.
Charlie Gibson ignored it all. Leo Smith did not enroll in school, fueling the rumors. We later learned he was home schooling himself. Charlie Gibson had lived in Swan Creek for the last fifty years. He had been alone since his wife died twenty years ago. He was declared senile by the people’s court and they decided to turn a blind eye to Leo Smith as long as he didn’t disturb the peace in town.
Leo surprised everyone by his model behavior. He turned out to be a loner. His life was as regimented as Charlie’s, but he didn’t seem to mind. He was often seen at the library, absorbed in his books. Charlie brought him to Sylvie’s for Sunday dinner sometimes. Other than that, we hardly came across Leo Smith.
I made sure Leo ate a few bites. He made a short speech thanking everyone for coming.
“We’re here for Charlie,” someone muttered.
Pappa gave a speech after that.
I wondered where Leo was going to live now.
“You’re one brave soul, Leo, living in that house alone.”
“I don’t have a choice,” he said sadly. “I can’t go anywhere while the police are investigating.”
I wondered if Charlie Gibson had any heirs. I cringed at the thought of some obscure relative driving Leo out. I decided to talk to Sylvie about it.
Then I remembered what Leo had said a few minutes ago.
I caught his eye and went into the pantry. He followed me in, his face quizzical.
“What did you mean you weren’t there?” I asked.
“I was out of town that night. I drove to Ponca City to meet some friends. I was going to stay with them for a day or two.”
“I didn’t know you have friends in the area?”
“I don’t,” Leo said. “They are driving through, going south to Corpus Christi and then on to Florida, maybe. I just wanted to spend some time with them.”
Spring Break was rolling across the country so that kind of made sense. I was itching to ask Leo where these friends were from. That might give me an idea of where he came from.
“We’re going on a road trip too,” I told Leo, “all the way to California.”
His face fell.
“I was hoping you’d be here helping the cops.”
“I don’t work for them, Leo. I was just trying to help a friend out.”
He looked like he wanted to say something but was too shy to voice it.
“Is there something you want to tell me?”
I prayed it wasn’t a confession.
He hesitated.
“As long as you are in the right, I’ll try to help you.”
“Well, Charlie and I talked about how the cops almost arrested you once. And your friend.” He tipped his head toward Sylvie. “What if they zero in on me?”
He looked like the kid he was, helpless and uncertain.
“I don’t know too many people in this town, Meera.”
I didn’t want to make any false promises. But I could see Leo was barely holding it together.
“You can always send me a message. You know Becky, don’t you? I’ll be calling her from the road.”
Leo gave me a watery smile. I called Becky over and introduced her to Leo.
“Of course I know Leo,” she exclaimed. “He’s come here plenty of times with Charlie.”
I told Becky she was to pass on any message Leo wanted to send me. That seemed to satisfy him.
He took my hands in his. “Can you promise me something? Find out who did this. I know Charlie was your grandpa’s friend. He trusted you, Meera. He was really proud of the way you solved those two cases.”
I grudgingly made a promise, sounding as noncommittal as I could.
Stan Miller came in and made a beeline toward me. I asked Leo to get me a cookie from the table.
“It’s beginning to look like a robbery gone bad,” he whispered.
Charlie Gibson wasn’t exactly swimming in money. He was a retired man living on a fixed income. I let Stan continue.
“A couple of drawers have been pulled out from a desk, and his wallet was on the floor near a window.”
“How much money do you think he had, Stan?” I rolled my eyes.
“Doesn’t have to be much. It’s all about how urgently someone needs it.”
Stan walked to the buffet and began loading his plate. He can’t ignore a loaded table for long.
“Never did a thing out of turn,” someone was saying. “He had a solid routine, Mr. Gibson did. There was a day to go to the library, and a day for the bank. And he never switched the days come hell or high water.”
Audrey Jones was talking to some other older ladies between bites of Sylvie’s banana cream pie. The short woman wasn’t wearing her trademark smock for a change. How did she know about Charlie’s habits?
“Kid’s taking it real hard,” she said under her breath. “He’s either really cut up or a very good actor.”
“What do we really know about him?” A frazzled older woman quipped.
She had been standing in Charlie’s yard when we drove over on that fateful day.
“That’s Anna Collins,” Becky supplied, handing me a slice of pecan pie. “Saved the last slice for you.”
Sylvie had packed a few pies for us to take along, but I wasn’t saying no to a slice.
“Who’s she?”
“Charlie’s neighbor. Lives two doors down. And that’s his housekeeper.”
“Who, Audrey? I didn’t know she worked for Charlie?”
Becky gave me a look.
“She’s been working for Charlie Gibson since his wife died. If you want to know anything about Charlie’s habits, she’s your guy.”
I didn’t take the bait. But I was beginning to sense a pattern. I hoped Leo Smith had a thick skin.
I went and sat at our table.
“Are you all pack
ed and ready to leave bright and early?” Aunt Reema winked.
“Don’t know about the kids,” Motee Ba said, smiling at us, “but we are ready.”
Pappa gave us the stink eye.
“We are leaving at 6 AM and not a moment later.”
That was going to happen.
“I wish you were coming,” I told Auntie Reema.
“Do you want to take my car?” she laughed.
She knows me well.
“We are all going in that big Lexus,” Pappa said stonily. “Why do you think your father spent a ridiculous amount of money on it?”
Dad had bought the big SUV against Pappa’s wishes. Frugality is ingrained in us Patels. A car that gave less than 10 miles per gallon and sat in the garage most of the time was a big waste of money according to my grandpa.
“The back seat can get a bit cramped,” Jeet ventured.
Pappa tapped his cane.
“We are all going in one car, as a family.”
“Have you looked at the time?” Motee Ba stepped in. “I think we should leave now.”
We said goodbye to Leo. I had a weird feeling wash over me. Would he be here when we came back?
“Here’s my email,” I said, scribbling my email id on a slip of paper. “Keep in touch, Leo.”
His eyes filled up and I pulled him in a hug again.
“Don’t be a stranger, you hear?”
Motee Ba told him the same thing and the grownups stepped out to Dad’s car. I spotted Sylvie going into her office. I remembered what I wanted to tell her.
“Don’t worry, Meera. Our door’s always open for him. I already told him that. He’s not going to be abandoned again.”
I trust Sylvie as much as I trust my family. So I was relieved.
I stopped at Tony’s on the way home.
“Why aren’t you home yet, Meera?” he asked me.
“Why aren’t you?”
I started loading up on candy bars.
“Didn’t Granny’s list have candy on it?”
“This is my secret stash.”
“Go home!” Tony said, pushing me toward the door. “We have to start at 6 AM sharp.”
We both burst out laughing. Then I sobered as I thought of Leo.
“Did you hear those people at the diner? Looks like Leo’s been convicted without trial. Everyone’s pointing the finger at him.”