by N. H. Senzai
Ariana and Wali exchanged a look. Mrs. Wong had been in Sacramento, a good two-and-a-half-hour drive away, which gave her a valid alibi for that night.
“I really regret not putting in those security cameras,” continued Mrs. Wong. “After the break-in I got calls from the other tenants, wanting extra security. I told them that if I had the money, I would gladly do it. But with the state of the economy and with the expense of Martin’s care, I’m just plain tapped out.”
“We’re so sorry to hear about that,” said Wali, his voice sincere.
It’s now or never, thought Ariana. “So, ummm . . . Mrs. Wong, besides my dad and his brother, are you the only person who has a key to the store?”
“Yes,” she said. “I have master keys to all the stores and keep them over there,” she said, pointing to the corkboard Ariana had just been examining.
“I see. Well, thank you for your time,” said Ariana. “And the lemonade.”
“No problem,” said Mrs. Wong. “Tell your father if he needs anything from me for the insurance company, let me know. I’m just praying we don’t get any more trouble. I don’t think my poor heart could take it.”
“I will,” said Ariana, heading out the door with Wali right behind her. They’d made it halfway down the block when Wali stopped, a guilty look on his face. “Guess what those papers were all about.”
“What?” asked Ariana, not in the mood for a game of twenty questions.
“They were all bills,” whispered Wali. “Overdue electricity, water, doctor, and credit card bills.”
“Oh, no,” muttered Ariana, kicking a stray rock off the sidewalk, ashamed to have snooped through Mrs. Wong’s personal business.
“I know,” said Wali. “She’s barely making ends meet, and it looks like she’s counting every penny.”
“So a problem with tenants at Wong Plaza is the last thing she needs,” said Ariana. “She already lost a lot of money when Hooper’s Diner closed, so if one of us stopped paying rent, she’d lose even more of her income.”
Wali nodded. “She said she was in Sacramento the night of the break-in—so she can’t possibly be the culprit.”
“I noticed something odd too,” said Ariana.
“What?”
“It could be nothing, but given what’s been going on, it could mean something.”
“Tell me already,” insisted Wali.
“Remember the corkboard with all the keys?”
“Yeah, Mrs. Wong pointed it out to us.”
“Well, each key was hanging under a label with the store’s name. But the keys to Kabul Corner and Pamir Market were switched around.”
Wali pursed his lips and blinked a few times. “It could be a simple mistake,” he said at last.
“Yeah,” said Ariana. “That’s probably it.”
“It seems really odd, though,” he added.
“We’ll add it to the list of clues,” said Ariana. “But it’s still circumstantial, no smoking gun to lead us to the real culprit.”
“Yeah,” said Wali. “Well, we’ve just got to keep looking for that direct evidence.”
“We need to start investigating the names on our list, then,” said Ariana with a drawn-out sigh. This is going to be a lot of work. . . .
THE FIRST STORE THEY chose to investigate was Milan’s Indian Emporium because of what Mr. Milan had said to Ariana’s father, about wanting more space for a line of teak furniture. With the pretense of looking for a shawl for Ariana’s mother’s birthday, Ariana and Mariam wandered through the emporium, gazing at iridescent jewel-toned saris, sequined fabrics, and costume jewelry. Ariana kept sneezing, her nose tickled by the scent of burning incense as Mrs. Milan helpfully pointed out various options—soft goat-hair pashmina stoles, embroidered woolen throws, and delicate linen shawls worked over with colorful thread.
“Wow, Mrs. Milan,” Mariam said with dramatic flair, stroking a turquoise shawl with gold tassels. “You have so many beautiful things, but it sure is a little squished in here.”
“I know.” The tiny woman with graying hair and wire-framed glasses sighed. “At one point we thought to move, many years ago. But Lucinda convinced us to stay.”
“You could have found a bigger store within the plaza,” suggested Ariana, and held her breath.
“True, but we found that this store has good vaastu shastra,” explained Mrs. Milan.
“What’s that?” asked Mariam.
“That means it has a positive cosmic energy that has brought us good luck and many customers. Hopefully that good luck will carry over to someone else one day. My husband and I are getting ready to retire. We’ve decided to sell the store.”
“What do you mean, ‘retire’?” Mariam exclaimed, holding her hand against her forehead as if in shock.
Ariana poked her for overacting, and interrupted. “Why would you retire, Mrs. Milan? You’ve been on the plaza forever.”
“Yes, well, that’s the point, girls. We’ve been here forever, and Mr. Milan and I aren’t getting any younger. We want to spend more time traveling and enjoying our grandchildren.”
Both girls stared at Mrs. Milan in confusion. They hadn’t seen this coming at all.
“Oh,” said Ariana, saddened by the news. “We’re going to miss you.”
“We’ll still be around, not to worry. This isn’t good-bye,” replied Mrs. Milan, giving the girls a hug as they left.
“That rules them out,” said Mariam, crossing the Milans off their list of potential culprits.
Ariana thought of Mrs. Wong and wondered if she knew that the Milans were leaving. It worried her that it would further reduce Mrs. Wong’s rental income if she didn’t find a replacement tenant soon.
The next afternoon Ariana dragged Laila to get the chips and salsa that Mr. Martinez had promised them back in September. Ever since Uncle Hamza had gone missing, Laila had taken to hiding out in their room and didn’t want to leave the house in case she missed a call from Afghanistan. It had been three days since the call from the army, and there hadn’t been any more news about her father; he was still missing but assumed alive.
“You have to come with me,” Ariana begged. “You’re an important part of this investigation.”
“You can do it without me,” Laila mumbled.
“But the Shinwari family honor is at stake!” Ariana insisted, knowing that her cousin couldn’t turn her back on Pukhtunwali.
A look of guilt on her face, Laila relented. “Okay, I’ll go,” she responded.
Ariana gave her a hug and handed her the notebook to take notes, and they headed out to Wong Plaza.
• • •
“How is business, Mr. Martinez?” Ariana asked as she and Laila took a seat at the long the counter facing the grill.
Conflicting emotions rippled across Mr. Martinez’s tanned face as he ladled out two kinds of piquant salsa. “Well, to be honest, it’s slowed down a little,” he answered.
“Do you think it has to do with the break-in at our store?” asked Ariana hopefully, an innocent look on her face.
“I feel just awful about what happened,” said Mr. Martinez. Then he paused as if to weigh his words. “But it seems that news about the vandalism is out, and there are rumors that Wong Plaza isn’t as safe as it used to be.”
“I’m afraid to be here after dark,” Laila added, hoping Mr. Martinez would say more.
Ariana winked at her and ate a chip loaded with salsa, enjoying the feeling of the jalapeños searing her tongue.
“It’s not just you,” grumbled Mr. Martinez. “We have customers staying away, and it’s been a disaster for business. Lucinda really needs to install those security cameras.”
Ariana nodded, remembering Mrs. Wong saying that she didn’t have any money for security cameras. It’s true. She really doesn’t have the money.
“
It’s too bad Fiona wasn’t here the night of the break-in,” said Mr. Martinez. “She might have seen who it was and called the cops.”
“Fiona from the Beadery Bead Shoppe?” asked Ariana. She’d seen Fiona around the plaza; she was kind of hard to miss, with a streak of purple in her hair and chunky jewelry. She’d recently taken over a store next door to Hooper’s Diner, which had been a sewing machine repair shop.
“Yes. Her deliveries usually come in late, so she’s here most nights, cataloging shipments. But unfortunately, she was in the hospital for a couple of days for back surgery.”
Laila chewed on a chip and exchanged a look with Ariana that said The list of potential culprits is shrinking fast.
Over the next few days, after drama practice, Ariana and Mariam investigated Well-Read Secondhand Books, lurking in the aisles. They listened to Mr. and Mrs. Smith’s endless conversations about random topics, hoping to overhear something that might lead to a breakthrough. As they were about to wrap up their operation one evening, they heard the front door jangle, interrupting the Smiths’ debate about the benefits of acupuncture versus homeopathy. It was Mr. Martinez, hoping to purchase some stationery. As he stood at the counter, they started chatting about the break-in at Kabul Corner. The girls huddled in the adjacent aisle, straining to hear every word.
“Well, as luck would have it, I’d returned to my store to pick up some paperwork that night,” explained Mr. Martinez. “That’s when I saw that the door was wide open. At first I thought Jamil had accidentally left it unlocked, and you can imagine my shock when I went over and saw what had happened.”
“Thank goodness you were there and called the police,” said Mrs. Smith.
“We have to look after one another,” emphasized Mr. Martinez. “It worries me that the neighborhood is becoming dangerous.”
“Very true,” said Mrs. Smith. Then she lowered her voice. “I’ve heard rumors that the Shinwaris and the Ghilzais have it in for each other—some feud that started between the families in the old country.”
The girls looked at each other with wide eyes. “How did these lies spread outside the Afghan community?” whispered Ariana, incensed. “It seems like everyone knows about it.”
Mariam squeezed Ariana’s arm to calm her down so they could listen.
“Now, Minerva, you know that’s just gossip,” chided her husband
“Personally,” said Mr. Martinez, “I think it’s a bunch of nonsense. I’ve known Jamil and Shams more than a decade, and they’re good men. I would put money on it that they would never stoop to threatening the Ghilzais over business.”
Ariana’s heart swelled with affection for Mr. Martinez.
“Well, I know something that’s definitely not a rumor,” said Mrs. Smith, changing the subject. “I was talking to Neela Milan a few days ago, and she heard that Lucinda might be selling Wong Plaza.”
“No way!” said Mr. Martinez. “I know Lucinda’s had a bit of financial trouble and was approached by a few developers, but she’s said no to all of them. Quite frankly, she needs the steady income that the plaza brings in.”
“That poor son of hers, Martin, needs an awful lot of care,” said Mr. Smith.
“What do you make of the ‘Sold’ sign on the warehouse?” asked Mr. Martinez.
“I really hope the new owners don’t plan on opening up a clunky department store or one of those huge chain bookshops,” complained Mr. Smith. “If they do, our little bookshop is going to have some serious competition.”
Ariana felt sorry for them. She knew what competition could do to a small business. Another dead end, she thought as they snuck out to meet with Wali.
“Well, I picked up my dad’s suit at Koo Koo Dry Cleaning,” said Wali as they sat at a side table at the Daily Grind.
“What happened?” asked Ariana.
“Mrs. Koo got all teary-eyed and emotional when I mentioned the break-in at your store. She’s convinced that a bunch of hooligans are roaming the neighborhood and will attack her store next,” he replied.
“She’s a very sensitive person,” said Ariana, “and gets upset pretty easily.”
“You can say that again,” said Wali. “Unless she’s a really good actress, I don’t think she’s the culprit.”
Ariana and Mariam agreed. They crossed Mrs. Koo’s name off the list, which was above the Smiths. They’d put a tiny star next to the Smiths’ names after telling Wali what they’d learned. Although the Smiths couldn’t be fully crossed off the list, it didn’t look like they had a motive for creating the fake feud either.
“We’re running out of suspects,” murmured Mariam as Ariana and Wali shared a worried look.
She’s right, Ariana thought.
• • •
Ever since the break-in Uncle Shams had been in a dejected, solemn mood. He was no longer the jovial, boisterous man he used to be, and sometimes when Ariana caught him staring out the store window, toward Pamir Market, her heart would race, remembering his angry words about the Ghilzais. Her father had also taken on a distracted air and was rarely at home.
Even the boys noticed that something was off. Omar knocked on the garage door one night, Hasan lurking behind him, and asked if he could talk to her. They’d overheard their mother and Sara Khala whispering that things at the store were getting worse. Surprised that they’d chosen to talk to her and not Zayd, she was truthful. She told them that the family was going through a tough time, but they had to be strong and stick together. After giving her a quick peck on the cheek, they slunk back into the house, leaving Ariana to pore over the folder of clues, trying to piece together something, anything, that might lead her to the culprit behind her family’s sorrows.
On the day before Halloween, a quiet afternoon, Uncle Shams closed the store early after receiving a call from Jamil. Seeming more agitated than usual, he dropped Ariana at home, and he and Baz went next door to his own town house. An eerily quiet house greeted Ariana as she entered through the front door, and she headed upstairs, turning on the lights as she went. It looked like no one was home. Good. I have the whole house to myself, she thought with a smile. I’ll take a nice long bubble bath and watch a movie. Maybe I’ll even eat some of the Chunky Monkey ice cream Mom hid in the freezer in the garage.
As she twisted the knob to her room, muffled noises sounded from inside. She froze, imagining for a moment an axe-wielding gruesome zombie she’d glimpsed in a movie Zayd and Fadi had been watching the other week. Don’t be a scaredy-cat.
The door swung open, revealing Laila sitting on the bed, her eyes puffy and red.
“What’s wrong?” asked Ariana, thoughts of a quiet evening going up in smoke.
“Your father got an e-mail from one of his friends from Kabul,” Laila said, sniffing.
“And?” prodded Ariana.
“He didn’t know I was listening, but he called Uncle Shams. He told him that even though the American military is looking for my father, there are rumors . . .”
Rumors. I hate rumors. Ariana gritted her teeth.
“Rumors that the Taliban kidnapped my father.”
Shocked, Ariana slumped next to Laila. “How can that be?” she whispered.
“He went missing in a Taliban-controlled area,” said Laila. “And since my father is considered a traitor for working for the Americans, he’s on their wanted list.”
Ariana’s mind went into overdrive. “Have they received a ransom note?”
“Your father didn’t say anything about that,” said Laila. “After he hung up, he went next door with my mom, your mom, and Hava Bibi.”
So that’s why Uncle Shams was in such a rush to get home, thought Ariana. She grabbed her cousin’s hand. “Look, it’s just a rumor. And if there’s no ransom note, they most likely don’t have him.”
“Or . . . ,” whispered Laila.
“No!” Ariana burst out.
“Don’t even think it. You have to be positive.”
“I’ve been trying to,” said Laila, her voice cracking. “But every time the phone rings, I get nervous. And the news has just been getting worse and worse.”
Ariana reluctantly nodded, but as she looked around their cramped room, she felt restless. “Look, we can’t just sit around here feeling sorry for ourselves.”
“Yes, I can,” said Laila, being uncharacteristically stubborn.
Ariana grabbed her cousin’s arm and dragged her off the bed. “Come on. We’re going to go find some answers.”
“But, Ari, nobody ever tells us anything,” wailed Laila, but she allowed herself to be led out of the room.
“Don’t worry. We’ll find a way, but first we’re going to find something to eat,” said Ariana.
Since there was no one around to tell them they couldn’t, they made banana splits with the Chunky Monkey ice cream, dollops of whipped cream, chocolate syrup, and chopped pistachios. Might as well be miserable on a full stomach. They took their bowls and settled in front of the TV, which they were usually not allowed to do. One of Mariam’s favorite reality shows, Take That, was on. This particular episode featured a young woman who’d gotten a terrible nose job from an unethical plastic surgeon. She’d showed up at his fancy office and was confronting him, not only to get her money back but also to take back her sense of power and to stop feeling like a victim. Weird, thought Ariana, changing the channel, going past a Disney movie they’d already seen. Laila listlessly poked at her sundae, not really paying attention. She kept turning her head toward the front door, waiting for the adults to come home; only they knew what was happening with her father. Over the blare of the TV, they finally heard the front door open an hour later, and the girls sat up in anticipation.
“Hey,” shouted Baz, “one of my buddies lent me Goblin Invasion.“
“No way I’m playing that,” complained Hasan. “That’s so boring. I have Arctic Hunt and Super Mario. Let’s play one of those instead.”
