A Steep Price (The Tracy Crosswhite Series Book 6)

by Robert Dugoni

  “Nice? It was nice?” Kavita laughed. “Always the woman of few words.” She slapped at Aditi playfully. “Tell me about the wedding. Was the rest of your family surprised to see you? I’ll bet they were surprised at how much you’ve matured.”

  “They were surprised,” Aditi said. She dropped her gaze to her hands, which she’d folded in her lap. Kavita got an uneasy feeling that something was wrong. Aditi was more than a friend and a roommate; the two women were like sisters. They knew each other’s moods.

  “What’s wrong? What’s the matter?” Kavita asked, but even as she spoke, her eyes, no longer filled with excitement, considered Aditi more carefully, and she fixated on the gold necklace with the black beads, then noticed the red dot just beneath Aditi’s hairline. Kavita looked down at Aditi’s open-toed sandals. Rings adorned several of her toes, much more than a young woman’s fashion statement.

  The realization hit her like a punch to the gut. She could barely get the words out, suddenly nauseated. “You’re married?” She said the words as if not believing them, not wanting to believe them, wanting to be wrong.

  Aditi raised her gaze to meet Kavita’s. Tears trickled down her cheeks, but she tried to smile through them.

  Kavita let go of her friend’s hands. “I don’t understand.” She quickly added, “Is that why you went home?”

  Aditi shook her head. “No. No, Vita. It was just a visit, to attend my cousin’s wedding.”

  “But . . . what happened . . . my e-mails . . .”

  “I met Rashesh at the wedding and, afterward, just a day or two, he came and spoke with my father. My relatives arranged it all.”

  “Who is he?” Kavita said.

  “He’s an engineer,” Aditi said, “from Bangladesh, but he works in London. His father and my father have been friends since they were boys. They grew up in the same village. That’s why his family was at my cousin’s wedding.”

  The information seemed as if it was assaulting Kavita from a dozen different angles. She felt dizzy and disoriented. “An arranged marriage?” She shook her head, disbelieving. “But we said we would never agree to it. We both said we’d never agree to it.” They’d sworn an oath—a silly little oath in a fort they’d built in the state park when they’d been schoolgirls, but an oath they had renewed over the years. It had become a lifeline that had provided them strength when their parents persisted in trying to arrange their weddings and, when Kavita and Aditi refused to acquiesce, when their parents would no longer pay the apartment rent or for postgraduate study.

  Aditi gripped Kavita’s hands, speaking softly, as if talking to a hurt little girl. “We were just kids, Vita. We were just little girls.”

  Kavita pulled her hands away and wiped tears from her cheeks. She looked at the suitcases. Another shock wave rolled over her. “They’re empty, aren’t they? You’re not here to move home. You’re here to move out.”

  Aditi nodded, now openly weeping. “My parents and . . . my husband are waiting downstairs. I asked them to let me break the news to you. I’m sorry, Vita . . . I can pay the rent until you find someone to take my place. I can—”

  Kavita stood and turned from her. The word “husband” had not rolled off Aditi’s tongue naturally. It sounded awkward, like she was pronouncing a foreign language and was uncertain she’d got it right. “It’s not about the rent, Aditi. We agreed. We—”

  “I’m not like you, Vita. I’m not as strong as you. I . . . I can’t do what you’re doing.”

  Kavita turned to her. “What about medical school?”

  “I have my place now.”

  “What place? Following a man around you hardly know? Moving in with his family and cleaning up after them, waiting on them like some servant? Like the good Indian wife?”

  Aditi looked as if the last words pierced her. “I’m sorry, Vita. I know you don’t understand—”

  “Of course I don’t understand. My best friend goes home for a visit and comes back married . . . and . . . and you didn’t even invite me?” It was like another punch, a round of blows threatening to knock her down.

  “I didn’t go to India intending to get married, Vita. You have to believe me. It was only after we met at the wedding . . . and I liked him. A week later, the invitations were printed. Two weeks after that we were married.”

  Kavita paced before the open windows. “My invitation must have gotten lost in the mail.” Another thought gained clarity and she turned to her friend. “You ignored my e-mails. The Internet was fine. You just didn’t want to answer them because you didn’t want to lie to me.”

  Aditi remained seated. “I didn’t invite you, Vita, because you wouldn’t have understood. You would have tried to talk me out of it.”

  “You’re damn right I would have tried to talk you out of it. This is insanity. You were going to be a doctor. We’d talked about it for years. Pediatricians. Opening a practice together. I would have asked you if you’d lost your mind, if your mother had slipped something into your drink when you weren’t looking. I would have called the embassy and told them you were being held captive against your will. What were you thinking?”

  “I wasn’t thinking, Vita. Not about getting married . . . Not until I met him.”

  Kavita stopped pacing. She didn’t want to hear it. “Please don’t tell me this was what, love at first sight?”

  “Love comes in time.”

  “Stop. Just stop! Do you hear yourself? My God, you sound like your mother. Like my mother.” She switched to a Bengali accent. “No man marries willingly, Kavita. He does it out of attraction, or for money, or to keep a family obligation. Money is spent, attraction fades, but stability is built through family.” She dropped the accent. “So what was it, Aditi? Money? Did your parents sell you off to him, a big dowry he couldn’t resist, or was it to keep a family obligation?”

  Aditi lowered her gaze, weeping. Kavita gritted her teeth, regretting what she’d said. She’d always been quick to anger, a bad trait when accompanied by a sharp tongue that cut before she could curtail it. She sat and pressed her forehead to her best friend’s, the way they had always done, the way they did when they’d made their pact. “I’m sorry, Diti. I didn’t mean it. I’m just so . . . stunned . . . I didn’t mean it.”

  After a moment, Aditi raised her gaze. “I like him, Vita. I liked him from the moment I saw him.”

  Kavita shook her head. “But do you love him, Diti? Are you hopelessly in love and you can’t fathom living a day without him? Do you feel that way about him, Diti? Do you?”

  Aditi sat back. Her words came with a bite. “And how has that worked out for you, Vita? How has it worked out for me?”

  “We’re only twenty-four! We were going to graduate school.”

  “How many boyfriends have I had, Vita?” Aditi persisted.

  “What?”

  Aditi shook her head but maintained her gaze and her resolve. “I’m not like you. I don’t look like you and I don’t have your personality. I didn’t do as well as you in school. You are going to medical school, Vita, but what if I don’t get in? What if my MCATs are not as good as yours? What then?”

  “You’re beautiful, Diti, and you’re smart. Of course you’ll get in.”

  Aditi’s voice rose in volume and increased in intensity. “No, Vita. I’m not.” She took a deep breath that fluttered in her chest. “I’m not smart, not like you. I just work harder. And I’m not beautiful, especially not here.”

  “Aditi—”

  Aditi raised her hand. “Stop, Vita. We go out and men flock to you and your light skin. Me? They talk to me because I’m there, like a houseplant. They think that if they talk to me long enough they might get the chance to talk to you.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Yes, Vita, it is true,” she said, her voice becoming ever more adamant. “Look at you. You’re tall and thin and you have fine features, and those blue eyes. Men love your blue eyes. You can talk to anyone about anything and they’ll listen.” She shook
her head. “I’m the awkward obligation, the person they have to talk with if they want to talk to you. It’s been that way all our lives. All my life I’ve taken a backseat to you, and I was happy to do it, happy to just be your friend.” She tapped her chest with a closed fist. “But this man, Rashesh, he saw me and he liked what he saw. Do you know how that made me feel?”

  Kavita didn’t want to hurt her friend. She didn’t want to tell her that Rashesh might not have liked what he saw at all. In India it was not about love at first sight. It wasn’t even about love. It was about societal pressure placed mostly on girls, and their parents, but also on men. The older a young woman got, the greater the apprehension that she would not marry, and the greater the suspicion that she had been ditched by some other suitor because she was too ambitious, because she wasn’t wife material, or because there was some dosh in her kundali. (The stars weren’t appropriately aligned at the time of her birth.)

  Something.

  Kavita spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “But he doesn’t even know you, Diti.”

  “Exactly, Vita,” her friend said, eyes widening. “That is exactly my point. He didn’t even know me and yet he liked me. He liked my dark skin and my flat nose, and my overweight body. He didn’t talk to me just so he could talk to you. So why can’t you be my friend now, Vita? Why can’t you just be happy for me?”

  “Because I hate to see you throw your life away like this.”

  “But it’s my life, Vita!” Aditi said, striking her chest. “It’s my life and I can do with it as I please. Now who sounds like my mother, telling me what is best for me?”

  “But you’re not Indian, Diti. I’m not Indian. We’re American. We were born here in America.”

  “I am Indian, Vita. To my very core, my very essence, I am Indian. Yes, I call this home but why? My relatives do not live here and I don’t fit in.”

  “Yes, you do, Diti.”

  “No, Vita. No.” She shook her head. “I’m a minority here. You’re a minority. Here, everyone notices the color of my skin. If I do well in school it’s dismissed as neurotic studying forced upon me by my compulsive, overachieving parents. Yes, I was born in this country, but I am still a stranger here. At least in India no one questions the color of my skin. At least in India the color of my skin is admired and respected and yes, even liked. Men talked to me not because I was standing next to you. Not because I am the ugly sidekick they must get past. They talked to me because they liked me. Rashesh liked me.”

  They sat in silence and the full ramifications of Aditi’s decision began to wash over Kavita. “So you’re moving to London? You’re going to live there?”

  “Yes.”

  “With his family?”

  “Yes.”

  Kavita wiped the tears from her eyes and inhaled and exhaled several deep breaths. “I’m sorry, Diti. I’m sorry if I made you feel bad about yourself. I didn’t know how hard it’s been for you. I never meant—”

  Aditi grabbed Kavita’s hands and squeezed. “I know you didn’t.” She smiled and again lowered her forehead until it touched Kavita’s. “You can’t help it if you’re gorgeous.”

  Kavita laughed through her tears. “Are you happy, Diti? Really happy?”

  Aditi smiled—a genuine smile. “I am, Vita. I am happy. Would you like to meet him, my husband?”

  Kavita thought she would, in time, but she didn’t want to see Aditi’s mother, not now, not today, maybe not ever. Aditi’s mother would be beaming, gloating. She’d throw Aditi’s marriage in Kavita’s face, and in her mother’s face. My God, she’d take great pleasure in extolling that Aditi was married, and to someone in their samaaj (same religion and caste), while Kavita was still traipsing from one unfulfilling relationship to another. She’d gloat to Kavita’s mother that Aditi would provide her with grandchildren—the fact that those children would grow up halfway around the world, and that she would see them maybe once or twice a year, was irrelevant when one was gloating, driving home a point like driving a stake through a vampire’s chest.

  “I can’t right now,” Kavita said. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t. I’m going to leave so that you can move your things. So that I’m not in the way.”

  “You’re never in the—”

  Kavita leaned forward and gripped her friend in a fierce embrace, knowing it would likely be years before they saw one another again. “I’m going to miss you, Diti,” she whispered.

  “And I’m going to miss you. I’m going to miss you more than my parents and my brothers,” Aditi said.

  “I am your sister, Diti, and you’re mine. You were the sister I never had. The only sister I will ever have.”

  Weeping, Aditi said, “Promise me you will meet him. Promise me you will come to London and see me.”

  Kavita pulled away, overcome with emotion. “I can’t . . .”

  Aditi clutched Kavita’s shoulders. “Yes, Vita, you can. Please say it. I can’t bear the thought of never seeing you again. Say it, please. Say you will come and visit me.”

  Kavita stifled her sobs long enough to answer. “Of course, Diti. Of course I’ll come.”

  They released their embrace. Kavita stood. She knew leaving would be painful, but not as painful as a prolonged good-bye. “I have to go,” she said, and she hurried from the apartment, her body racked with sorrow, fighting not to sob. She’d lost her sister.

  Tracy blew out a short breath. “That had to be a lot for somebody to take in, especially from someone she’d been friends with for so many years.”

  Pryor nodded. “Dasgupta said there were a lot of tears, but that Mukherjee eventually expressed happiness for her.”

  Tracy glanced at the clock on the computer. She knew she’d kept Pryor from her family long enough and she, too, was anxious to get home. “So Dasgupta thinks she’s missing because she can’t reach her on her cell?”

  “It goes straight to voice mail. And she hasn’t responded to text messages or e-mails.”

  “And we know that she’s not at her parents’ or staying with a friend?”

  “I called the family and I’ve reached most on the list of friends Dasgupta provided. Dasgupta also told me it was not likely Mukherjee would be with family. She said Mukherjee was estranged from her parents and rarely went home.”

  “Because she wouldn’t submit to an arranged marriage.”

  Pryor nodded. “Dasgupta said Mukherjee was headstrong about it. So, apparently, is the mother. It’s at a standoff.”

  Tracy continued through the missing persons report. “Has anyone been to the apartment to see if her luggage or clothes are gone?”

  Another nod. “Dasgupta went by the apartment when she couldn’t reach Mukherjee by phone. She said nothing looked to have been taken, and there was no sign of a forced entry or of a confrontation in the apartment.”

  “Mukherjee hadn’t been back to the apartment?”

  “No, she apparently had been. That’s what made Dasgupta so concerned. Dasgupta said she left Mukherjee a note and a gift—a sari she’d brought back from India. She said the note had been opened and the sari was spread across Mukherjee’s bed.”

  “So she’d come home at some point, but she didn’t sleep in her bed if the sari and note were still on it?”

  Pryor nodded. “That appears to have been the case.”

  “Does she have a boyfriend?” Tracy asked.

  “No.”

  Tracy pointed to the picture on the screen. “A girl who looks like that?”

  Pryor shrugged. “That’s what Dasgupta told me.”

  “What about an ex-boyfriend? Someone who could have harmed her.”

  Pryor shook her head. “Nothing recent. Dasgupta said Mukherjee didn’t have the time to get serious with anyone. After their families cut them off financially, Mukherjee was working whenever she could, trying to save for medical school.” Pryor looked at her computer, scrolling down the screen. “That’s another thing. I spoke to the employer. It’s a clothing store on the Ave. Mukherje
e was scheduled to work this afternoon but didn’t show up, which the employer said had never happened before.”

  “Does she own a car? Could she have driven somewhere to get away and be alone?”

  “She bought a 1999 Honda Accord after graduation. It’s apparently a beater and she never drove it far. According to Dasgupta, it’s still parked on the street near the apartment.”

  Tracy flipped another page of the report, considering the friends Pryor had already contacted. Then she said, “So the roommate didn’t have any idea where Mukherjee might have gone? Someplace she might have crashed.”

  “She called their closest friends. No one has seen or heard from her.”

  “And I assume you checked the county jail and hospitals?”

  “First calls. No luck.”

  Tracy sat back. “She might have just needed a break to process everything the roommate dumped on her. It’s a lot to take in—she’s married. She’s moving out. She’s moving to London.”

  “I hope that’s the case,” Pryor said.

  “I do too. I’m not sure Nolasco is going to let me work this,” Tracy said. “Faz and Del just pulled a murder in South Park, and Nolasco wants me to jump in when I’m out of the Stephenson trial.”

  “I know you’re busy over there,” Pryor said. “But like I said on the phone, sometimes you just get a feel for these things, and this one is bothering me.”

  Tracy gave it another moment of thought. “I should be out of court tomorrow,” she said. “Set up a meeting with Dasgupta at the apartment for the afternoon. Tell her not to go in, just in case this is something more than it appears.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Tracy rolled her 1973 Ford F-150 truck up the gravel drive to their stone farmhouse in Redmond. The cloudless sky burned a deep-orange along the horizon, and shadows crept up the surrounding hills and trees. Rex and Sherlock, their two Rhodesian ridgebacks, barked when they heard the truck and bounded off the deck to greet her. Tracy had become accustomed to using the plural to describe ownership of the house and the dogs, after so many years of using the singular pronoun.