Season of Sacrifice

by Bharti Kirchner

  The door jerked open. Justin was framed in the doorway, the father of another woman’s child. In fact, Maya could hear Justin, Jr’s squeal of delight from inside. She could even picture the sweet-breathed, winsome boy beaming at her.

  ‘All right, Maya,’ Justin said with a hearty voice that Maya could tell was meant to cover the sounds of the child within. The coolness of his eyes clearly indicated that he wasn’t too glad to see her standing on his doorstep. His face had a reddish cast; he might have had a few drinks. ‘What is it now?’

  Through the half-open door, Maya could hear Jennifer’s cloying voice as well. What if Jennifer caught her here? Although flustered, Maya gathered her thoughts and adopted a neutral expression. ‘Came to share a bit of news, if you have the time.’

  Justin gave her a quizzical look and angled a nervous glance toward the living room. The fact that half his attention was on his so-called family sapped Maya’s energy and humiliated her. She stood tongue-tied, a quake inside her, listening to the sound of intensifying rain.

  A second later, she gathered her wits and brought him up-to-date on the video, describing how it came to Sylvie through the guru. ‘Considering the content, it might have been just the catalyst to push Sylvie to …’

  Justin made a doubtful face.

  ‘I’m just thinking,’ Maya said before Justin could close the door in her face, ‘that the video could still be on Sylvie’s bookshelf and you might be able to—’

  Justin, standing grimly, cut her off. ‘Look, Maya, leave the detective work to me, OK? You must have other things in your life to keep you busy besides playing Super Sleuth.’

  ‘The video is, in my opinion, worth watching. I know the apartment was locked up by the police after Sylvie’s death. But by now—’

  Justin threw a glance over his shoulder. ‘Thanks for the tip but we’re not suspecting foul play. I’ve already told you.’ His voice was bland, as though speaking to her tired him. ‘Not when the two women left a joint suicide note saying they were dying for Tibet’s freedom. The signatures are genuine, according to handwriting experts.’

  At this news, Maya felt a stab of disappointment, but she still wasn’t ready to concede. ‘There’s more.’ She put up her hand when she saw him shift back a pace, as if to close the door. ‘You might not have heard this. This evening, at dusk, a hit-and-run driver killed Sylvie’s meditation teacher, Padmaraja.’

  ‘I did hear about it, Maya,’ Justin said, as though speaking to a child. ‘Of course I heard about it – before you did, as a matter of fact. I’m a police detective, Maya. I get all the news long before the general public – which, by the way, is what you are. A member of the general public. Padmaraja was an old man walking on a dark, busy, rainy street. The driver either didn’t notice him when he stepped out onto the road all of a sudden or saw him too late. Either way, we have no reason to believe the old man was murdered. Elders have been known to wander into busy intersections; some of them are confused.’

  ‘I don’t … I don’t buy that. I met with the guru only about a week ago. He was alert and articulate.’

  ‘Be that as it may, Maya, the old man stepped out into the street and we’re looking for the driver of the car. It’s a vehicular homicide and we’re on top of it. Still, you coming to my house with wild stories …’

  Maya felt heat rise into her face, so angry she couldn’t speak. His attitude, cutting right to her heart, arrested her breath. ‘I’m not the general public, Justin. You don’t know this but I’m a private investigator assigned to this case.’ Although she didn’t mean to overdo it, she now asked him if police specialists had performed the routine procedure and collected all the evidence, such as the transfer of car paint on the clothing of the victim and shards of glass on the street from the broken headlight. Then she heard Justin Jr howling inside the house and stopped speaking. Justin turned toward the sound. He obviously hadn’t been listening to her.

  ‘Maya, I’m kind of busy here—’

  ‘I can see that. Sorry to barge in like this.’

  Justin gave her an icy stare.

  ‘Honey,’ Jennifer called out from the living room in a seductive voice. ‘Come inside.’

  Maya mumbled a thank you and rushed into the sprinkling rain, glad for the cleansing effect of the drops on her forehead and the fragrance of the moist earth.

  She heard Jennifer’s voice at the door as the woman asked Justin who he’d been arguing with. Maya didn’t mean to, but she turned quickly to catch a glimpse of the woman who had stolen Justin’s love from her. The beauty stood beside Justin, her arm around his neck, and watched Maya’s retreating back. Maya could only imagine her expression change to one of recognition.

  Maya got burned, as her boss, Sen, would have put it.

  TWENTY-TWO

  It was past ten o’clock, the dark street slick with rain, and Maya was bone-weary. First the guru’s death and then that encounter with Justin. This had been a terrible day of sorrow, grief and regrets. She wanted to get home, to her sanctuary, but first she had to temper the turbulence inside her. So she decided to stop by George’s, a neighborhood mom-and-pop grocery open till midnight, to pick up a few staples for Uma.

  The night was quiet, but for the wind moaning around the fences, when Maya pulled into the store parking lot. She parked her car under the lights closest to the entrance; she was the only one in the lot. Drawing her wallet from her purse, she slipped it into her jeans pocket, deposited the purse on the passenger seat and angled out of her car.

  Cool air caressed her face as she walked inside. Devoid of customers, the convenience store appeared deathly silent. George, a hefty, sandy-haired man of sixty, reclined in a chair behind the cash register.

  ‘Hey there, George. How’s everything?’ Maya smiled at him as she passed the counter.

  ‘Maya, how’re you, hon?’ A sleepy-voiced George shut his eyes and leaned back again in his chair. ‘Wake me up when you’re ready to pay.’

  The old-fashioned coffee-maker sat at the far end of the counter. Although Maya had no need for a caffeinated drink, she wanted it for company. She poured herself a half-cup. After taking a small sip, she walked past the refrigerated section, chilled by the vapors emanating from the glass cases, and headed toward the rows of shelves to her left. Uma had run out of mustard, which was unthinkable, since the flavor of so many of her dishes depended on it. The shelf situated smack in the middle housed at least five golden-labeled stout jars, each containing different flavors of the yellow-bodied condiment.

  Coffee cup in hand, Maya had started checking the brand names when she heard the sound of someone’s footsteps approaching.

  She gave a glance, saw the chest of a man twice her size and eased closer to the shelf to allow him to pass.

  The man planted himself right behind her, a shadow with density. He’d invaded her personal space. Her heart pounded; hair up on the back of her neck, her breath came fast.

  A ski mask concealed the intruder’s face. His wavy gray hair peeked out of a black cap.

  All it takes is a few moments for a criminal to grab you, she heard her self-defense instructor saying.

  ‘George!’ she called out. ‘Where’s the sugar-free mustard?’

  No response. Was he asleep?

  Boxed in by a wall on one side and the intruder behind her, Maya had an unkind concrete floor beneath her feet. Her fatigue swept away, she again pretended to browse the items, although a fear alert had given her tunnel vision or, worse yet, no vision. The shelves appeared empty.

  She flipped around and tried to get a good, close look at the man. She hoped her face looked sufficiently strong and unafraid, which might cause him to back off. The tallish, broad-chested man reeked of alcohol.

  Maya’s hands balled into fists. ‘Step back!’ she shouted at the ski mask.

  With what felt like a bear’s paw, the man grabbed her around the waist. Maya’s head bashed into her assailant’s chest, or rather into her pendulous breasts.

&nbs
p; It was a woman.

  Panicky thoughts swirled through her mind. What should she do?

  Hurt her, she heard the voice of her self-defense instructor.

  She raised her leg and kicked the side of her attacker’s knee with her pointy shoe. The woman yelped just as Maya growled, ‘Back off, you bitch!’

  The woman fell backward into the shelf behind her. A cascade of cans, jars and bottles clattered to the floor. She grabbed the leg of a shelf and got up.

  Maya, too, had lost her balance and her coffee cup in the scuffle. She held on to the edge of a shelf and straightened herself, only now noticing she’d spilled hot coffee over the woman’s pants. Taking a look at the attacker, Maya came to a shocking realization: this wasn’t just any woman who had attacked her.

  She was ancient and drunk, but in good shape.

  At the front of the store, chair legs scraped the floor. ‘Maya, you OK over there?’ George called out.

  ‘Who are you?’ Maya asked the woman, shouting in her confusion and alarm. ‘What do you want?’

  She shrank back as the woman pushed something in her face, a lightweight white object.

  Maya expected pain but the object turned out to be only a small white scrap of paper, with a message scribbled on it.

  The elderly woman scurried around the shelves and scrambled toward the front of the store.

  ‘What’s going on?’ George called back to her again, his voice more serious now and closer. ‘Maya?’

  She glanced at the note. It contained a single sentence scrawled in a foreign language. She pocketed it and shouted, ‘Stop her! That woman!’

  Maya exploded toward the counter. The woman almost knocked George on his back and pushed past him. The door slammed after her bulky body and she shot out into the darkness.

  Maya ran to the door, digging her cellphone from her pocket, and yanked the door open. Listening to the woman’s heavy footfall, she trained her cellphone camera on the retreating figure but her subject was too far away and it was too dark. It didn’t matter. A blurry picture of a woman’s back wouldn’t help the police to locate her.

  The woman pulled her Subaru out of the parking lot before Maya could get a photo of only three of the digits of her license plate. Breathing hard, Maya scrambled into her Honda and started driving. She kept a close watch on the assailant. The woman took a right turn, ran a red light and the Subaru soon vanished into the pitch-dark shelter of the evening.

  Maya pounded the steering wheel. ‘Damn it!’ She turned around, drove back to the store and parked on the same spot.

  George stood in front of his counter. He stared at Maya, reached for her and asked in a panicky voice, ‘Are you hurt?’

  Maya shook her head. George escorted her to the other side of the counter, lowering her into a chair. He rushed toward the coffee pot, poured a fresh cup, then hurried back and put the coffee into her shaking hand.

  ‘I have to get home, make sure my mother is all right.’ Maya took a swallow and put the cup down. Uma would be back from the party by now. She’d sit in the living room, flip the pages of yet another thriller and muse: What would happen next? ‘But first, I have to call her.’

  ‘Has your mother been unwell?’

  Maya replied no. She couldn’t explain it all. She opened her cellphone.

  Uma answered at the first ring. ‘Where are you so late at night? I just finished reading The Whimsical Strangler. Scary is no word for it. I jumped out of my chair when the phone rang and my heart—’

  ‘Do not, under any circumstances, open the door if anyone knocks. I’m at the corner store. Be home in a few.’

  ‘Maya, what are you talking about?’

  ‘Don’t open the door.’

  ‘What’s going on?’

  Scary to contemplate at this late hour. ‘Wish I could explain it all to you, Ma. But I don’t get it myself. See you in a few.’

  Maya put the phone back into her pocket.

  ‘That’s a first,’ George said. ‘I’ve been running this store for twenty-five years. But these are hard times. That hoodlum probably just wanted to grab your purse.’

  She patted her jeans pocket. ‘Except I didn’t have one with me and my wallet was here.’ She didn’t want money, Maya suspected – she had other intentions. She might even have followed her into the store. Obviously an amateur, the woman was ill-prepared for resistance, easily overcome.

  Maya pulled the note from her pocket, stared at the unfamiliar handwriting once again and waved it at George. ‘She threw this piece of paper at me. Can you make heads or tails out of it?’

  George scanned the scribbling. Then, as though a bell rang in his head, his eyes opened wider. ‘Oh, it’s Russian. I can’t tell you what it says but I recognize the script. My drinking, diabetic grandfather was part Russian.’ He turned for the phone. ‘But first things first. Let me call nine-one-one.’

  ‘No, George, don’t. Not for me.’

  Maya took the piece of paper back from George and put it in her jeans pocket, numbed by the coincidence. Sunglasses Man spoke Russian. So did Ivan. She felt cold again, zipped up her jacket and snuggled in its warmth. ‘Have you ever seen that woman here?’

  ‘I couldn’t see her face because of the mask but her body looked familiar. Pear-shaped. Bosc pear, if I may add. Pardon me, but a man notices. The next time, I’ll take a shot of her and call the cops. I’ll have my wits about me. I must apologize for being dumbfounded tonight. You might call me old school – I’m not used to thinking of a woman as an attacker.’ He paused. ‘What did you want to get?’

  ‘Can’t remember.’ Maya looked over at the riot of cans, jars and boxes scattered on the coffee-stained floor. ‘Can I help you clean up?’

  ‘Not to worry,’ George replied. ‘I’ll put things back and the cleaning crew will come soon. Should I follow you home, to make sure—?’

  ‘Not necessary.’ Maya thanked George and turned to the door.

  Outside, wind fluttered through the parking lot as though trying to make a change in the order of things, disturbing her even more.

  TWENTY-THREE

  A day later at Revenge, Veen seated next to her, Maya swished the cocoa in her cup, glanced at a stemmed blood-red rose in a cut-glass vase at the center of the square table and smelled the crostini at the next table. She turned to Annette, who’d joined them this afternoon and who had been frequently looking toward the door to check the movement of customers. Her short, strawberry-blonde hair fell smoothly over a small forehead. In her mid-fifties, Annette, Veen’s friend from the police force, gave the appearance of being no-nonsense, cautious and dependable, but tough.

  ‘Oh,’ Annette said, had a look around and made sure no one was within earshot. ‘I do have some news, Maya. Do you want to hear? It’s not pretty.’

  Maya leaned in closer, a sour taste in her mouth. It’d be silly to pretend she didn’t want help filling in some blanks. ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘It concerns Jennifer Marlow – not her real name – Justin’s current companion. Veen said that you’ve met her?’

  Maya nodded, easily seeing the mysterious Eurasian cradling her small son at the flea market. She took a big swallow of her cocoa and burned her tongue, but an image of the beauty making love to Justin stung her even more.

  ‘Her real name is Sofiya Bilinskii.’ Annette had some difficulty getting the name out of her mouth.

  ‘I guessed Jennifer isn’t her real name.’

  ‘I doubt you’ll have guessed the rest, though.’ Annette recited the next set of facts unemotionally, as though reciting a grocery list. ‘Father Russian, mother Chinese. Born and bred in Budapest. Migrated to the U.S. in her late teens. Fell in with a bad crowd. Bedded whoever was around. Quite a life, I’d say.’ A sly smile appeared on Annette’s face. ‘At only nineteen, Miss Jennifer was co-habiting with a drug lord in the Georgetown neighborhood, and that’s when our story starts.’

  Maya felt a little shaky. The sweet cocoa hardly soothed her.

  ‘Fe
deral agents had an eye on that drug lord for some time. After months of watching, they busted him. I mean the agents, assisted by a local narcotics task force, broke into his home with K-9 dogs. They seized guns, cash and pounds of heroin. Our Justin was part of the task force.’

  Veen, until now listening quietly, said to Maya, ‘I seem to remember you mentioning that bust.’

  Maya did mental calculations, her heart picking up its beat, and reached out and gripped Veen’s arm. ‘Yes, yes, that high-profile manhunt. Justin told me about it afterward – the planning they’d gone through, how they almost lost a couple of their men once they’d gotten inside the drug house. That raid was the largest of its kind in Justin’s work history.’ She imagined her ex-boyfriend at the scene and the hair-raising rush he’d experienced, which he would relate to her later, concluding with: ‘We got the bastard.’ That was the night Justin had changed; their relationship had changed.

  Annette quietly sipped her cocoa.

  Veen watched Maya, eyes wide with anticipation, and said, ‘Spit it.’

  ‘It was a Friday night,’ Maya said. ‘We had plans to go out to dinner and then catch a show.’ As Maya spoke, grief building in her chest, she envisioned herself in her best red dress as she explained what had happened that night to Veen and Annette. Red wasn’t the most flattering color for her; she’d worn it only to give the evening a feel of excitement. After all, they’d been together for a year then and she’d felt celebratory – hoped he did, too. She’d applied blusher and lipstick, rare for her; she’d expected Justin to propose to her that evening. With pleasant jitters all over her body, she’d circled the living room in her high heels, waiting for the doorbell to ring, the evening rich with promise. An hour had passed. Where was he? Had he been in a car accident? Involved in a shoot-out? After all, he’d been working narcotics.

  Outside, the high wind had rattled the leaves on the trees and rain hammered the roof. Messages left on Justin’s cellphone went unanswered. Darkness descended over her window like a mist gone tired. She’d never felt lonelier. The evening crawled to midnight. By half-past twelve, achy, pooped and feeling the fool, she went to bed.