The Fire and the Veil (Veronica Barry Book 2)

by Sophia Martin

  “Um, I appreciate what you’re saying,” she said carefully. “But it’s okay, really. Water under the bridge.”

  “I’m truly glad,” Khalilah said. “The thing is, I need your help.”

  Veronica frowned. So the timing of these apologies wasn’t so random after all.

  “Or, rather, I have a friend who needs your help. Sort of a friend. He’s sort of a friend of my brother’s.”

  “Your brother’s?” Veronica said. She hadn’t realized Khalilah had family locally. She’d assumed they all lived in Tunisia.

  “Yes,” Khalilah said. “My brother’s name is Fayez. He’s very devout, and he does a lot of work at the Sayeed Islamic Center. A man came to the center. He’s a refugee, from Iraq. His name is Jahid. He has a daughter. She’s missing.”

  Veronica held up her palms. “Wait, I’m confused. You need my help to find your brother’s friend’s daughter?”

  Khalilah nodded. “That’s right. She’s been abducted.”

  Veronica frowned. “That sounds like a job for the police, not me.”

  “They don’t want to go to the police.”

  “What? Who doesn’t?”

  “The girl’s family; Jahid, and her uncle, Hamza.” The way Khalilah said the uncle’s name made Veronica think she might not like him very much. “I spoke to both of them about it. I tried to talk them into it. But it’s complicated.”

  “How is it complicated? If she was abducted—”

  Khalilah shifted in her chair. “You have to understand, Veronica, these people are from a rural part of Iraq. Their culture is full of tribal customs. It’s possible they’ll decide it brings dishonor on their family.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Khalilah looked pained. “If she was raped. If they find out she was raped, they’ll consider it to be a dishonor on their family.”

  “So they don’t want the police involved, because they’re… embarrassed?”

  “Not exactly,” Khalilah said. “It’s that if they find her, and she’s alive, and they believe she was raped, they think they may have to kill her, to restore the family honor.”

  Veronica gaped at Khalilah. “You aren’t serious.”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Veronica scrunched up her face, squeezing her eyes shut and raising her hands defensively. “If this is some kind of weird joke—”

  “I assure you, Veronica, I’m quite serious.”

  Veronica lowered her hands and opened her eyes to stare at Khalilah. “You want me to help some people find their possibly abducted, possibly raped daughter so that they can kill her?”

  Khalilah shook her head. “I’m sorry, Veronica, I’ve made a mess of explaining this.”

  Veronica relaxed a little. “Okay, I figured. They don’t actually want to kill her.”

  “Well, sort of.”

  Veronica widened her eyes at Khalilah.

  “Let me start over. Amani Ahmad is a young woman, I think she’s about twenty. Her father, Jahid Ahmad, sometimes goes to the Sayeed Islamic Center. Recently, he came in and he was quite distraught. He told my brother, Fayez, that he saw someone abduct Amani. He refused to call the police, however, and he told Fayez that he was afraid that if Amani turned up that tribal law would dictate that she must be killed to preserve the family honor. They more or less consider it automatic that if she was abducted, she was raped.”

  “Okay, this sounds just like the first time you told me.”

  “What I left out the first time is that Jahid was very upset about the possibility. Fayez thinks that it’s Hamza, Jahid’s brother, who is the stickler for convention, you might say.”

  “Well, report this Hamza to the police, and tell them that Amani is missing while you’re at it,” Veronica said.

  “Fayez called the police, but without Jahid as a witness to the abduction, all they wanted him to do was file a missing person’s report. He can’t convince Jahid to say anything, and since he’s never even met Amani, he didn’t follow up with the report. I tried talking to Jahid about calling the police, but he became very upset that I was even talking to him about it.”

  “Why?”

  “I gather that he’s not used to talking about such things with a woman, much less an unmarried one who doesn’t wear a hijab—much less an abaya—and who comes from outside his family.”

  “I’ve heard of a hijab, that’s a head scarf, right?”

  “It can mean that, or the full garment from head to toe.”

  “What’s an abaya?” Veronica asked, trying to think through what Khalilah had told her.

  “You’ve seen it. Like a hijab but covering more. Often, it is black, and only the eyes show.”

  “I’m sorry, Khalilah, I’d like to help, because I’d hate to think of what this poor girl is being held somewhere might be going through,” Veronica said, “but I am not about to find her just so her psycho uncle can kill her.”

  “No, of course not,” Khalilah agreed. “That’s not what I want, either.”

  “Well, what do you want?”

  “I want you to help me find her so I can hide her in a battered women’s shelter,” Khalilah said, her dark eyes flashing. “I need to find her before they do, Veronica.”

  Veronica let out a short breath and sat back. Now that made more sense. She sucked in her lower lip and chewed it a little. Then she sat forward again. “I still don’t see why you don’t go to the police. Tell them that this uncle person wants to kill Amani.”

  “But he doesn’t, technically. Not yet. I guess there are loopholes, anyway. That’s what her father’s counting on, as I understand it.”

  “Loopholes?”

  “Something about finding someone else to blame,” Khalilah said with a dismissive wave. “I don’t understand it. None of this is familiar to me, I never ran into tribal customs like this in Tunis.”

  “Like maybe they’d kill the abductor, instead?”

  “Maybe. I think it’s best if no one kills anyone,” Khalilah said. “And I don’t really want either Jahid or Hamza sent to jail at this point. And if I report Hamza and the police decide to act on it, I can’t see how Jahid won’t be in trouble as well. I mean, all that’s actually happened so far is Jahid’s daughter was taken. I don’t want to punish the man for that.” Khalilah sat back and began chewing on her thumbnail. Then she waved the same hand away from her face. “This entire thing is a nightmare. I’ve been losing sleep every night since Fayez told me about it. I’ve got to do something, but I want to avoid hurting anyone, if at all possible.”

  Veronica didn’t know what to say to that. She could respect Khalilah’s intentions, but it all seemed so potentially lethal. She touched the side of her mug. It felt cool enough to drink now. Was it bad to want to drink her mocha after hearing all of this?

  “So, will you help me?” Khalilah asked. “I can’t go through normal channels—Amani’s family will figure out that I’m looking for her if I start asking around. I need to do this, but I have to find… an alternative route. You’re my best hope, Veronica. Will you help me?”

  Veronica picked up the mug with both hands and took a big drink. She swallowed slowly, trying to buy time. But her mind was blank anyway. There seemed to be only one possible answer, and she couldn’t think of a way around it.

  “Yes,” she said after she wiped off her mouth with her paper napkin. “I’ll help.”

  Khalilah let out a breath and closed her eyes. “Thank you,” she said.

  “Don’t thank me yet,” Veronica cautioned her. “I’m not an expert at this. I don’t have any control over what information I get. Most of the time I don’t get anything at all.”

  “Well, I hope this time is different.”

  “We’ll see,” Veronica said. She didn’t know whether to hope she’d get information or not. If she did get information, she’d involve herself in a very messy situation. It might be the right thing to do, but it didn’t mean Veronica wouldn’t regret it in time.

  “How
do we proceed?” Khalilah asked.

  Veronica took a deep breath. “I’m not sure. I guess I need to connect with this girl, Amani, somehow. Do you have anything of hers?”

  “Like an article of clothing? No,” Khalilah said.

  “Can we get something like that? I don’t know. An object? Something for me to touch?”

  “That’s going to be difficult.”

  “Do you know of a place she would go to? Did she have a job?”

  Khalilah twisted her mug around in a circle. “Not as far as I know. But I’ll bet she went to the mosque.”

  “Which one?”

  “I’m not sure, but I’ll find out. I’ll call you,” Khalilah said.

  “Okay,” Veronica agreed.

  “Thank you, Veronica,” Khalilah said and stood up, shouldering her purse and picking up her cup to return it to the counter. “This means a lot to me.”

  “I’ll do my best, Khalilah. But I can’t promise you I’ll see anything at all.”

  “I know. But I have to try to help her.”

  Veronica nodded. Khalilah left. Veronica sipped her mocha. She really hoped she wasn’t getting into something bigger than she could handle.

  ~~~

  Her appointment with the doctor went as she’d expected, and by the time Veronica got home, she was ready for bed. It was only six thirty. Some days were like that.

  Binky rubbed himself back and forth against her legs until she caved and refilled the cat food dishes with kibble. Harry gazed at her wistfully, his thoughts of a walk filling his glistening brown eyes.

  “Sorry, buddy. Mommy’s too tired,” she told him. She sat on the couch with her microwaved teriyaki chicken dinner and watched part of an episode of I Love Lucy she had DVRed. She almost fell asleep on the couch with Blossom, her white cat, curled up on her lap, but she managed to find the will to get up and make it to her bed before she developed a serious crick in her neck.

  Paintings of angels covered her bedroom walls. She had done them all. Seeing them reminded her that she still needed to complete the one commissioned by an English teacher at Eleanor Roosevelt. It was her first commissioned painting, but with the injury to her arm, she hadn’t been able to work on it for very long at a time before getting tired. She’d have to find some time for it this week, as well. Veronica sighed. So let’s go down the list, she thought. I need to prevent a suicide, find a kidnapped girl but make sure her family doesn’t kill her, finish a painting, and get all of my grading done for the end of the quarter. Sounds doable.

  She groaned and threw herself face down on the bed. Why couldn’t she just have a normal life?

  ~~~

  The room had little light. She leaned on a windowsill that overlooked a street. She lit matches from a pack and let them burn down, dropping them into a can of store-brand cola as they scorched her fingers. The game was to see how long she could hold each match before the pain made her drop it.

  Another Lola dream, Veronica realized. If only it could be a dream of Amani Ahmad, so she could help Khalilah find her. Lola Hekili? Why dream of her?

  As far as she could tell, she was alone, but Veronica could only see through Lola’s eyes. Her attention was so focused on the matches, it made it hard to be sure.

  A silent, black cellphone lay on the windowsill just a few inches away from the can of cola. In her field of vision she saw a bed with a pile of clothes on it. A wrapper of some kind fluttered on the floor. Not a lot of sounds. Was she alone in the house?

  The cellphone’s display lit up a moment before it started to vibrate where it lay. She dropped the latest match—only half burnt—into the can, and grabbed the phone. The display said “Shelby.” Her heart quickened.

  She held the phone for a moment, feeling the vibrations in her tender, singed fingertips. Veronica wondered what she was waiting for. At last, she hit the talk button and put the phone to her ear.

  “Hey,” she said in a bored voice.

  “Hey,” a girl’s voice answered. “I’m at the curb. Can you get out?”

  “No problem. Be there in a minute.”

  She hung up the phone, her heart thumping. Why? She looked around the room. Veronica took it all in with curiosity. What a mess: laundry and trash everywhere. She stepped to the closed door and leaned against it, listening. Faintly, she could hear the sounds of a television. She tiptoed back to the window and opened it quietly.

  So Lola was going to sneak out. That explained her heart rate.

  Veronica could see a little roof just beneath the window, probably over a side door into the house. She climbed out of the window and lowered herself until her feet touched the roof. She stood on the slope, steadying herself by holding on to the windowsill. The drop now was only ten or twelve feet. She eased her way to the edge and jumped. Veronica wondered how she would get back up again. Maybe she’d just use the door. Maybe everyone would be in bed?

  Lola jogged away from her house and onto the sidewalk. In a few minutes she saw the blonde girl Veronica had thought of as “Pouty” waiting at a corner. So her name was Shelby. Veronica was fairly sure that she didn’t go to Eleanor Roosevelt.

  As she approached she looked Shelby over. Her long, wavy blonde hair fell over her shoulders. She wore tight jeans with shearling boots over them and a velvet hoodie, zipped up. Her hands were stuffed in her pockets. Mist came from her mouth with each breath.

  “Hey,” Shelby said.

  “Hey.”

  “Mos is going to be here any minute,” Shelby said. “He’s driving us to Rich’s.”

  “Since when does Mos have a car?”

  “Since he stole one, I guess. I don’t know,” Shelby said.

  “What’s going on at Rich’s?”

  “Maricela scored.”

  Lola nodded. The earlier thudding of her heart had subsided. Her shoulders felt tense, instead.

  “I heard you got suspended,” Shelby said.

  “No. I just got sent out of class. But my mom was pissed. She’s been sick a lot lately and this stuff just stresses her out. That fucker Candleman called her.”

  “Who’s he, your teacher?”

  “He’s a VP.”

  Shelby rolled her eyes. “I can’t stand VPs.”

  “I thought all you had was a principal at Sierra Nueva.”

  “Yeah, but I used to go to Sac High. We had four VPs there. It sucked. Someone was always up in your business.”

  “Yeah.”

  Headlights came around a corner two blocks away and headed for them. When it drove under the nearest street lamp, Veronica could see that it was a late 80s sedan with rust spots and gray paint. The boy she thought of as “Curly” was behind the wheel. He must be Mos.

  He pulled over to the curb and leaned to swing the passenger door open from the inside. Lola let herself into the back. The backseat was upholstered in gray velvet that had seen better days.

  “Shit, if you stole this car you’re a bigger moron than I thought,” Lola said as Shelby sat in the front passenger seat.

  “Moron? You’re welcome for me coming to pick you up, bitch,” Mos shot back, looking at her in the rearview. “And who says I stole it?”

  “I don’t know, that’s what Shelby said,” Lola answered with a shrug.

  “I was just guessing,” Shelby said defensively.

  “I didn’t steal it, it’s my brother’s. He’s letting me borrow it cause I’m helping him with some business, you know?”

  “I know I’m gonna hear you got locked up in a day or two,” Shelby said, shaking her head.

  “Girl, shut up. What do you know?” Mos declared. He turned the wheel and they were moving. “Shit.”

  “Is Caitlin gonna be there tonight?” Lola asked after a moment. “Cause if she is, she better stay away from me or Imma hit her.”

  “I feel you,” Mos said.

  “That bitch never stops whining,” Lola said.

  “Aw, come on, Lola, Caitlin’s not so bad,” Shelby said.

  Lola’s face f
lushed hot and she pushed herself as far back into the seat as she could, crossing her arms over her chest. She didn’t say anything else for the rest of the drive, and did her best to ignore Mos and Shelby’s conversation. Veronica could tell Mos had a thing for Shelby, though. He was quick to call Lola a bitch, but Shelby he almost always agreed with.

  They pulled up in front of a small, one-story house. In the dark neighborhood you could hear things going on. Music from one house, a bottle breaking, faint shouts, a dog barking. The older model cars in the driveways looked like they hadn’t run in some time. Crushed cans and plastic bags lay here and there on the ground. Some of the houses had low chain link fences around them, and many had lawns with large patches of bare dirt. One house had a tree in the front yard with a tire swing hanging from it.

  Lola followed Shelby and Mos up the cracked walkway to the house they’d parked in front of. She hung back a bit. Veronica could feel her turmoil—she was angry that Shelby had defended Caitlin, and she also felt humiliated. Why? Why care so much?

  When they entered the house they came into a living room, lit by two lamps that probably only had 40 watt bulbs, at best. The couch, a brown velour monstrosity, had two figures making out on it.

  “Hey,” Mos said in their direction.

  Caitlin, the figure on top, looked up at them. Beneath her lay one of the boys from the other night. “Hey,” she answered, wiping her mouth.

  “Dude, where’s Rich?” Mos asked the boy.

  “Bedroom,” the boy said. Caitlin went back to kissing him.

  Mos and Shelby headed off into the corridor that connected to the living room, but Lola spent a moment standing where she was, watching Caitlin and the boy. She didn’t enjoy what she saw, Veronica felt. She hated Caitlin. Veronica couldn’t tell what she felt for the boy.

  Maybe that was it. Maybe she liked the boy, and was jealous of Caitlin.

  Finally Lola pushed herself in the direction of the bedroom. She walked slowly through the dark hallway and found a door. She let herself into the room.

  The only lamp in this room had a red lampshade, which colored the light. Rich sprawled diagonally across the bed next to Maricela and another boy Veronica had never seen before. They passed a joint.