“Only a province,” Zahad replied.
“Don’t they miss you?”
“Perhaps less than I might wish.”
Through the outer door came a heavyset woman, her cheeks pink from the cold. When she noticed Zahad, she said politely, “Is there something I can help you with?”
“This is Sheikh Adran,” Lew explained. “Mrs. Buffington’s the school secretary.”
“So you’re the one everybody’s been talking about!” She surveyed Zahad with open curiosity. “What’s it like being a sheikh?”
Her foolish question accomplished what neither Lew Blackwell nor Jenny had. It showed Zahad the wisdom of making a quick exit.
“It is most entertaining,” he told her. “Good day to you both.”
On a Tuesday morning, the town lay quiet and almost devoid of pedestrians. The small shops across Lake Avenue from the school had not yet opened. No one appeared to be coming or going from the police station down the way or from the lodge where Zahad had stayed until a few days ago.
In his pocket, the cell phone rang. He answered it en route to his car.
Before he could speak, a man said ominously, “There is going to be blood on the sand.”
A chill ran through Zahad. His waking thought returned: Someone is going to die today. And he had dreamed of Death on the prowl.
Nonsense. He didn’t believe in bad omens. “Hello?” he said.
“Sorry. I did not realize you had picked up.” This time, he recognized the voice as Sharif’s.
“What did you mean about blood?” he asked.
“I did not mean that literally. I was commenting to my aide,” his cousin said. “Hashim’s latest ploy is demanding that the justices in Yazir hold immediate hearings into the possibility that you killed your brother and are compromising the investigation in California.”
In addition to presiding at trials, the justices formed a panel that served as the equivalent of a grand jury. Although they were appointed by the governor, once in office they operated independently.
“Hashim has become crazed with ambition.” Perhaps so crazed that he had killed Fario in the first place? Zahad wondered. “Is Numa also seeking this madness?”
“She does not object. She is convinced that you assassinated her son and must be punished.”
Zahad leaned against his car, the phone to his ear. “It would help if I could produce a testimonial from the local police detective. Unfortunately, he does not like me and objects to my inquiries.” Remembering the difficulties Sharif’s wife was suffering, he added, “How is Holly?”
“Much better. I will be able to go in person to represent you on Saturday in Jeddar,” Sharif said. “However, I cannot be in two places at once, and it seems there is trouble also in Yazir.”
“Have the justices agreed to hold the hearings?”
“Not yet but, according to Amy, they are nervous. They fear that if Hashim replaces you, he will find a way to exact revenge on anyone who stood against him.”
“I am leaving here Thursday morning. Perhaps it must be sooner.” He regretted losing one last night with Jenny, but there was too much at stake for him to delay. “How is Amy taking this?”
“She is furious at Hashim,” Sharif replied. “She muttered something about taking matters into her own hands, which is why I fear there may be blood on the sand, figuratively speaking.”
“I will call her. Thank you, Sharif.”
“We shall prevail,” his cousin said. “Hopefully, any blood that is spilled will belong to that worm, Hashim.”
He expressed no such dire wishes about Numa. In her grief, she could not be held entirely responsible for her actions, Zahad reflected as he said farewell and dialed Amy’s number.
A busy signal echoed in his ear. He waited a minute and tried again, with the same result. He would have to call Amy later.
Debating whether to change his airline reservation reminded him that it would be best if he could fulfill his original mission and return with his brother’s body. He looked up the number of the coroner’s office in his pocket organizer.
“I was about to call you,” the deputy said when he came on the line. “Mr. Adran’s body is ready to be released. What would you like us to do?”
“I have made arrangements with the Mountain Lake Funeral Parlor. I will telephone them at once.”
“Sounds good to me.”
The funeral home promised to embalm the body and ship it to Alqedar as quickly as possible. “I’m not sure how long it will take to obtain the necessary permits,” the funeral director said. “We’ve never transferred anyone to your country before.”
“I hope we can travel on the same flight. I have reservations from the local airport on Thursday morning. However, I must change that to Wednesday night.”
“I should think so. They’ve moved up the forecast for that big storm. You’ll barely make it out in time.” The director offered to have his wife, a travel agent, coordinate their plans, and Zahad agreed.
“If you encounter any difficulties in paperwork, please inform me at once. I have connections in my homeland.”
“Of course.” The director cleared his throat. “The death of Sheikh Adran is a great loss. We will do our best to make sure he goes quickly—I mean, that the process goes quickly.”
“Thank you.” While clicking off, Zahad noticed that his fingers had gone stiff. The reference to death in connection with his own name and title—which of course had also been Fario’s—was disconcerting.
He tried to dismiss his sense that this was yet another omen. Although many of his people believed in the significance of dreams, signs and portents, Zahad did not. The idea of destiny was another matter, but he didn’t see it as something to fear.
If it was his destiny to die today, then so be it. Death held no terrors as long as he met it with honor and dignity. Yet it would be hard on Jenny and Beth, as well as on his cousins.
It would be tragic for his people also, or so he believed. Yet Zahad had reluctantly begun to wonder whether he was beating his head against a brick wall.
In the two years since his father’s death, he had worked diligently on his tribe’s behalf, keeping a low profile to avoid diminishing his brother. He had declined opportunities to take a position in the country’s central government, instead devoting his efforts to building up his province’s infrastructure.
Yet now that he was assailed on all sides, he saw no signs of loyalty to him among the common people. Although the cowardice of the justices infuriated him and he resented President Dourad’s willingness to consider replacing him in such haste, the deepest cut came from the silence of his own countrymen.
Perhaps they didn’t want to modernize. Perhaps they preferred to let themselves be led by his father’s second wife and her opportunistic nephew. If they were so easily swayed by rumors, so quick to think the worst of Zahad, how could he count on their support in the years to come?
Troubled, the sheikh drove back to Jenny’s house. He had only one more day to clear his name of Fario’s murder and must make good use of it.
After parking, he went directly to the toolshed. Although last night’s intruder hadn’t managed to break in, something inside this building would likely hint at why he had returned.
He input the lock’s combination and opened the creaking door. Through a large, low-set window with a warped frame, daylight played over a clutter of equipment and tools.
Nothing had changed from his last inspection five days before, except for the appearance of a few more spiderwebs. Traces of fingerprint powder remained from the initial police investigation.
What had the man been seeking?
The problem wasn’t a lack of murder weapons but an abundance of them. Zahad dismissed the possibility of the killer planning to use an inefficient blunt-force weapon such as a shovel, given the lengths to which he’d gone to rig the gun device. Nor was he likely to select something as noisy and clumsy as the lawn mower or Rototiller.
There remained plenty of choices, however. A gasoline can held fuel for the mower and tiller. A row of shelves offered a selection of fertilizers, pesticides and weed killers. Long-handled implements hung from a rack along one wall.
Or had the man sought to erase a clue rather than to steal a weapon? The police had missed that scrap of paper in the house, so they might have overlooked something here as well, and he himself had given the toolshed only a cursory inspection on Thursday. A half hour’s search, however, left Zahad with nothing more than dirty hands and a slight cough from the dust.
He emerged into a sharp breeze. After refastening the lock, he stopped at a startling sight.
In the western sky towered a black-edged cloud formation. The shape looked remarkably like a robed figure wielding a sword.
It held steady for only a few seconds. Then the wind shattered the weapon and dismembered the figure.
Zahad continued to stare at the jumbled clouds, disturbed. He had seen this shape last night in his dream. Phrases he had heard that day echoed in his mind. Blood on the sand…the death of Sheikh Adran…we will make sure he goes quickly.
Perhaps it was a warning after all. He had always known he might be the killer’s next target, but it had made little difference in his investigation.
Now, however, he must consider that someone from Alqedar might wish to get rid of him. There was also the unnamed neighbor who had complained about him to Sergeant Finley. Perhaps his questions were hitting too close to home.
Sternly, he reminded himself of his training. The greatest enemy was one’s own imagination. He must take all reasonable precautions and proceed with his probe. Above all, he must not allow emotion to rule his judgment.
Nevertheless, when Zahad unlocked the back door and eased it open, the warning chirp of the alarm gave him a start. Tautly, he entered the code.
Inside, he sat down to run background checks on the neighbors through his Internet service. That, he decided, was the logical next step, and he was determined to spend the rest of the day being very logical indeed.
ALTHOUGH CRISTMAS VACATION was two weeks away, the school took on a holiday air as students and teachers posted winter-theme artwork and poems in the hallways. Laughter and cheerful conversations created a music more pleasing to Jenny’s ears than any choral concert.
Shortly after the children left for the day, Parker phoned from the municipal courthouse to tell her Grant had pleaded guilty at his arraignment on charges of attempted breaking and entering and carrying a weapon. He’d accepted a sentence of six months in county jail followed by three years’ probation, which he could serve in St. Louis. While on probation, he would be allowed to return to Mountain Lake once a month for court-supervised visits with Beth.
“Judging by the way his wife was haranguing him afterward, she wants to keep him as far away from you and Beth as possible,” Parker said. “It sounds like they may pass on those visits.”
Jenny had mixed feelings. The less contact with her ex-husband, the better for her, but Beth needed a father. “That’s up to them. I’m not going to stand between my daughter and Grant if he wants to maintain their relationship.”
“Are you all right?” the detective inquired. “You’ve had a lot on your plate this past week.”
“It hasn’t all hit me yet,” Jenny admitted. “I’m trying to take things one step at a time.”
As if he’d just thought of it, Parker asked, “By the way, when is Mr. Adran leaving? I heard they released his brother’s body.”
“They did?” Jenny tried to tell herself that it made no difference, because Zahad had already scheduled his departure. But subconsciously, she realized, she’d been hoping he might delay. “He made reservations for Thursday morning.”
“If you like, you and Beth can stay at my house until we get this thing cleared up. I’ll lend you my room. I don’t mind sleeping on the couch.”
Jenny felt she should refuse. But was that sensible? She still hadn’t spent a night alone at her house since the murder and she didn’t look forward to it. And, after all, Parker had a live-in housekeeper, so there’d be another adult on the premises. “I’ll think about it. Thank you. It’s a very kind offer.”
“Sure thing,” he said, and rang off.
Jenny tried to concentrate on some paperwork, but her thoughts kept returning to what had happened between her and Zahad last night. It gave her a thrill to remember the pressure of his mouth and the glide of his skin over hers.
If only they had days or weeks to explore all the magical things that could develop between them. Not years or even months; she wasn’t that unrealistic. Well, at least they had another two nights.
A knock at the open office door roused her from these musings. She glanced up and saw Lew Blackwell. “Come on in.”
When he crossed toward her, she noticed a new energy to his stride. His smile seemed broader than usual, too, although she also caught a hint of regret in his expression.
He handed Jenny an envelope and took a seat facing her. “I’ll save you the trouble of opening it. It’s my resignation.”
She blinked, taken aback. “You’re leaving us? Lew, if it’s anything I did…”
“No, no.” He seemed completely at ease. “As a matter of fact, I want to thank you.”
“For what?” She’d declined his romantic interest and trumped him for the job as school principal. He’d responded with unexpected generosity in loaning her his cabin. She was the one who ought to be thanking him.
“For lighting a fire under me,” the teacher said. “I’d completed the coursework for my Ph.D. but never finished my dissertation. I figured I didn’t really need it, until you knocked me for a loop. Getting beaten by you was the best thing that ever happened to me.”
She leaned back in her chair. “You’re actually glad you lost the job?”
“Ironic, isn’t it? If you hadn’t come to Mountain Lake, I’d probably be right where you are now. And I’d still be there next year and the year after that and so on until what’s left of my hair falls out and I’m ready for retirement.”
Jenny chuckled. “What a grim picture!”
“Absolutely right. Instead, I finished the dissertation.”
After receiving his doctorate, he explained, he’d applied for an opening as assistant superintendent of a school district near San Diego. He’d just learned he got the job, and would start after the late-January winter break. “It’ll be good for me to move to an urban area, meet new people and face new challenges. I got lazy here.”
“Congratulations.” She was genuinely pleased for him but also sorry to see him go. And, in a way she couldn’t put her finger on, a bit envious, as well.
After he left, Jenny sat trying to figure out why his departure left her so unsettled. Although she was going to miss Lew, this had more to do with her own feelings about her career, she decided.
Until the last few days, she’d never realized how much she wanted a broader scope for her efforts. Much as she enjoyed her job here, she longed for a chance to help a larger number of students with greater needs. As a single mother, however, she knew it would be many years before she was in a position to work on a doctorate.
Seeing Zahad’s concern for his people had opened her eyes. Now Lew, too, had whetted her appetite for a greater challenge.
It was, she feared, going to be a long time coming.
DURING DINNER, Zahad listened for sounds from the yard. He found it hard to concentrate on Beth’s and Jenny’s account of their day at school and to make casual conversation suitable for a child’s company. He mentioned running background checks but, catching a warning look from Jenny, postponed giving her the details.
Halfway through the meal, it occurred to him he’d forgotten to call Amy again. Since it was now the middle of the night in Alqedar, that would have to wait.
After dinner, the doorbell rang. Motioning to his two companions to stay in the kitchen, he answered it himself.
It was Dolly, Ellen a
nd Cindy, going for a walk. They’d come to invite Beth to accompany them, they explained when she and Jenny appeared.
“Ellen has some cosmetics to drop off at Tish’s house,” the older woman said. For Zahad’s benefit, she added, “She sells them on the side. Anyway, it’s nice brisk weather and we all decided to take a walk. Then we’ll go back to Ellen’s and have some hot chocolate.”
“Please, please, can I go?” Beth begged.
Jenny looked to Zahad. “Do you think it’s a good idea?”
“I believe it will be fine.” He couldn’t keep the child locked up and, in fact, since the killer was most likely targeting either him or Jenny, Beth might be safer away from the house.
“All right,” Jenny told the women. “Give me a call when you return to the house, okay? I want to pick her up before it gets too late.”
“We will,” Ellen promised.
Bundled up and hopping with excitement, the little girl went off with them. Jenny made decaf coffee, and she and Zahad settled in the living room to catch up on the day’s more serious events.
He took pleasure in the graceful way her hands curved around the coffee cup as she described Grant’s plea bargain and told him of Lew’s imminent departure for greener pastures. It seemed that Parker had also informed her about Fario’s release.
“The funeral director believes his body can be shipped tomorrow night. With the storm forecast, I have changed my reservation.”
“You’re leaving on Wednesday?”
“A little after 9:00 p.m.”
“I’m sorry.” Green depths glinted in her eyes and she stared into her cup.
Zahad felt his own eyes sting. “I am, also.”
He felt that there should be something more to say or do, an acknowledgment of what had passed between them and of the bond that had grown. There must be conventions to help a man and woman deal with such moments, facing a separation that might be permanent. Should he promise to write—but if so, what good would it do? Should he invite her to visit, when he knew she never would?
Sheikh Surrender Page 18
