For a few Dumplings More

by Leena Clover

  We said goodbye and snuck out.

  “That was horrible!” Becky exclaimed after she locked the car.

  She looked around, as if afraid someone would hear her.

  “He’s worse than I imagined,” I agreed.

  Sylvie was looking out for us when we got back to the diner. She took the empty basket and asked for an update.

  “Poor Walter,” she said. “He’s a very smart man, you know.”

  “He’s British?” I asked. “I never knew that.”

  “Your grandpa does,” Sylvie said. “They all got along really well – your grandpa, Reema, Walter and the Thompsons. They were all from out of town, trying to make a life in a new country.”

  “Walter must have come here long before them though.”

  “That’s right, Meera. That boy of theirs was in High School when ya’ll came over to Swan Creek. He was valedictorian, supposed to go to college. Something went wrong. Some say it was a girl.”

  This was too much information about Atticus Brown.

  “Walter did say Dot was saving up to go to England.”

  Sylvie shook her head from side to side.

  “She’s been doing that for the last thirty some years. I guess she won’t be doing that anymore.”

  “So the old man wasn’t quite all there, and the son walked out on us.”

  “Why don’t you girls sit down for a while?” Sylvie consoled me. “How ‘bout I fix you something to eat?”

  The Friday night dinner crowd was coming in. Most people would be hurrying to grab a quick meal before going to the movies. Becky and I relented and had some coffee with muffins. Motee Ba called with a grocery list and I drove to the super market, trying to ignore my exhaustion.

  My mind was whirling with questions. The three women standing next to Dot hadn’t been much help. I didn’t have high hopes from Atticus. I decided to have an early night and give the whole thing a rest.

  The mood was upbeat when I reached home. Everyone was out on the patio. Tony and Jeet were lighting a fire in our pit. Tony’s Mom, Motee Ba and Sally were huddled together, wearing colorful cashmere shawls. I leaned closer. Sally was definitely wearing my shawl. My mother had woven it for me when I was a baby. Motee Ba looked up just then and smiled when she saw me. Dad had the grill going.

  I popped the top off a cold beer and collapsed in a chair.

  “We’re having fajitas,” Motee Ba said.

  The smell of frying onions and peppers and sizzling meat filled the air. Tony came and sat next to me.

  “You look tired, Meera.”

  “Weren’t you supposed to be on a date?” I asked nastily. “Did she turn you down?”

  “We’re going to the movies tomorrow,” he smiled.

  “Who’s going first?” Dad called out.

  I picked up a plate and lined it with tortillas. I piled it high with the fajitas, and added sour cream and lettuce on top. I devoted myself to enjoying my food. My mood gradually improved, and I relaxed enough to appreciate the family gathering. At least I wasn’t old and alone in an empty house, like Walter Brown.

  “You made this shawl for Meera when you were pregnant with Jeet,” Motee Ba was telling Sally. “See, you missed a stitch here.”

  Sally smiled at Motee Ba and nodded. She looked around, as if searching for me. I went and sat with the ladies, listening to their talk. This was the first time I had actually looked at Sally since she started living with us. I observed her, noticing the slight dent in her nose, and the way one ear lobe was slightly longer than the other. Just like mine.

  I was an engineer, trained to accept empirical evidence. Now I had to wait for my heart to catch up.

  Chapter 9

  I’m not much of a party girl. Between my job at the library and helping out at the diner, I’m generally beat. And I like to spend time at home. That may not be the cool thing to do for a twenty something girl, but that’s how I am.

  Swan Creek doesn’t offer much in the way of night life anyway. So when Tony and I set off to meet Atticus Brown, we didn’t really need to think much. There were only two places that strictly qualified as bars or dives. One of them was slightly out of town, in the opposite direction of home. We struck gold the first time.

  Atticus Brown was leaning on the bar, tapping his foot against the wobbly bar stool he sat on. He lifted his beer bottle and gave me a mock salute. I sidled next to him.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  “You here to buy me one?” he grinned.

  “Why not?”

  I signaled to the bartender and asked him for a fresh round.

  “Keep ‘em coming,” I said hoarsely, putting on some false bravado.

  Tony sniggered and shut up when I elbowed him.

  “What brings you to this hole in the wall, little lady?”

  Atticus Brown was a lot older than me. But he had a perpetual leer.

  “We didn’t get a chance to talk earlier.”

  “Thanks for coming by,” he said seriously. “And for bringing all that food. Most of the ladies have been coming around with them casseroles. What do I know about cooking them?”

  “So you’re not much of a cook, hunh?”

  “I left that to my Mom. She wasn’t that great at it either, but she kept us fed.”

  I remembered the soggy macaroni salad Dot Brown always brought to potlucks. I nodded at Atticus, but I didn’t want to speak ill of the dead.

  “Can I ask you some questions about Dot?”

  “Fire away,” Atticus said, signaling for a fresh beer.

  At this rate, my money would run out before my questions did.

  “Did she have any enemies?”

  Atticus shrugged.

  “You think she gave out one detention too many?”

  He laughed at his own joke.

  “Seriously. Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to harm her?”

  “Not that I know of,” Atticus said. “She spent her life educating people. She did a lot of volunteer work even after she retired. I don’t know why someone would have it in for her.”

  “But they did kill her, in cold blood.”

  “Maybe it was a mistake.”

  “It wasn’t. There was more than one attempt made on her life that day.”

  Atticus was quiet. That didn’t stop him from asking for a fresh beer.

  “Did she seem any different to you the past few days? Was she worried about something, or short tempered, maybe?”

  “We didn’t get along that well.”

  I could guess why.

  Atticus continued. “She wanted something else for me. A good job in the city, wife and kids, mortgage – run of the mill stuff.”

  I guess every parent wants the same for their kids.

  “What kind of job do you do?” Tony asked suddenly.

  Atticus frowned. I doubt anyone had asked him that in the last decade.

  “This and that. I can do pretty much anything. You need any help at that gas station of yours?”

  “Depends on what you do…” Tony said lamely.

  “I’ve worked at a lumber yard, worked as a security guard at the school, janitor, handyman…and so on.”

  Tony nodded.

  “What kind of job did you have in mind?” Atticus leaned toward Tony and whispered. “Maybe you want someone roughed up a bit? I can do that too.”

  That remark hit home.

  “What about you? Do you have enemies?”

  “More than I care to count.”

  “Do you think one of them could have harmed your mother, as a way of getting to you?”

  Atticus turned white.

  “Talk is you like to gamble,” Tony said bravely. “Have you racked up any debts?”

  “I’ve always taken care of my business,” Atticus murmured.

  Obviously, we had given him something to think about.

  “When was the last time you talked to your mother?” I asked.

  “Tuesday or Wednesday?”

 
“You do live in the same house?”

  “Get to the point, girl!”

  Atticus ordered another beer. His mood had turned sour and I realized my time was running out.

  “I just wondered if she had any visitors that week. Can you think of anything out of the ordinary that might have happened?”

  “Pops said she seemed happy. No idea about what though. And she seemed flush. Gave me a twenty.”

  “Will you let me know if you think of something else?”

  I signaled the bartender for the check. Atticus Brown grunted something and looked away.

  A fight broke out at a table just as we were walking out.

  “Aren’t you glad you got me along?” Tony smirked.

  “I can take care of myself.”

  We pulled into the diner on the way back home. I wanted to know how the Curry Special was going.

  “The second batch is almost gone, Meera,” Becky crowed jubilantly the moment I walked into the kitchen. “Didn’t I tell you this is going to be a hit?”

  Sylvie pointed to a jar filled with dollar bills.

  “We asked people to put a bill in if they wanted the curry on the weekend menu. That’s the second jar.”

  “We did get lots of requests for a vegetarian curry too,” Becky said.

  “We can do that, I guess.”

  I allowed myself a smile. At least one thing seemed to be going well that day. My day had started with a spat with Sally. Motee Ba had given me a piece of her mind. She hadn’t done that in years. Dad had taken Jeet with him to Tulsa to run some errand. I had rushed out to the diner and helped Becky make the curry.

  “Any luck talking to Atticus?” Becky asked.

  “The only thing I learned is how many bottles of beer he can consume in thirty minutes.”

  Tony and I took off and he started driving me home.

  “Let’s go somewhere else. I don’t want to go home yet.”

  Tony turned around and we went to our favorite Chinese restaurant. This is the same one we order takeout from.

  “What’s bothering you?” Tony asked as I bit into a crispy spring roll.

  “We’ve hit a wall. Not a single person seems to have it in for Dotty. How can I clear Motee Ba this way?”

  “I don’t think Granny is really implicated here,” Tony began. “That’s just Stan. He wanted to rope you in, use your brain.”

  “He could’ve done that anyway,” I protested.

  “Yeah, well, you know Stan. No telling how his mind works.”

  “And the dumplings? Who put bleach on them? Maybe someone wanted to discredit me?”

  “All the dumplings would’ve had bleach in that case.”

  “You’re right, Tony. I’m going around in circles.”

  “What do we know for sure? Dot was deliberately murdered. So someone wanted her dead alright. And judging by evidence, more than one person did.”

  “Can we trace her activities this last week or two? We already talked to her husband and son. They are not going to be much help. So we have to think about her friends and associates.”

  “Maybe Motee Ba can give us a list.”

  “Remember what Fiona and Sylvie said? She was deep in conversation with Henry. You should ask Henry what that was all about.”

  “Why did she lie to me the first time?”

  “I don’t know, Meera. You need to confront her. Are you up to the task?”

  “I’m not afraid of her, Tony. It’s just…she’s like Motee Ba. Doubting her word seems to be disrespectful.”

  “You don’t have a choice.”

  I nodded.

  The server brought out our Lo Mein and Sesame Chicken. I slurped the noodles for a while, fighting with the chopsticks. One day I will master them for sure. The sweet, crispy chicken finally filled the hole in my tummy. But my mind was still raging.

  “We’re missing something here. What about that note?”

  “Seems out of character,” Tony admitted.

  “As far as we know, Dot has always led an exemplary life. Could this be something in her past?”

  “You mean before she met Walter Brown?”

  “Why not? It could be an old secret.”

  “That doesn’t make sense, Meera. Say she had some deep secret. So what?”

  “There must be more than one note!” I said suddenly. “That’s it Tony. Maybe this was just a warning. And then the note writer followed up with a demand for money, or something.”

  “Maybe someone wanted her to step down from the election. They could have threatened to expose her, Meera.”

  “But why would they kill her then?”

  I cracked open my fortune cookie, desperate for some divine intervention.

  “The truth is around you” said the pithy line.

  “That’s real helpful!” I snorted in disgust.

  “How many people know Dot from way back when?” Tony asked.

  “Sylvie and Mary Beth Arlington,” I said immediately. “Mary Beth said she knew Dot since kindergarten, remember?”

  “That’s one more person you can talk to again, Meera.”

  “And she’s going to just spit it all out for me!”

  “You won’t know until you ask.”

  “Maybe Mary Beth wrote that note, Tony. She could have asked Dot to take her name out of the running.”

  “Blackmail?”

  “Why not? Lust for power can make people do nasty things. Henry told me that.”

  “In that case, Granny could be getting a note too.”

  “She’s not interested in the election.”

  “How many people know that?”

  “My head’s about to explode. Let’s talk about something else. When are you taking Fiona out to dinner?”

  “Saturday night,” Tony said, and turned red. “My God, Meera. I stood her up.”

  I had finally found a bright moment in my entire day. I burst out laughing. I laughed until tears rolled down my eyes.

  Tony seemed fit to be tied.

  “Not fair, Meera. Tell me what to do now.”

  “You’re in big trouble. Big Trouble!”

  “I totally forgot about it. I booked a table for us at that fancy Mexican place, you know. I even picked out a clean shirt to wear this evening.”

  “You need to go apologize in person. Take her some flowers. And a pie or cake from Sylvie’s.”

  Tony got the check and drove me home. A cab pulled in just after us.

  Motee Ba came out of the house, followed by Sally lugging a bag behind her.

  “Your mother’s going away on a trip, Meera.”

  I wished her a safe journey.

  “Where’s she off to?” I asked Motee Ba as the cab pulled away.

  “I didn’t want to pry. We don’t know much about her personal life.”

  “So it’s okay for her to live in our house, but it’s not okay for us to ask her where she’s off to?”

  “Give her time, Meera. She’ll tell us when she’s ready.”

  Motee Ba went in and I stared at Tony. He pulled me close and rubbed my back.

  “You gotta be patient, Meera. You don’t want to be the one to drive her away.”

  Had Sally left because of our argument? She had a lot to learn about how to deal with kids if that was so. Did she even think of me as her kid though?

  I spent a sleepless night tossing and turning, and dozed off as the sun rose.

  Chapter 10

  I rarely sleep in on Sunday mornings. This is the time when I try out something special for breakfast. I slept in this Sunday and woke up to a delicious smell. Motee Ba was frying Pooris, and the Patel men were devouring them.

  “Good Morning, Meera,” Dad said with a hint of sarcasm. “Sleep well?”

  I picked up a plate and loaded it with the hot pooris. These are about the size of a large cookie, made with mildly spiced dough and deep fried. I chose a sweet lime pickle to go with them.

  Motee Ba placed a mug of hot Masala Chai in front of me. I loo
ked up at her and saw the apology in her eyes.

  “How was your trip to Tulsa?” I asked Jeet.

  “Bo-ring!” he mouthed soundlessly.

  “How about making some lunch for us?” Dad asked. “I hear you’re making chicken curry at the diner.”

  “Your Motee Ba learned how to make mutton for me,” Pappa spoke up. “We used to eat right after the weekly inspection.”

  Pappa loves to tell this story.

  “What did they check, Pappa?”

  “Dust bins, bathrooms, and our nails.”

  He tapped his cane to emphasize his point. Pappa worked in British East Africa for several years and he loves talking about those days.

  “Meera will make much more than mutton curry for her husband,” Motee Ba said lovingly.

  Cooking is an essential life skill in an Indian household. Every girl learns to cook at her mother’s knee. Any culinary advice is always accompanied by how this will please her husband or her ‘real’ family. An Indian girl is just a guest in her parents’ home, waiting for the day she ties the knot.

  I knew what was coming next. Motee Ba would sneak in some guy’s photo or talk about some great young doctor or lawyer my aunt had met.

  “Okay, okay, I’ll make the chicken curry.”

  I lingered in a bubble bath, scrubbed my face and finally used one of the face packs my aunt had dropped off. This one was made with peaches. A girl’s gotta take care of herself.

  I was roasting the spices for my curry when Tony walked in. He was carrying an armful of flowers and a box of pie from Sylvie’s.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “She’s not home,” he fumed. “I spent forty bucks on these flowers. I knocked on her door and stood on that step, waiting. Then I saw the newspaper on the porch. And her car wasn’t there of course.”

  “She’s gone home to Daddy,” I sang.

  “What? Because I stood her up?” Tony looked stricken.

  “I don’t know why, Tony. You can ask her next time.”

  Motee Ba came in and beamed when she saw Tony.

  “These are for you, Granny,” he said, making a show of giving her the flowers.

  “What’s the occasion?”

  “I don’t need one to bring you flowers, pretty lady!”

  He held her hand and twirled her around. Motee Ba giggled like a school girl.