Sheikh Surrender Page 15

  “No, I was not.” Zahad massaged his forehead. Yet another bureaucratic obstacle!

  “You should call a funeral home. They’ll take care of it for you,” the man said.

  “I will do that.”

  In the Yellow Pages, Zahad located the Mountain Lake Funeral Parlor. The woman who answered assured him they would do their best to handle the embalming and assist with shipping arrangements on short notice.

  He thanked her and provided information about Fario for later. Afterward, feeling too restless to remain in the house, he decided to talk to Dolly. She was, after all, the witness who had found Fario’s body.

  Outside, clouds layered a pale sky and the light breeze carried a nip. After setting the alarm, Zahad followed the path toward the Blankenship property. Near the Rivases’ carport, he turned right and followed the driveway uphill.

  The Blankenship cottage sat in a shaded patch, only a trace of weak sunlight filtering through the overgrowth. Standing on the porch, he heard the chatter of a game show inside. He realized the doorbell must have sounded like one of the chimes on the television, because it failed to catch anyone’s attention.

  Zahad rapped firmly. Dolly threw the door open as if she’d been expecting him and said, “Come on in.”

  Leaving him to close the door, she returned to the couch. With her short, reddish-brown hair and flowered blouse tucked into her blue jeans, she presented a sturdy, almost ageless figure. But he guessed she was in her sixties.

  The home seemed even darker inside than out. The worn carpet and scuffed paint gave it a shabby air, but it smelled pleasantly of coffee. There was a great deal of overstuffed furniture, mostly oriented toward a large TV.

  “Can you figure out what the phrase is?” Dolly indicated the screen, which showed a series of squares with some letters revealed. A clue appeared at the bottom.

  “It would be difficult for me.” Zahad lowered himself into an armchair. “I am not a native English speaker.”

  “You speak very well, if you ask me.” She picked up a shapeless wad of knitting. In the show, a woman spun a wheel while people clapped encouragement. “She ought to buy a vowel, but people get overexcited and forget.”

  Zahad wished he could inspect the premises, since he wanted to know who else might be in the house, but it would seem indiscreet. “Does your husband not enjoy this show?”

  “Oh, he went out. I practically had to hog-tie him to let me drive him to the senior center this morning,” Dolly said. “He loves playing checkers but he always insists on taking the bus himself and he keeps getting lost. I can’t tell him anything. You probably noticed how grumpy he is.”

  “Perhaps it comes from being in pain,” Zahad said.

  She didn’t seem to hear him. “Oh, no!” It took a moment for him to register that the contestant had landed on the bankruptcy slot and lost all her money. “I hate when that happens!”

  He had little sympathy for gambling. However, he had come to sound out Dolly, not promote his own opinions. “Perhaps you should apply to appear on the show.”

  “I wouldn’t do well,” she replied. “Besides, I don’t need the money as much as other people, so it wouldn’t be fair.”

  “A policeman’s retirement must be more lucrative than I imagined,” he said.

  A commercial came on and she muted the sound. “I get a nice pension,” she explained. “Plus I bought this property and a few rental units around town.”

  “You sound like a wise investor. You do not mind that your second husband won the Florida lottery after you divorced him?”

  The woman’s laugh rang out. “I don’t begrudge Manley anything. We always got along as friends. Couldn’t live together—the man’s a slob and spends most of his time fishing—but he bought me this TV when he won because he knew I’d enjoy it. I call that darn decent.”

  “Very decent,” Zahad agreed.

  She continued talking, more voluble now that the ice had been broken. As the contestants struggled to solve puzzles, he learned that she baby-sat her granddaughter after lunch each day and that she wished her son-in-law had more self-discipline.

  Once the show ended, he steered Dolly to a more serious topic. Discovering Fario’s body had been a shock, Zahad saw from the way her voice quavered when she described the scene. He learned nothing that hadn’t been in the police report, however.

  “Do you think you were in danger yourself?” he asked.

  “You bet. I can’t stop thinking about it,” she said. “It’s just good luck that Cindy was sick that day and kept asking for me, so I only made a quick check of the property. Usually I would have tried the front door.”

  “Will you patrol after I leave?”

  Dolly reflected briefly. “Oh, what the heck. Sure I will. Jenny and Beth are my friends.”

  Zahad hoped he could trust this woman with confidential information, because he needed her insight. “Sergeant Finley says one of the neighbors complained about my inquiries. Do you have any idea who that might be?”

  “I wouldn’t put it past Bill, because he’s such a crab. Or Tish Garroway. She’s so possessive of her husband that I think she’s a bad influence on my daughter. Something about Jenny makes them both insecure. It’s nonsense. If a husband’s going to cheat, he doesn’t need to have a raving beauty next door.”

  “What do you think of Parker Finley?”

  “He’s sweet on Jenny, but that’s as far as it goes.” Dolly stretched out her legs on the couch. She wore fuzzy blue slippers more suitable for a young girl than a grandmother.

  “He would be displeased if he learned I had questioned you,” Zahad remarked.

  “Then let’s not tell him. Parker’s a good cop, but he’s spread too thin right now. By the time he stumbles across the perp, Jenny could be dead.”

  “Thank you. If you think of anything later, please call.”

  “Absolutely,” she replied.

  Zahad let himself out. As he walked downhill, he reviewed his list of suspects.

  If Fario was the intended victim, Hashim had the strongest motive. If the target was Jenny, he had to consider Tish’s jealousy as well as Ellen’s.

  That left Ray and Grant, the most obvious choice. Zahad hoped the police would delve into financial records that might indicate whether he’d hired someone to get rid of his ex-wife.

  The sticking point was the bizarre decision to attach a gun to a chair and tie it to the door. A hit man wouldn’t take such an indirect route. Zahad had trouble imagining why anyone else would, either.

  He was so lost in thought that only the scrape of a side door in the Rivases’ garage alerted him to someone’s approach. Sneakered footsteps crunched on a gravel path, then Al Garroway came into view.

  Surprise and unease showed on his narrow face. No wonder. In his arms, he held a large battery-powered chain saw.

  Zahad tensed. Although heavy and awkward to wield, this was a formidable weapon.

  “Hey.” The ski instructor made no threatening move. “I’m not stealing this, if that’s what you think.”

  The sheikh assumed a casual stance. “Certainly not. I understand people often borrow each other’s tools in this neighborhood.”

  “That’s right.” Al wedged the saw against his hip for support. “I’m going over to Louanne’s house to cut down some branches.”

  “You are kind to help an elderly neighbor.” Zahad noted Garroway apparently didn’t have to be at work at an hour when the neighborhood seemed virtually deserted. Last Monday, he could easily have helped himself to a different set of tools from Jenny’s shed.

  “I’m not all that kind,” Al admitted. “See, being a ski instructor doesn’t pay great and the hours are limited. Since Ray started at the bank, people have been saying they could use a handyman. He told me I could borrow his stuff, so I thought I’d try it.”

  It was a plausible explanation. Zahad tried a different tack. “I hope your wife has recovered from the carjacking.”

  “She’s still p
retty freaked out about it. We heard what happened to Jenny yesterday. It’s a darn shame.”

  “Does your wife also work limited hours at the lodge?”

  “Yeah, mostly on weekends. She’s looking for a second job in town. We both liked the idea of living out in the country, but it’s not what we bargained for.”

  “Your wife seems to dislike Mrs. Sanger.” It was a bit off the subject, but Zahad didn’t care.

  “Oh, she dislikes any woman under forty who doesn’t look like a prune. Except maybe Ellen,” Al said. “Listen, I’ve got to get going. A big storm’s due and Louanne doesn’t want one of those large branches falling through her roof. One of them barely missed her on Friday.”

  “Please do not let me stop you.” Zahad moved aside, a symbolic gesture since he wasn’t blocking Al’s path.

  “Catch you later.”

  “Sure thing.” The casual phrase felt unnatural to him, but it fit the local vernacular.

  When Zahad reached higher ground, he turned and surveyed the street. Al was heading toward Mrs. Welford’s house, as he’d said.

  Inside, Zahad went online and checked a weather site, which did indeed predict a snowstorm for Mountain Lake.

  He hoped it wouldn’t delay his return to Alqedar. In any case, he needed to firm up his plans. Switching to another site, he checked international plane schedules for Thursday morning.

  Chapter Twelve

  Thanks to the local radio station, everyone at school had heard about Grant’s arrest and the attempted carjacking. Just when the gossip about Fario’s death had begun to die down, Jenny was inundated with more questions and expressions of concern.

  She spent her lunch hour meeting with a lawyer and signing papers for a restraining order. She didn’t put much faith in the power of a sheet of paper to protect her, but at least it assured that Grant would face dire consequences if he so much as showed up on her property.

  During the drive home, she watched the road for carjackers. It would be a long time before Jenny made this trip without fear. Please let us get back to normal, she thought, and then realized that she hardly remembered what “normal” meant.

  However, the changes in her life weren’t entirely bad. If not for everything that had happened, she wouldn’t have met Zahad. Thanks to him, she had learned how to relax around a man and enjoy her own instinctive sexual response without feeling threatened. Even if nothing more passed between them, he had affected her in a good way.

  “Mommy, is Zod going to stay with us?” Beth’s line of thinking apparently paralleled her mother’s. They were both looking forward to seeing him in a couple of minutes, Jenny thought.

  “He’s only here for a few days.” Her voice caught at the end.

  “I want him to stay.”

  Jenny didn’t know what to say. Thank goodness they were almost home.

  Yet when she pulled in to the driveway, painful memories assailed her again. She trembled until she cleared some trees and saw the sheikh’s car in the parking bay. I’m turning into a basket case. I have to get over this.

  The trouble was, she couldn’t get over it because it wasn’t over.

  When they entered the house, Jenny noticed the tantalizing smell of baking chicken. Then she heard Frank Sinatra singing “It Was a Very Good Year.” The music must be coming from the boom box she kept in the kitchen.

  “Hello!” she called as she and Beth hung up their coats.

  “Welcome home, Mrs. and Miss Sanger.” Zahad emerged from the kitchen, his red apron a cheerful contrast to his dark brown sweater and tan slacks. He carried salad tongs in one hand.

  “You promised no yucky stuff!” Beth said.

  The sheikh drew himself up to his full height. “I assure you, I have fixed no yucky stuff.”

  She pointed at the tongs.

  “What I have created,” he announced, “is Aladdin’s Magic Salad.” To Jenny, he explained, “My cousin Amy e-mailed me her children’s favorite recipes.”

  “I hope I get a chance to meet Amy someday,” she said. “I think I’d like her.”

  “What’s that smell?” Beth asked, adding, “I like it.”

  “Camel patties,” the sheikh replied.

  “Camel patties?” Jenny regarded him dubiously.

  “It is really oven-baked chicken nuggets, but ‘camel patties’ sounds more intriguing.”

  “Is it ready?” the little girl demanded.

  “Give me five minutes.”

  “I’ll go wash my hands!” Beth dashed down the hall.

  Jenny wanted to tell Zahad how much she appreciated what he’d done but before she could form the words, she realized that she couldn’t tell him what she really felt. It would mean revealing that he had given her violated home a new sense of solidity, and that he had brought joy into two lives she hadn’t even been aware were lonely.

  Even if such candor didn’t embarrass him, it might give him the wrong idea. No matter how appealing he looked as he led her into the heart of the kitchen and no matter how much she longed to slip into his arms and tease him with kisses, Jenny knew she must not.

  She understood both herself and their situation. During this magic time, while she and Zahad were united by a common goal, they had formed their own temporary universe. There was no use pretending it could last, even if they both wanted it to.

  Jenny had found it impossible to establish a lasting relationship with any of the men she’d dated or with the one she’d married, even though they shared her culture and background. With Zahad, once the initial impetus ended, reason told her there’d soon be nothing left to build on.

  She would hate it if this special relationship deteriorated into discomfort and misunderstandings. It seemed far better to have a radiant memory to cherish.

  Zahad clicked off the boom box. “You are very quiet. Has it been a difficult day?”

  “Better than yesterday,” Jenny replied, “although that’s not saying much. How about you?”

  “Ronald Wang e-mailed me. He assures me he spoke to the detective but revealed nothing of my visit.”

  “Good.” Jenny was glad Parker knew about the woman caller and the fact that there were apparently two cyber-stalkers. She wished he was willing to work with Zahad, however.

  “I hope it will help.” The sheikh released a long breath, and the two of them stood in the kitchen simply looking at each other Jenny didn’t want to hear anything more about murderers or stalkers or carjackers. “I don’t know how you feel, but I’m on investigation overload.”

  “We both need a respite,” Zahad agreed. “During the revolution in Alqedar, sometimes the danger and loss threatened to overwhelm our morale. When that happened, we declared a camp evening. I suggest you and I do the same.”

  “What’s a camp evening?”

  “For a few hours, we became youths again.” Picking up pot holders, the sheikh went to the oven. “We sang foolish songs, ran three-legged races and told jokes.”

  As he removed a tray of browned chicken nuggets, Jenny asked, “Is it fair to assume the jokes don’t bear repeating in polite society?”

  A trace of color appeared on his high-boned cheeks. “Assuredly not.” He fetched grape juice from the refrigerator, poured it into three wineglasses and carried them to the front room. He’d already set the table—somewhat unconventionally, with the spoons on the plates and the napkins on the chairs. Perhaps he’d done so deliberately to make the occasion lighthearted.

  Jenny picked up her napkin and sank into her seat. “Thanks for doing this.”

  “It is my pleasure.”

  When Beth bounded into the room, her eyes fixed on her wineglass. “Mommy won’t let me have that. Will you, Mommy?”

  “It’s grape juice,” Jenny said.

  “All right!” Handling the glass very carefully, the little girl took a sip.

  From the kitchen, Zahad fetched a large bowl containing salad greens strewn with some white flakes and brown bits. Jenny did want her daughter to eat vegetables,
but what was this?

  “Allow me to present Aladdin’s Magic Salad,” the sheikh announced.

  Beth eyed the concoction suspiciously. After a long moment, she brightened. “It’s got chocolate chips!”

  “The white shreds are coconut.” Zahad placed the bowl in front of her with a flourish. Next to it, he set a small pitcher of yellow dressing. “This is pineapple sauce.”

  Jenny tried to guess how chocolate chips, coconut and lettuce tasted with pineapple sauce. She decided to simply keep quiet and eat it.

  Beth grabbed the tongs and plopped salad onto her plate, showering a fair measure onto the table in the process. She scooped it up and ate heartily. “Wow! Dessert in the salad!” she exclaimed when she came up for air.

  “Why didn’t I think of that?” Jenny had to admire the recipe’s sheer inventiveness.

  The sheikh brought in the nuggets on a serving plate and a casserole of scalloped potatoes sticky with cheese. “These are Camel McNuggets and Oasis Chips, according to Amy.”

  “I’ve absolutely got to meet this woman. Does she ever come to Southern California?” Jenny asked.

  “It has happened. Perhaps someday she will return,” Zahad said. To Beth, he added, “My cousin has a seven-year-old daughter. I believe you two would like each other.”

  “Does she have dolls?”

  “Many of them from around the world.”

  “I’d like that!” The little girl stuffed a forkful of potatoes into her mouth.

  Between mouthfuls, Beth told the grown-ups how her friends had welcomed her back after her two-week absence. The class had a new hamster, too, she explained with delight.

  Once Beth ran out of steam, Jenny described the school-wide winter decorating project she’d been coordinating. Older children were writing poems and stories to post throughout the building. Some artistic youngsters had been designing a mural to be assembled from many sheets of poster board, which the younger children would paint. The primary grades and kindergarten were supplementing this artwork with their own drawings and writings.

  She also described seeing Elmer playing with a group of boys. “It looks like he’s finally making friends,” she said. “I think the baseball game broke the ice.”