For a few Dumplings More Read online

  I hadn’t told her about the England thing. Motee Ba’s mouth dropped open.

  “We know Walter was in line for an earldom, of course.”

  “How?” I asked.”Whatever that is…”

  “He talked about it when he was new in town. It was the novelty factor, the thing that set him apart. I think Dot fell in love with him because of it.”

  “I invited Walter over for dinner. But I’ll have to go and get him myself.”

  Motee Ba smiled.

  “That’s a good idea, Meera. Maybe we can ask him to stay here for a while.”

  “So what kind of dirt would Dot have on anyone?”

  “I refuse to believe Dot Brown was involved in anything shady,” Motee Ba stood up for her departed friend. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Come on, Motee Ba. This is the only clue we have come up with so far. Don’t you want to find out who killed her?”

  Motee Ba was quiet.

  “Dot was everyone’s confidante. People opened up to her. You could depend on her judgment. And she didn’t tell tales. Anything you shared with Dot stayed with her.”

  “Not anymore, apparently…”

  Motee Ba ignored me.

  “She was a friend to women in our age group, and a mother figure for the younger girls. She could never say no to anyone. She believed in sharing, as poor as she was.”

  I went to bed thinking about what my grandma had said. The picture she painted was not of a blackmailer. Dot appeared in my dreams, with large wings on her back. I talked to her and she just smiled back.

  “Are you here for good?” I asked Angel Dot. “Or are you going to take off again?”

  Angel Dot smiled again.

  I sat up in bed with a start. Dawn was streaking the sky with pink and orange lines. My alarm buzzed signaling a new day.

  I grabbed a snack bar and rushed to meet Tony. I didn’t want to run into Sally again. I was still a bit frazzled from that weird dream.

  “So you think Dot Brown was writing those notes?”

  Tony looked at me as if I was an idiot.

  I nodded.

  “I don’t believe it. She wasn’t that kind of person.”

  “Did you just talk to Motee Ba?”

  Tony shook his head.

  “How long have you known Dot, Meera?”

  “We didn’t really know her. She was our teacher.”

  “You think people wouldn’t have caught on by now?”

  “Maybe she wasn’t always like this. Something changed. She got senile. She suddenly wanted money. Or just a power trip. Maybe she wanted to be WOSCO President really bad.”

  “So she went against a lifetime of noble work and blackmailed people to vote for her?” Tony deadpanned. “So she could be ‘president’ of some silly club in a small town in the middle of nowhere?”

  “They don’t think it’s silly.”

  “You can’t convince me on this one,” Tony said.

  “Whether you believe it or not, we’ll have to assume she did it. We can’t move ahead without that.”

  “Move ahead to what?”

  “To the next step, Tony!” I sighed. “We need to assume Dot wrote that note in order to think of follow up questions. And their answers.”

  “Okay. Say we do. What’s next?”

  “Who did she write that note for? And how long has she been writing it?”

  Tony handed me a large cup of coffee and threw in a couple of candy bars.

  “You’re gonna need this then.”

  “Come on, Tony. I need your help here.”

  “You think she’s been writing these notes for a while.”

  I nodded.

  “How do we find out who she was writing them to?”

  “Ask around?” I said.

  The idea sounded impossible as soon as I said it.

  “Even if you are able to eliminate a few people, that still leaves a lot of women.”

  “And Stan might want to keep the lid on this for now. Once we ask someone about any note, the secret’s out.”

  “That’s a tough one alright,” Tony agreed.

  “Are we meeting for lunch?” I asked.

  “I have some stuff coming in. I’ll see you at the diner though.”

  I waved goodbye and slowly drove to work, sipping my coffee. I had no idea what to do next. Hopefully, Stan would solve my problem with some good old police work.

  Tony and Motee Ba are both fixtures in my life. And we almost always agree on everything. Could they be right about Dot?

  Was it possible Dot Brown wasn’t the blackmailer?

  Chapter 14

  Spring term was in full swing and students were finally getting into gear. It’s like they had woken up from a deep slumber and suddenly realized they had classes to go to. The steady stream of students coming into the library was going up.

  I checked out videos in the AV room, feeling a bit moody. There were many things I was trying to forget. The Sally situation was giving me a headache. I was trying to ignore Motee Ba and Tony’s instincts about Dot. By the time lunch hour rolled by, I was psyched. I headed out, tired of being cooped up.

  Spring in Oklahoma is temperamental. We have sudden warm days when the sun shines and the mercury rises to 60. Then the wintry mix sets in, ushering in 40 degree weather. It was one of the sunny days and I yearned for a walk to clear my head.

  The drive-through window was backed up, but I finally got my order of tacos, locos and cinnamon crisps. A giant soda followed. I headed out to Willow Springs Lake. There were a few cars in the parking lot, and some like minded people were strolling on the path that wound around the lake.

  I collapsed on a bench and made quick work of the food, staring at the tranquil waters of the lake. The winter sun warmed my back and I felt loathe to get up. Pappa and Motee Ba had brought me here quite often when I was growing up. We had lived in a tiny starter home near the lake. It had only been slightly damaged in the tornado that took my mother. Going down memory lane, I had an idea. Maybe we should bring Sally over here? This is the area she had frequented all those years ago. If anything could trigger an old memory, this lakeside would.

  I shook off thoughts of Sally and forced myself to think about Dot Brown. As I had told Tony, we needed to assume she had written the notes in order to move forward. The next question was who had she written those notes to? Going around asking people wasn’t an option. We needed to trip someone into spilling the beans. But how?

  I stood up and forced myself to walk. I trudged around the lake, enjoying the light breeze. My back was coated in sweat soon enough. Walking got my grey cells churning and I thought of an idea. Now I had to put it before Stan.

  I made a snack run to the food court around three. Some days, I just can’t have enough to eat. But I had burned plenty of calories walking around the lake, right? Henry nudged me as I stood in line checking out a piece of pie. She held up her own small container of cake. I threw in the giant cookie by the cashier’s counter just in case.

  “Got a sweet tooth, hunh Meera?”

  “That’s not good for your blood sugar,” I said, trying to keep the nasty out of my voice.

  Henry looked contrite.

  “Look, Meera, I lied about the samosas. But I really do have a sugar problem.”

  I shrugged and nodded.

  Tony was waiting at Sylvie’s diner, working on a double cheeseburger.

  “I missed lunch,” he mouthed between bites.

  Becky brought over a platter of nachos and sat down next to me.

  “Out with it,” she said, after I’d worked through half the chips. “You’re bursting to tell us something.”

  Tony wiped a smear of mayo off his mouth and pushed his plate aside.

  “What is it, Meera?”

  “Henry wanted an invitation to our house. To meet Sally.”

  “Who’s Sally?” Becky asked, and her mouth curved into an O.

  “Yes, her!”

  “You’re okay with i
t?” Tony asked, looking shocked.

  “You know how everyone loves to gossip. Especially women.”

  Tony and Becky nodded. Sylvie grunted from the counter. Jon was shaking his head, winking at me.

  “We need to flesh out the person who was getting those notes, right?” I whispered.

  Becky’s eyes widened.

  “Why don’t we invite all the WOSCO women to our house? We can say we want Sally to meet everyone. Sort of like a Welcome party for her.”

  “I’m not sure she’s up to it, Meera,” Tony said thoughtfully.

  “Who cares if she isn’t? We just need a pretext to get people over.”

  “And what will you tell your mother, err, Sally?” Becky demanded.

  “I can ask her to just stay in bed, or send her out somewhere.”

  Tony was getting impatient.

  “Okay. You got the women there. What next?”

  “We’ll spread the word around. Tell people Dot was writing letters.”

  “You want to malign a dead woman?” Tony was turning red.

  “Come on, Tony. We talked about this. The whole point of doing this is to find Dot’s killer.”

  “How does this help?” Becky asked.

  “We observe their reaction. I’m sure whoever’s been getting those notes will react in some way. We can question them later.”

  “Brute force?” Tony was skeptical. “It just might work.”

  “What if no one does anything?” Becky said.

  “It’s worth a shot,” I argued. “We’re stuck otherwise.”

  I put the idea to Motee Ba later that night.

  “Your mother’s not ready to meet anyone, Meera.”

  “You’re sounding just like Tony,” I cried out in frustration.”She doesn’t need to be there. We’ll just tell people it’s for meeting her.”

  “Most women have been eager to meet your mother,” Motee Ba agreed. “So they’ll snap up the invite.”

  I went to bed happy to have come up with a plan. Whether it worked or not, we had something to work on.

  Stan was sitting in our kitchen the next morning, demolishing a plate of huevos rancheros, eggs with salsa and stuff by any other name.

  “Your mother sure knows how to make these, Meera!” he spoke approvingly between bites.

  “Just the guy I wanted to see,” I said.

  I actually meant it. Six months ago I would have scoffed at the thought.

  Stan let me get through my breakfast.

  “Anything new?” I asked him.

  “We checked a certain perimeter around Dot’s body. It’s normal procedure.”

  “Okay?”

  “There were a few objects, like a pen, a small plant, a cushion and so on. We tested all of them as part of routine procedure.”

  I sucked in a breath.

  “What did you find, Stan?”

  “The cushion had some DNA from Dot. Saliva.”

  Motee Ba had come up behind me. Stan continued.

  “We think the cushion was used to suffocate Dot. It was yet another attempt on her life.”

  Motee Ba leaned against me, clutching my shoulders.

  “What was so hateful about Dot Brown?” I cried. “What did she do that three people tried to kill her?”

  None of us had an answer to that. Motee Ba finally spoke up.

  “Dot was victimized. I am sure.”

  “About that,” I said. “I have a plan. We just might be able to narrow down who that note was for.”

  Once again, I explained my idea of holding a party at our house. Stan grew excited as I outlined my strategy.

  “Excellent. That’s a great idea, Meera. Set it up.”

  “We will need you here. You can make an announcement. Say you found something at Dot’s house.”

  “Do you have a list of the people who were present at that party?” Stan asked Motee Ba.

  “I can find out,” she said.

  “Let’s do it this Saturday morning,” I proposed and Stan agreed.

  “Is that enough time to prepare?” he asked.

  “You’re forgetting something. There is no real party here.”

  “There will have to be, Meera,” Motee Ba said. “You don’t want to tip anyone off, do you? They have to believe they are coming to a party. We’ll have to finalize menus, do the shopping and start cooking.”

  “Why don’t you ask them to bring something?” Stan said.

  “Laced with bleach?” I shuddered.

  “We’re not dealing with a serial killer, Meera,” Stan guffawed. “She’s already found her mark.”

  Motee Ba was looking green. Stan sobered up.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Patel.”

  Motee Ba smiled weakly.

  “I like Stan’s idea. Let’s have a potluck. Most of the WOSCO women like to show off their cooking skills.”

  “It’s settled then?” I looked at Stan. “We can work on our lines a day before.”

  Stan nodded and finally left.

  “He never misses a free meal, does he?”

  “Give him a break, Meera!” Motee Ba patted me on the shoulder. “He lives alone. Must be starved for something home cooked.”

  That reminded me Sally wasn’t around. She seemed to have disappeared after making breakfast.

  “Where is she?” I asked.

  “They went out for an errand.”

  “Who’s they?”

  Motee Ba sighed.

  “Jeet needs something for school. It wasn’t available at our local store. They are driving into Guthrie and picking it up there.”

  “So Jeet went out with Sally? In a car?”

  There was no response.

  “He can drive, can’t he?”

  “Your mother offered to take him and he said yes.”

  “Traitor,” I muttered under my breath.

  I gave my grandma a wide berth, letting her know I was sulking.

  I pulled on the green school colors and a matching fleece jacket. I sat behind the wheel of my Camry, fuming for a bit. I try not to drive when I’m angry. Sally’s rental car pulled in just as I turned the key. Jeet got out, laughing at something she must have said. He waved at me and came over.

  His eyes were bright with excitement and a wide smile lit up his face. He held a pink and white striped box from my favorite bakery in Guthrie.

  “You should’ve come with us, Meera! We got those donuts you like so much.”

  “Thanks a lot, bro!” I seethed.

  I stepped on the gas and backed out tires screeching. The last thing I saw in the rearview mirror was the hurt expression on my kid brother’s face. Jeet was turning out to be more mature than I ever gave him credit for.

  Chapter 15

  My bad mood didn’t last for long. My mind was working overtime, thinking of the party. With just two days to go, time was short and there was lots to be done.

  “Have you started calling the ladies?” I asked Motee Ba on the phone during lunch.

  “We need to finalize a list first.”

  “Why don’t you get started on that with Sylvie? I can meet you there after work. Please?”

  “Hmmm…”

  That was all I got out of her but it was a start.

  “Are you still mad at me?” I asked her that evening.

  She was manning a booth at the diner along with Sylvie. Sylvie was jotting something down on a notepad so they were working on the guest list.

  “We are all dealing with the situation in our own way.”

  I didn’t say much more.

  Sylvie stepped in, eager to break up any impending quarrel between us.

  “We started on that list, Meera. We got about 22-25 names.”

  I glanced at the list. I knew many of the names Sylvie had put down. Some were new to me.

  “Great. Shall we start calling them?”

  Motee Ba and Sylvie took turns talking to the ladies. It took them a while to get to the point with everyone. Becky and I watched them from the kitchen, r
olling our eyes and giggling.

  “I suppose they can’t just send a text message?” she said.

  We had worked through most of the dinner rush by the time the two ladies came up for air.

  “Almost everyone said yes,” Motee Ba said eagerly. “Except Naomi Lucas. She might have surgery that day.”

  “No need to lock the liquor cabinet, at least,” I said.

  Naomi Lucas was a closet alcoholic. Everyone in town knew that. But she was one of those people who functioned best on a bottle of booze. She was one of the finest surgeons in Oklahoma.

  “We should go now, Meera.”

  Heady aromas of ginger and garlic assailed us as we parked the car and walked toward the kitchen door. Sally was at the stove, frying a spice paste. There was a big bowl of marinated chicken on the counter.

  “Mom’s making Saag Chicken,” Jeet beamed as we went in.

  “Where did you get the recipe?” Motee Ba asked Sally.

  Sally smiled, pointing toward a small book that lay open on the dining table.

  “Meera’s notes,” Jeet explained excitedly. “But she’s changing some things.”

  “Chicken on a Thursday night?” I spit out. “Is it Diwali already?”

  Diwali is like one of our biggest festivals. Whenever someone overspends or does something special without reason, we exclaim in this manner.

  Pappa came in, tapping his cane. He couldn’t hold back the smile on his face.

  “It’s Ten Diwalis, Meera!”

  Motee Ba looked at Pappa and then at Jeet. Jeet punched a fist in the air, and swooped in on Motee Ba, lifting her off the ground. Sally continued frying the spice paste, oblivious of the tableau going on behind her back.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, suspecting it had something to do with Sally.

  Jeet took my hand and dragged me out into the living room. He pointed at a fat packet that lay on the coffee table. I spied the maroon colored logo and lettering and my eyes welled up. This was everyone’s dream, not just Jeet’s.

  “Really?” I asked him, hugging him close.

  We saw the headlights of a car through the sheers. Dad walked in, his arms full of files and folders. We stood hand in hand, with bated breath, waiting for him to spot the packet on the table.

  Needless to say, there was an impromptu celebration that night. Tony came over with his mother. Motee Ba fried pakora fritters on Jeet’s request and I made my special queso. Dad popped the champagne and Jeet was allowed a sip.