Date with a Sheesha (36 page)

Looking imposingly dashing in the After Six tuxedo he’d been wearing at the WACS dinner, Colin Cardinale was standing in the largest open area. His impressive figure was dramatically backlit, as if he’d planned it that way for greatest effect. All he needed was an atomizer of Acqua di Gio by Armani or a Grey Goose martini in hand, or a Breitling watch on his wrist, and this could have been an ad shoot for a glossy magazine.

“You have the actual Zinko?” he asked. No “hello.” No “how are you doing?” No “did you enjoy the chicken marsala at dinner”?

“I do,” I lied, stopping about four metres away from him.

“How can that be?”

“Your men in Saudi were duped. I knew they were coming. I made it seem I arrived after them, but really I got there before they did. I made the deal with the Bedouin. Then I told him to sell a fake carpet to your guys. It was easy.”

“So it’s real,” he said, the words full of wonder and amazement.

“It is.”

“What do you intend to do with it?”

“I’ve already taken the gems out of it,” I said, using a defen-sive tone. “So you can forget about those. I found them, they’re mine. But I need your help with the map to get the rest of the jewels. I can’t figure it out. You were after the Zinko too, so I’m guessing you’ve already thought about how to decipher it.”

“You removed the jewels from the rug?” he asked, his voice harsh. I could sense his hackles rising.

“Yes.”

“You idiot!” he exploded. The guy really had anger manage-ment problems. “It’s the placement of the gems in the carpet that create the map! Without them it’s just an old rug!”

“So we put them back. No big deal.”

“You know exactly where each jewel goes?”

I hesitated for effect. “Well, not exactly.”

Mr
GQ
hit his regal forehead with the palm of his right hand.

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“You dunce! You’ve destroyed one of the greatest creations of the ancient world! Do you have any understanding of the cultural and historical significance, not only of the Zinko itself, but of the cache of gems it would have led us to? Researchers, gemologists, carpet professionals the world over, they all would have been queuing up for decades, wanting to study them. And now, because of your petty personal greed, your unheard of, immeas-urable stupidity, all of it is likely lost to us forever!”

Just as I’d thought: Colin wasn’t the mastermind behind all of this after all. He wasn’t the puppeteer behind Stretch and Squat.

He wasn’t responsible for the deaths of Neil and Hema. He actually cared about the Zinko for its historical significance, not its monetary value.

What had first begun to irk me was the black petals, meant to warn off Neil and then me. The myth might be that black petals represented a blessing or a curse, but, in this case, there was no way I believed they were ever meant as anything but a scare tactic.

I could believe that Colin might have arranged for goons to deliver the petals to Neil, as intimidation, and then me to frighten me off. But what bothered me were the black petals Pranav Gupta told me he received the day of Neil’s funeral. Why would Colin do that? Besides, the petals were a curse in a culture far removed from that of Colin Cardinale. For the same reason that Colin likely hadn’t originally known about the Zinko, there was no rational reason for him to know about black petals. He was a man of the modern, Western world, and therein lay his expertise. Not in the myths and folklore, curses and blights, of a foreign culture.

So who would have sent Pranav the petals? Especially on the day of his son’s funeral? They were meant to send a message, and not a very nice one. Who was in the best position to know about the petals, about the Zinko, about Neil’s whereabouts, about what he was doing while he was in Arabia, about his death and funeral, and about the surprise party where he met his killers?

Unnati Gupta stepped out of the shadows and stood next to Cardinale.

It wasn’t a “C” on Hema’s bloody palm. It was a “U.”

“You see,” Colin said to the woman whose eyes were blazing 252

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into me. “He has the real Zinko. And he’s desecrated it, Unnati.

He’s ruined it!”

“So I hear,” she said, her voice hard and clear.

“Where is it? Give it to us,” Colin ordered.

I opened up my hands in front of me, palms up, showing they were empty. “Sorry.”

Colin shot a distressed look at Unnati. “I thought he’d bring it with him. We must call the police. I know you didn’t want to, but there’s nothing left for us to do. We must force him to hand over the carpet before he destroys it any further.”

Poor Colin. Still thinking he was in control. Still thinking he knew what was going on. Still thinking Unnati was friend rather than foe.

Unnati Gupta continued to stare at me, looking disconcerting-ly radiant in the multicoloured sari she’d worn for the opening night celebration of the symposium. Her makeup was exquisite, making her eyes pop out like beacons. Her hair was pulled back and shiny with fragrant oils. Her mouth was painted deep red, a hard crimson line across a face that read treachery. And hatred.

She hated Colin for being so stupid. She hated me for standing in her way. She hated Hema for failing to turn up with the goods, hated her enough to have her killed when she failed to share in her aunt’s perfidy. She hated Neil for refusing to be part of her get-rich-quick scheme when they thought he’d found the elusive, mythical Zinko. And she hated her doting husband, Pranav. And so she sent him black petals on the day of his son’s death. To tell him he was cursed. By her. It was a message she did not expect him to understand until she was long gone with her millions, hiding on some tropical island, laughing at him and the world she had left behind. But she was wrong about that. He had received the message loud and clear this evening.

When I asked Pranav how he knew about the surprise party where Neil was murdered, he told me that Neil himself had told him about it. Who told Neil? Unnati.

Unnati had set up the whole thing. Neil had refused to be part of her plot to keep the Zinko for themselves. So, once he revealed its whereabouts, he needed to be disposed of before she went after 253

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it herself. She first told Neil she had arranged a meeting with a special rug vendor. But he had other plans that evening, and did not want to spend it working, so he declined. To convince him, Unnati pretended to “spill the beans,”saying the meeting was actually a surprise farewell party in his honour thrown by his colleagues. She told him he must attend or they’d be insulted. He was not to say anything to anyone and to act surprised when he arrived. In this way, she’d guaranteed her victim would show up just where and when she wanted him to, delivered into the hands of his murderers. Although Neil was already suspicious of his stepmother, and because of that had left Aashiq the message to call his father if things went awry, he was not suspicious about the party. It seemed exactly the type of thing his workmates might do.

Only the killer, or the person who hired the killers, could have known about the surprise party that wasn’t really a surprise party.

Pranav was inconsolable as the truth of what happened to his son at the hands of his wife became obvious. He knew she had originally lied about not knowing about the Zinko, hoping to throw everyone off the scent of what she was really doing. Her dream of great riches at the expense of his son was abhorrent to him.

But now her dream was threatened. The real Zinko had emerged after all. The only thing that stood in the way of her bright future was me. And Colin. She’d already killed twice to make her bankroll. What was two more? To her, it likely wouldn’t seem a lot, not for a future of unbridled wealth and happiness.

I suddenly felt an ominous presence behind me. And then the dangerous end of a gun butting up against my back. Even through my heavy winter coat, a bullet would have no problem finding its mark.

“What’s going on?” Colin asked, his voice taking on a not very manly squeak. “Unnati, be careful! That man has a gun!”

Unnati smiled. What was it going to take to make this silly man understand?

“You will tell us where the Zinko is,” she said in steely tones.

“That man,” Colin croaked, pointing at the guy behind me.

“He was at the dinner. He’s one of our delegates. Sir, what are you doing here?” he demanded to know of the fellow with the 254

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revolver in my back.

“Now’s your time to speak, Mr. Quant,” Unnati said, ignoring her unwitting cohort.

“And why should I?” I responded. “You’ll only have me killed. Like Neil. Like Hema.”

“What!” Colin croaked, his eyes jumping from me to Unnati to the gunman and then back to me. “Hema is dead? When? How?”

“Care to tell him?” I asked Unnati.

“She was a foolish girl. As stupid as this one here,” she said, her regal head nodding towards Colin. “I would have shared the wealth with her, I truly would have. Some of it, anyhow. But she wanted the Zinko for the world. Stupid girl.”

“The rug she brought back from the Middle East was a fake, wasn’t it?”

“It was. But I suspected she was not being honest with me. I knew the real Zinko still existed somewhere. And, as it turns out, I was right. Wasn’t I, Mr. Quant? Colin told me what you did. I know you have it.

“It didn’t matter for Hema anyway. She already knew my plans and refused to go along with them. Just like my equally stupid stepson. I couldn’t risk them telling Pranav, or the police, or the university. I had no choice but to dispose of them.”

Colin seemed to be choking on a sour bit of spit.

“Well, the last laugh is on you,” I said in a not very nice way.

“There never was a real Zinko.” I guess I couldn’t be one hundred percent sure of that, but for now, it was the truth.

Her face blanched. “You are a liar!”

I shook my head. “I’m afraid not. The Bedouin, Fahd, Husain, Saffron, the whole lot of them. A gang of con artists. They’d convinced Neil the Zinko was real, and that they’d sell it to him in secret for a big payday. That night at the Bedouin camp was the climax of their con. They’d worried that Neil’s death meant the end of their game. But along came you and me and Hema. Lots of potential buyers, actually fighting over what we’d eventually find out was nothing but a big fake.”

“It’s not true. Neil sent me papers. Experts had verified the find.”

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“Experts hired by who? Neil? The University? Or by Fahd or Husain?”

I could see the woman’s confidence in the existence of the Zinko begin to slip. She hissed at me. “No! You are nothing but a liar!”

Oh, I’m a lot more than that, sweetie.

“That’ll be enough right there,” came Darren Kirsch’s authoritative voice from behind me. And, more importantly, from behind the guy with the gun.

Unnati cried out something I did not understand. Suddenly Squat emerged from behind a hanging rug, between her and Colin, a gun pointed at the trembling curator.

Not a great situation.

“You unholy bitch!” came yet another voice from behind Unnati.

These walls of carpet were certainly making for good hiding spots.

The next thing I knew, somebody yelled and Unnati, Squat, and Colin went tumbling down to the ground.

Immediately, several of Saskatoon Police Service’s finest emerged from the many folds of hanging carpets, on the scene just in time to cover Unnati and her buddies with enough firepower to give pause to any guerilla army.

I glanced around, trying to figure out exactly what had happened to send the trio to the floor. And then I saw him. Pranav Gupta. He was standing there, one end of a rug in his hands. He had, quite literally, pulled the carpet out right from under their feet.

It was going to be the best day of my life so far.

I was going to ask Ethan Ash to marry me.

The preparations had been augmented by the talents of my friends Anthony and Jared. My living room had been transformed. There was music. There were drapey things flowing from the ceiling. There were candles, lots and lots of Tiamo soy blend candles, smelling of lemongrass, jasmine, tuberose, and fig leaf.

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There was a bottle of Perrier-Jouët in a silver bucket of ice. There were chocolates from both Bernard Callebaut and Harden & Huyse because I didn’t know which he preferred. The freshest strawberries I could find in the market in February were artfully arranged on a platter. There were several stunning arrangements of flowers from Blossoms spread throughout the room. A wood fire was crackling merrily away behind a rustic grate. Barbra and Brutus were freshly clipped, and each wore a new collar for the occasion. Barbra’s was pink with diamond studs; Brutus had gone for classic black leather with brass accents. I’d gotten a trim (and maybe a touch-up of blond) from Shelley at Salon Pure, and a new outfit of Paul Smith jeans, a Bolongaro Trevor cardigan over a white T, and John Fluevog shoes, all from
gatt
. I was ready.

I was nervous.

I was excited.

I thought I might pass out.

When Ethan arrived that Friday night, he looked like a man anyone would fall in love with. He was big and strong, with merry eyes, a gorgeous smile, and he smelled great. We embraced and I buried his coat in the foyer closet. Barbra and Brutus, sensing something momentous was about to go down, maintained a respectful distance after the usual traditional hand-licking greeting. Hand in hand, I led him into the living room.