Dead Soon Enough: A Juniper Song Mystery (17 page)

“How so?”

“Did I mention my mom died when I was in high school?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay now, but back then … Are both your parents still around?”

“My dad died, but I was really young. I don’t remember him much.”

“Oh, that sucks. At least I remember my mom. She was pretty great.”

“How did she die?”

“Car accident.”

“Fuck.”

“I was a mess. I was depressed, I didn’t eat, didn’t want to see anybody. And not just right after she died. This went on and on and on.”

“I know what that’s like.”

“My dad was grieving, too, and besides, he didn’t know how to talk to me. The only person I really wanted to talk to was my mom, and I was vicious to everyone else. Said some truly horrible shit to my dad and my aunt, Ruby’s mom. To Ruby, too. But she kept checking on me, even though she was busy with residency. She called every day, even when I told her to go fuck herself, and when I started dropping weight and alluding to suicide, she got all the adults together and forced me to get help. Long, long, long story short, I got help. So, yeah, I owe her one.”

I nodded. I didn’t have a great response. “I guess you couldn’t just write her a card?”

She laughed. “There’s another reason, too.”

“What’s that?”

“Ruby and Van need to reproduce. They owe it to the world and the world owes it to them.”

“They are pretty fine specimens, I guess. Two good-looking doctors.”

“Two good-looking
Armenian
doctors.”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“We can’t let the Kardashian clan be the sole reproducers. You know how there’s that memorial going up?”

“Yeah, on the centennial, right?”

“That’s right. April 24. Do you know what happened on that date?”

“It was the start date of the genocide, right?”

“Sort of.” She smiled, avoiding condescension. “April 24, 1915—there were so many dead Armenians by then, their names could fill a hundred memorials. But April 24 is probably as close as there is to an official start date. It was when all the intellectuals got deported.”

“Just deported?”

“Apparently ‘deported’ is Turkish for ‘massacred.’”

“Ah.”

“They massacred Armenians for years, but we picked April 24 as the day to memorialize.”

“What do you mean by all the intellectuals?”

“They rounded up over two thousand of our community leaders, something like taking the head off the totally innocent beast. They put them in holding centers, eventually deported them. Clergy, teachers, lawyers, politicians.” She smirked. “Writers. Obviously the greatest tragedy, in Nora’s mind.”

“Pretty big blow.”

“Yeah. Imagine if that many of the U.S.’s most visible citizens were all murdered in one day. Obama, Angelina Jolie, Toni Morrison, all snuffed, plus a couple thousand more. Imagine what that would do to our culture and morale. And we are much bigger than the Armenian community was even before the genocide.”

“But the genocide was recorded. They didn’t get all the writers.”

“The genocide was recorded, sort of. There were some American and European witnesses, thank God, because without them, what power did we have? The Turks recorded the genocide with their own euphemistic language, and they beat us down bad enough that their story has yet to be bulldozed for all time.”

“Were there no Armenian writers left?”

“I wouldn’t say that. For one thing, tragedy begets writers. You take a whole population and put them through some shit, a few of them will find a voice. Outrage has a way of getting through, even coarsely.”

“Is that what Nora’s writing is about? Outrage?”

“Outrage, pride. Two sides of the same coin when you’ve been victimized. And you know what, it’s been a hundred years, but we Armos, we’re still defined by our victimhood.” She paused and tilted her head, not liking the way that had come out. “Not in a pathetic way or anything, but getting genocided, that’s still on our minds all the time. And it means, for one thing, that Van and Ruby have to have some babies.”

“But you don’t want kids of your own, right? I think Rubina said something like that.”

“Me? No. I’m not mommy material.”

“You don’t owe it to your blood like Van and Rubina do?”

She laughed. “They’re smart people. Professionals, you know? I’m just a shithead. This is how I’m doing my part.”

“You could change your mind. Maybe you’ll meet a nice Armenian dude and pop out a soccer team.”

She shrugged. “I’m not saying it could never happen. I know anything’s possible. But it’s unlikely. Not every woman needs to be a mother, and I’m not so young I have no idea what I want.”

“And you don’t think you owe the world some babies.”

“Don’t tell me you think I sound selfish.”

I remembered Rubina calling her cousin a classic only child. “No. Have you been told otherwise?”

She rolled her eyes. “Ruby said I was selfish, huh?”

I geared up to deny it or shrug it off, but Lusig stopped me.

“I don’t care,” she said. “It doesn’t bother me any more than her hiring a private detective to follow me around.”

“True.”

“Anyway, I am selfish sometimes. I know that. No one’s perfect, okay? Not even Ruby.” She cackled and sighed. “That bitch.”

“I haven’t seen you acting particularly selfish,” I said.

“I am the center of my own universe. I’ve done things I’m not proud of, probably hurt a few people. But this baby stuff, it doesn’t count against me. First of all, really selfish people love nothing more than to force themselves on the world. And if your main goal is to do that, then isn’t five of you better than one? The only people hurt by my not reproducing are potential ones, these dumb eggs that don’t get a chance to get fertilized. They’ll never know any better.”

My mind drifted idly back to my donated eggs, treading a path that was becoming worn with use these days.

“Anyway,” Lusig said, grabbing me back, “have you thought at all about my proposal?”

I had, in fact, been thinking about it all morning. It seemed less ridiculous after my bright and early encounter with a stranger’s erection.

“A little bit, yeah. Let’s say I’m interested. How would it work?”

She grinned, like a car salesman laying out the sweetest terms of a done deal. “You’d sublet this place. For a month, or maybe two, until this baby comes. You’d get your own room in that mansion free of charge, and you’d get paid for being on-site.”

“Rubina’s fine with that? It means her fees go way up.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but anything remotely connected to this baby gets spared no expense.”

“All right. And how much mobility would I have?”

“While I’m home, she wants you to stay with me.”

“Really? Aren’t you always home?”

“Home alone, I mean.”

“Jesus. I can recommend her an ankle bracelet if that’s easier.”

Lusig glared at me. “Please don’t.”

“Wait, aren’t you home alone all the time now?”

“Yeah, but if there’s a way to fix that, you know that cuckoo bitch will jump on it.”

“So when do I look for Nora?”

“Any office-type work, you can do at the house. Field stuff, whenever Ruby’s home. Doctor variation on nights and weekends.”

“What, I don’t have a social life?”

“Hey, how do you think I feel?”

It occurred to me then that Lusig was as lonely as I was, as lost and bored and restless.

“It would be nice to be able to run things over together,” I said, thinking out loud.

“Exactly. I may not be a detective, but I’m not an idiot. I definitely won’t get in your way.” I didn’t say anything, and she pressed on, sensing pliability. “And you’d make more money for more or less the same amount of work. You’d be watching me, but it’s not like you’d have to spoonfeed me and take me to potty.”

I nodded and pictured this change in lifestyle. It could have been the setup for a twisted sitcom with a feeble laugh track. Still, the proposal had its appeal—it would address my immediate practical concerns, and I’d make money working around the clock as well as from a rent-free living situation; I could immerse myself in the search for Nora, and keep anxiety and loneliness at bay. The only real downside was the profound weirdness of it all, the threat of insanity that came with living with a boss when that boss was Rubina Gasparian. But unlike Lusig, if I couldn’t handle it anymore, I had the option to quit.

“You know what?” I said. “Fuck it, let’s give it a shot.”

Her face glowed with a happy light that flattered and embarrassed me. “Yes! I could kiss you. No backsies,” she said emphatically.

She whipped out her phone, and before I could ask what she was doing, she had a finger in front of her face as a dial tone sung out, just two short rings.

“She’s in,” Lusig said, sounding positive and triumphant. I must have looked stunned, because she winked at me reassuringly, like I was a child she was tricking without ill intention. “Yeah, might as well, right?” she said, nodding, her eyes on mine, pretending I was a part of the conversation. “Yeah, I think so. See you in a bit.”

She hung up and laughed, apparently at me. “Your face,” she said. “I didn’t want you to change your mind.”

“You already said no backsies,” I said, sighing. “Rubina’s fully on board with this? Inviting a detective into her home?”

“I pointed out that it would help my stress levels.”

“So what’s the plan, then?”

“What were you going to do today?”

“Wait a few more hours on Kizil, then go track him down if he doesn’t respond.”

“So not a jam-packed day of dedicated sleuthery.”

“Hey, every day is full of dedicated sleuthery,” I said. “But sure, my schedule’s flexible.”

“How about this? Unless you hear from Kizil soon, you take the day off from field stuff.”

“And do what?” I asked, watching a grin grow on her face.

“Get settled. Ruby said to ask what you want to do about dinner.”

I told Lusig Rubina would fire me if I let her help me pack and sent her back to Glendale, where I promised to meet her later. I called Lori as soon as I was alone. She was at work but stepped out to talk to me.

“Remember that pregnant girl who went off on that waitress?” I asked.

“Obviously.”

“I’m about to move in with her.”

“Wait, what?”

I caught her up on the arrangement and she listened, laughing.

“This is so weird,” she said. “Are you sure it’s a good idea?”

“Of course not. But it could be the best idea I have for now.”

“You’re going to get all tangled up with these people.”

“That might not be the worst thing,” I said. “I like Lusig, and you’re abandoning me.”

“Unni!”

“Joking,” I said, amused by her dismay.

“I didn’t even mean it like that. I think it’ll be nice for you to be around people, but now you’ll be at work around the clock. You’re going to drive yourself crazy looking for this girl—and what if you don’t find her?”

“I’ve thought about this.”

“And?”

“Chose to ignore it.”

She groaned. “Okay, just promise me you’ll get out of there if you feel like you can’t handle it.”

“Sure, if it makes you feel better—I can stop whenever I want.”

Lori offered to find subletters for the next month if I could find someone to take over her lease when I moved back in. She said I could crash with her and Isaac if I needed to leave Chez Gasparian for any reason—when Lusig had her baby, or if I started to feel like harming myself or others. I spent the rest of the day packing and cleaning, making the place look presentable. Lori would deal with the rest.

*   *   *

I showed up at the Gasparian home with two suitcases and a solid sense of foreboding. I’d never done a security detail—most clients preferred the beefier, more masculine Chaz and Arturo, along with whatever off-duty cop friends they might hire. This would be my first live-in job, and I was entering a full and fraught house.

Rubina and Lusig were both at the door to greet me, wearing big grins that said they knew exactly how awkward this was all going to be.

“Welcome!” said Rubina, suddenly peppy as an R.A. meeting freshmen for orientation. “Let me show you where you’ll stay.”

The house was two stories, and I’d gathered that Rubina and Van slept in a master bedroom upstairs. I was relieved when Rubina led me to a small bedroom on the first floor.

It was a nice space, compact and austere but comfortable enough. There was a desk and a twin bed with a plain gray comforter. It looked a lot like my own bedroom, actually—functional and sparsely decorated, though it lacked a window. I wondered if it would be the nanny’s room before deciding the nanny would sleep no less than four feet from Rubina.

“Lusig’s right across from you,” she said, indicating a slightly larger room across the hall. It was similarly spare—twin bed, futon, dresser, TV. “You will be sharing a bathroom.”

“It’s like a dormitory,” Lusig said. “I even have a PlayStation. You can come over and we can battle. We can discuss deep life things on my futon.”

“We can rage with vanilla vodka and Goldschläger.”

Rubina gave me a stern look.

“I’m kidding,” I said, feeling a sudden need to clarify.

“House rules,” she said. “Until the baby is born, Lusig doesn’t leave the house without you or me by her side. I can’t have her putting herself in danger. It should go without saying that she doesn’t drink, and she doesn’t inhale secondhand smoke. If you need to smoke, do it outside, as far away as possible. And I have to say, as a doctor, you might want to take this opportunity to quit. I don’t know a single doctor who smokes. That should tell you something.”

“When is lights out?” Lusig asked, rolling her eyes.

“Promptly at eleven, if you’d like a time. But I doubt you’re staying up very late these days anyway.”

“Sounds easy enough,” I said. “Though I assume I don’t have a bedtime?”

“No. You can do as you please, as long as you’re in sight of Lusig whenever I’m not home.”

“When is she supposed to find Nora, then?”

“At night. On weekends. I didn’t get the feeling that your schedule was inflexible.”