Two hours later, I’m not feeling so confident. In fact, I’m on the verge of freaking out even more. My body is sweat-drenched and I’m tongue-tied. I can’t believe it’s my first day in the country and I’ve seen a dead body and I’m now being interrogated by the police.
This means I’m having a double freak-out session!
The police did blood pressure and other checks on me and Ani when they came to the crime scene. I even got a silver shock blanket that I’m still wearing.
‘No need to be afraid,’ a friendly officer tells me. I’m in an interrogation room. Which is a sentence I never thought I’d say until, in the future, I’d be interviewing a criminal for the sake of justice.
Now, at the tender age of eleven, I’m on the other side of the interrogation table.
Thank goodness I’m not handcuffed.
The officer loses his friendliness as his brow crinkles. ‘Why would you be handcuffed? Have you not been telling me the truth?’
I didn’t realise I’d said that part out loud! I somehow sweat even more. Mom pats my back reassuringly. She sped back over to Castlewick as soon as she heard.
Mom lets out a small laugh. ‘I – Officer, you know how kids are. Plus, she’s still in shock.’
‘Please don’t speak on behalf of the witness.’
Mom gapes at the officer. If I weren’t a bundle of nerves, I’d try to build a rapport with him. I’m shy but I’m also a teacher’s pet.
‘Noori Tariq, this is serious. You discovered a dead body.’
Mom tenses. We’re all saving the who-was-she/who-wasn’t-she conversation until we’re back at Dad’s apartment. If we get out of here, that is. Mom and Dad listened to me and Ani talk about Mrs Kostas and Mrs Dimas, through tears, all the way to the police station. They were confused and quiet, and the car ride was tense. ‘I’ve told you everything! I-I mentioned Ani following the ringtone then us discovering the body –’
‘And corrupting the crime scene by tampering with evidence,’ the now-unfriendly officer says.
‘Please don’t speak on behalf of the witness,’ Mom retorts.
‘All I did was tidy up!’ I defend. I simply gathered the scattered plates and cups!
‘Young lady, that’s not how crime scenes work.’
‘Please don’t deport us!’ I blurt out. ‘We’re here for the summer and I’ve already gotten used to the weather and the smell.’
The officer looks offended. ‘What smell?’
I let out a scared squeak. I’ve heard horror stories about how the US Embassy treats its citizens of colour overseas. There might be no saving us!
The officer sighs and glances at his notes. ‘I think I’ve got everything I need. We’ll be in touch at some point to follow up.’ With that, he leads us out.
‘I’m confused,’ Dad says for the umpteenth time. He’s tugging at his hair. It’s been two hours since Ani and I discovered the body and we’re back at his apartment. ‘Was she actually Mrs Dimas or Mrs Kostas? Could they be twins?’
I’m wondering that too.
‘Abderrazzak.’ Mom sighs. ‘We can try to fix our confusion later on. Right now, our daughters might well need therapy.’
‘I already have a therapist,’ Ani says. She still hasn’t warmed up to Mom. But then, I haven’t warmed up to Dad either, so we’re even. ‘Her name is Chandra.’
‘Oh.’ Mom clears her throat. ‘Well, can we call Chandra?’ She glances at Dad and he nods. ‘Good. I think group therapy might be good. After all, we all knew Mrs Kostas or Dimas or whoever she was, didn’t we?’
About forty-five minutes later, Ani’s therapist knocks on the door. As Mom and Dad go to answer it, Ani hands me a pad of waterproof paper. I wonder what kinds of antics she gets up to, to own that. Bath-time ideas? Swimming pool stories?
‘Waterproof paper is environmentally bad because it’s difficult to recycle,’ I whisper.
‘Hey, I got my Friends of the Environment certificate at school – I recycle everything I can. But sleuths use waterproof paper. Why? Because of accidents featuring rain, pools, puddles or juice. I speak from experience. Now shut up and read it before they come.’
I open it and glance down at the first page.
TUSC PROFILE
Name: Dr Chandra Maheshwari-Robinson
Gender: Female
Pronouns: She/her/hers
Age: 45 years old
Occupation: Child psychologist
Physical characteristics:
1. The same shade of brown skin as me
2. Wears pencil skirts
3. Always has a bow headband in her black, straight hair
Observation: Is the best sweet dealer in Castlewick (no, not because she’s a doctor who prescribes stuff – she has a cousin in America who sends her Jolly Ranchers. Blues ones = the best.)
While Ani’s handwriting is messy, it’s actually a helpful profile.
‘Girls, I’m so sorry about what happened today,’ Dr Chandra says. ‘Talking about grief is a good way to accept the loss and let it go.’
Ani sighs. ‘I don’t want to let it go.’
‘That’s valid. Let’s talk about Mrs Kostas in a way that allows us to let go of the grief surrounding her loss but not of the magical memories. OK?’
Ani looks at me. ‘I can talk about it if you can.’
I think about this. No one I’ve ever known has died so I don’t know what to do or how to react. Other kids might have experienced a loss in the family but Mom’s parents passed away when she was young so I never even knew them.
I nod at Ani.
‘Words, Riri,’ Mom warns.
All eyes are on me and I wipe my sweating palms on my thighs. ‘Yes. Thanks for asking. I’ll go first.’
Dr Chandra smiles. ‘Riri, go ahead.’
‘So –’ I start – ‘me and Mom used to live in downtown LA before she got her promotion at NovaStarr Labs. That was about four-ish years ago. I was seven years old and Mrs Dimas was the school librarian. She taught me to speed-read and my love of books was thanks to her. Sometimes she babysat me when Mom worked late. Like I told Ani, she said she belonged to a rich family. One day, she just up and left.’
Mom nods, her hand over her chest as if she’s sad to remember it.
‘She said she was moving to England –’ I continue – ‘but she didn’t say where exactly, only that she was gonna find a long-lost relative. We tried to reach out but her number was disconnected and emails bounced back. Mom, do you still have that picture of the three of us on your phone?’ It’s the only picture we have of her.
Mom unlocks her phone. ‘I must do.’ A minute passes. ‘Got it,’ she says, and shows us.
Ani walks toward Mom but keeps her distance as she analyses the picture. ‘That’s definitely her. Even if she had an identical twin, they wouldn’t have the same heart-shaped mole.’
Dad massages his temples. Clearly he’s troubled by all this. ‘Why would she live two similar lives with each daughter?’
I freeze. I hadn’t thought of it like that. Was Mrs Dimas – or Mrs Kostas – a bad person? Did she maliciously target our family? If so, why? We’re not millionaires.
If another word is said by any of us, Mom might cry. ‘I don’t know! All I know is that I trusted her. I swear, I didn’t know her before.’
‘I didn’t either,’ Dad says.
I think the ‘before’ they’re referring to is back when they were engaged. Or even before that, I guess.
‘Mom and Dad –’ Dr Chandra frowns – ‘am-am I missing something here? Has there been more than one death?’ Dr Chandra doesn’t know that Mrs Kostas used to be Mrs Dimas. She thinks we’re talking about two different women.
‘No,’ Ani quickly says. ‘No. Riri is grieving someone else.’ Why would she lie? Mom and Dad are clearly too preoccupied to interject and tell Dr Chandra the truth. And Ani clearly wants to hide the information that Mrs Kostas and Mrs Dimas were one and the same. I won’t question her because I’m finally consistently ‘Riri’ instead of ‘evil twin’. ‘And she’s traumatised because of the crime scene she stumbled upon.’ Well, that’s the truth.
‘Can I talk about Mrs Kostas now?’ Ani is surprisingly patient.
‘Are you sure you can?’ Dad asks her. ‘You were close to her.’
Mom lets out an off-key, hysterical laugh that could double as a cry. ‘What, and Riri wasn’t? I wasn’t?’
Dad whispers, ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’
Mom expels a harsh breath but soon crumbles as her voice breaks. ‘I know.’ Adults are incredibly odd. Parents are even odder.
As Ani looks from Mom to Dad, she frowns. ‘Um . . . I’ll say my bit now. Mrs Kostas was the best. We met when I was her first customer at Cafe Vivlio.’ Her chin quivers. ‘She was a mother figure to me.’
Mom wails then storms out of the room. I feel bad for both of them, Ani and Mom.
Plus, I can’t help but feel a bit betrayed by Mrs Dimas.
Dr Chandra stares at where Mom was sitting. ‘Dad, could you check on Mom please? Ani, sorry for interrupting. Please continue.’
With Dad gone, Ani rubs at her eyes. ‘She lived in our building. Downstairs. Used to call me to help her find items that she’d misplaced. That made me love mysteries even more.’
I try to give Ani a small smile but she doesn’t look at me.
‘She spoke with a transatlantic accent. Never said anything about being from a rich family. Definitely wasn’t fancy. Didn’t have that mole. She used to teach me life lessons with Greek proverbs,’ she adds.
‘Oh, she told me those too,’ I fondly remember.
‘You’re both grief-stricken and clearly have your own ways of honouring her.’ Dr Chandra looks like she is trying her best to act like what we’re saying is normal but she is clearly still confused. ‘Whatever you need, you can tell me. Let yourselves grieve. Is there anything else anyone wants to say? This is a safe place. Anyone?’
‘No,’ me and Ani say together.
Dr Chandra goes on to tell us how to deal with grief. She gives us each a grief journal and wants to have another session in a week’s time. After many questions we half answered, she leaves.
It’s just me and Ani now, a million unspoken words between us.
Then she sighs and as she rubs her face she says, ‘I can’t believe I broke up from school just yesterday. And today, Mrs Kostas – someone super dear to me – was murdered.’ She rests her chin on her hand, wrapped up in her thoughts.
‘I’m sorry. Life can be wild sometimes. Where do we start?’ I ask. Her eyes stare hard at the floor and don’t move. ‘Unless . . . you don’t want to?’ To be honest, I’m nervous about starting an investigation. What if we find out something bad? Still, whoever she was, she deserves justice.
Ani clears her throat then reaches into her pocket. I silently watch her place an assortment of items on the coffee table. Each item has a sticker of a tusk on it. I guess that’s the TUSC logo? Her phone, a waterproof notepad, a compact mirror, a small torch, a pen, bubble-gum and a light that looks similar to the one I used to read my invisible ink-scribbled diary with. Then a little pot of black powder, white paper, a measuring tape, a magnifying glass and a wristwatch. Wow, she has big pockets.
Ani meets my eyes, hers red and unreadable. Then she sobs and runs off.