SATISH
Whether from habit or from intuition, Mère filled the empty cups and steered the conversation away from the news conference and toward Indian food. A topic that seemed to fascinate Anastaysa. AnnaSophia not so much. Magnus less so. Satish not at all. But Mère’s tenacity was only one reason he could hardly sit still.
Jennifer’s shit-covered purse required an alert to Ben Davis. His rebuke to cooperate first, last, and always with the police clashed with drinking chai.
At the same time, AnnaSophia’s flat eyes and pale face offered an excuse to stay seated. In case she told Magnus and Anastaysa about Jennifer.
Mère’s eyes slid a millionth of a centimeter his direction.
Message from years of this unspoken command during his attendance at adult functions?
Stop jittering as if you have a spider in your underwear.
“Did you tell the other detective Alexandra’s name, Detective Patel?” Anastaysa asked.
The scalding tea brought tears to his eyes. He frowned at the abrupt change in subject. “What?”
“Did you tell him her name?”
So much for the chai’s calming effect.
“No.” Discounting Mère’s years of admonitions to think first, speak second, he added, “Not telling him was a mistake.”
“Why? Alexandra had nothing to do with those people getting killed.”
“Satish didn’t imply that conclusion, Anastaysa.” AnnaSophia pinched the bridge of her nose. “He went out on a limb keeping her identity from the police.”
The budding chai-connoisseur shrugged. “But you did finally tell, right?”
“More tea?” Mère refilled Anastaysa’s cup without waiting for a reply.
Thank you, he telegraphed.
“Thank you,” Anastaysa said in a polite-young-lady-at-tea tone as she raked him from head to teacup.
It’s like dealing with a split personality. Satish repressed the thought. “I confirmed Alexandra’s identity. Detective Davis already knew it.”
“Why didn’t you say you didn’t know?” Steam wafted across the girl’s pared-back lips.
“Anastaysa.” AnnaSophia’s voice hardened. “Why would you expect Satish to lie? Lying could impede finding the killer.”
“For what my opinion is worth,” Mère interjected, “I think your mother is right.”
“Do you remember asking if Alexandra had anything to do with Maverick’s murder?” AnnaSophia asked.
Magnus piped up. “I ’member.”
Anastaysa laughed. “I doubt that. But of course, I remember, Mamá. You sidestepped my question. You moved the focus away from Alexandra. You talked about yourself. Your childhood. You lied.”
“Staysa! That’s mean.” Magnus wiggled closer to his mother. “Mean like Alexandra.”
“Alexandra is not mean.” Anastaysa slammed her cup and saucer on the coffee table. Her cheeks flamed. “Okay, sometimes she was mean. But can’t you understand, Magnus? She had nothing to do with anyone’s murder.”
“Ana—”
She recoiled from AnnaSophia’s outstretched hand. “You don’t understand, either.”
“Anastaysa, dearest girl.” Mère laid an arm across the girl’s shaking shoulders. “What is the point of telling you the truth when you lash out at the people who love you?”
“I’m not lashing out, Mrs. Patel.” Her body language and strained voice projected pleading. “I’m standing up for Alexandra. It’s only fair. She can’t defend herself.”
“She can’t defend herself,” AnnaSophia said, “because her behavior set in motion the events that led to six people’s murders. We just don’t know how or why.”
It took all Satish’s self-control and a pointed look from Mère to stay in his seat.
“Six? Since when?” The swivel of Anastaysa’s head from her mother to Satish felt like a laser cauterizing his gut.