“Phone a friend.”
“By all accounts, that would be Aliah, and she hasn’t heard from Sabera.Or maybe Staci,” I murmur, seeing how the caseworker had made emergency contact status.But I think the young woman would’ve said something this afternoon.Instead, sheappeared genuinely worried while doing her best to tell me what she could.
“Previous address?”Daryl asked.
“Some military base in Texas, while before that is a refugee camp in Abu Dhabi, where the rats have developed a taste for newborn flesh.”
Daryl shivers in revulsion.
“Totally agree,” I assure him.
“Work associate?”he ponders next.“Place of employment?”
“She’s only been employed for a matter of weeks.Seems a bit fast to make friends, especially working alone cleaning hotel rooms.”
Daryl gives me a look.It takes me a moment; then I get it.“Tending hotel rooms.At a local resort.Where this time of year, there are probably plenty of empty rooms available for her to access.I’m an idiot.”
Daryl doesn’t bother to dispute.I swear Petunia nods.
“Well, now we have a plan for the morning.First thing, we hit Sabera’s place of employment, do some exploring on our own, then engage management if we have to.But one way or another…”
“Find Sabera,” Daryl states.
“Yep.”
“Bring her home to her daughter.”
“Absolutely.”
“I like it,” Daryl states, then turns and exits the room.
It’s only after he leaves that I fully register he isn’t wearing his dark suit jacket anymore.And on the right sleeve of his sharply pressed white dress shirt, there appears to be a small smear of red.
Almost like blood.
CHAPTER 18
WHENITOUCH BASE WITHAliah in the morning, she still hasn’t seen or heard anything from Isaad, meaning he’s roughly twenty-four hours late to pick up his daughter.I can tell from the older woman’s voice that she’s growing increasingly concerned.She may not be Isaad’s biggest fan, but not even she believes he’d willingly abandon his young daughter.
I press her on the subject of Sabera and Isaad’s marriage—as in, do they even have one.Aliah is immediately dismissive.Of course they’re married, they must be married, there’s no way they couldn’t be married.Then I mention Sabera’s trip to the ER several weeks ago.That disturbs her a bit more.No, she didn’t know.I can hear a hesitation in her voice.When I get more aggressive on the subject, however, she simply repeats that Sabera has never mentioned it.And, yes, Sabera is struggling, and maybe she had once succumbed to the lure of alcohol, but adaption was hard on everyone.
Aliah’s steadfast faith in her friend is beginning to annoy me,especially as she clearly doesn’t know her friend as well as she thinks she does.Though to be fair, apparently no one does.
The topic of Zahra is easier.Aliah and the little girl spent the evening watching Disney movies.Then Aliah got up this morning to discover Zahra memorizing every recipe in Aliah’s extensive cookbook collection.Given the girl’s interest, Aliah is now planning on bringing her to the deli, where they can prepare some of those dishes, starting with every child’s favorite: firni.Aliah describes it as a light custard made with rose water, cardamom, and pistachios.Based on her description alone, I make a mental note to stop by later in the afternoon; the Afghan dessert sounds delicious and beautiful all at the same time.
Aliah provides me with the name of Sabera’s employer, which at least is something.
Good news, the high-end resort is a mere ten minutes away from Bart’s mansion.Basically, we head deeper into the Santa Catalina Mountains till we hit Ventana Canyon.While we’re talking, I check out the establishment’s website on my phone.It appears huge, with half a dozen sprawling buildings offering everything from luxury suites to fully furnished townhouses to separate apartments.Plus two eighteen-hole golf courses, three restaurants, and numerous swimming pools.
As hideouts go, it’s perfect.Plenty of places for Sabera to hang low without anyone being the wiser.Aliah is instantly irritated she hadn’t thought of it first.
I let her return to kid care; then I go in search of Daryl.I find him in the kitchen, wolfing down a thick stack of pancakes while poodle-skirt-clad Genni putters about the kitchen and Petunia basks in a sunbeam before the sliders.
When I pause to give Petunia a quick rub of her shoulders, Genni arches a brow.
“My, my, how times have changed.”
“The enemy of your enemy is your friend,” I inform her.“And both Petunia and I agree snakes are the enemy.”
