Tulip Season Read Free Page A

to let go of Veen's supportive presence. As she drove home, elaborate scenarios occupied Mitra's mind. The jhola guy had blindfolded Kareena. She screamed. He clasped a hand over her mouth. She fought to free herself. He dragged her into a waiting car and drove off. She yelled for help, but no one heard her.
    Then again Mitra could also see Kareena packing a small suitcase and checking into an unobtrusive pension, thereby fleeing from Adi's ill-treatment and finally calling a lawyer. Could the jhola guy be a lawyer?
    But why would Kareena have done any of this covertly? As an abuse counselor, she knew how to protect herself. She'd have separated from Adi before the situation got sticky. She was way too sharp. Or did she try to maintain the same confidentiality for herself as she did for her clients by deciding not to say a word to anyone, even her best friend? Behind Kareena's bright public face, there lay a private person. Mitra was well aware of that.
    Or maybe Kareena's eyes and judgment only worked for others, not herself.
    She'd always seemed to have known when Mitra was heading down a bad path with a man. Two years ago, she'd warned Mitra against a date who would be later arrested for fondling a woman on a plane. A few months after that, Kareena had thrown a bash in honor of Subhas Jha, a visiting Indian film director, whose new offering, Shadows , had just opened to wide acclaim at the Seattle International Film Festival. For that occasion, Kareena had asked Mitra to provide the centerpiece. Mitra spent hours preparing an all-white lily arrangement. She didn't mind the expense. Clad in a beaded white ankle-length dress, holding a wine glass in her hand, Kareena fluttered among the guests. It pleased Mitra to see that Kareena frequently stopped to sniff the white lilies spilling out of an urn like a milky waterfall. She smiled at Mitra whenever their gazes met. Mitra had worn her best black pants and a white weskit blouse but, seized with shyness, stood alone in a corner, nursing a Crystal Geyser.
    A member of the film crew, a 6′6″ giant, approached her and asked if she'd like to go out with him for drinks. She said no. He kept insisting, pushing his bulky body closer and closer, until he shoved her against the wall. “I know what your problem is,” he said. “You haven't had a man in awhile. But I'll fix that for you.”
    Mitra tried to angle away, but he grabbed her arm. Kareena, who must have been watching from across the room, rushed over and glared at the offender. “You have to get out right now,” shecommanded, pointing at the door and snatching a cellphone from her purse. “Or else I'll call the cops.”
    The man's shoulders bunched, his gaze darted to the door, and he scurried away. Mitra took a few choppy breaths.
    Kareena poured her a drink. “Fight, Mitra, fight. Don't let a man ever harm you.”
    At her urging, the very next day, Mitra had signed up for a weekend workshop on personal safety and self-defense training for women. She was one of the first in her community to do so.
    Letting go of that memory, Mitra prayed that Kareena hadn't been in a position where she needed to fight to keep a man from harming her.
    Upon returning home from her visit with Veen, Mitra picked up her cellphone. She didn't know the protocol for calling the police. Nonetheless, she punched the number of the Seattle Police Department. Struggling to keep her voice calm, she asked for the officer assigned to Kareena's case.
    Oh, God. She was a case, a number in the police computer system, her Kareena.

FOUR
    MITRA ANSWERED A SERIES of routine questions from the investigating officer. Usually, she smiled whenever she thought of her closest confidante: now she felt as though a sharp knife were threatening her. The officer cleared his throat.
    A peek through the draperies revealed a bruised, swollen April sky. “What happens from here?” Mitra asked.
    “Call everybody who knew her. The more eyes that search, the quicker