Quiet in Her Bones Singh, Nalini (the top 100 crime novels of all time .txt) 📖

When the two officers stepped aside to confer with another colleague, I said, “Why did she scream that night, Dad?”

The question lay between us, dark and taunting.

“Know your place, boy,” he finally spit out before heading to the sedan.

The keys were still in the ignition and he started the engine while giving me a challenging look through the windscreen. When I didn’t run to heel as he expected, he backed up the vehicle and did a U-­turn to return to the Cul-­de-­Sac.

Such a pretentious name. As if there were only one Cul-­de-­Sac in the world, nestled in this isolated and green tributary of Auckland. The name also conjures up images of street parties and block barbeques, when these days, the Cul-­de-­Sac is a frosty place where opinions are hidden beneath a gauzy layer of politeness, and neighbors keep to themselves.

In my mind, it all changed that night. As if my mother’s disappearance took the life out of the Cul-­de-­Sac.

I was still standing there staring at the forest long after the sound of the sedan’s engine had faded, my mind on the wall of rain that night, the sound of it hushed thunder across the world. It was her scream that had woken me, piercing the veil to jerk me to ­heart-­pounding alertness. I hadn’t been sure exactly what I’d heard, my pulse a drum in my ears as I waited for more.

I’d almost convinced myself I’d imagined it, until I heard the bang of the front door.

Once. Twice.

Scrambling out of bed, I’d run to the sliding doors that led to my private balcony. But the door had stuck as it always did when it rained. By the time I’d stepped out naked into the chilling rain, needles of water stabbing my skin, the Jaguar’s distinctive taillights were already fading into the ­rain-­blurred distance.

Transcript

Session #1

“How does this work? Do you ask about my parents, my childhood?”

“Is that what you want to talk about?”

[no answer]

“This space is a safe one for you. Nothing you say within these walls will leak to the outside world, but we’re also not in a rush. You can take your time, decide where you want to go.”

[no answer]

“Why don’t we start with why you decided to make this appointment?”

“The dreams.”

“Dreams?”

“Over and over again, the same dreams. Always about her.”

4

“Mr. Rai.” Constable Neri at my elbow, her gaze incisive in a softly rounded face, and her skin a midbrown shade made dull by the lack of sunlight. “Would you like me to drive you home?”

“That’s my father,” I said. “Call me Aarav.” Not Ari. Never that. It’s what my mother called me, and I couldn’t bear to hear it from any other lips. The last girlfriend who’d tried had been so frightened by my reaction that she’d packed up and left the same day.

“You looked like you wanted to strangle me,” she’d said on the phone the next day. “That much rage, your face all twisted up until I didn’t know you ­anymore …” Her voice had broken. “Aarav, you need to see a shrink or you’ll hurt someone.”

I’d hung up and erased her number from my phone.

It had taken another year and Paige’s concern for me to admit I needed to talk to someone, and now I’m one of those people who has a therapist. Dr. Wendall Jitrnicka. He wears bow ties and we talk about shit. But I go every two weeks. Turns out I have a lot of shit in my head.

“When will you bring her out?” I asked Neri when she didn’t respond.

“As soon as forensics is done with the site. It could be hours.” A pause. “The body’s been in situ a long time.”

“I understand.” There was no rush. Better they take their time and gather as much evidence as possible. “I’ll wait.”

“Mr.—­”

“Aarav.”

“Aarav. Nothing much is going to occur here. We only informed you because there’s an unfortunate risk the media will turn up and we wanted you forewarned.”

I looked down at the mass of foliage again, ancient trees with twisted limbs alongside huge tree ferns entwined with vines. The canopy screened the car more effectively than any ­man-­made barrier. “She’s been alone a long time. I can’t leave her that way.”

Constable Neri gave a crisp nod as she left, but I could almost see her making notes in a mental file: Flat affect, macabre obsession with death, was home on the night of the incident.

When they dig deeper, they’ll discover that I’d only been a little shorter and less muscled than I am now. Plenty big enough to deal with a petite woman. Nina Rai had entered her marriage a ­sylph-­like ­twenty-­one-­year-­old, but unlike many of her peers, who’d eventually allowed time and happiness to soften their edges, gently pad their bodies, my mother had clung to her youthful shape with a kind of feral obsession.

“Control, Ari,” she’d said to me more than once when she skipped a meal or replaced it with black coffee. “It’s about control.”

I’d often been a surprise to those who didn’t know the family. Strangers would compliment her on her cute younger brother, only for her to shock them by claiming me as her son.

“But you’re so young!” they’d inevitably exclaimed. “And your waist is so tiny!”

She’d been so proud of that waist, so proud that she could still fit into the clothes she’d brought from India all those years ago.

Not that she’d ever worn those clothes in the years following her determined embrace of her new life. Yet she’d kept them. A talisman to remind her of the ­poverty-­stricken village from which she’d come?

Perhaps.

I’d seen her sitting on her bed once, a pale blue top in her hands, her fingers running over the stitches. “Amma made me this,” she’d said when I came closer. “A ‘fancy embroidered’ top for my fancy new life. ‘So lucky, meri Nina. Marrying such a dhanee man. Wah! You’ll wear diamonds and silk. The gods are smiling on you!’ ”

She’d laughed then, the sound