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Brit Brinson [Dia of the Dead Dia of the Dead (epub)
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Boedeker, Peter Entspannung lernen und lehren i

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.Last night's coupling, with its wild tumbling, had put her into deep communion with her body, but she was also a bit out of her zone.The long-sleeved print dress she wore last evening, a tantrum of wildflowers, lay tangled on the floor, intermingled with her bra and panties and Ulrich's charcoal jeans.Hands trembling, she rummaged around in the closet, grabbed a pewter-gray bathrobe, and wrapped it around her body.Adi says she's missing.Adi? Who could trust what Adi said? At her cocktail party a few weeks ago, a paisley Kashmiri shawl had slid off Kareena's shoulders.Through the sheer sleeves of a tan silk top, Mitra glimpsed dark blue finger marks and a fresh swelling on her upper arm.She nearly shrieked.Had Kareena been mugged by a stranger, grabbed by a client's angry husband, or had Adi attacked her? Upon realizing that Mitra had noticed, Kareena glanced down and repositioned the shawl.Before Mitra could speak, a male friend approached, asked Kareena to dance, and they'd floated away.It'd be ironic and tragic, if Kareena, a domestic violence counselor, suffered abuse at home.Was it possible?Ulrich stepped into the room.His well-scrubbed face shone, but the rest of his body looked unwashed.An awkward pause fell, which Mitra attributed to seeing each other for the first time in broad daylight.“Everything okay?” Ulrich asked.She registered the warm intimacy of his voice.“A friend has been reported missing.”“Missing? I'm sorry—I hope your friend turns up soon.”Standing close to her, so close that she could still smell the sweat of the night on his skin, he wiggled into his jeans.His large fingers fumbled with the buttons of his chambray shirt and a thin lower lip pouted as he struggled to insert a recalcitrant button in its hole.He threw on his herringbone jacket, wrapped her in an embrace, and with a candy-shop expression cupped her face in his hands.“You look even prettier in the daytime,” he said, “such luscious skin to go with those big dark eyes.”His eyes held a mirror in which she saw herself: a petite figure, not a beauty by either Indian or American standards; a careless dresser to boot, although Kareena had once praised the serenity on her face.At least that was something.Kareena—where was she?Ulrich gave her a deep look, then a short warm kiss, which didn't soften her tense midsection.She managed a half-smile.Under a different circumstance, she'd have reveled in a morning romp, but her friend's absence was becoming more real to her with each passing second.“You look so worried,” he said.“Your friend is probably fine.”“Well, she has a dangerous job.She works as a counselor for abused women.Many husbands have it in for her.”“I would get her office involved.” He gave her a soft kiss.“If I could, I'd stay here with you and I really want to, but …”At another time, the word want or vant, as modulated by his accent, would have hinted at delicious possibilities, but not now.“Shall we see each other again?” he asked.She looked up at his pale-skinned face, and she really did have to look up, for he was a good nine inches taller, and nodded.“Call me this evening.”They walked to the doorway, his arm around her shoulder.As he skipped down the front steps, his face turned toward her budding tulip patch—soon to be an exuberant yellow salutation to the spring—and he held it in sight till the last second before turning away.Yellow was Kareena's color (and Mitra's, too).Tulips were a favorite of both of them.And Mitra had planted this double early variety in her yard just for Kareena.If only she were only here, she would surely shout in pleasure upon seeing how gorgeous even the buds were.Mitra sighed, picturing Kareena's heart-shaped face, tailored pantsuits, dark sunglasses even in rain, and a stylish wristwatch.She just had to be okay.She must have snuck off somewhere for a breather.How like her to forget to tell anyone, even her husband.Mitra would find her dearest pal.Ulrich gave her one last look and a wave, then loped toward a steel gray Saab parked across the street.Feeling a nip in the air, Mitra cinched the belt of her bathrobe.She walked back to the living room, opened the draperies, and hoped the fear signals inside her were wrong.A blue Volvo SUV cruised by, reminding her of Adi.He zipped around the city in a Volvo, too.She dialed his number.The receiver to her ear, she paced frantically back and forth in front of the window, too keyed up to sit still.The plum tree in her north yard was a billowy cloud of delicate white blossoms.An upper branch had thrust itself dangerously close to a power line and she made a mental note to prune it back later.Adi's recorded voice said, “Leave a message.”Mitra didn't.She studied the clock: still the commute hour.Unable to wait another second, Mitra punched Veen's office number, only to be greeted by a voice-mail message.She kept trying every few minutes, then decided to go visit Veen in her office.TWOTEN MINUTES LATER, Mitra and Veen walked the extensive grounds of Good Shepherd Center, an Italianate-style building of late 1800's, now used for multiple business purposes.It was located only a few steps from Veen's office.They found an empty bench on the grassy yard, surrounded by tall oaks, and sat down.No one was about this early in the morning.Mitra turned to Veen.A substantial woman, she had her hair pulled back in a ponytail, a gray wool jacket casting a shadow on her face.She wasn't a shoi, a friend of the heart like Kareena was, but still belonged to Mitra's inner circle of friends.Mitra thanked her for taking a break to meet with her.“I damn near got in an accident coming to work.” Veen's voice shook; she wasn't her usual assured businesswoman self.“Now I have a bitch of a headache.”Mitra felt for Veen, a go-getter, always dependable, always rushed, often blunt.She could use a break, this overworked architect who specialized in green design.Even when they hung out together, bumping out to a Sunday breakfast at Julia's, visiting the Flower and Garden show, or popping up at Seattle Arts and Lectures, Veen never seemed to be able to let go and enjoy the moment.Right now, she sipped a sickly brown tea from a carry-out cup, with the sorry teabag still inside.“Why do you think Adi hasn't called either of us, if Kareena has been gone for two days?” Mitra asked.“The bastard said he hadn't had time.”“You believe that?”“No.” Veen's voice rose.“And what do you make of this? I was passing by Umberto's restaurant last night and spotted him with a blonde, his assistant, I think.They were talking over wine.Do you think he's having an affair?”“Affair? That doesn't sound right.He seems so much in love with Kareena.” Mitra paused.“Actually, I don't know what to think.Other than calling the police, he seems to be taking this awfully casually.”“Shit.” Veen winced.She'd just splashed hot tea on her lap.Mitra rummaged her purse, grabbed a tissue, and handed it to Veen, who got busy wiping the wet spots on her pants.Veen mumbled thanks and added, “Someone in my office said when a woman goes missing, nine times out of ten, it's the husband.”It's the husband.Mitra held back the rage inside her.For a moment she let her eyes roam the Pea-Patch just ahead, the serenity that rested over the plot, to get over the feelings she had against Adi.“Do we know who saw Kareena last?”“I didn't ask Adi—I was so overwhelmed by the news.But you know I glimpsed her about two weeks ago at Toute La Soirée, with an Indian guy [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]