Dead Soon Enough: A Juniper Song Mystery Page 14

  My mind drifted idly back to my donated eggs, treading a path that was becoming worn with use these days.

  “Anyway,” Lusig said, grabbing me back, “have you thought at all about my proposal?”

  I had, in fact, been thinking about it all morning. It seemed less ridiculous after my bright and early encounter with a stranger’s erection.

  “A little bit, yeah. Let’s say I’m interested. How would it work?”

  She grinned, like a car salesman laying out the sweetest terms of a done deal. “You’d sublet this place. For a month, or maybe two, until this baby comes. You’d get your own room in that mansion free of charge, and you’d get paid for being on-site.”

  “Rubina’s fine with that? It means her fees go way up.”

  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but anything remotely connected to this baby gets spared no expense.”

  “All right. And how much mobility would I have?”

  “While I’m home, she wants you to stay with me.”

  “Really? Aren’t you always home?”

  “Home alone, I mean.”

  “Jesus. I can recommend her an ankle bracelet if that’s easier.”

  Lusig glared at me. “Please don’t.”

  “Wait, aren’t you home alone all the time now?”

  “Yeah, but if there’s a way to fix that, you know that cuckoo bitch will jump on it.”

  “So when do I look for Nora?”

  “Any office-type work, you can do at the house. Field stuff, whenever Ruby’s home. Doctor variation on nights and weekends.”

  “What, I don’t have a social life?”

  “Hey, how do you think I feel?”

  It occurred to me then that Lusig was as lonely as I was, as lost and bored and restless.

  “It would be nice to be able to run things over together,” I said, thinking out loud.

  “Exactly. I may not be a detective, but I’m not an idiot. I definitely won’t get in your way.” I didn’t say anything, and she pressed on, sensing pliability. “And you’d make more money for more or less the same amount of work. You’d be watching me, but it’s not like you’d have to spoonfeed me and take me to potty.”

  I nodded and pictured this change in lifestyle. It could have been the setup for a twisted sitcom with a feeble laugh track. Still, the proposal had its appeal—it would address my immediate practical concerns, and I’d make money working around the clock as well as from a rent-free living situation; I could immerse myself in the search for Nora, and keep anxiety and loneliness at bay. The only real downside was the profound weirdness of it all, the threat of insanity that came with living with a boss when that boss was Rubina Gasparian. But unlike Lusig, if I couldn’t handle it anymore, I had the option to quit.

  “You know what?” I said. “Fuck it, let’s give it a shot.”

  Her face glowed with a happy light that flattered and embarrassed me. “Yes! I could kiss you. No backsies,” she said emphatically.

  She whipped out her phone, and before I could ask what she was doing, she had a finger in front of her face as a dial tone sung out, just two short rings.

  “She’s in,” Lusig said, sounding positive and triumphant. I must have looked stunned, because she winked at me reassuringly, like I was a child she was tricking without ill intention. “Yeah, might as well, right?” she said, nodding, her eyes on mine, pretending I was a part of the conversation. “Yeah, I think so. See you in a bit.”

  She hung up and laughed, apparently at me. “Your face,” she said. “I didn’t want you to change your mind.”

  “You already said no backsies,” I said, sighing. “Rubina’s fully on board with this? Inviting a detective into her home?”

  “I pointed out that it would help my stress levels.”

  “So what’s the plan, then?”

  “What were you going to do today?”

  “Wait a few more hours on Kizil, then go track him down if he doesn’t respond.”

  “So not a jam-packed day of dedicated sleuthery.”

  “Hey, every day is full of dedicated sleuthery,” I said. “But sure, my schedule’s flexible.”

  “How about this? Unless you hear from Kizil soon, you take the day off from field stuff.”

  “And do what?” I asked, watching a grin grow on her face.

  “Get settled. Ruby said to ask what you want to do about dinner.”

  I told Lusig Rubina would fire me if I let her help me pack and sent her back to Glendale, where I promised to meet her later. I called Lori as soon as I was alone. She was at work but stepped out to talk to me.

  “Remember that pregnant girl who went off on that waitress?” I asked.

  “Obviously.”

  “I’m about to move in with her.”

  “Wait, what?”

  I caught her up on the arrangement and she listened, laughing.

  “This is so weird,” she said. “Are you sure it’s a good idea?”

  “Of course not. But it could be the best idea I have for now.”

  “You’re going to get all tangled up with these people.”

  “That might not be the worst thing,” I said. “I like Lusig, and you’re abandoning me.”

  “Unni!”

  “Joking,” I said, amused by her dismay.

  “I didn’t even mean it like that. I think it’ll be nice for you to be around people, but now you’ll be at work around the clock. You’re going to drive yourself crazy looking for this girl—and what if you don’t find her?”

  “I’ve thought about this.”

  “And?”

  “Chose to ignore it.”

  She groaned. “Okay, just promise me you’ll get out of there if you feel like you can’t handle it.”

  “Sure, if it makes you feel better—I can stop whenever I want.”

  Lori offered to find subletters for the next month if I could find someone to take over her lease when I moved back in. She said I could crash with her and Isaac if I needed to leave Chez Gasparian for any reason—when Lusig had her baby, or if I started to feel like harming myself or others. I spent the rest of the day packing and cleaning, making the place look presentable. Lori would deal with the rest.

  *

  I showed up at the Gasparian home with two suitcases and a solid sense of foreboding. I’d never done a security detail—most clients preferred the beefier, more masculine Chaz and Arturo, along with whatever off-duty cop friends they might hire. This would be my first live-in job, and I was entering a full and fraught house.

  Rubina and Lusig were both at the door to greet me, wearing big grins that said they knew exactly how awkward this was all going to be.

  “Welcome!” said Rubina, suddenly peppy as an R.A. meeting freshmen for orientation. “Let me show you where you’ll stay.”

  The house was two stories, and I’d gathered that Rubina and Van slept in a master bedroom upstairs. I was relieved when Rubina led me to a small bedroom on the first floor.

  It was a nice space, compact and austere but comfortable enough. There was a desk and a twin bed with a plain gray comforter. It looked a lot like my own bedroom, actually—functional and sparsely decorated, though it lacked a window. I wondered if it would be the nanny’s room before deciding the nanny would sleep no less than four feet from Rubina.

  “Lusig’s right across from you,” she said, indicating a slightly larger room across the hall. It was similarly spare—twin bed, futon, dresser, TV. “You will be sharing a bathroom.”

  “It’s like a dormitory,” Lusig said. “I even have a PlayStation. You can come over and we can battle. We can discuss deep life things on my futon.”

  “We can rage with vanilla vodka and Goldschläger.”

  Rubina gave me a stern look.

  “I’m kidding,” I said, feeling a sudden need to clarify.

  “House rules,” she said. “Until the baby is born, Lusig doesn’t leave the house without you or me by her side. I can’t have her putting herself in dange
r. It should go without saying that she doesn’t drink, and she doesn’t inhale secondhand smoke. If you need to smoke, do it outside, as far away as possible. And I have to say, as a doctor, you might want to take this opportunity to quit. I don’t know a single doctor who smokes. That should tell you something.”

  “When is lights out?” Lusig asked, rolling her eyes.

  “Promptly at eleven, if you’d like a time. But I doubt you’re staying up very late these days anyway.”

  “Sounds easy enough,” I said. “Though I assume I don’t have a bedtime?”

  “No. You can do as you please, as long as you’re in sight of Lusig whenever I’m not home.”

  “When is she supposed to find Nora, then?”

  “At night. On weekends. I didn’t get the feeling that your schedule was inflexible.”

  I raised my hands. “I can work whenever I need to work. You’re paying my retainer.”

  “Good.”

  “What should I do during the day?” I asked.

  “Just spend time with Lusig. You’ll be her best friend until the baby comes.”

  Lusig put her arm around my shoulder, and I slumped down to meet her saddled height. “It’ll be one long sleepover, Song. Just like the good old days before the evils of sex and booze. Can we listen to the rap music, Mommy?”

  Rubina crossed her arms and looked deep into Lusig’s room with an expression that betrayed hurt feelings. “Come on, Lu, you’re not being fair. It’s not that I’m a prude.”

  There was a strained silence, and I knew better than to interrupt it. I hadn’t even unpacked my bag and here was my first reminder that I was an outsider thrust into one of the weirdest family situations I’d ever seen.

  Lusig caught Rubina’s tone and bit down on her lip as if she could coax the words back in like a strand of saliva. She stepped over to her cousin and put a hand on her shoulder. “I know, I know. I’m just giving you a hard time.”

  Rubina held the hand on her shoulder and Lusig squeezed.

  “It’s just the baby,” Lusig went on, her voice sweet and soothing. “I know how important he is to you.”

  Rubina’s eyes sparkled, and she sniffled gently, trying to hide her face by looking at the floor.

  “No, no, no,” Lusig cooed. “I’m sorry, Ruby. I should stop making fun of you. But really, what’s the point of having a surrogate if you’re going to be this hormonal, huh?” She poked Rubina in the ribs, a gentle plea for laughter.

  The mood passed. Rubina scratched a tear away from one eye like it was a speck of dust and nodded solemnly, pressing Lusig’s hand.

  “Well, I’ll let you settle in, Song. Please let me know if you need anything.”

  She smiled in the weak way of somebody wounded, and disappeared upstairs.

  I looked at Lusig, opened my mouth, then closed it again. I took my suitcase into my new bedroom, sat down on the bed, and took off my shoes. Lusig followed me in.

  “Got to hand it to her, huh? That is a woman who knows how to milk a guilt trip. My own mother never got me quite so good.”

  “She’s more delicate than I thought at first.”

  “Oh. yeah. She acts steely, but sometimes it seems like she’s one bad turn away from a complete breakdown.”

  She sat down heavily on my desk chair with her chin resting over the back. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “Yeah.” I chuckled. “Sure, me, too.”

  She dragged a palm across her face. “I feel kind of bad for dragging you into this.”

  “I was already dragged in. This is my job. There are plenty of worse things I could be doing for a living.”

  “Like scrubbing toilets at a biker bar?”

  “Or like babysitting an actual baby.”

  “You are my babysitter, huh?”

  “Your chaperone, maybe.”

  “My bodyguard.”

  The house filled with the sound of a car pulling into the garage. Lusig’s ears perked up and she looked out the door. “Van’s home,” she said.

  I stood up. “I guess I should say hi.”

  The garage door closed with a rumble, and a man’s sturdy footsteps sounded down the hall. A jingle of keys, and a shouted, “I’m home.”

  I followed Lusig out of my room while Rubina pattered down the stairs. All the activity in the house was converging on the entrance of the man.

  He looked past his wife and cousin-in-law to where I was standing a couple feet behind them. “Right,” he said. “This was happening today.”

  “We met briefly,” I said. “I’m Song.”

  “I remember. How could I forget?”

  There was a note of irritation in his voice that irritated me. It wasn’t a great start to a monthlong stint of cohabitation. I had to stop myself from reminding him that this was his wife’s idea, that I wasn’t just an unwelcome guest crashing for my own benefit.

  I couldn’t think of anything to say to him instead, so we stood for a strained moment, unsure of how to speak to each other. When the silence had lasted a beat too long, Rubina broke in.

  “We’ll all go to dinner tonight,” she said. “So we can get to know each other.”

  Lusig clapped her hands together like a wind-up monkey. “Oh, boy!”

  Van smiled blankly, having found his footing in the strange scene. “Song, what would you like to eat?”

  I shrugged. “I’m easy,” I said. “I’ll go wherever you guys feel like.”

  “Have you ever had Armenian food?” Rubina asked.

  “Yeah, a few times. I like it.”

  “Okay, we’ll take you somewhere good.”

  With that, she followed Van upstairs and left me and Lusig tilting our heads.

  “Oh my God,” Lusig giggled. “This is going to be such a disaster.”

  “What, dinner?”

  “Of course dinner, but also, this whole thing.”

  “One thing at a time, I guess.” I looked at my phone. It was six thirty. “What time for dinner?”

  “We eat early here, so probably soon. Everything closes by nine in Glendale.”

  “That’s right. This is suburbia.”

  “Not that it matters for us. We might as well be on an island. Alcatraz, maybe.”

  *

  We ate at an Armenian restaurant on San Fernando, a family-owned place done up thick with gold-trimmed moldings and cheesy nature scenes painted directly onto the walls. The staff recognized the Gasparian clan, and eyed me with friendly curiosity. Our waiter addressed both Rubina and Van as Doctor.

  Van ordered for all of us and, ten minutes later, the table was spread thick with dishes. The only things I recognized were the usual hummus, stuffed grape leaves, and kebabs, but I ate some of everything and enjoyed it all. We dined family style, and I wondered if Van or Rubina would say something about food bringing people together.

  “So, Rubina tells me you went to Yale.” This was the first thing Van said to me that had the scent of cordiality. “I went to Princeton myself.”

  I smiled and nodded, glad to have my mouth full. I chewed on something that tasted like pomegranate.

  “How did you end up becoming a private investigator?”

  I swallowed and gave a quick, sanitized version of my career trajectory.

  He raised his eyebrows and waved his fork back and forth, pointing at Rubina and Lusig. “Have you ever had a case like this before?”

  I smiled. I was relieved to see that Van had at least a flickering sense of humor.

  “I’ve had a couple big messes, but this assignment has been pretty unique. Lot of firsts.”

  “First surrogate?”

  “Yes, definitely.”

  “Surely not your first neurotic client?”

  Rubina put down her fork to give Van’s biceps a gentle squeeze.

  “No,” I said, feeling more comfortable. “Certainly not.”

  “We were hoping for twins, you know. Triplets, even. It’s common with IVF.”

  “Maybe you were hoping for tr
iplets,” Lusig interrupted, a sour edge to her voice. “I’m having enough of a time with just one.”

  “Be fruitful and multiply,” said Van.

  “That’s the Armenian mandate. Your priest even said it at your wedding. ‘Be fruitful and multiply and dominate the earth.’”

  “It isn’t just Armenian. It’s biblical. Biological.”

  Lusig turned to me. “Van thinks being angry about the genocide is a waste of time and energy.”

  Rubina set her fork on the table. It thudded thinly against the tablecloth.

  “It was an atrocity, and I get angry each time I think about it,” Van said. “But it’s been a hundred years. I live here now. I have my own life, my own family. Why do I need to dwell on history? What good does it do me?”

  There was no heat in his voice, only a tone too calculated to sound reasonable and dispassionate. Lusig grew visibly impatient as she waited for her turn to speak, each of Van’s words stroking her into greater and greater agitation. Rubina, who was seated between them, looked on with her mouth set tight.

  “First of all, ‘What good does it do me?’ Nice, Van. Not at all self-absorbed.”

  “Lusig, come on,” Rubina said sharply.

  “Second,” Lusig continued, “it would be one thing if our history were set in stone, if it had been dealt with properly. A hundred years ago, fifty years ago, even yesterday. But it hasn’t.”

  “We know what happened,” said Van.

  “That’s not enough.”

  “Okay, not just us, then. Twenty-two countries and forty-two states have formally recognized the Armenian genocide. Academics are fairly unanimous, too—at least the reputable ones. Why do you care about a bunch of Turks who just want to think well of their forefathers?”

  “Because it’s still a debate. Which means there’s still uncertainty. There’s a lack of solidity at the core of our identity. Not that we don’t believe in ourselves, but as long as we’re fighting for something as basic as human recognition, for the world to tell us, ‘We know, and it’s okay,’ there will always be something gooey and unsettled inside of us. And you’re not immune to that, Van Gasparian, any more than I am.”