Page 14 of Kiss Her Goodbye (Frankie Elkin #4)

D RINK THIS.” A LIAH SETS A tall glass of frothy white milk in front of me. “Stir first. The cucumber and mint settles to the bottom. You will like it.”

She sets a second glass in front of Daryl, who immediately perks up. “Doogh?” he asks.

“You know Afghan food?”

“I love Afghan food.”

“You just love food,” I mutter, having witnessed a similar display of lust over Genni’s meat loaf last night. I’m not very happy with Daryl right now.

He raises his glass and takes a considering sip. “Salty, with just the right touch of sweet. Excellent.”

I take a swig of my own drink and nearly start choking as a mouthful of brackish yogurt hits the back of my throat, followed by a crushed mint leaf and diced cucumber. “What the… That’s like drinking feta cheese!” I manage to gasp out.

Aliah calmly thumps me on the back. “It is not for everyone. For you”—she nods at Daryl—“I will bring you mantou, the best you ever tasted. Ten minutes.”

She disappears through the swinging door to the rear of the small deli/grocery store, leaving Daryl and me sitting at a table near the window.

To our right are several aisles bearing bags of fragrant spices, boxes of bright-colored candies, and containers of every kind of nut, chickpea, and dried fruit imaginable.

I recognize the white mulberries from my visit to Aliah’s apartment.

Daryl, on the other hand, nods thoughtfully at every other item, then stacks several selections near the register for our departure.

I’m still mad at him.

Aliah owns the Afghan deli. Apparently, her help doesn’t arrive till noon, so she requested that I meet her here around eleven.

Which I thought was perfect. Gave me plenty of time to visit the crime scene and check out the supposedly abandoned warehouse where the two murder victims were found.

I also planned on identifying the location of the camera that caught Sabera on video, then continue walking in the direction she had headed.

Made total sense to me. When looking for a missing person, always good to start with their last-known location.

Daryl, however, refused to take me. Too dangerous, he said.

I cajoled, threatened, then flat-out badgered the man. In the end, I got a curt promise: “I’m not taking you to a crime scene. But I will bring the crime scene to you.”

I still have no idea what that means, and the fact he’s barely spoken to me since has only added to my irritation.

“How do you know so much about Afghan food?” I demand to know now.

A single-shoulder shrug. “Tucson is known for its culinary scene. Been recognized by UNESCO as a City of Gastronomy. The air force base helps—deploys thousands overseas. They discover new and exciting food while abroad, then bring those tastes home.”

“I’m still angry with you,” I inform him.

A second shrug. “And I’m still right.”

We are saved from further arguing as a gorgeous Latina in form-fitting jeans, a deep-red peasant blouse, and chunky turquoise jewelry comes storming through the entrance.

Her glossy brown curls are piled high enough to justify their own zip code, while her giant silver earrings could easily double as lethal weapons.

She immediately homes in on Daryl, stalking toward our table and planting herself in Daryl’s line of sight.

“What. The. Fuck,” she states.

Daryl picks up his doogh. Takes a long milky sip. I settle in to enjoy the show.

“Are you getting yourself in trouble again, Daryl? Because I might not be your parole officer anymore, but that doesn’t mean I won’t haul your sorry ass in. Asking questions about a double homicide? Seriously—”

“I see your brother called you.”

“Of course he called me! Daryl, what went down in that warehouse is not good news. If you know something pertinent—”

“I never know anything pertinent.”

“Daryl D. Daniels!”

That’s his full name? Daryl D. Daniels? Now I’m fully invested in the drama.

“What aren’t you telling me, Daryl?” On cue, her gaze slides over to me. “And who are you?”

“Umm, Frankie Elkin?”

“Is that a question or a statement? What, you don’t know your own name?”

Damn, she’s good.

“Leave her alone,” Daryl orders. “Chase her off and I gotta feed the snakes.”

“Oh.” Mystery woman’s eyes light up. “She’s Bart’s latest misfit?”

“Exactly.”

“When not running in fear from hungry snakes,” I provide, “I locate missing people. For the fun of it.”

“What? Wait. Who are you again?”

I’m saved by Aliah, who returns with a steaming platter of something that smells amazing. She nonchalantly slides the dish onto the table, while giving the new woman a quick up and down.

“You are Daryl’s friend? The one who can tell us all about the murders?”

“Seriously, Daryl? I’m gonna kill you for this. Absolutely, positively, wring your oxen-sized neck. But first”—the woman’s gaze lands on the freshly arrived food—“is that mantou? Somebody, bring me a spoon!”

THE MANTOU STUFF turns out to be amazing. Perfectly cooked pockets of pastry stuffed with ground beef, then covered in a red chickpea sauce, then drizzled with garlic yogurt. An ode to comfort food everywhere.

Aliah beams with happiness as the three of us demolish the platter.

“Roberta,” Daryl finally manages. “Meet Aliah. She owns the place.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Roberta informs our hostess.

There’s one dumpling left on the plate. Roberta gives Daryl a pointed look before snagging it for herself. He shrugs, sits back, dabs delicately at his mouth with his napkin.

“So… you’re a parole officer?” I start out, remembering her announcing that much. “Daryl’s former parole officer?”

“Yeah. First five years after his release, this dumb lug reported to me. Drug testing, working, socializing. His successful re-entry to society all came down to me, me, and me.”

Daryl smiles. “Roberta’s selling herself short. It was all about her.”

“And now?” I venture, still trying to understand the dynamic between these two.

“We dance.”

I do a little a double take, return my attention to Roberta. She certainly has the grace of a dancer, but her following his lead… I don’t see it.

She sighs heavily. “I know, but it’s true.

Big boy here didn’t just stay on the straight and narrow; he actually, like, chilled out.

Even started to act happy. For most parolees that’s not how life works, so I asked for the secret to his success.

His answer: ballroom dancing. What the fuck, right?

I had to see it to believe it. Next thing I knew, I was mamboing away. ”

Aliah perks up, her gaze going between them with clear approval.

“No!” Roberta cuts our hostess off at the pass.

“It’s not like that. Daryl was my parolee.

Now he’s my dance partner. But I go home to my main man every night.

He tolerates Daryl, mostly because there’s no way in hell he’s gonna shake, rattle, and roll.

Last time I mentioned rumba, he thought I was talking about a vacuum cleaner.

” She rolls her eyes. “Luca has his gifts, but rhythm isn’t one of them. ”

She leans forward. “Seriously, Daryl. Why are you interested in two guys whose skulls were shattered by a hammer?”

Daryl doesn’t say anything so much as nod in Aliah’s direction. Roberta immediately swings her attention toward the older woman.

“What do you know? You see something, hear something? Tell me.”

Aliah recoils. There’s something in her gaze, a bit hunted, a bit haunted.

“What do you know?” I speak up, if only to rescue Aliah. “You’re a parole officer, not a homicide detective.”

“The homicide detective would be my brother. Whom Daryl called first. Except Marc isn’t that stupid. It’s an active investigation. No way he’s speaking out of school.”

“But you’re here.” I tilt my head, regard her more seriously. “Because while a detective couldn’t comment on an active investigation, there’s nothing stopping you…”

“What do you know?” Roberta repeats impatiently, willing to take me on if Aliah won’t play.

“Primary crime scene? Or body dump?” I’m pleased that I sound like I know what I’m talking about, because I genuinely do my best to avoid crime scenes.

Though lately, that system hasn’t been working for me, and now I know things such as the look in a man’s eyes right before a bullet obliterates his brain.

My hands are shaking slightly. I place them on my lap under the table.

Roberta is still frowning at me with impatience.

“Dance,” Daryl speaks up softly, his attention on her. “Take the lead. Get the rhythm started. Let them join.”

Roberta huffs a little. Finally: “Primary crime scene. Messy one at that.”

“The two men?” Aliah asks hesitantly. “You know who they are?”

“Prints weren’t in the system.”

“A description? What do they look like?”

Roberta arches a brow. “Honey, they look like men who had their skulls annihilated by a hammer. The crime scene specialists are still collecting all the teeth.”

Aliah winces. I fist my hands under the table.

“It sounds like a scene of incredible violence,” I say softly. “Overkill?”

“Or sending a message. That area of town… It’s a known location for all sorts of nastiness. What did you say you did again?”

“Find missing people,” I murmur, then: “Is there a particular gang or group that’s known to operate in this area? Such as the Russians or Mexican drug cartels, or…”

“Honey, have you looked at a map lately? Tucson sits close enough to the border to have more ICE agents than local LEOs. We don’t just have internationally known factions, we have internationally known factions of factions. Come now, I showed you mine. Time to show me yours.”

Aliah does the honors. “I don’t know what happened,” she begins. “But the video of the woman walking away. The police said they would like to interview her. Let me just say, I have a friend who owns a hijab exactly like the one in the video—dark blue with tiny turquoise-and-white flowers.”

Roberta stares at her. “Seriously? You had Daryl call in a personal favor over a matching scarf ?”

Now Aliah is insulted. “My friend is missing. Has been missing for three weeks! And your police hasn’t made any effort to find her, not even pinging her phone—”

“You know it’s her, you can absolutely positively identify her from blurry footage that doesn’t even show her face?” Roberta arches a brow.

“I know that fabric!”

“Really, and how well do you know your friend?”

Aliah rears back with a gasp. I hold up a hand.

“All right, all right. Enough already. Aliah knows what she’s talking about.

And you know she knows what she’s talking about, or you wouldn’t be here.

” I regard Roberta for a minute. “Your brother the homicide detective can’t talk about a crime scene, but he provided you with details to act in his stead.

Because he loves Daryl, your parolee-turned-dance-partner, that much? ”

Daryl shrugs as if to agree he’s not that worthy.

“He sent you. He approved you giving up certain information because…” I glance around me.

“Kabul Corner. Daryl said to meet here, and the second your brother heard you were going to an Afghan restaurant, that caught his attention. Homicide may not know who the men are, but they know where they’re from.

Afghanistan, yes? That’s the connection. ”

Aliah appears suitably impressed. Roberta merely scowls at me. Her gaze returns to Aliah.

“Tell me about your friend. Where did she work? What was she involved in?”

“Sabera worked as a chambermaid at a resort. She was involved in trying to help herself and her family adapt to an entirely new country in a matter of weeks.”

“Do you think drugs?” I cut to the chase. “The two dead men, are they drug dealers or criminal syndicate members or something equally dangerous and terrifying?”

“I wasn’t lying before,” Roberta allows. “No one knows who they are.”

“If they got into the country—”

“Oh, please, like there aren’t a million ways to get in this country.”

“Sabera is a mother!” Aliah pounds the table, clearly having had enough. “She is not some villain. And she went through rounds and rounds of screening and interviewing and questioning. We all do. She’s not some closet criminal.”

“Really, because according to you, she’s disappeared. No one knows where she is.”

“Because she’s a victim.”

“Or she’s caught up in something bigger than you know.”

Now Aliah positively glares at Roberta. “You have never met my friend. You have no right—”

Aliah’s tirade is interrupted by a loud chime from her phone. She glances at the screen, frowns. “I must take this. Also”—she rakes Roberta up and down with a look of disdain—“I will never cook for you again.” Aliah stalks away with her phone glued to her ear.

“I see you haven’t lost your charm,” Daryl murmurs after Aliah has disappeared into the kitchen.

“This is serious. Stay away, Daryl. Whatever the hell happened in that warehouse, you want no part of it. Marc showed me photos. Just a few, but it was enough. That is some sick stuff.”

“Which was possibly witnessed by a missing woman whose safety is already in question,” I point out.

Roberta glares at me.

I couldn’t care less. “Sabera disappeared three weeks ago. Last seen exiting her housekeeping job too late at night to catch her bus. Her husband doesn’t seem to care, the police aren’t interested.

But the next possible sighting of her is at a brutal double homicide.

That’s gotta be worth investigating, and surely your brother’s wondering the same, or he never would’ve sent you. ”

Roberta harumphs, but her shoulders come down. She opens her mouth as if to finally say something interesting, when Aliah bursts through the swinging doors, her eyes too wide, her face too pale. “We must go. Now.” She focuses on Daryl. “Please take us. Your presence would be much appreciated.”

Daryl is already rising to standing, while Roberta and I blink in confusion.

“What happened?” I ask, as it’s clearly nothing good.

“That was Nageenah, the Ahmadis’ neighbor.

A strange man just pulled into their complex and tried to grab another family’s daughter.

Her older brother was able to hold him off while she ran for their parents.

The man escaped, but this is the thing—he kept calling the girl Zahra.

‘Zahra, come here. Zahra, it’s okay. Zahra, I will take you to your mother. ’

“The man wasn’t looking for any child. He was trying to abduct Sabera’s.”