You're Invited(3)

“That’s fine,” I replied quietly. “I don’t really have any valuables, but there’s about three hundred US dollars in my wallet.”

He gave me a curt nod, and the officers escorted me down the corridor. There were security guards swarming everywhere I looked, as well as in-house guards. The security were in beige and brown, sticking out against the old portraits and colonial interior of the hotel, but the in-house guards were decked out in their postcolonial glory—white knee-length shorts, white knee-high socks, and wide-brimmed white safari hats. It was like stepping into a time capsule whenever I saw them.

I was led away to a conference room on the highest floor of the old wing. The wooden staircase echoed as I climbed it slowly, surely, making my way to where my life was undoubtedly about to be torn to shreds.

The room itself was really quite cheerful, with two large windows overlooking the sparkling Indian Ocean and soft pipe music chirping away in the background. It felt like sacrilege. Things shouldn’t be this bright and happy. Not now. Not when everything was just about to erupt.

I was left alone. I sat down. I looked at the time—3:33 p.m. Finally. Finally, a good sign. I took another deep breath. Everything was going to be okay.

I’ll just tell them the truth. That had to work, right? I’ll tell them the truth and then maybe I could make them understand that it’s all been a mistake.

The door opened and a woman dressed in a smart white blouse and black trousers entered the room. I couldn’t help but wonder what that blouse would look like with a splatter of blood sprayed across it.

“Miss Bloom?” she asked. Her voice was clipped—no-nonsense professionalism, but not exactly cold either. A woman who meant business. Who was she and what was she doing here?

“Yes,” I replied, standing up and offering my hand. She gave it two curt shakes.

“I’m Eshanya Padmaraj with Silverhawk Securities. I’m sure you’ve heard of us. We are a private security company and are investigating the disappearance and possible murder of Kaavindi Fonseka.”

Possible murder. The words ricocheted through me, tearing a hole in my chest. I just nodded.

“Her father, Nihal, wanted this matter attended to at once, and with the utmost discretion, as I’m sure you’ll understand,” she continued.

So Mr. Fonseka didn’t call the police, then? That’s interesting. I would have thought that with his connections he’d have rung up the inspector general himself. I’m guessing Mrs. Fonseka had something to do with that. They probably wanted everything kept under wraps until they had some answers. Things weren’t so bad just yet.

I took a deep breath, but it got caught somewhere in my chest and I started to cough.

“Would you like some water, Miss Bloom?”

“Yes, please,” I managed, and used this moment to eye her.

Miss Padmaraj looked to be in about her midforties. She was well-spoken and well-mannered, and she must certainly hold quite a senior position if she was allowed to head an investigation herself. It was practically unheard of for a woman, but I’m glad it wasn’t a man. Perhaps she’d be more sympathetic to what I was about to say. Perhaps she’d understand.

“I’ll be recording our conversation, and it’ll be transcribed for documentation purposes. I hope that’s okay,” she said, but she wasn’t asking for my permission. “The police will take your official statement afterward, if or when they are called in. Our conversation won’t be as formal. I’m mostly trying to get a clear understanding of everything that happened leading up to the wedding day in order to assist in the search for Miss Fonseka. Time is quite valuable right now, as you are probably aware.”

I took a deep breath and nodded.

“Let’s start. Could you state your name and address for the record, please?”





1


AMAYA


Three Months before the Wedding


I WAITED TILL the clock on my oven timer turned 8:08 p.m. to leave. I wasn’t superstitious, but it never hurt to wait for a good sign.

I took a deep breath and grabbed my small purse and keys off the counter as I made my way out.

The sleek black limousine was exactly where I knew it would be. Where it always was. A blond whose faded suit flapped around his shoulders was waiting near the rear passenger door. I slowed down, my wrestled confidence fading a little.

“Where’s Joe?”

“He’s off this week. Family vacation, I think.”

This was definitely not a good sign. Damn it.

I took a deep, calming breath like Dr. Dunn said, and tried to center myself.

Was it really so terrible that my usual driver wasn’t here today?

No, no it wasn’t. I was just reading too much into everything like I always did.

It’s not like I would turn around and go back inside because Joe wasn’t there. Because there was a slight change to the same routine I’d kept up for months now.

I’d be lying to myself if I said I’d just go home. I was already at the car. I’d never turn back. There’s no way I could last another month without, well, whatever this was.

“You ready, ma’am?”

“Y-yes.” I hated the way my voice trembled, but if the new driver noticed, he didn’t show it.

I climbed into the back seat carefully, making sure I didn’t wrinkle my black satin dress. It was slippery on the leather upholstered seats. I balanced stiffly, legs wedged into the synthetic carpet that somehow still had that new car smell, until I buckled my seat belt.