You're Invited(95)

I hated having to do this, but there was definitely no other choice.

Holding my head high and my shoulders back, I stepped out of the room.

“Miss Padmaraj called me,” I said in my most American, non–Sri Lankan accent. “She wants me to come down and join her.”

The panic on the security guard’s face made me feel like a real villain. I knew what I was doing. He knew what I was doing. I was playing my Colombo 07 Privilege Card. The card I hated everyone else in this town for playing. Where I would use my perfect westernized English and the wealth I had the luck of being born into to make someone else feel so small, so insignificant, so afraid of their status in life that they felt that they had no choice but to let me do what I wanted. Rich kids, the children of the politically connected, did it every day. Standing in lines, stopping for traffic cops, following procedure in public administration buildings wasn’t for them. For us. We’d breeze by in life, while security guards like the one who was stuck with me today feared for their jobs. Because a complaint against him to a higher-up that I would no doubt have connections to would take away his livelihood in one swoop.

But now wasn’t the time to let my conscience get the better of me.

He hadn’t replied. He was probably trying to figure out what he should do.

“Do you want me to call her?” I asked, pulling out my phone. “What was your name again?”

“Miss, mata kiwwa ne yanna epa kiyala.” Miss, she told me not to let you go.

“I’m sorry?” I raised my eyebrows at him, even though I knew very well what he was saying. Another trick of the rich and ridiculous. Because not understanding your mother tongue was somehow an increase in social status. I suppose we can thank colonialism for that.

“Miss—ah—” His face was red and I felt guiltier than when I burned Kaavi’s dress.

“Okay, look, if you want to try and stop me, then go ahead, but I’m leaving.”

And with that, I turned and rushed down the stairs.

Thank goodness this wasn’t the US. Even most branches of the police didn’t carry guns, let alone security guards. And this one wouldn’t dare lay his hands on me.

But I could unpack my class privilege later—when I wasn’t about to be arrested for murder.

He might have been following me, but I didn’t look back. I ran out of the old wing, into the courtyard entrance of the hotel property. From here, it would be easy enough for me to slip out from somewhere. I’d probably be able to jump in a tuk once I got onto the main road. I didn’t have any money on me, but Seetha would probably be able to sort me out once I got home. It’ll be fine.

Except the entrance was swarming with hotel security.

“Koheyda mey yanneh?” Where are you going? A security officer who looked far more serious and far more confident than the one upstairs called out to me.

Luckily, the very guard I had slipped away from moments earlier showed up next to me.

“Padmaraj Miss kiwwa ekkan enna kiyala.” Miss Padmaraj asked me to bring her.

“Hmm,” the older guard said, walking away.

I had no choice but to be marched toward the new wing. The bravado I had thrown in the face of the poor officer was evaporating along with the ocean breeze. I had no idea what to do now.

We walked through the lobby and into the elevator wordlessly, until we got off on the third floor. Eshanya Padmaraj was there with a gaggle of more security, while one of the hotel guards sat on the floor with his back propped against the wall.

“Mama dakke nah, miss. Kawuda pitipassen avilla mata gahuwa. Tikakata kalin thamay sihiya aavey.” I didn’t see anything, miss. Someone snuck up from behind me and attacked. I only gained consciousness a little while ago. He looked like he was on the verge of tears.

“What happened?” a voice boomed down the corridor.

Mr. Fonseka barged down, his face red and dripping with perspiration.

“Nihal, you’re not supposed to be here,” Eshanya Padmaraj responded, trying her best to sound calm but clearly frazzled by his appearance. She hadn’t seen me yet, thank goodness. Perhaps I could slip away in this commotion.

“What do you mean I’m not supposed to be here, Eshanya? I asked you to come to get to the bottom of this. To figure out what happened to my Kaavi. And now I’m told that my son-in-law is missing too? What’s the meaning of this?”

I had been backing away—hoping to make it to the stairwell next to the elevator we had used, but I stopped in my tracks.

So Spencer was missing also? Had he managed to attack the guard and slip out? Or had someone else attacked him?

“What on earth is going on?”

It was Mrs. Fonseka this time.

“Fiona, where the hell have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you. I was just about to come in search of you when . . .”

“What has happened to Spencer?” Mrs. Fonseka wasn’t about to be distracted.

“Nihal, Fiona, listen, we are trying to put things together, but you aren’t making it any easier by being here. And it appears that the guests are not safe in their rooms either.”

“So you think Spencer was attacked?”

“That certainly is a possibility, but we have no way of making sure with the guests all spread out like this.”

She turned away and punched something into her phone.