Page 52 of Grave Danger
Margaret.That was a start. “Did you know she was in Miami?”
“Yes, we spoke on the telephone while she was there. We speak almost every day. She’s the only family I’ve got, since, you know—my son went missing.”
It wasn’t quite the jackpot, but it was close.
“Did Margaret tell you why she was going to Miami?”
“I don’t remember, specifically. I seem to have the idea in my head that it was to see someone. A friend.”
That worked for Andie. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Margaret came to Miami to see me. She said some things that worried me. Things about...”
Andie let the question dangle and held her breath.
“About Brian?”
Jackpot, assuming Brian and his mother had the same surname. “Yes, about Brian.”Brian Guthrie.
“Would you like to come inside, Andie? I could make some tea.”
Andie smiled on the inside. “Yes, I’d like that very much,” she said, and another door opened.
Jack invited Zahra back to his office for the end-of-day download on things going well, going wrong, or going nowhere, but Zahra wanted a place where she could relax. It was Jack’s first visit to a hookah lounge.
“I honestly didn’t know Miami had hookah lounges,” he said.
“Not authentic ones,” said Zahra. “Most of them are trendy variations on a nightclub that use hookah as a gimmick. A real hookah lounge would be more respectful of customers who don’t drink for religious reasons. They might serve alcohol, but not to the point where people are openly drunk and prying their way into each other’s pants.”
The lounge was dimly lit, with comfortable sitting areas for small groups to relax and converse. Jack and Zahra were seated on a couch with the hookah resting on the low table in front of them. Zahra chose the apple-flavored tobacco, and their server loaded it. It was a typical hookah, standing about two feet tall, consisting of a bulbous glass base, a bowl for the tobacco, a hose, and a hose handle. Zahra explained that charcoal heated the flavored tobacco in the bowl, and the smoke was drawn through the water in the glass base and into the hose, where the smoker inhaled it. For Jack it brought back memories of his college roommate, who before his expulsion taught everyone in the dorm to smoke pot through a bong.
The server brought a pitcher of water and two glasses.
“No ice for me,” said Zahra.
The server poured accordingly and left them alone.
“Is that an official hookah thing, no ice?” asked Jack.
“No. It’s a Zahra thing. Sensitive teeth. Persians were making cold drinks with ice thousands of years before there were freezers. Big clay cooling systems right in the middle of the desert. They were calledyakhchals.”
“Ancient slushies,” said Jack. “A culture ahead of its time in so many ways.”
Zahra drank to that, then said, “And in other ways, not so much.”
Zahra took the hookah hose, brought the nozzle to her lips, and inhaled. The smoke curled up to the lights as she exhaled.
“The hookah lounge is my safe place,” said Zahra. “Part of my culture. Birthdays. Graduations. Crying over the cute boy who didn’t like you back. Amazing your friends with your smoke-ring skills. You don’t do it alone. Always in a group.”
“Was this something you and Ava did together?”
“Ava,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I tried to take her for her sixteenth birthday, but she wouldn’t come.”
“Too young?”
“Hah! No. It didn’t fit her image.”
“Her image?”
“Ava was the ‘perfect daughter,’” she said, making air quotes. “Shepretendedto listen when our mother said it washaramandaib—forbidden and shameful—for girls to smoke. Meanwhile, she was smoking hookah every weekend with her friends. You could smell it on her clothes. Did that make a difference to our mother? No. Ava was the good girl. Zahra was the bad girl.”