Ties that Kill : An utterly addictive crime thriller filled with twists Page 3

  Veer weds Alia

  Sensation deserted his palm as his eyes burned holes in the image of a famous mansion in Lake Como. He was sure he had seen it on TV or in some Hollywood flick. The reality of what was about to happen seeped through his fingers. He was getting married to Alia Patel, his best friend, and girlfriend of ten years. They’d met while they were both students at the London School of Economics and had hit it off right away. They hit a rough patch in the second year following which Alia had moved to France, but he’d made it work by going to her with what he considered the grandest make-up gesture. And also, the most expensive.

  Nevertheless, here they were— stronger than ever.

  Alia was the first girl Veer had chosen for himself. Veer had deliberately gone to LSE to spite his Oxbridge-obsessed father. That’s where they’d met.

  “Hi, I’m Alia,” she said when he first met her at the Macroeconomics lecture. “You look really familiar.”

  As far as pickup lines went, it was the worst. But he’d fallen in love with her at first sight. She was radiant, bubbly, and full of life. Unlike him, she wasn’t afraid of what others thought about her.

  With Alia in his corner, he felt invincible. For the first time, he’d defied his father and charted his own course. He’d stuck to investment banking despite the grueling schedule thanks to Alia’s help. He stopped seeing his parents on Christmas. And he’d made his father beg him to return to Madan Enterprises.

  His phone buzzed and he smiled.

  “Hey, babe,” he answered, running his hand over the smooth glass desk.

  “Did you get the engagement invite?” Alia asked.

  “It’s amazing,” he said. “Can’t wait.”

  “Mum wants to talk to your family about some Indian rituals. Can you come home this weekend?”

  “Sure,” he said. He hated the thought of spending more time with his parents but for Alia, he was ready to do it.

  “See you there,” she said. He heard her phone ringing in the background. Alia was busy at work. “Love you.”

  After she hung up, Veer glanced back at his phone and smiled. They were going to get engaged in a week. Engagement would be the first step toward freedom. Veer breathed in and out, flipping pictures on the screen. Ever since Jia’s death, the Apna Ghar project had stopped moving. They needed an influx of creative ideas. He was the business guy. He didn’t know what kind of designs people liked. But he knew someone who might. They hadn’t spoken to each other in ages, but Veer had reconnected with her at Jia’s wedding. His fingers scrolled through his contacts list and found the number of an old friend he’d forgotten.

  “Hello?” She answered in two rings.

  “Rebecca? Hi, it’s Veer.” A long pause followed.

  “Veer! I haven’t heard from you in so long.”

  “Yeah, life’s been busy,” he said. Always the businessman, he got straight to the point. “Listen, Alia said you were a jewelry designer and had some experience designing furniture as well. Would you like to collaborate on a project with Madan Enterprises? I know I should send you a more formal business offer—“

  “No, that’s fine,” Rebecca said. “I’d be interested. What kind of designs are you looking for?”

  They chatted about the project for the next half hour. Veer promised to meet Rebecca to formally discuss the project the next day before he hung up. Leaning back on his chair, he let his mind drift to his high school days when he’d meet Rebecca at the park and tell her about his day. She’d always listen to him with interest and bring him chocolates to eat, something that his mother forbade. Veer always thought of her as a real friend and the idea of collaborating with Rebecca would turn this project around. She wasn’t a famous designer by any means, but she was relatively well-known in the British-Indian circuit and he needed someone right now.

  Pleased with his quick thinking, Veer put in reminders for the meeting and instructed his secretary to make a reservation at the private members’ club where he had a membership. Then, Veer got on with examining the financial statements and signing documents.

  An e-mail lit up his phone and his fingers instinctively clicked on it. It was from Mallika, the wedding planner Mrs. Patel had hired.

  A video was attached to a blank e-mail. Had she put together a video for their engagement? He preferred to be left out of the arrangements but knew Mallika wouldn’t send him anything unimportant. She was all business. So, he clicked on it.

  As a video took over the screen, he recognized the carpeted corridors of the French castle. He’d been there three months ago to attend Jia’s wedding. That was where she had committed suicide, triggering a spate of speculative paparazzi articles. They had died down within a week, but the memory would always be a part of him. The Mehtas had gone under the radar after the event. Veer saw their empty townhouse on his way to work, making him wonder where the entire family was off to. Ajay, Jia’s brother, told him that his parents were recuperating in New York with some relatives and would return once they came to terms with the tragedy.

  Veer stood outside the door of Jia’s suite, recognizing the dark room that greeted him on the other side. It was the night of her sangeet and Veer had made a drunk trip to the third floor, the beats from earlier that night buzzing in his head. He knew Jia was alone in her suite when he knocked. Her jaw dropped slightly when she saw him. In the video, they exchanged words, and then, he walked in. The door closed just as the video ended.

  Veer breathed deeply, checking the sender again. He couldn’t believe the wedding planner had taken a video of him entering Jia’s room. What was she trying to do? Blackmail him? Warn him? Something else?

  Dizzy with a mixture of dread and confusion, Veer considered writing back an e-mail to her. Then, he realized how stupid that would be. He didn’t need any more written proof of his indiscretions. No, he’d visit her. He’d meet the formidable planner face-to-face and ask her what she planned to do. Did she threaten all her clients or was he a special case?

  It would be fine, he told himself. No matter what, he’d make sure the marriage happened.

  4

  Rebecca

  Three months ago

  Rebecca Singh-Jones could feel her heart breaking as she watched Alia and her childhood friend Veer strolling through the hallway hand in hand. They stood a few feet from her, Alia’s slippers brushing the rug, her wide lips giggling in response to a private joke. She’d seen Alia emerge from Veer’s room when she stepped out for brunch. Just as she was about to call out to them, Veer seized Alia’s arm and stopped. With her hand hanging in the air, Rebecca witnessed Veer kiss Alia, her back pressed to the wood-paneled wall. Alia responded to his kiss, her hands digging into his shoulder. It was like watching an intense love scene from a romantic movie. Rebecca was a sucker for romantic movies, but she hated this one.

  The rattling of a door startled the passionate lovers who sprung apart, looking around for any sign of strangers. A wedding guest, a middle-aged woman, and her husband emerged from one of the rooms, staring at the awkward couple rudely before making their way to the elevator. Alia and Veer turned their eyes to each other, smiled conspiratorially, and walked down to the staircase, arms linked. Rebecca rested her back on the wall, disoriented. Anger shot through her blood, followed by hurt, frustration, and resentment. She shoved her feelings in. Eyes stinging with backlogged tears, Rebecca knelt on the carpet.

  She shouldn’t be surprised. Veer and Alia were getting married after all. In the twenty-five years that they’d known each other, Veer had never considered her more than a friendly neighbor. Though Veer had moved away, they were on good terms. Surely, that was considered a healthy relationship. No matter how many rationalizations Rebecca threw at her mind, the weakness in her knees didn’t abate. She’d repeated those excuses to herself like a mantra every time her body reacted to Veer placing a hand on Alia’s shoulders or casually brushing a kiss on her cheek or holding hands. She was beginning to realize that time wouldn’t cure her of this particular affliction. But the realization only annoyed her further. Rebecca had been by Veer’s side all these years. Before Alia met him at university, she was the one he shared his secrets with. She was the one he sought comfort from when Alia and Veer had broken up in the second year of university.

  She knew firsthand how his father could be. After all, she’d consoled him at the local park every time his father beat him for getting poor grades or some such.

  The summer before they started university, Veer came back home and visited Rebecca. Jia, who was her friend from high school, was there too. It was the first time they met each other.

  “Jia will be going to LSE too,” Rebecca told him. After Veer left, Jia stayed behind.

  “You like him, don’t you?” she asked out of the blue.

  “What?” Rebecca’s heart sped up. How had her friend guessed? She wanted to deny it and make excuses, but Jia was a good friend, so she decided to tell her the truth. “I do.”

  “Does he know?”

  “No, but I plan to tell him before the summer is out.”

  Jia’s eyebrows knit. “Are you sure you want to do that? Wouldn’t it ruin your chances of being together?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You said Veer’s parents were…umm…very strict.” That was a euphemism for ‘controlling’. “If you tell him now when he’s still under their thumb, he might turn you down. Why don’t you wait until you both go to university?”

  Rebecca sunk back into her bed. Jia was right. Veer’s mother had never let him choose his girlfriends. If she confessed to him now while he was a minor, he might turn her down out of fear. “I never thought about it that way.”

  “I think you should wait. Tell him next summer.”

  However, when the next summer came around, it was too late.

  Lost in her recollection, Rebecca didn’t notice a door open. Sucking in the tears that lingered in her eyes, she turned to find a familiar figure looking down at her. Jia held the door open. “Rebecca? What’s wrong?”

  Instantly, Rebecca closed up. Getting to her feet, she brushed away the tears. “Nothing. I…I couldn’t sleep well last night. My eyes have been watering all morning.” She noticed that Jia wasn’t standing outside her bridal suite on the third floor and wondered what she was doing there. Jia surveyed the hallway, watching wedding guests go down for brunch. A couple smiled at her and she smiled back, waving to them.

  “Is this about Veer again? Did you see him and Alia together?” Rebecca hated how astute she was. “Come in,” she said, pulling Rebecca inside the room and shutting the door. As soon as they were inside, Rebecca saw the lace curtains and the crumpled white bedsheets. A beige couch lay to one side of the room, the stone walls giving the room a rustic feel. A chandelier hung overhead, two mirrors framing the fireplace. Rebecca sat on the unmade bed, trying to gather her thoughts. “I thought you’d given up on him.”

  “I did. It’s just that…Never mind. I’ll get over it.”

  “You are Alia’s friend. I hope you know how important Veer is to her.”

  “I would never do anything to sabotage their wedding,” Rebecca said tearfully. “I thought you knew that.”

  “I do. But all this longing can’t be good for you. Look at yourself. You haven’t dated anyone since…well…since Veer got together with Alia. And that was a long time ago. It’s time to move on.”

  Jia’s words stung. Rebecca wanted to keep her love secret. In the shrine of her heart, she could nurture it and hope that someday, it’d blossom. But Jia’s words took away her hope. “I haven’t met anyone interesting.”

  “That’s because you never meet anyone,” Jia said. “You know, you should ask my mother for Pinky aunty’s number. She’s the best matchmaker in Mumbai. I’m sure she’ll set you up with someone good.”

  Rebecca remained silent, watching her sad reflection in the full-length mirror stuck to the cupboard.

  Jia opened her mouth to say something more, but her phone started ringing. Rolling her eyes, she answered, “Yes mummy. I was on my way to breakfast. You lost what? Fine. I’m coming.” With her phone glued to her ear, she mouthed something and left. Rebecca waited for her feelings to subside as she lay back on the messy bed. Something hard poked her back. Turning over, she fished out a phone.

  The screen was bright, the photo of a country house flashing. Rebecca peered closer and saw that the house was situated in Buckinghamshire. The property was listed for sale with no price disclosed. The contact details of the real estate agent as well as a video of the house and its surroundings were on the page. A zoomed-in map showed where the house was situated— in the middle of nowhere. Zooming out, Rebecca saw a wide expanse of green land stretching out. It was dotted with lush summer trees, silhouetted against a rare sunny sky. Was Jia considering buying a house?

  She should put the phone down. Rebecca inhaled, wondering where Jia was off to. The shrill chirping of a canary startled her. The phone lit up with text—

  Veer: We need to meet.

  Rebecca blinked. Veer and Jia were friends and they were working together on a business project. It made sense for them to meet. But why did Veer want to see her on the day of her wedding? Was it work-related, or was it something else? Her fingers shook, curiosity getting the best of her. She clicked on the e-mail and found that Veer had attached a bunch of password-protected financial reports. There was no message.

  Rebecca knew that Madan Enterprises and Jia’s family were collaborating on a retail project that Jia and Veer were overseeing. But why was Veer e-mailing her reports when he should be having breakfast?

  The doorbell chimed. On the security video screen, Rebecca saw Ajay, watching something on his phone. “Hey sis, are you in?”

  Abandoning the phone, she answered the door.

  5

  Alia

  Present

  The thing that Alia Patel hated the most in the world, was being compared to someone and coming off worse. A photo of her in Vogue stared back at her from her computer screen, revealing the outfit Alia had worn to a charity gala last week. The black dress with waist cutouts and a blue butterfly at the neck wasn’t her favorite, but she’d tried to do something different. It hadn’t worked.

  Who wore it better?

  Ashwini Brooks, a British-Indian supermodel was pictured next to her, wearing the same dress. It hung like an oversized coat on her bony frame but she added a modern touch to the outfit by pairing it with metallic accessories. The fashion police had voted her the winner. Groaning, Alia closed the magazine and gazed outside her office window. She was the vice-president of her father’s company, a conglomerate that operated across three continents. There was no way a brainless supermodel could compare to her. The likes of Ashwini Brooks would come and go like the unexceptional clothes she wore every fashion season while she would steadily climb her way up the ladder and become a CEO someday.

  Veer always said Alia shouldn’t compare herself to others but that was the refrain of the incompetent. If you were talented, why wouldn’t you want to compare yourself to others? There was something addictive about feeling that high of superiority; better than a drug. She was her mother’s daughter. Geeta Patel instilled a staggering sense of superiority in her children, always reminding them, “You don’t need to be perfect. Just better than everyone else.”

  She watched traffic move outside The Wolseley, brunching with her good friends Zara and Rebecca. Zara, who worked in her father’s business, had gotten married two years ago and given birth to her son a few months back. She was currently on maternity leave but still looked like a million bucks.

  “OMG, did you know that Sanjana is getting married next fall? What’s with all these weddings?”

  Zara was glued to her phone. She wore Chanel earrings, a tweed jacket, and Manolo Blahnik pumps, tapping away at her phone. When Alia didn’t say anything, she glanced over her shoulder, taking a peek at the magazine article. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll get that writer fired. They have no taste.”

  Alia cut her toast into pieces, feeling a little better. “You’re right.”

  “We all know you’re the best,” Zara said. “Ever since school, you’ve been good at everything— sports, socializing, academics, business…” she turned to Rebecca. Rebecca was a shy, unmarried product designer who had gone to school with her. Her mother was an Indian textile heiress and her father was a British business manager. Unlike Zara, Jia, and Alia, Rebecca had no siblings and tended to be lonely. Truth be told, she was rather unexceptional. Rebecca wasn’t beautiful, successful, or smart. She tended to mutter shyly to herself and had trouble making eye contact. Alia had picked her out of the crowd of commoners and blessed her with her presence. Every group needed a quiet member and she thought Rebecca was good enough for the role.

  “Yeah, Alia’s the best,” Rebecca said. “Th-that model will be gone by next season.”

  Unlike Zara, Jia, and Alia, Rebecca was uncomfortable with society news, preferring to talk about topics other than how they compared to others in the community.

  “How is the baby doing?” Rebecca asked. “You’re so lucky to have a kid.”

  Zara scoffed. “I love my son but trust me, all the wonderful things they tell you about being a mother are lies. Atreya never sleeps. He’s crying all the time. If I didn’t have my two nannies, I’d have ended up in an asylum.”

  Alia laughed. That was just like Zara. Zara was a social butterfly who hated anything domestic.

  “Still, it must be nice to be married to the love of your life and have a family of your own.” Rebecca chewed a piece of her avocado toast.

  “Rebecca,” Zara placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve always been a romantic. Marriages aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. Life has a way of shattering fantasies.”

  Being an only child, Alia knew that Rebecca longed for a family of her own. She was the most traditional among them. Yet, she was the only unmarried one. Rebecca had never dated anyone, which made Alia wonder if she had a secret boyfriend.