Vanished (19 page)

“Do you always talk so much?” Mary asked wearily. “Maybe you ought to come back tomorrow, because I really have to go now and…Wait a minute.” Mary stopped. And when she stopped, it seemed like a whole bunch of things stopped at the same time: Matt's feet, all movement in the room, Neela's heart. There was one thing unfortunately that had
not
stopped.

“I know I turned off Julia's computer today. And yet now I hear it running.” Mary began walking toward the desk.

“Can I get one of those schedules?” Matt tried desperately.

“Just a minute, son.”

Neela saw Mary's shoes—the ones that went
phsst phsst
—come around the corner of the desk. Then she saw Mary right in front of her, as she huddled under the desk, with no place left to go.

“Sometimes,”
Matt called out across the room, “you can press the restart button by accident instead of the shutdown button.” His voice rang out in the office as he waited to see if Mary would believe him or not.

She stopped. “Oh?”

Matt crossed the room and came quickly around the side of the desk. Now Neela could see his shoes next to Mary's, a pair of worn-out sneakers with faded stripes. He bent down, looked straight at Neela, who stared at him mutely, before standing up again. “Yep. That's what you did. We have a bunch of computers at home, so I know all about them.”

“Well, I'm no wizard,” Mary murmured, apparently buying his logic. “Computers are so complicated these days. Safety features, viruses, people breaking into your computer!”

Which is closer to the truth than you know, Neela thought, inches away from Mary. She swallowed hard.

“That's why I didn't want one of the girls working here today to turn the computer on and troll the Internet,” Mary said. “But she turned on the machine anyway. I will have to speak to her tomorrow. Well, I better shut it down again.”

“I'll do it for you,” Matt said quickly. He reached down and pressed the power switch until the computer turned off.

Mary frowned. “Aren't you supposed to log off first?”

“Sometimes it's okay to press the power button. That's why it's there, right?”

Again Mary considered his words, then sighed. “You kids are so smart these days.”

Neela watched (and heard) Mary's squeaky shoes disappear around the desk.

Thank goodness
. Things weren't over yet, but at least Matt had prevented a complete disaster from striking. Now, if he could just manage to get Mary out of the office without Neela getting caught…She was dying to tell Matt what she had just figured out.

Mary flipped through some papers on her desk. “And here. An art class schedule.”

Matt feigned excitement. “Oh, wow. My
first
art class.”

Mary cleared her throat. “Glad to see such interest.” She turned off the lights.

“It's always been my dream,” Matt said. “You know, Picasso, Renoir, Van Gogh.”

“Come along. The office is closed.” Her voice was firm. She grabbed her coat from the rack and closed the door behind her and Matt. All was silent in the office again; the sound of
phsst phsst
disappearing in the distance.

Neela crawled out from the desk and stretched out her legs.

Hal was Veronica's father
. He had to be. This was the biggest discovery Neela had made so far. And if Hal was Veronica's father, then it explained a lot of things, like why he wanted the veena so much and why he was willing to go all the way to India for it.

It didn't explain everything, though. Because even if the veena had once belonged to Veronica, how would Hal have known he was stealing the right one? When had he had a chance to see the veena and confirm it was the same one before he stole it?

Just then, Neela heard a light rapping on the door, followed by an odd whizzing sound. She shrank back under the desk, worried Mary was back.

“Neela?” a voice called softly.

She climbed out. “Matt,” she whispered, relieved. She stared at the open door. “Did you just slide the lock?”

“So I don't get rusty,” he said, sticking a card back in his pocket. “Let's get out of here.”

They closed the door behind them and hurried down the hall. A few minutes later, they were outside, blinking against the brightness of the fallen snow. It had stopped snowing at last.

“Did you find the address?” Matt wanted to know.

“Yeah, and a lot more.” Neela told him Hal's full name.

“Wow!” Matt said, amazed. “What about Mary? And the crest?”

“Mary has to be related to him. Maybe his wife? Or his sister? I don't know.…”

“Which is why she would be protecting him. This is totally a whodunit mystery.” Matt was excited. “So, are you calling him?”

Neela slowed down as they reached the snowy sidewalk. “Call him, just like that?”

“Wasn't that your plan? To stop him?” Matt pulled out his cell phone and offered it to her.

Neela did want to stop Hal, but that was before she knew who he was. She thought about that day in the church, and the far-off look in his eyes when they were talking about her instrument. He must have been remembering his daughter. “I don't know,” she faltered.

“Call,” Matt said. “Call before you change your mind.”

He was right. Neela took the phone from him and dialed the number on the Post-it note. As she heard the phone ring, something surprising started to happen: her knees began shaking as if she were about to give a performance. Stage fright? Or in this case, phone fright?

This had never happened before, not even that day she phoned Govindar, and she was nervous then, too. The phone continued to ring, and Neela gripped it hard as if that would somehow lock down her knees. When she didn't think she could wait anymore, she heard the click of an answering machine come on. And then it was Hal's voice, the same one with the heavy Boston accent, and it seemed as if he were inside her brain, talking to her.

The strangeness of it almost undid her as she strained to make sense of the message. When it was done, she snapped Matt's phone shut and handed it back to him.

“What? What happened?” Matt asked.

In a daze, she repeated the message on Hal's answering machine: “We're on vacation. Call back at the end of December.”

“Who's ‘we'?”

“Maybe his wife?”

Matt smacked his forehead with his palm. “Man, you were
so
close. That bites.”

“Yeah,” Neela said, trying to understand the mixture of emotions inside her. She was just as disappointed as Matt—at least, she
ought
to have been. Then why had her knees stopped shaking as soon as she hung up the phone?

She watched as Matt scooped up snow from the ground and hurled it in the air until bits of snow fell down around them. “You'll have to nab him in India, then,” he said.

Neela wondered just how she would do that. She still didn't know if Govindar would wait for her before giving the veena back to Hal. Who would he think more worthy? A girl who barely knew how to play? Or the father of a famous dead musician? Suddenly the task of getting back her veena felt daunting. And just a few hours ago she had been so sure of herself.

They walked in silence until they passed the inflated snowman on Winthrop.

“That snowman is butt-ugly,” Matt said.

“I kind of like it.”

“I had nightmares when I was little. Seriously. Attack of the killer snowman.”

“My dad thinks it looks like the Pillsbury Doughboy.”

“Attack of the killer doughboy. Same difference.”

They stopped to watch the snowman sway from one side to the other in the wind, its enormous head bobbing up and down as if it were nodding at them.

“Isn't it strange,” Neela said, “how different people can see the same thing and have completely different ideas about it?”

“Yeah, like completely
wrong
ideas,” Matt said.

“But it's good, isn't it? We wouldn't all want to be scared by the same thing.”

“I'm not scared of it anymore.”

“I'm just saying
hypothetically
.”

They walked until they came to the end of Winthrop, where they had to continue in opposite directions. Neela couldn't help thinking that if Matt had been Pavi, she could have invited him over to her house now. But imagine what Neela's mom would do if she showed up with an orange-haired guy at their door. She'd probably say his hair was bad luck and do an aarti.

Matt kicked the curb with one of his scuffed-up shoes. “I guess you're headed out to India in a couple of days.”

She nodded. “My best friend will be there. You haven't met her. She goes to Pilgrim. Her family's visiting at the same time.”

Matt shivered and rubbed his hands together.

Behind him, Neela saw a figure approaching in the distance. She was coming from an adjoining street, turning onto Winthrop. Neela stared, trying to get a better look. Was it who she thought it was?

Amanda was wearing a powder-white quilted down jacket that would have made her blend in with the snow if it weren't for the brown suede of her winter boots. She stopped when she saw them. “Hi, Neela,” she said. She glanced at Matt but didn't say anything to him. “I was on my way to your house, but I might as well give this to you now.” She opened her book bag. “Here,” she said gruffly. “I thought you might need it, and my mom had extras anyway.” She handed over the copy of
Boston Living
that was brought to class. “I guess my mom didn't bother to make sure she was borrowing the veena from the right girl for the photo shoot, huh?”

Neela stared, unsure of what to say. “Thanks,” she finally stammered, taking the magazine from Amanda's gloved hand.

Even Matt, who normally had insults ready to hurl at Amanda, said nothing. It was as if he also knew he was witnessing a rare event. He gave Neela a small salute. “I'm taking off,” he said. “So long, and stay away from the snowman.” Neela could hear him whistling to himself as he walked away.

She and Amanda looked at each other.

“I remember this snowman,” Amanda said. “Once in kindergarten, I walked home with you and your mom, and we pretended he was secretly Santa Claus, filled with presents.” Before Neela could answer, Amanda turned away and walked off, her boots clomping quickly through the snow. Neela looked on in amazement, wondering what had come over Amanda.

She turned toward home, thinking through the events of the day. In more ways than one, the afternoon had ended on a high note. Now Neela just had to worry about the bigger issue at hand—“nabbing” Hal, as Matt put it. What would she say if she found him in India?
Excuse me, can I have back that veena you think belonged to your dead daughter?
Just thinking that gave her stomach a funny sideways ache. It was as if everything in her head had turned upside down, and all the things she once thought were true about the veena and herself had changed. Who did the veena really belong to—Hal, her grandmother, or her?

The next few days
there was a flurry of activity as the Krishnans got ready for India. The day before their trip, Mrs. Krishnan dropped Sree off at his friend's house and took Neela with her to the bookstore.

“Lalitha Patti wants a book on gardening,” her mother said. In the home-and-gardening aisle, they found rows and rows of books. “How am I supposed to pick one?”

“Get a bunch,” Neela said. She hated shopping with her mother. It always took forever because her mother would get sucked into a black hole of indecision.

“Did you see the size of these books? How will we carry more than one in our suitcase?” Mrs. Krishnan stared at the titles as if the answer would come to her.

“I'm going to the kids' section,” Neela announced. She figured it would be a while before her mother escaped from the black hole.

She was actually not in the mood to read, so she wandered through the store instead. She was too preoccupied with all she had found out in the last few days. Until she learned who Hal was, she had not even thought much about Veronica—who she was, how she'd lived, how everything had ended so suddenly for her. But now her mind was filled with images of the brown-haired woman posing in Sudha Auntie's photos with her flowing kurtas and crooked smile.

As Neela walked past the magazine rack, she spotted a tall man with poofy hair standing in one of the aisles, looking at one of the magazines. It was Professor Tannenbaum from the veena concert last month. Tannenbaum continued reading, engrossed in an article. Every now and then he chuckled and turned the page. He seemed to be enjoying himself, his whole face lighting up when he laughed. Neela remembered the comment he'd made about her string. She was embarrassed by the whole thing now, especially since she had overreacted by running away afterward. He looked pretty friendly, actually.

In fact…Neela drew in her breath.
He was someone who knew Veronica Wyvern
. She remembered his quote from the article: “She will be missed as a musician and as a friend.”

If he had known her as a musician and a friend, he would know Veronica's veena if he saw it. If only Neela had the magazine with her. Then her eyes went straight to the magazines covers along the aisle until she saw
Boston Living
peeking out from one of the shelves.

What were the chances she'd run into Tannenbaum in a bookstore
and
with a copy of
Boston Living
nearby? She snatched up the magazine and walked slowly to him, her heart beating.

“Professor Tannenbaum?” she asked, holding the magazine tightly in her hand. He was so tall she had to crane her neck to look up at him.

Tannenbaum turned to her in surprise. He took off his glasses. “Yes. Can I help you?”

Now she had his attention, she didn't know what to say. She fumbled over her words. “Um, I'm Neela, Sudha Rajugopal's student.”

He waited, still puzzled by the sight of her.

Neela sighed inwardly. “I'm the one with the snapping string,” she said.

Tannenbaum's face shone with instant recognition. “Oh, yes! Dear heavens, hello!”

Again, Neela felt the embarrassment of her performance weigh down on her, but she decided she had more important things to talk about.

“Sorry to bother you, but I have a question and I think you might have the answer.”

“Really?” He smiled curiously. “You've got me hooked. What's your question?”

Neela held up the magazine. “There's a picture of a veena in here.” She turned the pages until she got to it. “Could you tell me if this was Veronica Wyvern's veena?”

“Veronica Wyvern's veena?” he repeated. He looked at her as if she had lost her mind. Then he cleared his throat. “I'm sorry, dear. You might not know, but Ronnie passed away many years ago in a terrible accident. Her veena was with her. So the answer is no.” He smiled politely as if the matter was closed.

Neela knew he was her only hope at this point, so she pressed on. “I know about her death,” she said, “and I know you were friends. Could you please check anyway? It's very important to me.” She held the magazine up to him again.

“Child, I'm certain her veena wouldn't be in a magazine today.” Still, he must have been curious, because he put on his glasses again and took the magazine from her.

Neela watched as Tannenbaum's face changed from polite indifference to slow recognition. He stared a long time at the photo, then took off his glasses and looked at her. “How did you find this photo?” he asked.

“A photographer took it last month. Her kid is in my class.”

He shook his head. “But Ronnie died in a train crash with her veena. I don't know how the photographer took this photo.”

“You're sure this is her veena?” Neela asked.

“No doubt. See that peg box? It's a special kind of dragon with two feet and a tail.”

“I know, a wyvern,” Neela said.

“Yes, exactly. Ronnie found the veena in India a long time ago, and I remember her telling me she felt like it had been made just for her. You know, because of her last name.”

As Neela listened, a mixture of wonder and dread crept through her. She felt an unmistakable thrill that came from knowing that she and her grandmother had owned an instrument with a legendary curse, which had belonged to a famous musician as well. In some small way, Neela had become part of a strange and mysterious history. Yet, the very thought of it made her sick to her stomach. Because it meant Hal had guessed correctly about the veena. He had been right all along.

“So it was hers,” Neela said, stunned. “It was really Veronica Wyvern's veena.”

“And how did you say the photographer came to take this picture?” Tannenbaum asked.

“It's a long story,” Neela said.

She did her best to explain, as Tannenbaum listened with interest. “I can't believe her veena survived the crash,” he said. “It's of great importance to me, not just because Ronnie was my friend, but because I have a scholarly interest in the history of Indian instruments. You see, that year when she went to India to perform, there was another reason for her trip. She was on her way to find out something significant about the instrument.”

“The curse,” Neela said quickly.

“The curse? Oh, yes, the curse of Parvati.” He chuckled. “That story has persisted for so long.”

“It isn't true?” Neela asked.

He shrugged. “I'm a scholar. I have no interest in such things except in what they mean historically.”

“Then there was something else? Other than the curse?” Neela wasn't quite sure what she meant.

Tannenbaum regarded Neela for a moment, as if he were noticing for the first time that he was talking to an eleven-year-old girl. “You sure you want to know all of this?” He looked around. “Did you come alone? Is your mother somewhere here?”

Neela pointed to the gardening aisle at the other end of the store. “She's there,” she said. “And please, could you go on, if you don't mind?”

He scratched his head. “It's far too much information. I can't get into it all. Maybe one of these days we can meet, along with Sudha, and talk more at length.”

Neela glanced at the gardening aisle and saw her mother with an armload of books. Neela's time was about to run out.

“Please!” Neela's voice was urgent. “Please tell me, what was it that Veronica so badly wanted to know? I'm leaving for India tomorrow. I might be able to get the veena back, but I need to know as much as I can.”

“Well, I'd have to start with Guru,” Tannenbaum said.

“I know who he was. The veena-maker,” Neela said, one eye on her mother.

“And then I'd have to tell you what a Guru original was,” he went on.

“I know all about that, too,” Neela said. She saw her mother put several books back on the shelves. In her hand were two. Was she ready to buy them?

“Oh.” Tannenbaum was surprised. “Well, if you know all that, then I can tell you that out of the dozen or so Guru originals still circulating out there, there is great interest in locating the first one he made, the
original
Guru original, if you will.”

“The original Guru original?” Neela repeated.

“What, you know about that, too?”

She shook her head. She was still watching her mother, who had now put back the two books in her hand, as well. What was she going to do? Not buy anything at all? If only Professor Tannenbaum would hurry. “Please. Why is the original Guru original important?”

“Well, it's the first one,” Tannenbaum said. “It could be worth crores of rupees—hundreds of thousands of dollars, we're talking. But really, it's the value of owning the first one made by Guru that makes that veena priceless.”

“And Veronica thought she owned the original Guru original?” Neela asked.

He shrugged. “That's what she wanted to find out. She thought maybe the person who sold it to her might know. She was going to consult a veena historian, search records.”

Neela marveled over this new information. It seemed at every turn she was learning something more extraordinary about her grandmother's veena.

“So do
you
think she had the first Guru original?” Neela asked.

He smiled. “I don't know if there was any way of fully knowing. Dating rare instruments is a profession itself. First of all, you'd have to confirm that all the
parts
of the instrument are the original ones. Instruments can break and be repaired and have things replaced on them. That takes away some of the rareness factor. Once you verified that you have all the original parts, then I suppose you could look at the varnish, at the initials, at the other signs of craftsmanship to determine if what you have is a Guru original. But the
original
one? That's beyond my expertise.” He looked past her. “I see someone; I think it's your mom.”

Neela turned around to find her mother standing some feet away with two huge books in her hands. She seemed to recognize Tannebaum, from the way she looked at them.

“I'll be there in a second,” Neela called to her mom.

Maybe because Tannenbaum was watching, Mrs. Krishnan went along without any questions. But Neela could see the checkout line was short. She had only a few more minutes left. “Thank you so much for your help, Professor Tannenbaum,” she said to him.

“No problem,” Tannenbaum said. “So you said you're off to India tomorrow? And you think you might find this veena?” He looked at her curiously.

“That's my hope,” she said.

“Well, let me know what happens. And be careful. That veena of Ronnie's…” His voice trailed off.

“What?” she asked.

He hesitated. “I don't know in the end how much happiness that knowledge brings. Sometimes when you have something precious, it interferes with the rest of your life. It's like owning the Hope Diamond. You're not going to wear it to the playground. In fact, you'll stop going to the playground.” He shrugged. “So, good luck. And watch out for snapping strings.”

Somehow his remark didn't bother her now, and she actually smiled. “I'll try,” she said.

When they got outside the store, Mrs. Krishnan said, “What were you talking about for so long with Alfred Tannenbaum? That was him, wasn't it?”

Neela paused. If she told her mother what she had found out, her mother might not think her so strange for wanting her instrument back, now that she knew it once belonged to a famous musician and that it might be the original Guru original. And the more Neela kept from her mother, the harder it became to share the next big thing. But in some strange and selfish way, Neela wanted to hang on to this information for herself just a little longer.

So she said, “Nothing—just the concert last month and what I'm playing now.”

Mrs. Krishnan nodded agreeably as they walked to the car. As they were getting in, she said, “I'm glad, because for a moment, I was worried you were talking about your cursed veena with him.”