CRIME FICTION
The Chest
In the Shade of Mango Blossoms: Chapter 2
Dipping a flat wall brush in semi-transparent liquid, Sahil glanced over his shoulders to find his assistant busy at work on the east side of his client’s living room. Abeer was stippling the decorative sides of a vintage oak chest with a brand new stencil brush. As the handyman spread the first layer of lacquer on an antique window frame, he was distracted by the thumping sound of a metal padlock. Turning to his assistant, he was puzzled by the look on the young lad’s face.
Gaping, Abeer summoned his mentor with a feeble wave of the hand. Baffled, Sahil hopped over to the apprentice who was trembling with excitement at this point. On seeing the broken padlock, the handyman understood his assistant’s predicament. The padlock was so old and rusted, that it snapped open without its master’s intervention.
Both men lifted the chest carefully so they could move it to a niche in the living room. The spot beside a Tiffany torchiere lamp was deemed suitable by Sahil. Halfway across the living room, Abeer tripped on a loop pile carpet and one side of the chest fell on the etched stone mosaic floor. The padlock gave in and the lid opened with bestial fury. “What are you doing?” the handyman barked at his assistant who staggered in disbelief.
Once again, Sahil misread the apprentice’s reaction. When he turned his attention to the contents spat out by the chest, he realized it wasn’t something to be trifled with. His most pressing concern at that moment was informing his client about it. But, what would he tell her?
The windshield could not keep the evening showers from bear-hugging the family sedan. Nayab had trouble seeing the road ahead of her. A voice message she received at work unsettled her, but she could only depart after a keynote presentation at a conference of gynecologists.
Poor visibility forced the county’s youngest consultant to maintain a speed of 40–50 km/h. With each passing stoplight and side road sign, her anxiety multiplied. She used her free hand to rummage the glove compartment for her inhaler. No sooner had she looked away than she was blinded by the glaring headlights of an oncoming lorry. She swerved the car to avoid being hit and crashed into a curb.
Unable to get through to his client, Sahil was faced with a difficult decision. “Whatever you do, don’t call the police.” The handyman was not entirely convinced of the soundness of his client’s discretion. On the living room floor, Abeer counted the minutes until they could pack up and leave. With every chime of the grandfather clock, both men grew more fretful.
Just as Sahil was going to dial a number, the sound of screeching tires startled him and his assistant. Abeer sprang to the driveway and squealed like a frightened child. Annoyed at this seemingly immature behavior, the handyman rushed outside. What he saw left him equally stunned. He was not sure which was a greater predicament — the chest or its owner.
