Vanished (11 page)

“Wh-at? Did Patti tell you that?”

“No, someone else. One of…Sudha Auntie's students,” Neela lied.

“The veena is definitely not dying. It's beautiful and expressive.”

“But what if no one wants to play it?”

“There will always be people who want to play it. Like you. Unless you're thinking of giving up. But you shouldn't let the rock stop you from playing.”

“I'm not,” Neela said. “Actually, I want to find Patti's veena even more. There has to be something special about it if someone wants it so badly.”

“Don't you think you're confusing two different things?” Mrs. Krishnan asked. “You can still go on playing, with or without Patti's veena.”

“But it's only after I got her veena that I started to sound okay,” Neela said, “and not twangy. It's bad enough I get scared to play in front of people. The last thing I need is a twangy veena.”

“You're not that twangy. And you won't play on Sudha Auntie's veena forever. We'll get you a new one.”

But it wouldn't be her grandmother's veena. It wouldn't be a Guru original. It wouldn't be the one with a strange curse that marked it special forever. Neela thought all these things, but she didn't say them out loud.

Mrs. Krishnan stared at the printout still in her hand. “Is there something else you're not telling me? Like this Hal, is he someone you know?”

“Of course not! I never saw him before in my life.”

Mrs. Krishnan sighed. “The important thing to remember is that Patti's veena is gone. And some strange man out there wanted it and knows where you live. And God only knows if he has anything more planned. That veena isn't worth your safety. Forget about it and this Veronica Wyvern stuff.…It isn't healthy to be so fixated.”

“How can you give up so soon?”

“There's nothing else we can do.”

Neela remembered her mother saying how it was better that the veena was gone. “I think you're happy we lost the veena,” she said. “Because it's bad luck.”

“Of course not!” Mrs. Krishnan flushed. “I'm just being practical. You should too. I don't know what Lalitha Patti said to you. But I'm telling you: stop thinking about that veena.” She crumpled up the printout and threw it in the waste can on her way out.

When her mother was gone, Neela leaped from the bed and pulled the printout from the trash. She smoothed the paper out and stored it inside her backpack. She most certainly would
not
forget about the veena. So much had happened in just the last few days. And she was sure she was on the right track. The rock was proof. Her grandmother's story was proof. There was something her mother didn't want her to know, and Neela was going to figure out what it was.

As the weeks went by
, Neela found it hard to concentrate. She felt charged with excitement over all the things she had learned so far. At night she tossed and turned in bed and woke up the next morning tired. In class her mind wandered until Ms. Reese would call on her to pay attention. From her seat, Lynne would look over at Neela as if she wondered what was wrong with her. Sometimes Amanda would look at Neela, too, but to make a face at her.

The only thing that relaxed Neela was playing. Some days she practiced twice, once in the afternoon, and again before going to bed. The pads of her fingers, which in the past always became sore when she practiced for too long, had formed thick calluses, just like Sudha Auntie's, making it easier to press down on the strings.

“You seem to be practicing more these days,” her mother observed. “I thought you didn't like Sudha's veena.”

“Well, the duct tape sucks,” Neela said. “But I'm getting used to it.”

It was true the duct tape was ugly and rubbed against her leg when she practiced. But she didn't notice it so much these days. She had finally memorized her recital piece, which meant she didn't have to look at her book anymore. Sometimes she closed her eyes and focused her entire mind on how she sounded, note by note. She was surprised by the results, that even with her own ears she could hear she was improving. If she had her grandmother's veena, she couldn't help thinking, she would sound even better.

“Why are you closing your eyes?” Sree asked. He was always there these days when she practiced.

“I can see the music better,” she said.

Sometimes she asked, “Don't you get bored, Sree? Don't you want to watch TV instead?”

He shook his head. His hair, which had now grown past his ears, hung in big, curly locks around his face, making him look girly.

“Fine,” she said. “Just don't get used to it, okay? I need my space.”

She said that every time, but so far, she had never sent him away.

December arrived, and, one by one, Christmas decorations began to appear in the neighborhood. First it was white metal reindeer pulling a sleigh at the corner of Lambert Street. Then several manger scenes along Winthrop. And finally, near the stone church came the giant inflatable snowman that her dad called the Pillsbury Doughboy. Some of the newer, flashier decorations came and disappeared in a season or two, but these regulars had been there every year as long as Neela could remember. The sight of them strangely comforted her as she walked to school and back, as if seeing a snowman that was almost as tall as her house meant there was still some normalcy in her life.

It had been weeks since the rock incident, after which not a single clue concerning the missing veena had cropped up. It made Neela wonder if her mother wasn't right all along, and that it was best to forget about the veena and the curse and everything that went with it. But just when she was about to give up hope, something unexpected happened.

One day after art class, Neela went to the church office to get an application for the next semester.

Julia, who was at her desk, saw her immediately. “Neela!” she exclaimed. “Come in!”

Neela hadn't talked to Julia since that day on the phone when the teakettle was stolen. She glanced at Mary's desk, which was empty. “Where's Mary?” she asked.

“She had a dental appointment,” Julia said. “I'm glad you came. I have something to show you on my computer.”

Neela walked gingerly around the stacks of papers and bags on Julia's desk, trying not to knock anything over.

“Don't mind my mess,” Julia said cheerfully. “You wouldn't guess looking at it, but it's an organized mess. I know where everything is.”

“So, did you ever find the teakettle?” Neela asked. She looked at Julia's things. If it was here, they would never find it.

“No, but I found something else. I was scratching my head, trying to figure out how to track down Hal or your missing—uh, what was it again?”

“Veena.”

“Right. So then I had this idea—what if I looked through the pictures from our fall picnic? Maybe Hal is someone who belongs to our church.”

“That's a good idea,” Neela said. “But you don't know what he looks like.”

“Oh, I know just about everyone who comes and goes in the church. So I figured I would look for an elderly, well-dressed man—that's how you described him—that I
didn't
know. And bingo.” She opened a computer file. “Is this your Hal?”

Neela watched the screen as the picture loaded. Then there before her was the very man she had met, a person she had almost come to believe didn't exist, until she saw his photo staring back at her. He was dressed differently, this time in navy slacks and a pale purple polo shirt, but he had the same hawkish eyes and the shortly cropped gray hair, and he was standing with a plate of food next to Mary Goodwin.

“That's him,” Neela said excitedly. “And look, Mary does know him. They're standing together.”

“That's right,” Julia agreed.

“So she lied,” Neela said, then wondered if that was the right thing to say in front of Julia.

But Julia was more puzzled than anything. “Maybe she met him that day and forgot. It was a newcomer picnic, and there were so many people there. I have great respect for Mary. It isn't like her to lie.”

Neela didn't say anything. Personally, she didn't trust Mary, but Julia did have a point about the newcomer picnic. She studied the photo. Mary wore a dark-colored, button-up blouse, and looked as if she were at a funeral instead of a picnic. Hal looked as he did the last time Neela saw him: well-dressed and nice. How could someone who looked like him steal her veena? Or throw a rock at her house?

“So, now what?” she asked.

“You tell me,” Julia said. “We've got this picture of Hal.”

And Mary
, Neela wanted to add. “Is there a way to find out where Hal lives?” she asked instead. “If he belongs to the church, you could have his address somewhere, like an address book.…” Her voice trailed off. She looked at Julia's desk. How would anyone find anything in all those stacks of papers?

“Yes!” Julia said. “We have it in two formats—one in hard copy, which would be in…Now which stack would it be? Hmm.”

Neela looked again at the heaping stacks. “What's the other format?”

“On the computer,” Julia said. “How brilliant! Let's look him up on my computer.”

Neela wasn't sure why Julia was so excited, but then again, it
was
exciting, like being detectives. But the only name they knew was Hal. When Julia typed it in, no records came up. And just like that, the search was over.

“Don't worry,” Julia said, seeing Neela's face. “I'm not sure if it's allowed, but I'm going to e-mail you this picture of Hal. You hang on to it. Maybe seeing his face will jog your memory, and you'll remember something important about him that will help you find your vee—um—instrument.”

Neela smiled and said thanks, but she was disappointed. Also, she wasn't sure if she wanted to look at Hal's face much longer.

They talked a bit more while Neela told her about the rock and how it had happened on the same day as the teakettle getting stolen. She didn't want to sound crazy, so she didn't mention Veronica Wyvern, Guru, or the curse. Then they moved on to other things, like Neela's art class, school, and finally music.

“I used to play the clarinet when I was a child.” Julia laughed. “Boy, did I stink. The neighborhood must have been very happy when I gave it up.”

“It's hard to play anything in tune,” Neela said. “I sounded terrible when I began. I'm so much better now than before. But I still have to get over my stage fright.”

“Oh, you have that? My daughter, who's grown up now, had the same problem. Her hands would shake like crazy during her piano recitals. I'd tell her to think of pink elephants.”

“Thinking doesn't help,” Neela said. “Not thinking does. But it's hard not to think when I play.”

“Well, I still say you're very admirable, being so serious about music at your age.”

Neela knew Julia was probably just being nice, but it was still satisfying to get a compliment. No one had ever called her admirable or serious before.

Just then the phone rang. As Julia answered, Neela noticed that the wyvern embroidery was back on Mary's desk. Here was her chance to look at it!

She went over and picked it up. The price tag on the back said Dray's Discount Store. Hardly a family heirloom, she thought. The only thing interesting was the banner across the top, in which the word
wyvern
was stitched in curlicue writing. Neela's heart leaped for a moment when she recognized the word, but then again, she already knew the dragon was a wyvern, so it didn't tell her all that much. So what was it that Mary didn't want her to see?

Her eyes met Julia's.

“Sorry, Neela,” Julia whispered, covering the mouthpiece. “I have to take this one.” She smiled at her before resuming her phone conversation.

Neela looked again at the embroidery. She had never stolen anything in her whole life. And yet she had the strongest urge to tuck the frame inside her cardigan and slip out before Julia noticed. The feeling was so intense, her arm tingled and her throat went dry. She told herself stealing was wrong and that Julia could get in trouble.

Still, Neela was sure there was something important about the embroidery. Could she take a picture of it somehow? Looking around the room, she spotted the photocopying machine behind Mary's desk.

She lifted the lid of the machine and turned to Julia. “Can I photocopy this?” she asked softly.

Julia, who was still busy talking, nodded distractedly.

Neela watched as the light from the machine crossed under the embroidery she had laid flat over the glass tray. When the copy came out, she surveyed the results. Wow! The copy of the wyvern was clear and crisp.

She put the frame back on Mary's desk, glad she had found a solution, but a bit unsettled by how close she had come to stealing. I'm getting as bad as Hal, she thought.

She waved to Julia before leaving. After weeks of nothing, she now had Hal's picture, a photocopy of Mary's embroidery, and she had made a friend in Julia. A pretty good day in all. Now if she could only figure out what Mary was up to.