The Hero Next Time: A Novel of the Terribly Acronymed Detective Club (Book 4)

Chapter Fifty: Sunny, Sunday

He could have been jealous himself about it, though, and he understood where Rachel was coming from; Lauren and Rachel had taken forever to tell him about their mess, and only when it had become unavoidable, while Regan had found herself in Lauren's confidence almost immediately by comparison. Then again, sometimes it was easier to unburden yourself to a stranger, someone who didn't know you well enough to judge you, and maybe that was why Lauren had confided in her.

"Just... be patient with Rachel," he'd said. "The more you're around, the more she'll come to accept you, as long as you don't threaten her place at the top."

"Don't worry, I have no intention of usurping her."

As Sunny came back around with his pot containing dahl and his ladle, he noticed the people sitting on the floor next to his family, and did a double-take.

There sat the Sandhus. Birinder, of all people, who'd sworn off the gurdwara, with Naira (nee Bains) and his mother and father, who sat next to his parents. The two fathers, coworkers of old, chatted amiably while Birinder stared off into space, chewing idly on a roti. He looked preoccupied, and Sunny wondered what in the world he was doing here, with his shorn hair covered anew by a patka, as it was custom in a gurdwara to cover the head. Naira, her hair also covered, was stoking Ajit's crush on her by looking at more of his photos of the sand sculpture competition from last weekend; maybe he was also showing her pictures of Glenbrook Ravine, the rock sculptures they'd found sitting on the park benches there, and the paintings up for sale at the silent auction.

When Birinder locked eyes with him, he brightened and waved him over. "Mr. Parhar!"

"Sunny, please, I think we're familiar enough that you can call me by name. Did you contact Mr. Randhawa?"

"I did, thank you, he's been wonderful."

"Have the police been giving you any more grief?"

"Like you wouldn't believe."

"Why? Wait, don't answer, I need to finish serving langar, but let's chat outside when I'm done."

"You're on," Birinder said, looking relieved. The man looked uncomfortable sitting on the floor, and would have welcomed any excuse to get up and walk around.

Sunny knew about Birinder being at the police station on Wednesday because Lauren had told him, but here was an unexpected coup, the chance to get information about his dealings with the police from his own mouth. He sped up his serving, then brought his pot and ladle back to the enormous kitchen where it was all made, with its restaurant grade appliances and vessels. He cleaned up and dried his hands, then hurried back into the great room. Birinder caught his eye and rose to follow him out.

After they put their shoes back on and emerged in the open air, Birinder took a deep breath and pulled off his patka.

"I don't understand," Sunny said. "If being here makes you so uncomfortable, why come?"

"Oh, you noticed, did you?" he said sheepishly.

"I'm sure everyone in the room noticed. I was surprised to see you here, actually. I know your parents go, but..."

"Actually, I was hoping to see you here."

"Me?" he asked in disbelief.

Birinder nodded. "So, that guy who was missing? The guy the police were asking me about? I went in with Mr. Randhawa on Wednesday to give a more formal statement about my movements in the last week, since they're not entirely sure when he went missing. Oddly enough, while I was there, I ran into the two women who were at the Open House with you that time I first met you."