The news about Nigel Baxter’s murder spread through the tight-knit community like wildfire. That was all Meera’s regulars could talk about. She had disappeared into her office after serving the first cups of tea and let the kitchen deal with the order directly. She had taken out her diary and was trying to jot down everything she remembered about Nigel. 

There was a knock on the door, followed by Priya’s voice asking, “Hey, Meera? Are you in here? Did you hear the news?” She opened the door and let herself in. “Nigel Baxter was found dead in his room at the Raj House! Talk about being bad for business.”

She surveyed her friend’s face for a second and then said, “Okay, what’s wrong?”

“Close the door,” Meera said shortly, “I am sure the news will spread through the community soon enough. I’d rather just tell you myself.”

Priya quickly closed the door and sat in the seat that had been occupied by Inspector Vikram mere hours ago. She looked concerned. “What’s going on?”

“Apparently, Nigel died drinking one of our unique blends - Kashmiri Kahwa - and it was laced with poison,” Meera said, grimly, “And since it’s my brand’s name on the tin and the tea bag…”

“You’re a suspect?” Priya whispered. 

“They don’t have enough evidence to charge me,” Meera said, matter-of-factly, “I am a person of interest, and I have been asked by Inspector Vikram to ‘not leave town’. Like, I have somewhere better to be right now.”

“You’re awfully calm for someone who’s just been accused of committing a murder,” Priya said, pulling out her cellphone. “My cousin’s a defense lawyer. Do you want me to call her?”

“I didn’t kill him,” Meera said, shocked. “Why would I need a defense lawyer?”

“To make yourself aware of your rights,” Priya insisted, “Look, I am sending you her number. You never know when you might need it.”

“Oh, I have a better plan than to hire a defense lawyer,” Meera said firmly, “I am going to do some sleuthing of my own, and clear my name.”

“And that is exactly why you need to call the defense lawyer,” Priya said, her shoulder slumping. She saw the look of determination on her friend’s face and sighed, “You can’t let the police do their job, can you?”

“I am innocent,” Meera insisted, “But you know how people are. People will treat you as guilty until you prove otherwise. Ugh. I have been writing down everything I can remember about Nigel from his visit to the cafe. Want to take a look at it?”

She pushed her notebook towards Priya, who took it and started reading Meera’s frantically written notes. 

“Came to the cafe with a blonde lady on Friday?” she read out loud. “Oh, I know who you're talking about. That’s Clara. She has been a regular at Trinkets & Threads since her visit.” She leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “Do you think it’s a lover’s quarrel gone wrong?”

“I barely remember Clara,” Meera said, her shoulders slumping, “Maybe I should find her. Do you know where she’s staying?”

“Same place as Nigel,” her friend sighed, “She is staying at Raj House too. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to show up where the murder was committed - especially since you’re a suspect.”

“Person of interest,” Meera corrected her, annoyed. “Fine. Can you go visit her? I’ll track down the vendor he was arguing with yesterday and see if I can get more information.”

“Sure,” Priya said, getting to her feet, “I am going to run around town pretending we’re Cagney and Lacey. Why not?”

Meera scowled at her, “I don’t like being accused of doing something I didn’t do. Whoever killed Nigel also made sure they framed me in the process. I can’t just sit still and do nothing.”

“Fine,” Priya said, giving in, “But be careful. There’s a murderer in our community now.”

*

It wasn’t hard for Meeera to track down the vendor for she knew exactly where she needed to go to find information. 

The Spice Bazaar was a sensory overload of colors, voices, and spice-laden air. It was located at the edge of Chowk Bazaar, a goldmine for information. Malti Aunty, who ran the spice stall, remembered every face—and every feud. She was updated about all the goings-on in the community. Since she was used to Meera dropping into her store to source spices to try blends for the masala teas, she more than willingly parted with the knowledge she had. 

“Ah, the vendor Nigel was fighting with?” she asked, “I think he has a delivery at the Namgyal Estate today. Nasty business, all around if you ask me.”

“Why do you say that?” Meera asked curiously. 

“Rumour has it that Nigel was making some kind of shady deal with the Namgyal Estate’s son. The vendor had some insider information and didn’t want to part with it.” Malti Aunty said grimly. 

“Do you think the vendor would have killed to keep the secret safe?” Meera asked, intrigued.

“Child, I have seen people kill over less. Anyway, what spices do you want today?” she asked, “I just had fresh stock come in. Do you want to check it out?”

Meera shook her head, her mind spinning with the information that she had now. She mumbled something about running late for a meeting, and hurried outside. She fished out her phone, quickly dialled the number for the Chai & Spice Delivery guy, Keshav Chettri. He answered on the first ring. 

“Yes, Didi? Do you need me to take a delivery somewhere?” he asked, urgently.

“Yes,” Meera said sheepishly, “Can you take me to the Namgyal Estate? I am in front of the Spice Bazaar.”

*

The familiar sputter of a two-stroke engine echoed softly down the narrow lane outside the spice shop. Meera looked up just as a worn-out green Activa rolled to a stop by the café’s steps. Sitting astride the scooter was Keshav Chettri—late twenties, lean but surprisingly sturdy from years of darting through Darjeeling’s tangled streets.

Keshav wore a faded red windcheater, its sleeves rolled up to reveal lean forearms that spoke of hard work rather than idleness. A battered helmet hung loosely on one handlebar, and his dark eyes scanned the street with a sharp but easy-going expression that immediately put Meera at ease.

He grinned, flashing a quick, dimpled smile. “Ready for Namgyal Estate, Didi? The ‘Chai Bullet’ is fueled and itching for a run.” His voice carried a friendly tease, but there was a hint of reliability beneath it—a promise that he knew every twist and turn of those steep roads like the back of his hand.

With a quick nod from Meera, Keshav swung a leg over the scooter, and with a gentle roar, the green Activa bounced forward, kicking up a soft swirl of dust as they headed toward the winding path that led to Namgyal Estate.

“Why are we going there, though, Didi?” Keshav shouted over the wind roaring at them as he drove them down. “Are we going to start sourcing tea from them for the shop?”

“That’s not a bad reason,” Meera mumbled, realizing she had not thought of an excuse to turn up at the estate unannounced. “Umm, I am just trying to track someone down, Keshav. Don’t worry. It shouldn’t take me more than fifteen minutes.”

*

They reached the Namgyal Estate in record time. Keshav’s claim that he rode like the wind and not like danger had paid off. He killed the engine as Meera hopped off and ran into the estate gates, only stopping when the manager of the place looked at her with annoyance. 

“We are not doing tours today, miss,” he said, sternly, “But you are welcome to check with the office…” 

Meera peered at the name tag of his blazer that said, Dorje Sherpa, Manager. She smiled at him and said, “Oh, I am not here for the tours. I just had some questions about blends. I am the owner of Chai & Spice - a tea cafe on Mall Road, and just curious about sourcing some of our blends from your Estate.”

“Ma’am,” he said, sternly, “This isn’t how we do business. You have to…”

“What’s going on, Dorje?” someone asked sharply from behind him. 

Then, a much younger-looking man emerged from the shadows. There was an air of sadness about him. He was wearing the same formal clothes that Dorje wore. He spotted Meera and smiled at her. “Hello. How can I help you?”

“Sir,” Dorje said in clipped tones, “Ma’am, here is a cafe owner. She was inquiring about our blends?”

But out of the corner of her eye, Meera spotted the vendor she had been tracking walk out of the main building and walk ahead as if not seeing her. She chased after him, calling, “Hey, stop. I need to ask you something.”

The vendor stopped dead in his tracks and turned around. His expression softened when he recongized Meera. “Yes?”

“You and Nigel - what were you two fighting about yesterday?” she asked, urgently.

He furrowed his eyebrows and then remembering, laughed and said, “Oh! That? Moron wanted me to find out if Dev Namgyal would consider selling his portion of the tea estate to him. He wanted to invest, apparently. He wanted me to find a way to convince him.”

“He was trying to blackmail Dev Namgyal?” Meera asked blankly, “Why?”

“Look around you, lady,” the vendor snapped, “Who wouldn’t want a piece of this action?”

He shook his head and continued on his merry way. Nigel was trying to buy a piece of the Namgyal Estate? And he was willing to get his hands dirty to do it? That made no sense. He was a tourist. Was he planning on changing his status?

“Ma’am,” the younger man called, “Do you still want to talk about our blends?”

But Meera had other thoughts blending into her head now and couldn’t think of a response. 

To find out what happens next, check out the eBook, available on Kindle Unlimited & Kindle: