Flowering Judas by Jane Haddam Page A

the rest of your party as soon as they arrive.”
    Shpetim followed Lora down the long passageway to the big table at the back. Lora had made him call ahead special to reserve it. The table was right up against a window, but instead of looking out on the parking lot, like the other windows did, it looked out on grass and hills and trees. The Elms was the most expensive restaurant in Mattatuck. It was the only restaurant in Mattatuck that served what Lora called “real American food.” By that, she seemed to mean steak and fries.
    The hostess with the teeth held out a chair. Lora sat down in it. The hostess put the menus down. Then she said, “Your server will be with you shortly,” and disappeared.
    Lora did not pretend to look at the menu. “Of course she’s our future daughter-in-law,” she said. “She’s Nderi’s choice. That isn’t the way we did it in Albania, but we’re not in Albania anymore. And I asked around. She’s a very nice girl.”
    â€œShe doesn’t have any family,” Shpetim said.
    â€œHer family was killed by MiloÅ¡evi ć . Does it matter that they were Greek Orthodox? She will become Muslim for Nderi, that’s enough.”
    â€œI thought you’d have more of an objection,” Shpetim said.
    To tell the truth, he’d thought she was going to have a screaming fit. Now here they were, in this expensive place. She wasn’t even leaving the first meeting to chance at home.
    Lora picked up her menu. “See if you can’t get me a Diet Coke,” she said. “She’s a registered nurse, this Anya Haseri. Did you know that? A registered nurse. That’s a good job. It brings in good money. It teaches a woman things she needs to know as a mother. And you can go back and forth with it, to stay at home when your children are young. Also, it shows that she’s intelligent, and ambitious. You have to care about these things.”
    Shpetim did care about those things. He just also cared about other things. And then there was the—irregularity of it. There should have been a meeting of families. Now there were no families, or only their own, which might be worse. If one of the pair wasn’t going to have a family, it ought to be the groom.
    The waitress arrived. She had too many teeth, too. Maybe they only hired women who had too many teeth. Shpetim asked for a Diet Coke for Lora and a mineral water for himself. Muslims were not supposed to drink, but he did have a beer now and then, sometimes with Nderi, usually after work. He couldn’t do that now.
    â€œThen there’s this other thing,” he said. “This thing with the police. Maybe this isn’t the best time to plan a wedding.”
    Lora put the menu down and gave him what he thought of as “One of Those Looks.” “What would make it not the best time?” she demanded.
    Shpetim took a deep breath. “The thing,” he said. “With the police. Because we found that. That thing.”
    â€œThe skeleton of the baby.”
    â€œLora,” Shpetim said. “Somebody will hear you.”
    â€œWell, I don’t see that it matters if they do,” Lora said. “Everybody knows all about it. It’s on the television stations. They’re bringing that man here, that man we saw on American Justice. That’s his problem. It isn’t ours.”
    The waitress came back with the drinks. Shpetim wanted to look at his watch. How long were Nderi and Anya going to take?
    â€œIt’s not that simple,” he said.
    â€œShpetim, please, it’s just that simple,” Lora said. “What would make it complicated?”
    Shpetim thought he really should have ordered a beer, no matter how bad it would look in front of Anya. He wished he had the nature to overthrow the ban entirely and have a whiskey. He looked at the back of his hand on the table. It looked old.
    â€œIt was an old skeleton,”