The Inspector Walter Darriteau Murder Mysteries - Books 1-4 by David Carter (best finance books of all time .txt) 📕

Saturday the cricket bat was retrieved and ceremonially opened. It was a defining moment in the history of the Khan family. Everyone was there. Wazir, who had glued that bat together all those years before, Nadirah, who had helped to bury it in Calicut in the yard at the back of their house to save it from Hindu looting, Ahmed, his hair now lank and thinning, and his fattening English wife Gloria, and their fast growing son, Mohammed. They all stared in wonder as the bat was split open, and the magical sword revealed.

It looked as if it had been made yesterday, as if it had been cleaned that morning, as if it had been sharpened an hour before. It was hundreds of years old, yet a thing of unique beauty, as those gathered there staring down at the flashing jewels set within the ancient ivory handle would forever testify.

What warrior had first held it?

What tales could it tell?

How many people had fallen under its spell?

How many foes had perished to its blade?

It was high time the sword saw the light of day again.

Time indeed for the precious artefact to regain its glory.

THE KHAN FAMILY COMMISSIONED a special display case that would house the family weapon that had taken on mythical status. The box resembled the cases that English fishermen would use to display prize catches, but this box was different. The glass was especially toughened, unbreakable, bullet proof, cost a fortune, but the taxman was paying, anything to reduce the tax liability on the business. It would go through the books as essential fittings for the restaurant.

The wood was solid mahogany, hundreds of years in the growing, nurtured in the tropics, like the sword itself, tough as nails, virtually unbreakable, while the case was fastened shut utilising a special heavy duty lock that Ahmed had designed and built himself.

There were only two keys.

One for Wazir, and one for Ahmed.

The whole thing was fitted to the wall behind the bar, and floodlit, enabling the jewels to shimmer and sparkle, mesmerising passers-by. The case was then draped in best Calico cloth, made in, and imported from, Calicut in the State of Kerala, especially for the occasion.

The sword would be officially unveiled on the Sunday evening, where Wazir, always one with an eye for a little free publicity, invited the same aging food writer from the Chester Observer to attend the ceremony, and the special dinner that would follow. In the next edition the writer wrote a fabulous review, and afterwards the crowds flocked to the ever- expanding State of Kerala like never before.

Next, Wazir set his eyes on another adjacent empty unit that had just come available. Many people wanted food in a hurry, they didn’t always want to come in and sit down and be waited upon. A take-away was the obvious answer, and like everything else he touched, it was destined to become a great success. Wazir Khan and his family were on a roll.

WAZIR WOKE UP. HE HAD been dozing. He was alone, sitting in the luxurious lounge set above the main restaurant. He’d been thinking about the old days, about how he had first thought of opening a restaurant, and all the things that had happened since. He thought about the old days a great deal, though he strives hard to think of the future too. The doctor said he should retire, take it easy, he deserves it, but he won’t. He’s in his late eighties. Frail but sharp, and as full of plans as ever. Nadirah still potters around, oversees the menus and cooking, always worries that quality standards might slip, though they never do. She’s eighty-four.

Ahmed has been promoted, he’s in charge, or at least he thinks he is, though Wazir might still disagree with that. Gloria has long gone. Christian, you see, flighty. Only to be expected. Ahmed doesn’t miss her. None of the Khans do.

It took him a long time to fall in love with catering and the restaurant business, but eventually Ahmed did. He was so proud of the perfect State, as he called it, and so proud of his parents for all they had achieved; through all the hardships they had encountered, and were forced to endure.

He’s sixty-seven, that cute little boy the two policemen stared down upon on that drizzly day on the Liverpool dock road from years ago, as one of them wafted the family cricket bat high in the air, that same bat containing the family treasure that now took pride of place on the wall behind the main bar. The Khans laugh about it now, at that nervous moment, when they thought the family secret was about to be discovered.

Once it was opened, Wazir repaired the cricket bat and the local kids immediately began using it, so much so that it was soon worn out and abandoned.

Mohammed, Ahmed’s son, was forty-four, how time flies, and in his prime. He boasted a pretty wife in Akleema, and two fine children, both of whom worked in the business, Sahira, his beautiful daughter, and Maaz, the son and heir, who one day will carry the flag for the entire Khan dynasty.

Recipes and ingredients still arrive from India once a month, though not from Aunty Husna, for she has long gone, but from her niece, and postal orders still wing their way back to the subcontinent in exchange. They are not as good as they used to be, the recipes, but that is only to be expected, for the late Aunty Husna was something special. But it would be dreadfully unlucky to end the arrangement for the niece meant well.

The Khans would never refuse her recipes, and will happily pay for as long as they come. The State of Kerala was prospering like it never had before, and Wazir was a contented man.

He has enjoyed a good life, leaving aside the terrible demise of his parents.

He’s content with his achievements.

God has been truly kind to him, and