In front of the restaurant, a valet drove off with Ginger, as a nervous Jesse stared after them. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea…” he said, as we walked into the foyer, before he froze in place. “Holy Moses.”

It had been a year since I’d set foot in Jannat, and it was, if anything, more spectacular than I remembered. The floor was inlaid black-and-white marble in a spiraling mosaic, and carved narrow columns rose up from it, supporting lavender silk hanging above like a canopy. There was a fountain further back, its black, gray, and lavender tiles looping in a stylized floral pattern.

The maître d’, a short, stocky man in a high-collared navy uniform, made a quick bow. “Good evening, Miss Moore.” He regarded me curiously. “You are Miss Moore’s sister, are you not?”

Good memory. “Yes, I’m Lily.”

“It is a distinct pleasure to have you join us again. Will your sister accompany you for dinner?”

“I don’t think so.”

“That is a shame. It has been so long since we have had the pleasure of her company.” He sounded genuinely forlorn.

“I know how much she loves this place,” I said. “When was she last in?”

“It was in the summer. Late August, I believe.” His brow furrowed. “You must tell her to come back. The warmth of her spirit is greatly missed.”

He led us to a small room that was paneled with carved rosewood. There was a low, legless rectangle for a table and oversized silk and velvet cushions scattered around it on the floor. All of the rooms at Jannat were private, so that you could hardly tell who was dining there unless you staked out the exits.

“Your sister prefers to eat as we do in Lahore,” said the maître d’, and I nodded. Pakistan was one country I hadn’t visited, but I’d eaten at the restaurant a few times and understood what he meant. He stepped out of the room and closed the door softly behind him.

“Where the heck are the chairs?” asked Jesse.

“You sit on the floor. On the cushions. Really, it’s comfortable.” I knelt on a red silk cushion and swung my legs out to the side, kicking off my shoes for comfort. I’d swapped my boots for heels back at Jesse’s, but I was still wearing the same black crepe vintage dress I’d pulled over my head that morning. It had seemed appropriate when I’d believed that I would be identifying Claudia’s remains that day. Now I just looked like a mournful mermaid.

“Damn,” said Jesse, lowering himself cautiously. “I could be in kindergarten again. Do we get storytime with this? Where are the menus, anyway?”