Death at the Samosa Cafe

by Mehnaz Sahibzada

About the Author: Mehnaz Sahibzada was born in Pakistan and raised in Los Angeles. She is a 2009 PEN America Emerging Voices Fellow in Poetry. Her poetry and fiction have appeared in Liminality, Moira, The Literary Hatchet, Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, Pedestal Magazine, Desilit, Strange Horizons, and elsewhere. Her first full-length collection, My Gothic Romance, was published in April 2019 by Finishing Line Press.

Excerpt

That Wednesday, as usual, I was the first to arrive at the cafe. My job was to scrub counters, percolate coffee, and prepare the store for business.

Around 7am, I parked my Nissan in the lot behind the shop and reached for my vintage Speedy, a bag I’d bought with the money my parents gifted me for graduation. Exiting the car, I took a deep breath. It was cold out, the weather blustery, and the Los Angeles clouds threatened rain.

The Samosa Cafe, my mother’s shop, was on Ventura Boulevard in Sherman Oaks. It opened three months ago, at the start of the summer, and business was booming.

After graduating from UCSB, I’d moved back in with my parents for a gap year. In the coming months, I would apply to get my nursing credential. Mom offered me a full-time job in the meantime, which was fine with me. Until I began nursing school, I was enjoying being home with my parents, my brother, Tariq, and our pet poodle, Seashell. For stimulation, I planned on joining a book club in Culver City that met monthly.

I wasn’t a natural in the kitchen, but Mom taught me some cooking basics, and my skills were improving.

Her shop was cozy with pink walls and three ceiling fans. A large map of the Punjab hung in the dining room.

We sported six tables on the inside and four on the patio, which overlooked the main street where crowds walked by, browsing the neighborhood stores.

Those who enjoyed an egg and potato samosa walked through our doors on their way to school or work.

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