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them.’ Maryam had never actually heard of this happening in any family she knew. People loved indulging small children. ‘It’s the right thing to pass on the business to a boy like that.’
    Maryam smiled in agreement although it sounded cold and dull. Nothing like her own married daughter, whose husband adored her and whose small baby was treated like royalty everywhere she went.
    â€˜Now I’m afraid I must ask you some questions which might upset you.’ Maryam began. ‘Jamillah. She worked near me you know, in the market. Can you think of anyone who was angry at her?’
    â€˜Jamillah didn’t make people angry with her.’ Noriah stated flatly. ‘She worked hard.’ That again! ‘And she was an honest businesswoman.’
    Maryam moved closer. ‘I don’t know if what I heard is true, or just plain gossip.’ She lowered her voice as though discussing a most sensitive secret. ‘I understand there have been conversations about marriage.’
    â€˜Really?’
    â€˜Yes. Murad’s son and Zaiton, Jamillah’s daughter. It might be a good match. Is it true?’
    Noriah gave her a very sharp look. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said archly. ‘Though my nephew will certainly make a wonderful husband. Zaiton would have been lucky.’
    â€˜I’m sure.’
    Noriah bridled. ‘I shouldn’t think anything like that would happen. Jamillah was a reasonable woman, and one who recognized advantages! Aziz, …’ she waved her arm dismissively. ‘But Zaiton had her eyes elsewhere.’ She gave them a significant look.
    â€˜Another boy?’ Maryam guessed.
    She nodded, trying to look solemn. ‘Not a great match, I’m afraid, but that’s what happens when you let young people just choose whoever they want.’
    â€˜Who is it?’
    She sniffed in disapproval. ‘Someone who worked on Murad’s boat. Rahim, that’s his name. From Semut Api. Nothing in particular.’
    â€˜Is it serious?’
    She shrugged. ‘It could be. But now is not the time to talk of any of this. Not in a time of tragedy. Jamillah was a good woman.’
    â€˜Of course, she was!’ Maryam agreed heartily. ‘But sometimes people can become angry or resentful, through no fault of our own.’
    â€˜I think if you live correctly, you can avoid that. We are responsible for our own actions.’
    â€˜I wouldn’t like to say that, Mak Cik .’ Maryam was becoming annoyed. ‘After all, someone did kill Jamillah, and I can’t believe it would be her fault. How could it be?’
    â€˜I must say, my husband and I have been thinking what she could have done to bring this on herself. And I can’t think of anything. She ran proper businesses, and kept herself to herself.’
    â€˜She was very nice and friendly at the market,’ Maryam remarked. ‘Everyone liked her.’
    Noriah’s face clouded. ‘A person’s life is not judged by how many people at the market like them. Nor will Jamillah be judged by that.’
    Rubiah had been silent up to now, but could no longer remain so.
    â€˜Of course, it is! We’re judged by how good we are, and that leads to people liking us. That’s not what life is like here: fair, frugal, proper. It’s more than that, and also,’ she was gathering a head of steam, ‘it doesn’t have to be her fault she got killed. It could be the killer’s fault. It is the killer’s fault.’
    Maryam was in no mood for a theological discussion. ‘Please, please,’ she begged, spreading her arms wide as if to encompass both Rubiah and Noriah. ‘Let’s stay on this topic alone. I really need your help,’ she gave Noriah her most imploring look. ‘Do you know anyone, anyone at all who might have borne a grudge against her?’
    She shook her head. ‘Jamillah, no. Aziz, yes! But not