Side Trip to Kathmandu (A Sidney Marsh Murder Mystery Book 3) (12 page)

She stood and switched on the old air conditioner before continuing. It rattled into operation.

“So I have to say that any one of them could have had a long-term relationship with Mr. Sharma,” she concluded, again taking her seat across from us, “though I am not aware that any such relationship exists. I don’t know if they were acquainted with him before or not. You’ll have to ask them discreetly.”

“And any one of them could also have just met Mr. Sharma and paid him on the spot to get the report changed,” Jay said. “When it comes to money, I think his standards are pretty low.”

“Unfortunately, yes,” she replied with a sigh, “I believe you are correct.”

“Brooke,” I said, “did anyone else have a personal relationship with Felix other than business? Were any of the group friends with him socially?”

“Currently, only Jasmine and Lucy, as far as I know. Felix didn’t have many friends. Though brilliant with facts and figures, he was not a likeable person. As you already know, Jasmine was his ‘special friend’ recently. For a short time at first Felix was absolutely besotted with her. She is known to use her body to get what she wants. But it wasn’t long before the relationship cooled.”

“Jasmine and Felix,” Jay mused. “I still think that’s hard to imagine. He didn’t seem to be her type at all.”

“I don’t think she requires a specific type, dear. She has had many ‘special friends’ of all stripes. You may have read about some of them in the popular press. Most men are mesmerized by Jasmine, perhaps even all men.”

I was thinking of a possible connection with Felix’s death and the poisoned chocolate at Brooke’s Valentine party back in New York.

“Brooke,” I asked, watching her carefully, “do you remember exactly what the name of the poison was in the Valentine chocolate from your dinner party?”

She looked at me steadily, with pain in her eyes. “No, Sidney. I’m afraid I don’t. It was nothing I was familiar with, the chemical name in the report. I suppose I should remember it but I don’t.”

“If we called New York, could your assistant read it and tell us?”

“No, Sidney, I’m afraid not, for I locked the report in my safe. I’ll take a look at it when we’re back home. I should have brought a copy with me, but unfortunately, I didn’t.”

At that point we seemed to have run out of good questions. We chatted a bit about other things, but Brooke had little else to share with us beyond a warning to tread carefully in making our inquiries. She gave each of us a long serious look as she escorted us to the door.

“Remember, my dears,” she said, “this is no game. Be on your guard, as I am. I am fairly safe, especially with Rahim to protect me. You are far more vulnerable. Whoever was behind the failed attempt on me and perhaps the successful attack on Felix is deadly serious and may strike again. Your job is to discover who it is without putting yourselves in jeopardy.”

“We need to go home, Sidney, go home, go home, go home!” Jay said as we walked down the hall toward our rooms. “We need to tell Brooke we’re out of here and leave in the morning. This is impossible. We’re not even acting as travel agents or tour leaders here, which we are trained to do. Instead, we’re supposed to be her eyes and ears, bumbling around trying to figure out a deadly mystery without getting ourselves killed. We are absolutely not trained for that!”

We stopped at my door.

“Jay,” I said, do you think this could all be a delusion Brooke is having? Could she be imagining the whole thing?”

“No. Not really, because she has the proof of the poisoned Valentine chocolate locked away in New York, remember? That’s solid, I guess, though we haven’t actually seen it and are just going on her word that it exists. But if she dreamed it all up, if this is all a figment of her imagination and Felix’s death was just coincidental, then what we are assigned to do is even more impossible and ridiculous. She clearly thinks it’s real and is spending a lot of money to prove it, including bringing us along to watch her back and find the perp. But if she’s right, Sidney, and it’s all real, we’re in way over our heads and I think we should bail.”

“We can’t do that, Jay. We agreed to come and Brooke is depending on us. Plus, Silverstein wants us here. He is fine with it. He sent us along, remember? Even knowing better than we how it would be with Sharma and all.”

“But he doesn’t know why Brooke really wants us here. She didn’t tell him the real reason.”

“True.” I nodded thoughtfully. “But even if he did know, I don’t think he would care as long as he’s paid well … unless we somehow get more bad press for Itchy. All he cares about is keeping one of his best clients happy. It’s all about money with Silverstein too, just like Sharma.”

“No kidding.” Jay ran his hands through his hair as I unlocked the door to my room, a sure sign he was upset and worried.

I gave him a little hug.

“Let it go for tonight, Jay. There’s nothing we can do about any of it tonight. We’ll talk tomorrow after we’ve slept on it. Goodnight.”

My sage advice to Jay didn’t work so well on myself.

I couldn’t sleep.

After tossing and turning in the hot room for over an hour, wrestling through the whole thing in my mind, I gave up on sleep. I flung back the covers, pulled on some clothes, grabbed a bottle of water, and headed to the hotel garden for a walk in the fresh air. I felt safe in doing that. Even this cheap hotel had guards posted everywhere to keep out thieves and intruders.

#

At the sound of heavy footsteps on the gravel headed my way, I knew I was no longer alone in the garden.

Escaping the stuffy hotel room, I had found my way into the starry night, told the night watchman what I was doing, and wandered along the fragrant path in the walled garden until I found a bench where I could relax and try to unwind. A cool and refreshing breeze swayed the trees and caused me to shiver in my thin T-shirt.

The garden was the only lovely thing about the hotel. Someone, perhaps a previous owner, had given some thought to the way it was planted and constructed. Even though it too showed signs of neglect, the flowers were still beautiful, and it was a restful spot to compose my turbulent thoughts. A million stars spangled the dark sky.

Hearing the man—it was clearly a man from the sound of heavy footsteps—fast approaching, I stood quietly and considered my options. I could step back into the shrubbery to remain unseen, or break into an all out run for the light and safety of the hotel.

But it was too late. He was there.

When I recognized the boogeyman as only Adam, I was weak with relief.

“Hello, there, Sidney,” he said with a grin when he saw me, “what is your business out in the garden this late in the night all alone? Not a wise thing is that, aye?”

“I guess not. But it was hot in my room and I couldn’t sleep.”

He smiled as he saw me shiver, either from the freshening breeze or the relief, I don’t know which. I knew he was right. I had been stupid, not for the first time or likely the last. Adam put his arm around me as he led me up the path toward the hotel. That was nice. I liked that.

“The wind is rising. Open the windows and shutters in your room so you can sleep. You’ll be cool enough now. Let me take you back inside, lass. In the wee hours blighters may be roaming this lonely place. This is no place for a beautiful girl to be alone.”

We climbed the steps to the hotel. At the door, he paused and turned to me. In the shadow I could not see the expression in his eyes, but the suddenness of his kiss and strong embrace left no doubt in my mind as to what I thought was his intention.

Then he abruptly released me, almost shoving me inside the door, saying, “Scoot now, lass. Go to your room and sleep. And don’t be wandering anymore where harm might befall ye.”

Then he was gone, back into the night, leaving me to wonder about what had just happened.

As I entered my room, I wondered even more at my strong sense of disappointment and about the abrupt, inexplicable disappearances of the brooding Scot who I found so attractive.

T
hose same stars were still dimly shining when we boarded a little flat boat and waited to be shoved out onto the Ganges the next morning, sometime before dawn.

Rahim settled Brooke, Lucy, and Justin in the boat, then helped the rest of us board. Jasmine was not with us. As a native of India, she’d said the day before that she was quite familiar with the Ganges and had no interest whatsoever in the early morning excursion, preferring instead to sleep.

Leaving the hotel, we hadn’t even caught a glimpse of Sharma. Mohit and Rahim were the ones instructing the driver. Sharma seemed to have largely abdicated his position as a hands-on tour guide. His business was making a pile of money out of this trip, but clearly he had other fish to fry as well. He did not ask us to take up the slack.

At the riverside, Rahim said that Mohit would accompany us on the water and narrate, so he would be waiting on shore for us to return.

As our journey progressed, I had noticed that Rahim was not quite as vigilant as he had been previously. He was still attentive in his guard of Brooke, but he seemed more relaxed once we left Delhi. Bowing to Brooke, he stepped away from the shore. Looking over my shoulder, I saw him deep in conversation with a group of other Sikhs. I thought I had seen one of the men before, but in the dim, pre-dawn light it was hard to tell.

Seated exactly where I wanted to be—in the middle on a three-person wooden seat between Jay and Adam—I couldn’t help shivering in the stiff breeze off the river. By noon, I knew, the air wouldn’t be chilly at all. It would be hot, and the sun would be blazing.

Adam took off his jacket and draped it around my shoulders. Then he put his strong arm around me, pulling me closer to him.

“There, lass,” he said, “that’s better. You’re shaking. You need more clothes.”

Yes!
I thought.
Or fewer clothes. I’m liking this man.

I smiled up into the green eyes, thanking him.

Then that annoying little voice of conscience popped up in my mind, scolding me.

What are you thinking, Sidney?
it said.
Don’t mess around with this stranger. What about your captain? What about him?

What indeed? It didn’t matter about my captain. I quickly pushed aside an image of another tall dark man. I had loved that man with all my heart.

But his love for the sea was greater than his love for me, and I wasn’t interested in waiting on shore in Athens for him, raising a passel of children alone. So it didn’t work out. And now it was over. I’d told him so the last time he was in New York, not long before leaving on this trip.

So shut up
, I told the little voice,
and leave me alone
.

My reverie was broken by a jolt, a scraping sound, and a splash as burly men shoved our little skiff out onto the river. Then the shouted confusion gave way to silence, broken only by the sound of the oars rhythmically dipping into the ripples. I was blown away by the sight of the great river, with its dark water now lit by hundreds of candles floating on the surface. I knew I would never forget it.

Tiny papier-mâché or wooden images of major Hindu gods, painted in bright colors—red, yellow, orange—held the candles as they floated on the dark water. The tiny candles had been purchased and lit by the faithful and sent out onto the river, along with their wishes and prayers.

As the sky lightened in the east in streaks of pink, purple and gold, other boats joined ours. Birds flew overhead, and I could smell the smoke from the funeral pyres. Then the great sun rose, and we began to float slowly downriver with the current, watching the ghats, where hundreds of worshippers prayed, bathed, and drank the holy waters.

Jay has this thing for rivers. He has a goal of swimming in all of the famous rivers of the world and has been known to pepper his party conversation with stuff like “When I was swimming in the Amazon ….”

Occasionally, health concerns, like the parasite bilharzia in the Nile, will deter him from full immersion. Then he has to settle for just going out on the river in a boat.

Jay had talked a big game over drinks back in New York in anticipation of bathing in the Ganges. I have seen this happen before. The more wine he drinks, the taller his tales become. By the end of an evening, you’d conclude from his stories of the Mississippi, the Yangtze, or the Amazon that simultaneously wrestling a crocodile while fighting off a school of frenzied piranha was all in a day’s work for him.

Now, as the rising sun gave us a clear view of the murky, thick-looking water, I elbowed him and said, “Okay, Jay. Here’s the chance you’ve been waiting for. Jump in!”

He peered at the water without saying anything. Then he gave me a sheepish look before briefly trailing his hand over the side. He wiped it quickly on his pants and squirted some hand sanitizer from his pocket on it.

“That will have to do for the Ganges, Sidney. I can count it because part of my body was actually immersed in it. But there’s no way I’m jumping in there. If I didn’t get cholera, I might just bump into a body—one of those Ganga people.”

At that happy little thought, I shivered again, this time not from cold but from horror. I knew from Mohit’s talk that encountering a corpse in the river was a real possibility.

Adam sensed my uneasiness.

“Relax, doll,” he said. “Take your mind from such thoughts and enjoy the morning.” He gave my shoulder another little squeeze as he reclaimed his jacket. “Look instead at the sky, and the birds. The sun is warming us all. It’s going to be a fair day.”

Watching his handsome profile and strong arms as he lifted his binoculars to scan the ghats, I thought that it just might be a very lovely day indeed. I was looking forward to learning more about this attractive man. Because of that, and my loyalty and gratitude to Brooke, I again decided I had no intention whatsoever of going home. Jay could leave if he wanted, but I was staying.

From the front of the boat, Mohit raised his staff and began pointing out the significant buildings and important ghats that we were passing.

Lulled by his voice, I found that the talk of the dead turned my thoughts again to Felix’s unfortunate demise. Not for a moment did I believe Sharma’s claim of a mistake in the autopsy results. I was convinced that the first report had been the correct one, and that Felix was indeed poisoned on purpose, not by accident. Gliding along in the boat, half listening to Mohit’s patter, I studied my companions. Could one of them have poisoned Felix? If so, who? And why?

Lucy, seated in front of me in the middle between Brooke and Justin, was again chattering away to Justin in French. Both of them had known Felix well.

Then there was Adam. I knew that the attractive man sitting so close beside me had shared mutual business interests with Felix. I absolutely didn’t want it to be Adam, and didn’t think it at all likely that it was.

I remembered that Felix had handled financial matters, not only for Brooke, but for others in the group. Had Felix’s sharp eyes spotted irregularities that someone thought best buried forever? Wasn’t it likely that it was the same person Brooke thought was targeting her? Who would profit from eliminating both Brooke and Felix?

“I think we’ve seen quite enough, Mohit,” Brooke said, tapping him with her fan, interrupting both his spiel and my thoughts. “Let’s return to the hotel for brunch. The day is getting warm and we leave early this afternoon on our flight to Nepal.”

“Remember to leave time to buy silk,” Jay said. “Varanasi is famous for silk. I simply have to get some.”

“We will,” Brooke said. “A shopping trip is planned on our way back to the hotel. Mr. Sharma has arranged it.”

“Probably his cousin’s shop,” Jay whispered.

At the word from Mohit, the rowers turned the boat and leaned into the oars, soon returning us to the launching site where Rahim waited with the van.

On the way back to the shops, my thoughts returned to Felix and the fact that I would need far more than mere suspicion to force a further investigation into his death.

How could I manage that?

It seemed an impossible task. But as we slowed to a stop, the answer popped into my head. At the first opportunity, I would ask Mohit for advice. He seemed to have the answer for all things Indian.

The silk shop was definitely worth a stop, even if it was run by somebody’s cousin, and even if it offered a hefty commission to our tour guides for bringing us in. This “factory stop” featured beautiful silk at prices even better than we had bargained for in the market. I ended up buying several pieces of silk—not saris, just silk yardage in a rainbow of colors—to take home as gifts for my mother and aunts. My mother sews, and most of the aunts do, too. I knew they would be thrilled.

The bargaining extended to the shop as well, and by this time, I had learned how to do it effectively.

“You want a camel for the price of a donkey,” the shopkeeper complained to me. But we ended up agreeing on a price, one far below what the beautiful fabric would have cost at home.

I was really, really tempted by a lovely length of ivory silk, but I did not buy it. Jay knows me so well. He immediately understood why I rejected the purchase.

“You can’t buy that because it will get your mom’s hopes up, right, Sid?”

“True,” I said, reluctantly placing the exquisite fabric back on the shelf. “She would know I’d bought it to make a wedding dress and I’d never hear the end of it.”

Instead I bought black, and planned to have one of the tailors on the Lower East Side make it up into a dinner dress when I got back to New York.

#

After brunch I found Mohit sitting cross-legged on a stone bench in the garden, arms extended, with his hands, palms upward, resting on his thin brown knees. His eyes were closed in apparent meditation, but with this puzzling little man it was hard to know.

“Yes?” he said, without opening his eyes. “You seek the wisdom of Mohit for the answers that trouble your soul?”

“I do, Mohit. I absolutely do.”

He opened his eyes, staring at me through the thick round glasses.

“Then speak, madam. Tell me how I may be of assistance.”

Deciding that I was at a point where I had to trust someone, I unloaded on Mohit. I told him the whole thing, from start to finish, and in the end I appealed to him for his help and advice.

“The blood of this man cries up from the ground,” he said. “I will help you, for I see that you are sincere in your belief of what is right. I will make inquiries in certain places. But you must not speak of this to anyone, for he who has killed may kill again. Do you understand?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

He gave me a brief smile, then closed his eyes, raising his face to the sun, and said, “Go now. When I have something to say I will seek you out. Go now and say not a word.”

Feeling immensely better, I left him in the garden and went inside to find Jay and coffee. I was happy that I had sought Mohit’s help and confided in the wise little man. Somehow, I felt that in the telling a great burden had been shared.

#

“Suttee,” Jay said. “That’s what would happen to you, Sidney, if you lived here and your husband died. You’d just have to climb up on that funeral pyre with him whether you wanted to or not.”

We were seated in the Nepal Airlines gate, waiting for our flight from Varanasi to Kathmandu to be called.

“Jay, they don’t do that anymore. It’s illegal.”

“Well, I bet they still do it sometimes. Maybe in some remote village. What if they did that to you? What if the flames were licking your little toes?”

“They couldn’t. They’d have to catch me first. I’d run away.”

Neither of us seemed to be able to shake the knowledge of death rituals that we’d gained at Varanasi, even though we were by then far away from the river and leaving India with the group as scheduled for neighboring Nepal.

They were right when they said India affects you. I can’t explain it. It just does. I knew I would never forget India. It assaults the senses, and somehow forever changes your life. I had only seen a small part of the vast country and longed to see more. I vowed to return someday.

But at present, I was tapping the airport ATM, preparing to practice the time-honored art of
baksheesh
, hoping that to the greedy, money can buy anything.

Before leaving the hotel for the airport, Mohit had pulled me aside and informed me that Sharma was willing to part with a true copy of the Felix’s original autopsy report if I were willing to pay him a certain sum for it. He said Sharma would give it to me once we were out of India if I had the cash to pay. He would also guarantee its authenticity. It was Mohit’s opinion that this time, Sharma could be trusted, particularly for a certain amount of cash.

Wanting to get my hands on that documentary proof of the true cause of Felix’s death, I agreed. I told Mohit to tell Sharma I would raise the money and give it to him in Kathmandu, even though I knew it would blow a major hole in my funds. I knew that if I went to Brooke, she would likely agree to provide the money. But after all she had done for me, including giving me this luxurious trip, I thought paying Sharma for concrete proof of what had happened to Felix was the least I could do for her.