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

by Marie Moore

  Now I was pouting. “Well, I don’t care about them. I care about Brooke, and if she asks for my help, she gets it. We won’t be doing anything dangerous. All she asked us to do is watch and think and report back to her if we figure it out or see anything strange. That’s not risky. We can do that. You can do what you want, Jay, but I’ve decided to help her. I don’t think it will be dangerous for me to do that. And it’s not dangerous for Brooke either. She will be safe. She has Rahim to protect her.”

  “And who’s going to protect you, Sid? Who’s going to protect you?”

  “You are,” I said, closing the door. “Goodnight.”

  #

  Later, lying in the big bed in the darkened room with the pale Asian moon shining through the silk curtains, I did not feel so brave.

  Jay was right, of course. The sensible thing to do was refuse Brooke’s request, thank her for including us in her party, figure out a way to reimburse her for our expenses thus far, and return to New York. But I really didn’t want to do that. Brooke had asked for my help and I wanted to help her. She has certainly been there for me in the past in a big way, and I am grateful for that.

  Plus, bailing out would be awkward at best. Abandoning Brooke’s plan could have a pretty bad economic effect on Itchy, which Silverstein wouldn’t like either. Feeling that we had let her down, Brooke could angrily end her business with our agency. Although I’ve rarely seen it, I know a fiery temper comes with that gorgeous red hair.

  And selfishly, I have to admit, I hated to give up this once-in-a-lifetime experience. I had never been to India before, and certainly would never again get to travel in such luxurious style. I was thrilled just thinking about seeing all that India had to offer, and especially looked forward to the following side trip to Nepal and mysterious Kathmandu.

  I rolled over in the cool, silken sheets, plumped the downy pillows, and closed my eyes.

  My last thought as I slid into sleep was that I was not going home, no matter what Jay decided to do. I was up for the challenge.

  Not quitting.

  Not bailing out on Brooke.

  Not heading back to New York and Itchy.

  Not going home.

  No way.

  Chapter 6

  “Well,” I began, cutting into a slice of golden mango, “What’s it going to be, Jay? Are you going or staying?”

  He made a face and appeared to be giving my question some thought as he sipped his coffee.

  We were seated near the window in the hotel restaurant, enjoying the morning sunshine and blue sky. Birds flew from branch to branch in the massive banyan tree just outside the window, and the light was bright, even at such an early hour. Though the sun was barely up, it looked as if the day would be a hot one.

  “Staying, I guess. It’s a long ride back, even though I gotta tell ya I’m not at all sure about this Pandora’s box of a trip. But, after all, I guess someone’s gotta look after you.”

  “Right,” I smiled. “Good. Somehow I knew that would be the reason.”

  I tasted my omelet. As expected, it was delicious. I took a slice of crisp toast from the basket, passed the basket to Jay, and looked around the big room. No one else from our group seemed to be up and about yet. Jay and I were both early risers.

  “If you’re looking for the others, Sid, don’t bother. I saw Adam MacLeod in the lobby first thing this morning and he said all the others were having breakfast in their rooms. All except Mohit, the seer, that is. He is seated cross-legged on the pool deck, facing the dawn. Some kind of meditation, I guess.”

  “Where is Adam MacLeod now?” I asked, trying to sound uninterested.

  “Well, wouldn’t you just like to know, Missy?” Jay laughed. “I saw you checking him out at the dinner last night, don’t think I didn’t.”

  “I was not.”

  “Yes, you were, and hanging on his every word. Bet you were super-disappointed when he bailed on you.”

  I had been attracted to MacLeod, and sorry when he left. If Jay had read me that easily, wouldn’t MacLeod have done so as well? Now that was embarrassing.

  I could feel the heat in my face.

  “Now, now, pumpkin, stop blushing. Don’t worry about it,” Jay said, laughing harder and giving my hand a pat. “He likely isn’t as tuned into you as I am. I’ve had lots of practice. If you really want to know, I’ll tell you where he is. He’s gone for a walk. Said he couldn’t wait half the morning for the others to rouse.”

  “I wish I had gone for a walk,” I sighed. “I always see a lot more when I am walking in a new place instead of whizzing by in a car.”

  “That’s true. But given some of the violent crimes against women here that have been reported in the news recently, I don’t think a solitary stroll would be too smart. You are obviously a young female tourist. Not a good idea to go rambling through deserted streets in a strange city by yourself. It would be all right, I guess, if you were escorted by a tall Scotsman. You’d be safe then—from the muggers, I mean.”

  His eyes were dancing as he spoke, and he would have delighted in saying more, I’m sure, but our Indian tour leader, S.L. Sharma, had just bustled into the room and was fast approaching our table.

  “Uh oh,” Jay said. “Sharma alert. Here he comes. You know, I have no real basis for it, but there’s just something about that guy I can’t stand.”

  “What time are we supposed to meet the others?” I asked, rummaging in my bag, glad for even a visit from Sharma as a reason to distract Jay from his teasing. “I don’t see my schedule. I must have left it in my room.”

  “Ten o’clock in the main lobby. If you need another schedule, I’m sure Mr. Sharma will be happy to give you one, though he’s likely to add it to Brooke’s bill. Finish your coffee. I don’t want to linger over breakfast with this guy.”

  Sharma was wearing the same suit he had worn the night before, though with a different and even louder tie. The knot was as big as an apple. He wore a fresh lavender silk shirt with his belly straining the buttons and must have abundantly re-oiled his black hair. His strong cologne preceded him and made me glad I had already finished my meal.

  “Please, may I join you?” he said. He pulled out the chair opposite Jay and sat without waiting for a reply. He carefully placed his bulging black leather briefcase on the empty chair.

  “Good morning, Mr. Sharma,” I said. “We were just talking about our plans for the morning. I seem to have misplaced my schedule. Ten o’clock in the lobby, is that right?”

  “Yes. Ten o’clock. Ten sharp. We will go all together in a small coach for an orientation tour, pausing at India Gate for photographs. Then will stop at Red Fort for a guided visit. This afternoon there is free time for optional tours. And Mrs. Shyler has asked that cars be available for anyone who would like to go shopping.”

  He gave us both an insolent stare. His barely concealed hostility toward us was puzzling. I couldn’t imagine how we might have offended him, since we had only met the night before. It didn’t take long to discover his thoughts.

  “You should have all the information in the tour leader packet you were given,” he said. “It includes particular details that were not included in the packets of the special guests. I have been told by Mrs. Shyler to coordinate all the planned activities with you, though I believe that to be totally unnecessary. I do not understand it. Totally unnecessary.” He shook his oily head. “There is no need for this,” he said, his voice rising higher. “All the arrangements were made weeks ago, and the itinerary especially designed by me and my staff. I do not need or want your assistance.”

  Jay leaned forward into Sharma’s space, towering over the chubby little man. “Look here, S.L.,” he said in an even voice, “we know you didn’t plan to work with us, and we didn’t exactly ask you to dance either. But whether you like it or not, we are in this together. Because that’s how Mrs. Shyler wants it. She pays the bills and she calls the shots. And things will go a lot smoother if you lose the attitude. We don’t intend
to disrupt your tour or alter your arrangements. We haven’t run the numbers on what you are charging Mrs. Shyler for your services either. Not yet, anyway. And we likely won’t, unless you make her, and us, unhappy. We all want her to be happy, right? But if she’s not, if we’re not, then it’s a whole different ballgame. Understand?”

  Sharma’s face broke into a phony, toothy grin, but his little black eyes remained hard and glittering.

  “Of course, of course,” he said. “We must all work together in harmony. I desire nothing more, my friend.”

  He picked up the leather bag, opened it, and removed another tour packet, which he handed to me “with my compliments.” Then, without another word, he rushed away from the table and out of the room, as fast as his chunky little legs could go.

  “That was fun.” Jay said, as we left the dining room and neared the elevator. “I’d really love to thump that little slime ball, Sidney. I know that between them, he and Silverstein are charging Brooke out the wazoo for this fancy little excursion. And I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find that there is an extra big piece of the pie just for old S.L.”

  “Did you see all the cash stuffed in that bag when he opened it?” I asked.

  He punched the elevator button.

  “Yep. But that’s normal, nothing to get excited about. Baksheesh. Bribe money. Hard to do business in this part of the world without greasing the wheels. Sharma is an expert at that for sure. If I play my cards right, maybe he’ll give some of that cash to me.”

  “Jay, you wouldn’t!”

  “No, babe,” he said, laughing, “I wouldn’t. But it was worth trotting the idea out there just to see the shocked look on your face. ’Bye. See you at ten sharp.”

  #

  The hard black eyes of the snake reminded me of Sharma’s as it rose erect out of its basket to face the small brown man sitting cross-legged in the dust. The snake charmer was seated just out of the reptile’s strike zone, though any distance would have been too close for me. I hate snakes.

  A shiver ran down my spine as the scaly beast spread its hood and began to sway in time with the motion of the pungi, a bulbous, flute-like instrument made from a gourd and played by an orange-turbaned man.

  We had just unloaded from our coach at the Chandni Chowk market stop, directly in front of the massive red sandstone bulk of Red Fort. Seeing us disembarking, the snake charmer had come running, his snake baskets swinging from a wooden pole across his thin shoulders, and hastily set up his gig. He was just out of sight of the fort’s guards, for the Indian government has mounted an effort to stop the practice in response to pressure from animal rights groups. Laws had been enacted that were intended to protect the snakes.

  “He is a member of the Sapera caste,” Mohit murmured. “His father and grandfather were likely snake charmers before him. The Sapera are worshippers of Kāli, the Goddess of Time and Change, who is the consort of Lord Shiva. Her name conveys death. It is written, ‘At the dissolution of things, it is Kāli who will devour all.’ ”

  “I’ve had rather enough of this,” said Lucy, who was standing next to Brooke. “Gives me the shivers!”

  Lucy was a compact little woman with lovely blue eyes that crinkled when she laughed. I recalled how she had spent most of yesterday evening conversing with the Parisian filmmaker. Her precise British speech and erect posture spoke of her boarding school background. She was short, for her silver-blonde head only came to Brooke’s shoulder as they stood together in the sunlight, watching the man and his snake.

  “I agree,” said Brooke, “let’s walk to the fort and out of the sun. It’s time to move on anyway. We seem to be attracting quite a bit of attention.”

  Peddlers and beggars surrounded our little group. We walked briskly toward the gated entrance, with Mohit in the lead and Rahim and Sharma shooing away the more persistent of the salesmen.

  “Bloody pests!” said Felix, the big English money manager. “Filthy bugger! Get out of my way! Someone ought to arrest the lot of them.”

  His face, under the warming sun, was getting redder by the minute. In the sun’s strong golden light I could see through the thin blond strands of hair to a scalp that was reddening too. Sweat beaded on his forehead and ran down the sides of his beefy face. His overheated condition was probably made worse by the number of drinks he’d consumed at the hotel bar after Brooke’s dinner and the hair of the dog he’d had for breakfast. His hangover may have added to his bad temper as well. No one else seemed to be particularly bothered by the crowds or the temperature.

  Red Fort loomed above us as we filed through the entrance gate. Once inside, the morning was suddenly calm, quiet, and pleasant again, for the teeming mass of peddlers and beggars are not allowed inside India’s national monuments.

  Red Fort, like many of the other forts and palaces, was first built by Shah Jahān in the fifteenth century. A World Heritage Site, it was the seat of power for the Mughal rulers of India for two hundred years. We entered at the Lahori Gate, which has emotional and symbolic meaning for the people of modern India. Every year on India Independence Day a flag is raised here and a speech given by the prime minister.

  Just inside the outer wall we picked up a local guide, a pleasant, gray-haired man named Dave Patel. Dave led us though the first courtyard, explaining the history and traditions of life under the Mughal rulers, who were descendants of Genghis Khan.

  I stood with Jay and watched our group gather in the shadow of the ancient Hall of Public Audience. With a pleasant breeze blowing and a bird singing from his perch on the dazzling marble pavilion before us, it was hard to concentrate on the complex history that Dave was rattling off in his sing-song voice. Numbed by his rapid-fire delivery of facts and figures, my mind wandered back to Brooke’s startling revelations and suspicions.

  I could hardly wrap my brain around the idea that one of my companions might actually be a thief and murderer. I looked at them, now lounging on the marble steps in the sunlight as they listened politely or pretended to listen to Dave spout facts. Yet it must be so. Brooke certainly believed that it was and was spending a lot of her treasure to prove it.

  As Dave droned on at length about the military history of India, I mused over the puzzle, wondering how or if I could solve it. I knew that it would be difficult. All my fellow travelers were rich, smart, and sophisticated. Plus, the culprit must be very skillful to have eluded discovery thus far. It seemed an impossible task, especially since Brooke hadn’t yet explained what had happened to make her suspect them.

  I looked my new friends over as carefully as I could without appearing to stare. There was Adam, the interesting green-eyed Scot; Jasmine, the beautiful Indian movie star; Lucy, the tiny blonde expat Englishwoman; big Felix, also a Brit, who was unpleasant but hardly struck me as criminal; and Justin, the slim, clever Frenchman. Some were more attractive than others, but none seemed capable of the horrendous acts Brooke had described. Each appeared to be a normal, ordinary person just like Jay and me. Except, of course, that they were all extremely wealthy and we were definitely not. I intended to talk with Brooke further, as soon as I could, to learn more about her reasoning and the facts that led her to such a startling conviction.

  “Please follow me now,” Dave said finally, “as we enter the inner sanctum of the great Khan. The public was not allowed past these gates. This inner court was only for his personal pleasure and that of his courtiers, family and trusted advisors. Here we will see the Hall of Private Audience, once the location of the fabled Peacock Throne, the ruler’s private mosque, and his harem.”

  Adam put his arm around Jasmine’s shoulders and whispered something in her ear as we passed beneath the arch and through the gate. She threw her head back and laughed, smiling up at him with her amber eyes flashing and raven hair swirling in the breeze.

  Jasmine was nationally known as a minor Bollywood film star. People stared at her in the streets because of her fame and beauty and sometimes called out her name. Born to a poor family in a sm
all village in the Kerala region of India, she had moved to Mumbai and gained fame and fortune in the film industry. Or so Mohit had told me after dinner.

  “He’s invited her to join his harem,” Jay whispered in my ear. “Bet you wish it was you instead.”

  I gave him a sharp look but didn’t answer. He would hear from me later. Jay’s favorite pastime is teasing me, and on this subject he was getting on my last nerve, as my cousin Earline would say.

  Chapter 7

  There were few takers on Brooke’s offer of private cars to the upscale Khan Market or a return to the Chandni Chowk after a lavish lunch of South Indian specialties. Only two cars were going from the hotel. All our fellow guests had visited New Delhi numerous times before and half of the group preferred to make other plans for the afternoon. Following the ten-boy curry lunch I suspected that those plans were only for a nap or a swim. Jay had informed me that the term “ten boy” means ten courses, each served by a different “boy” or waiter. In other words, a really large lunch.

  Lucy, Felix, Brooke, Jay and I met in the lobby at 1:30. All chose the Chandni Chowk over the more modern Khan Market. Touristy as it is, browsing the Chandni Chowk is far more interesting than upscale shopping, and my fellow travelers already had all the luxury goods they could ever want. Jay loves designer things, of course, but only when they can be had at a bargain, so even he was content to skip the high-priced Khan Market in favor of the ancient bazaar.

  Located in the heart of Old Delhi, across from Red Fort, the Chandni Chowk has crowded, twisting alleys that lead into the Khari Baoli, the main spice market. Goods of every sort, from tawdry trinkets to treasure, are there to be haggled over. Brass, silver, silk, linens, jewelry, cooking pots, herbal medicines, live chickens, all are crammed into the tiny shops. Jay and I were confident that the colorful sights, sounds, and aromas would transport us far from our normal shopping experience. We could hardly wait to get there. Even back in New York we had been excited about the prospect of power shopping in the old city.