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

by Marie Moore

After breakfast, Sharma gathered the group and gave us the plan for our short visit to one of the lodges of Tiger Tops, the famed jungle resort in and near the Chitwan National Park. It was to be a highlight of the trip, something we had all, even the most sophisticated of us, been looking forward to.

  Everyone, that is, but Jay.

  He had come down to breakfast late, bleary eyed and hung over. On learning that we would have to travel to the lodge on elephants because the river was flooded after the monsoon rains, Jay threw a hissy fit that would even have met Jasmine’s standard.

  I knew during Sharma’s briefing that Jay was getting all twirled up over something, but he hid it in front of the others. Not until we went to my room upstairs afterward did I find out what the problem was.

  “I am not climbing on an elephant, Sidney, and that’s final. Not doing it. Not happening, no way.”

  Jay stood with his arms folded against his chest and his eyes shut like a big, red-headed child, as if by closing his eyes he could make the whole situation go away.

  Jay is terrified of large animals, a fact that I learned about him early in our relationship. His phobia was confirmed on our disastrous trip to South Africa.

  “You have to, Jay, if you want to go to Tiger Tops. You heard what the man said. The river is flooded. The roads are underwater. It’s the only way in. We have a short flight over the mountains to the Terai—the flatland. Then we land at an airfield and are met by a truck from the lodge. The truck takes us to the river. Then we climb on the elephants and they take us across the river to the camp. That’s it. Simple. And it’s the only way in unless you want to parachute. There’s no other way. If you won’t ride the elephant, you’ll just have to stay here by yourself. Because I’m going. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I think it sounds like the most fun ever.”

  He shuddered, and looked at me as if I’d just said I was going to enjoy eating a bowl of worms.

  He moved to the window, staring out without saying anything, his back to me.

  I waited and let him stew, saying nothing.

  “Sidney,” he said finally, still with his back to me, “knowing me as well as you do, I can’t believe you are actually asking me to ride a wild elephant.”

  “The elephants are not wild, Jay. They’re well trained. People do this elephant-riding thing every day in this part of the world. Asian elephants are trained from the time they are small. This is one of the things they are taught to do—carry people. They’re tame and docile. My Aunt Minnie could ride one of these elephants.”

  I stretched out on the bed, pulling pillows up behind my head and waited some more. I didn’t say anything further, letting him have time to work through it.

  Finally he collapsed in the chair by the bed and said in a low voice, “Okay. I’ll go. I guess I’ll have to. The ride shouldn’t last too long, should it? I mean, the river is not too wide, is it? Sharma said a small river. I think I can stand it long enough to cross a small river.”

  #

  The river was not small.

  It was wide, way beyond its normal banks from the monsoon rains. And the journey was not short, either. It took hours to get there, rocking on a canvas cushion set on a small, wooden, railed platform atop a huge gray beast.

  Our small propeller plane had flown over the jagged snow-covered peaks of the Himalayas, the tallest mountain range in the world, to a narrow green plain called the Terai. Everyone was glued to the windows hoping to photograph the famous mountains, trying to spot Everest and Annapurna.

  The Terai is a narrow, marshy, grassy plain straddling the border of India and Nepal at the feet of the Himalayas. It is a fertile region and along the river on one side, small villages of farmers grow rice, wheat, sugar cane, jute and tobacco. The farmers fight off nightly forays from the Bengal tigers and cloud leopards that live within the sprawling confines of our ultimate destination, the Chitwan National Park, formerly The Royal Chitwan National Park.

  Once the playground and private tiger-hunting preserve of kings and maharajahs, it is now a World Heritage Site. Chitwan, meaning “heart of the jungle” is open to the public and tiger hunts are no longer allowed. In addition to the tigers and leopards, the jungles of the park are filled with lots of other animals. It boasts a sizeable population of rare one-horned rhinos, sloth bears, rhesus monkeys, and mugger crocodiles and is home to seventeen varieties of snakes, including the rock python and king cobra.

  After landing on a grassy strip, our plane taxied, turned, and took off, headed back to Kathmandu. It would not return for us for several days.

  Brooke had chosen not to accompany us on the journey. She said she was tired from our travels, had stayed at Tiger Tops before, and preferred to rest in the luxurious hotel in Kathmandu until our return. Rahim, of course, remained with her, and Mohit and Sharma as well. Jasmine’s burly assistants, who doubled as her security guards, were left behind as well. Tiger Tops was quite used to visits by film stars and other celebrities, so her treasured privacy and security was assured.

  “You will not need any of our services on this most excellent adventure,” Sharma had said as we prepared to leave the hotel. “All is arranged. The most famous Tiger Tops staff will take care of your every need until you return. It is most luxurious. If you wish anything, even the smallest of things, you only have to ask.”

  The description of luxury in a world-famous place sounded good to Jay. The descriptions of the huge variety of animals, birds, and reptiles to be seen, not so much.

  “You can look at all the animals you want, Sidney,” he said. “Just don’t ask me to go with you. I’ll be at the bar, chatting it up with the rich and famous, or in the spa, having a massage. I’ll look at your photos of the cute little animals but that’s all. That’s as close as I get. You know I hate nature.”

  Jay might not be actively participating in the jungle safaris, but he certainly looked the part. Following his pattern of costuming for the occasion, he was dressed like a jungle explorer in a movie and I fully expected him to trot out a British accent before the adventure was over. I’m sure he thought I looked shabby in my old T-shirt and jeans.

  A large green truck picked us up at the airstrip and took us on the next leg of our journey. Everyone except Jay was in high spirits, enjoying the adventure as we bounced along a rutted road and lurched through mud holes until we reached a clearing where a group of huge elephants and their keepers—mahouts—were waiting.

  Ever climbed up on an elephant? Ever climbed up on an elephant without any sort of mounting platform, ladder, or stool? Well, I did. In the patterned shade of a huge kapok tree, the mahout told the elephant to kneel slightly, and another smiling man held the end of the elephant’s tail, bending it into a loop against the big beast’s rear end. Then I was instructed to step onto the big curved tail and clamber up. I couldn’t believe it, but I did as I was told and it worked. It was actually easy. There I was, in two minutes, sitting on top of the elephant. And the elephant hadn’t seemed to mind in the least. That mounting method was apparently routine for him.

  Jay was still standing, ashen, on the ground, refusing to mount the elephant. I thought it might take a block and tackle to lift him. He looked in no state to scramble up the giant gray rump.

  But before long, seeing all the others mounted, he knew he had little choice. So he relented and was soon sharing my howdah with me as the elephant rose to full height and lumbered off, following the others across the marshy plain toward the river.

  The howdah was a simple, practical device made a bit more comfortable by square gray canvas cushions. It was nothing like the heavy, ornate gilt conveyances commonly used in ceremonial parades.

  Each turbaned mahout, riding just in front of us behind the elephant’s head, guided the creature with vocal commands aided by his bare feet and a long metal hook. He was not seated on our rough wooden platform with us, but rather directly in front on the back of the animal’s neck. He handed us two large umbrellas to shelter from the sun as necessar
y.

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” Jay said. “This is the worst thing I’ve ever done in my life. I want to go home. I want to go back to New York.”

  I glanced at him, briefly concerned that he might actually have motion sickness from the undulating gait of the elephant, but his color was returning and he looked fine.

  “You’ll be all right soon, Jay, once you get used to it. I think it’s fun. What a view from up here! Isn’t it beautiful? Look, there’s the river!”

  “We can’t cross that, Sidney. Look at it. It’s too deep, and the water is moving too fast.”

  But cross it we did. It was a piece of cake for the elephants. Apparently fording the deep swirling waters was routine for them. In no time at all we were through the water and slowly threading our way single file through the giant cane and tall, elephant grass on the other side. The white plumes of the plants, shoulder high to the animals, gleamed in the sun and swayed with the wind as we passed through. It was a beautiful sight. We were surrounded by a sea of shining white, stretching as far as I could see toward the distant shade of the forest of sal trees.

  The ride was long. It took several hours, and well before we entered the jungle camp Jay’s conversation had switched from his fear of the elephant to complaints about the discomfort of the howdah. We were both a bit sore and stiff and relieved to spot the dismounting platforms at the camp, where white-clad, turbaned staff waited to greet us and help us unload. There was no “Welcome to Tiger Tops” signage at the camp entrance, which was disappointing to Jay, who had asked me to take a picture of him atop the elephant in his ridiculous outfit to show off to his friends.

  We were welcomed with drinks and a long speech from the khaki-clad manager. Then we were led down a series of paths to our rooms, in individual huts.

  The quality of the accommodations was surprisingly poor, to say the least, for a place of such international renown. But at that point, I didn’t care. I was just glad to be able to stretch out on the sagging cot in my tiny hut for a rest before dinner. The manager had said that a bell would ring to call us to the table.

  When I woke at the sound of the bell, I found that my bag had not been delivered to my room as promised. I opened the door to see if it had been left outside. No bag. Annoyed, I ran my fingers through my tangled hair in the cheap metal bathroom mirror. I washed my face as best I could in the thin stream of water running into the rust-stained sink, and dried it on one of the small mismatched towels. Then I headed down the path, following signposts to the center pavilion, where dinner was waiting. I saw no other guests. The members of our little group appeared to be the only visitors.

  The dining pavilion was actually another hut, about ten feet wide and fifteen feet long, dominated by a locally made wooden trestle table and benches. It was not air conditioned, which was okay in the cool of the evening, but I knew that in the heat of the day it would be sweltering.

  I was apparently the last to arrive at dinner. Everyone looked up as I opened the screen door and slid into a seat on the bench next to Lucy. No one looked happy.

  “I fell asleep,” I said. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “It’s fine, dear,” Lucy said. “Dinner’s late too.”

  Dinner, when it came, consisted of large bowls of rice and beans, fresh bread and farmer cheese, and a platter of sliced fresh fruit, all served family style. It was a good simple meal but certainly not the gourmet delights advertised by the world-famous Tiger Tops. It had become abundantly clear to all of us by this time that we were not at Tiger Tops at all. We were not sure where we were. Actually, the only thing that was certain was that Sharma had let us down again.

  After dinner we sat in a circle of wooden and canvas sling-back chairs with lukewarm bottles of water and local beer, venting and deciding what to do.

  Adam spoke first. “I had a bit of a conference with the lad in charge here. As you all realize by now, this is certainly not Tiger Tops. This place is called Big Tiger Watch Camp. They have similar activities, such as the elephant safari scheduled for the crack o’ dawn, but I think the similarity to the type of camp we were expecting ends there. We are not actually inside the boundaries of Chitwan National Park either, but rather on the border of it.”

  “Can we leave this place in the morning and move to the real Tiger Tops?” Justin asked.

  “I’m afraid not,” Adam said. “I was allowed to pay for a call there, using the only telephone in the camp, in the manager’s office. The real Tiger Tops is fully booked, and has been for some time. They have no record of any reservations for our group ever being made there at all.”

  “Did you try to call this cheap crook Sharma?” Jasmine asked. “I cannot stand this terrible place. Jasmine does not sleep on cots.”

  “I tried, but couldn’t reach him. He did not answer,” Adam said. “I left a message for him to call. I don’t expect we’ll hear from him.”

  “Can’t you call your man in New York on your smartphone, Jay?” Lucy asked.

  “No,” he replied. “It doesn’t work. I tried. No signal.”

  “What about Brooke?” Justin asked. “Should we call her?”

  “Brooke will be very distressed to learn what has happened, and she’s not feeling well,” Adam said. “I don’t think we should bother her with this. The visit is short. I think we should just make the best of it. It’s disappointing, but the animal viewing is worth the journey, and spending a few days in this camp is certainly bearable.”

  Jay stood and started pacing the circle, running his fingers through his red hair.

  “Look everyone,” he said, finally, “Sidney and I are really sorry everything hasn’t worked out as it should with all the accommodations on this trip, aren’t we, Sidney?”

  I nodded.

  “We both want you to know that we and our agency had nothing whatsoever to do with the reservations. Everything was done before we were ever brought into the picture. It has been professionally frustrating for us the entire time because the whole deal has been totally out of our hands. Sharma made all the arrangements and Sharma has been completely in charge, not us. We were told to back off. Our agency was brought on board by Brooke at the last minute. Brooke paid fully in advance for the very best and that is what she should have received, but clearly hasn’t in every stop. For that, Sharma is responsible. Sharma did it all. But we still feel terrible and somehow responsible, especially for bringing you all this way to this Fake Tops.”

  “I must leave this place,” Jasmine said in her dramatic way. “I cannot stay here. I cannot bear it. I must go back to Kathmandu.”

  “Well, you can’t,” Justin said. “C’est impossible. None of us can leave until the next plane arrives, as scheduled, on Thursday.”

  “Adam is right. We just make the best of it,” Lucy said, with her pleasant smile. “It’s not fancy, but it’s clean, and luxury is not what we came for anyway. We came to see the animals. Let’s just go on the elephant safari in the morning as planned. It’s not really so bad here, just not what we expected. The food is plain, but at least it is edible, quite healthy actually, and the employees are friendly.”

  “I agree with Lucy,” I said, speaking up for the first time. “After all, the jungle adventure is really what we came for, right?”

  “Wrong,” Jay said. “I wasn’t planning on setting foot in the jungle. I was just going to relax at the resort while you did, and maybe have a massage.”

  “Well there’s certainly no spa here,” Adam said. He took a long pull on his beer, set the bottle down, stood and stretched. “I’m headed for bed. It’s late and dawn comes early. See you all in the morning.”

  When I returned to my room, my bag was waiting for me. Nothing appeared to be missing.

  Had the bag been searched? I couldn’t tell, but I was happy in knowing that my newly purchased proof of Felix’s murder was safely locked away in my room in Kathmandu.

  Chapter 19

  Morning brought more fresh bread, a bowl of oatmeal in the din
ing hut, and some welcome hot coffee.

  Then we climbed back up on the elephants and headed into the forest, looking for tigers. In years past, we had been told, goats were staked out as bait to attract the huge nocturnal hunters, but this was no longer done thanks to the efforts of animal rights groups.

  I was happily paired on an elephant with Adam. We were in the lead, laughing and chatting. I really liked this Scotsman, and he seemed to be growing increasingly fond of me as well. Jasmine and Jay were next on the trail behind us, followed by Lucy and Justin.

  Jasmine totally hated the elephant camp and Jay was making no attempt to soothe the temperamental actress. Their griping was loud and tiresome. Jasmine had not wanted to go with us on the elephant safari, but she did not want to remain in camp by herself either. It was the same with Jay, and I was getting a little worn out with hearing both of them constantly complaining.

  “Look,” I told him after breakfast, walking down the dirt path toward the elephants, “why don’t you at least try to have fun? This elephant safari is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. You’ve never done this before and likely never will again. Think how great it will be to tell your pals. I know you are nervous, but it’ll be okay. Since you’re stuck here for a few days, you might as well make the best of it. It is what it is.”

  “What it is stinks,” he replied, his lower lip jutting out in a pout. “I can’t wait to get my hands on that fat rascal Sharma. If I hadn’t thought we were going to the real Tiger Tops, as promised, I would never have left Kathmandu. If he hadn’t screwed us up, I would be at a famous place where I could do something besides ride elephants. My friends want to hear about Tiger Tops, not Fake Tops. You think anyone would be impressed by this? No way.”

  I ignored him after that and was delighted when the mahout loaded me onto the elephant with Adam, instead of with Jay. Adam’s warm smile suggested that he was pleased as well. I wondered if he had bribed someone to make it happen. It seemed likely.

  The morning light filtering in thin golden shafts through the tall sal trees was beautiful as we entered the path leading into the jungle forest. The air was cool and fresh. As we moved deeper into the thicket, away from the camp, everyone fell silent. The only sounds were the birds and the faint sounds of the elephant’s steps, muffled by a thick mat of decaying vegetation on the forest path.