by Linda Welch
Half a sandwich in one hand, I scanned through the first few pages. Elizabeth Hulme wrote a detailed account of her journey. This did not seem to be the first volume, but from a word here and there I figured out she went to what was then Upper Burma, and part of British India, with her father, archeologist Edward Hulme, his assistants, and an American student. They disembarked their steamship in Yangon and headed up toward Taunggyi. Elizabeth didn’t give any specific directions in her book from then onward, but she spoke of mountainous terrain and dense jungle vegetation.
“Upper Burma is now officially part of the British Raj a Province of British India and our Expedition proceeded smoothly. At first I found this to be an exciting Journey. More so after the long and tedious Days aboard Ship. I felt like a Princess as I rode high above those on foot on the swaying back of an Elephant inside my canopied tasseled Howdah.”
Elizabeth wrote beautifully, although she didn’t believe in punctuation except for periods at the end of sentences, and her choice of which words to capitalize didn’t make sense.
“The Wildlife is exotic. Birds the colours of Rainbows with waterfall plumes and harsh eerie cries. Cheeky Apes with old Men’s beards. Bald Marsupials with prehensile tails. So many Creatures the identity of such is a mystery to me. We sit around the Camp fire in the night and I listen to the haunting music of the Jungle.”
I walked upstairs with the journal in my hand, Jack and Mel trailing me. I did a quick Google. The distance from Yangon to Taunggyi is 456 miles. How long would it take on an ambling elephant?
“The trail forged by Jimmy two years ago has been reclaimed by rapacious Jungle Growths and the Boys have to hack their way through much of it. The Heat is oppressive and Dust clings to the slimy Concoction we must spread over our exposed Skin to ward of Insects. Wild Animals walk abreast of us but some distance away. I think they are curious. In the night they snarl threateningly. Although I never see them I know that Tigers and Leopards are native to this area. Several times Daddy thought we were stalked not by Animals but by Men who could be as dangerous. I was glad to break free of the Jungle and see Nagka before us.
“Nagka is built of Sandstone. The outer Wall is smoothed by time. It is a mixture of ornamental delicacy and massive sculpture. Buildings spread out from the Walls and stand alone within them and all are topped by Towers both grotesque and beautiful. Most have high arched Windows either open to the oppressive Air or made secret by lacework stone Panels. These Structures were Palaces and Temples. The mud and reed Huts of Peasants and Slaves crumbled to dust centuries past. Nagkas floor is of small hand moulded Bricks now crumbling and faded. I try to imagine how many Bricks were required and how long to make them but my mind can not encompass such a feat. The Temples are paved with large stone tiles.
“Raised covered Galleries with their Roofs supported by carved Columns girdle and connect many of the Buildings so that the ruling class need not walk in the unrelenting Sun. Covered Bridges cross a raised water Cistern open to the sky. The water once bubbled up from some natural source deep beneath the Ground. Now murky with silt and gutted with weed and decaying leaves it stretches out along the north Wall. In the very centre of Nagka stands the massive Pyramid Temple with its five terraces topped by five Towers.“Architecture is bizarre and fantastic and almost tortured yet splendid. Carvings are in bas or high relief and Statuary nestles in niches. There are lacey grills and swooping eaves. Almost every surface is elaborately ornamented. All are of Stone. The Tower roofs rise like terraces. Some of the Columns are smooth but not many. Almost everything in Nagka is highly decorated even to the paving stones inside the Buildings.
“Creeper and vine cling to Nagkas many faces and tendrils search the City floor. Huge Banyan and Silk Cotton trees rise in once open spaces and insert their fingers into Nagkas sandstone body. The writhing roots of Fig trees strangle massive Statues of the Gods. But inside Nagka waits a cool sanctuary from the oppressive heat.”
I reluctantly closed the book, eliciting complaining noises from Jack and Mel. I didn’t know when Gia Sabato would turn up and I wanted to be ready.
Chapter Six
I sat at the kitchen table trying to watch TV, but I couldn’t concentrate. My long-sleeved cambric shirt covered my angle-draw shoulder holster and Ruger SR9. I wasn’t taking any chances.
My mind on other things, mainly Royal’s behavior, I idly flipped the pages of Elizabeth’s diary. An interesting little book, but who sent it to the agency, and why? I couldn’t come up with any possible explanation.
Was it authentic? The cover and paper looked old, with lettering in thick and faded ink. I’m no expert, but it didn’t look like modern ink. The journal had been written in ornate handwriting, with great care. It was for the most part legible, although some of the letters were strange. The S looked almost like an F, but only when used within a word. If the S came at the end of a word it was a plain old S. I could imagine Elizabeth writing slowly and carefully so she didn’t have to cross out words and waste paper, but there were a number of crossings-out and blotches.
The minutes ticked by and Gia didn’t come. That’s the problem when a person says evening. It could mean any time between four and ten. I pushed the journal away, got to my feet and went restlessly to the kitchen window to look out. Jack and Mel watched the Billy French video, but despite their complaints I had set the volume on low.
Still no sign of her. I wanted her to arrive, talk, leave and get it over with so I could quit thinking of her. My shoulders were in knots at the thought of being alone with her in my house.
I sighed, went back to the table and opened the journal again. Jack and Mel were behind me in a flash.
I skipped over a detailed description of the expedition setting up camp, the meals they ate, Elizabeth’s tedium as the men explored the city and she remained confined to camp.
A dangerous place; some of the buildings hid nasty traps, as in the Indiana Jones movies. The men slowly and carefully explored each small area, every room. Hazardous areas were marked and some traps sprung. Elizabeth was allowed to roam those areas of the city deemed safe three days after their arrival.
“As high as the Towers are their peaks do not rise above the mighty Wall. This morning I went carefully up the crumbling Steps passing first the Tower roofs and successive floors to the top of the wide stone Wall. Daddy would be most upset if he saw me up there. I looked down at Nagkas sun baked brick floor and our dirty white tents and sodden lines of laundry which are very much out of place here. When I returned to the ground I entered the Palace through its massive column flanked doorway. Blessed cool enfolded me and eased my eyes. I followed the Passage until daylight faded behind me and I passed the first Lantern and entered a world bathed in mellow amber light.
“The first room is a Small Antechamber and is dominated by a centrally placed raised dais supported by six squatting tusked Panthers. They look like old gnarled friendly beasts. There is a covered stone Basin set into the dais. The Basin is carved in such a way to make one think some artisan has laid a lacework mantle upon the open top of a plain stone receptacle so cunningly is it wrought. Wide steps lead from the floor up to a Gallery which surrounds the room on three sides making it appear sunken and more tusked Panthers stand guard along the Gallery. Nagka truly is magnificent both inside and out.
I had not so far been unnerved by the eerie ancient dusty silence of Nagkas interior but as I stood alone in the Antechamber I had the feeling of being watched. There between two big stone Cats stood a Man. He stood as still and silent as the Cats as they sat looking down at me. His expression was singularly serene like those on the faces of many of Nagkas stone Gods.
“He had black hair very straight and long. He was darker than us but not dark like the Natives and he did not look quite like them. His face was quite pretty for a Man. I am ashamed to say that as I recall the Strangers appearance in my minds eye I think critically of Daddys sallow angular face and beak of a nose and balding pate. The Mans face had broad
cheekbones and a high brow and large almond shaped eyes. His body was also quite magnificent. Indeed my face reddens at the memory.
“He wore a Sarong of white with a heavy golden fringe. A great necklace covered his chest. It looked like Gold. Arm rings and pearl bracelets and I think he wore finger rings. And he wore a Gold circlet around his forehead.”
***
Mac sat facing the pantry door. I got his little bowl, took it in the pantry and measured out a half cup of kibble, then put it on the floor near the back door for him. The doorbell rang, startling me. I used the remote control to turn the TV off, slid the journal in the shelf under the table where I keep telephone directories, and gave Jack and Mel a stern look. “I need my wits about me, guys, so don’t distract me.”
“Oh ye of little faith. . . .” Jack intoned.
I didn’t check my gun or my appearance as I went in the hall and to the front door. I know what I look like and my gun was a reassuring weight beneath my shirt. I also knew where my heart was: lodged in my throat like a lump of day-old bread.
I paused in the hall, wondering at my reaction to the woman. Sure, having my mind messed with frightened me, but she freaked me out before that, from the moment she faced me in Royal’s living room. And why the hell did I take a case when the clients scared the life out of me? My gut said we should get as far from Gia Sabato and Daven Clare as possible. We shouldn’t have taken this case. We did not even discuss a fee, unless this was something else Royal took upon himself.
But if Rio Borrego was in trouble, if he’d just disappeared as they claimed, he needed help. I’d never turned away from anyone who needed my help.
I should suppress my qualms and concentrate on Rio Borrego. I pulled in a breath, let it out, and opened the door.
Gia Sabato stood on the porch in profile as she looked off north. She had changed into straight-legged peach pants, a long-sleeved ecru sweater and peach stiletto shoes. She knew how to coordinate and her huge amber earrings, pendant and half a dozen bracelets were frosting on the cake. Although the sun had almost set, she wore gigantic sunglasses.
I opened the door and swept my hand in a welcoming gesture. “Please come in.”
She took off the sunglasses and tucked them in a pocket as she stepped in. “Thank you.”
I led the way to the kitchen. Mac had shoved his bowl to the middle of the room in his efforts to get every last morsel. He looked up at us and made a sound I had never heard from him before, kind of a cross between a snarl and a whimper. Then he backed away until his rear bumped the back door. This was a first.
All hell broke loose.
Mel shrieked a cry of rage and zipped across the kitchen straight at Gia. She stopped inches from the woman and yelled in her face. “What the hell are you doing in here?”
Jack joined Mel, staring at Gia, who looked through them obliviously.
“Get out!” Jack snarled “This is our home. You don’t belong here.”
Alarmed, I almost spoke to them, but stopped myself just in time.
“Don’t you stand there and ignore me!” Mel yelled. She jabbed a finger at Gia and waved it under her nose. “Just who do you think you are, barging in here like you own the place?”
My friends were out of their little spectral minds and I had no idea why.
I asked Gia to take a seat at the kitchen table, and as she went past, made frantic signs at Mel and Jack to get their attention. As Gia moved, Jack swung in behind her, yelling something incomprehensible, and MeI tried to block her. I winced as she walked right through Mel.
Mel froze. She and Jack exchanged looks, looked at me, and simultaneously raced from the room.
At times like this, when pretending they don’t exist is really hard, I so wish I could tell others about my roommates. Now I’d have to wait until Gia left to discover what just happened. But although their behavior was bizarre, seeing them in a rage kind of perked my spirits, maybe because they did to Gia what I didn’t have the nerve to do.
She sat at the table and I sat opposite her. ”Where do you want to begin?” she asked without preamble.
Out the corner of my eye, I saw Mac creep around the edge of room until he stood beneath the windows. His ears lay flat on his skull. He met my eyes, then made a dash for the hallway. This was not the dog I knew.
I moved the pad of lined foolscap I put there earlier to the edge of the table and picked up the pen. I had to concentrate, push everything else to the back of my mind. Whatever I felt about her, Gia was a client and I must treat her as such. “How about the name of the motel in Tremonton?”
Gia took off her thin cream gloves and laid them on the table. “Do you mind closing your blinds?”
I obliged her and returned to my chair. She must be worried someone would spot her, but what fun if the neighbors saw famous Gia Sabato in my kitchen and mobbed her when she left. I visualized her trying to force a path through a dozen infatuated fans, and in my mind’s eye they were the oldest and crotchetiest of my neighbors, enthusiastically waving pens and pieces of paper in her face. That perked me up a tad more.
But perhaps fans were not her concern. Perhaps what had happened to her lover frightened her.
I jotted down the basic information she gave me: names, addresses and telephone numbers of Rio’s family, places of employment - although he had not worked since meeting her - the names of his old friends she could recall, his credit card accounts, social security number, etcetera, and the name of the motel in Tremonton. I’m used to people being uncomfortable when I question them, so I kept it brisk and impersonal.
Then I leaned back in my chair. “Does Rio have enemies?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“Did he have enemies in the past, anyone who would still want to get even?”
“I. . . . There were little gang feuds.”
Little gang feuds? That glossed over the reality of gang life. “They call them vendettas, but you’re right, they are feuds, ones which can last a lifetime.”
Her face went cold as this sank in. “If an old rival is involved, I cannot help you. I don’t know who he ran with back then.”
I gnawed on the end of the pen, realized what I did and lowered it. “What about you? Could someone be using Rio to get to you?”
She didn’t even think about it. “I don’t have enemies, Miss Banks.”
Really? Well aren’t you the lucky one. “What about Daven?”
She visibly hesitated, then said, “I don’t believe so.”
I hiked a questioning eyebrow. “But you don’t know for sure.”
She flipped one hand dismissively. “Daven and I are close friends, but we have our own lives.”
Next question, then, the one to which most women take offense. “Did Rio see other women?”
Instead of offense stiffening her face, a gentle little smile curved her red lips. It surprised me, as I was beginning to think she’d maybe had too many Botox treatments to raise a genuine smile. “Rio is faithful to me, as I am to him. I have absolutely no doubt of that.”
I tapped the pen on the pad. She spoke with such certainty, I was inclined to believe her. “How did you meet Rio?”
“Does it have bearing on his disappearance?”
“It could. You’d be surprised how often small details turn out to be significant.”
True. But in this instance, curiosity prompted my question. Why did beautiful, sophisticated and no doubt wealthy Gia Sabato hang with a Latino street punk?
“Oh, our meeting was far from insignificant, although I don’t think describing it will be of help.”
I wrinkled my brow. “Humor me.”
Another elegant shrug. I wished I could shrug like that, a sensual, languid motion. I just push my shoulders up to my ears.
In Clarion for a few days - she didn’t say why - she decided to take a look at the city. She didn’t realize she’d wandered into gang territory. She described their meeting, but it wasn’t just a description, it was an extract from a roman
ce novel. Moonlight glinting on water as she stood on a bridge on Eighteenth Street, the whisper of leaves, the stroke of a gentle breeze and the shimmer of streetlight. Six Latino youths coming up to her and one of them so beautiful. She described the way Rio moved, the color of his skin and hair, and I could imagine the texture of both. I could picture a face with dusky skin and brown eyes above which dark brows slashed.
She paused and her eyes had a faraway look, as if she saw him. I hardly breathed. I know my mouth hung open and saliva pooled beneath my tongue. No wonder her books sold out.
She looked at me, met my eyes. “Excuse me. I didn’t mean to drift off like that.”
“Oh, no, go on, please.”
“Behind us, the rest of the crowd hooted and made very lewd and graphic suggestions. They called him Rio. ‘Rio?’ I asked. ‘Alissario,’ he breathed. I leaned in and kissed him. He was like a rock, unmoving, only his mouth alive. I breathed into his ear. ‘Alissario, my Rio.’
“’Your Rio? I don’t belong to no woman,’ he said, yet he did not move away from me, not an inch. I smiled into his neck. ‘You do now.’
“Then I stepped back and walked to the car. His friends yelled at me, yelled at him. In the rearview mirror I saw Alissario standing on the bridge. He watched me as if he did not know what he saw.”
Jesus Christ, Holy Moses, all the Saints. . . . If Royal had been there I think I’d have jumped his bones right then - okay, so I wouldn’t, not in front of her, but you get my gist. A paean of joy and triumph, she worshipped their first meeting with her words.
“You see,” she said, “I knew he was for me and I knew, no matter what he said, he felt the same.”
Speechless, I swallowed.
Gia rose to her feet. “I think that’s all for now, is it not?”
“Uh. Yes. I guess so.”
