The Missing Guests of the Magic Grove Hotel, page 14
“Khun Ladarat? That woman … do you think perhaps she is a little close to this car?”
Ladarat nodded. “Perhaps. I would think that she would be a little more careful, with two children. But I’m sure she knows what she’s doing.” Ladarat glanced over at Jonah. “That is why Krista’s parents are here, no doubt. Because they care very much about her.”
“Yes, they love her very much.” Jonah turned back to look at the little family on the bicycle, although why he found them so fascinating Ladarat wasn’t sure.
“And me, too, I think. But my job … well … that’s not something they’re fond of.”
“You told them where you work?”
“Not in so many words …” He paused. “Well, not exactly.” Another pause. “Well, not at all, to tell the truth. They heard from one of our neighbors that I work in a bar.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Exactly.”
“Her parents are … Mormons?”
Jonah nodded.
“So perhaps it would be good if you found another job?”
Jonah nodded emphatically. “Of course, I wouldn’t want to disappoint Khun Siriwan, but I’m sure she could find someone to take my place.”
“So what would you do?”
“Well … I have an idea.”
“An idea?”
“A business idea,” Jonah clarified. Then: “An idea for a business.”
Ladarat was wondering what that might be when she realized at the last moment that she was about to miss the turnoff from the ring road that encircles the outskirts of Chiang Mai. She swung the car resolutely across two lanes of traffic, producing frantic honks from several cars and the roar of an air horn from a rather large truck. At least its front grille was quite large—that was all she could see.
But then they were on the ramp and then the road that led through rice paddies and into the forest north of the city.
“So what kind of business? Perhaps I could offer advice?”
Jonah seemed to be having trouble catching his breath. Ladarat hoped he wasn’t about to get carsick. That would be a shame, what with her new car.
“You didn’t need to drive this morning, you know, Khun. I could have taken the bus.”
Now Jonah was taking deep, regular breaths. Good. He would be all right. And it was nice of him to worry about her, even when he himself was feeling so poorly.
“Oh, no, that wouldn’t be right. You’re doing me a favor. And of course I’ll give you a ride home at the end of the day.”
Jonah gulped and tightened his grip on the handle above the passenger door. Perhaps her passenger wasn’t well.
“You’re not carsick, are you? I could pull over.” She turned her attention to her passenger, who did indeed look a little green. “Khun Jonah, you’re sweating.” Ladarat leaned over so she could get a better look at her passenger’s face, which did indeed seem unnaturally pale. “Are you sure you’re not sick?”
The whoop of an air horn from a truck hurtling toward them pulled Ladarat’s attention back to the road. She was surprised to note that the yellow line on the tarmac had managed to work its way under the car, from where it had been on the right, the last time she’d looked. You really did have to keep an eye on these things. She corrected the car’s course, thinking that her yellow Beetle wouldn’t have meandered back and forth like a drunken businessman.
“So tell me about this business idea.” She snuck a quick glance at Jonah, who was still sweating and clutching the door handle like a lifeline. She should take his mind off his symptoms. She should distract him. The traffic wasn’t too bad; she didn’t need to devote much attention to the road ahead.
“I’m sure it’s a good idea—tell me?”
“Well, it’s about dogs.”
“Dogs?”
“Sure.” Jonah took a couple of deep breaths and focused on the road ahead. “You know how farang tourists come to Chiang Mai? I see them all the time; they try to make friends with the dogs outside the shops here. And many of them say they miss their dogs back at home. But of course they can’t travel with their dogs.”
“So you’re going to … sell them dogs?”
That didn’t seem like such an excellent idea to Ladarat, but she’d be the first to admit that her cousin Siriwan inherited all of the business acumen in their family.
“No, Khun. Not sell. Rent. We’d rent dogs to farang. They would feel sad because they’re missing their dog at home. So they would go to our website and place a request. Then we would drop a dog off at their hotel. With a leash and supplies, of course. Then they would have that dog for a day, or perhaps longer. They could go for walks, just as they would at home. They wouldn’t feel lonely. And the best part, Khun, is that they would advertise.”
“Advertise?”
“Of course. That was Krista’s idea. We would get them vests that identify them as one of our dogs. And those vests would have the name of our business: ‘Paws to see Chiang Mai.’ ‘Paws’ as in dog feet, you see? There would be a website and a phone number, too. So the farang would be walking their dog, and other farang would stop them and say how cute their dog is. And then they would see the advertising, and they’d think—”
“I should do that, too!”
“Exactly so. Our customers would do our advertising for us.”
Ladarat had to admit that was a good plan. But there was at least one flaw that she could think of.
“And these dogs? Where would you keep them?”
“Well, that’s a problem. We hardly have enough room in our flat for the two of us. And now with four … or five … Well, it’s just not possible.”
Jonah looked out the window at the passing scenery. As the rice paddies disappeared, the traffic died away and they were alone on a road that stretched out through the dense forest. That seemed to make his carsickness better. Perhaps there was something about the other cars on the road that caused people to feel ill, if they were predisposed? She would have to ask one of her doctor colleagues about that.
Now Jonah shrugged and turned to her. “Well, it is a good idea, don’t you think?”
Ladarat agreed that it was a very good idea. And if the only problem was finding a place to keep a team of dogs, that wasn’t such an impossible problem. But when she said as much, Jonah shrugged again.
“No, Khun. There’s also the matter of getting dogs who are well trained. And vaccinations, and feeding them, and transporting them back and forth.”
“You’d need a … what do do you call it?”
“A backer,” Jonah said, shaking his head. “Exactly. We’d need a backer. But who am I kidding? Who would give me money to start a business like that?” Then he looked up, almost smiling. “Still, maybe this temporary job will turn into something permanent. I could be … a detective’s assistant!”
Oh, dear. That was the last thing she needed. But hopefully Jonah was joking.
“So what should I be looking for?”
“Well, first, you must be careful. Very careful.”
Jonah laughed, although not unkindly. “Khun Ladarat, do you really think there is any danger here? It’s a hotel, after all. How perilous could it be? And what sort of danger might confront me?”
“I don’t know.” And, truly, she didn’t. The more she thought about this, the more convinced she became that there wasn’t anything nefarious going on at all, let alone any nefariousness that posed a danger to someone of Jonah’s bulk.
“Well, it’s possible that people who stay here then disappear.”
“How many people?”
Ladarat admitted that she didn’t know.
“So where do they go when they disappear?”
Ladarat admitted she had no idea.
“And the motive, Khun Ladarat? What would be the motive for a hotel to make people disappear?”
Ladarat was stumped. In all of her thinking about this, that was a question that hadn’t occurred to her. What motive indeed? Why on earth would a hotel want to make paying customers disappear?
“Ah, to tell the truth, I hadn’t thought of that.”
“You hadn’t?”
Jonah sounded genuinely surprised—as if he’d just now realized that she, Ladarat Patalung, was not in fact a detective but only a nurse. A nurse ethicist, perhaps, but not someone adept at the fine art of detection, and not someone who was skilled at thinking about motives.
“No,” she admitted. “It just seemed … suspicious.”
“Oh, well, it certainly is,” Jonah agreed, a little too heartily, perhaps.
Whether he was trying to make her feel better or whether it was because they had slowed to turn into the hotel’s gravel driveway, Ladarat wasn’t sure. But as soon as the car slowed down, he began to breathe more easily and he released the door handle for the first time in the past ten minutes.
“You can let me off here,” Jonah said as they turned into the circle in front of the main entrance.
“Perhaps I should wait? Perhaps if there’s a problem, or if she’s found someone else for the position, you’ll need a ride home.”
“No, no, Khun. You’re very kind, but that seems unlikely. You only spoke with her yesterday, right? And Khun Siriwan called her last night while I was there, and they reached an agreement. And besides,” he said, extracting his large frame and closing the door behind him, “I can always take the bus back.”
Jonah leaned down through the passenger window, bending his frame like a giraffe. “I know this bus route—the bookkeeper at the Tea House lives this way, and he says the buses come very often. Very, very often.”
“Well, still, be careful.”
Jonah nodded, although he seemed to be suppressing a smile. “Of course, Khun. I’ll be careful. And whatever happens, I’ll give you a call on my way home.”
“And of course call me if you need a ride,” Ladarat called out after him. “I’d be happy to drive out and pick you up.” But Jonah was hurrying toward the front door, and she wasn’t sure that he heard her.
THE HAZARDS OF FORTUNE-TELLING
At least the drive back to the hospital had been uneventful. Walking across the parking lot to the rear entrance, Ladarat had ample time to reflect that a lack of eventfulness was a good thing—a very good thing—when one was driving. Also cooking. And probably performing open-heart surgery. Of course, there were times when eventfulness was desirable, but not always. Not most of the time, actually.
Ladarat had to park halfway across the lot, of course. The guilty dream of the director still fresh in her mind, Ladarat concluded that this was obviously a penalty for using her morning sleeping late, and then—almost as bad—on a non-work-related matter.
Passing through the lobby, she was about to turn right to the main corridor that led to the bank of elevators that would take her up to her office, but something made her keep walking straight.
That something was moo dad diew. Or, rather, a craving for moo dad diew. Small bits of crispy fried pork, with sticky rice and chili sauce (jim jao). And that moo dad diew was calling very loudly and insistently.
She followed its call straight through the cool, tiled entrance hall that had always seemed grander than was entirely right for a hospital. Just a little farther along the access road, on Suthep Road proper, she knew, the food stalls would be just warming up for the lunchtime rush. Now, of course, would be the best time to get lunch. Everything would be fresh, the poultry straight from the market, and the vegetables—many of them—picked that morning by stall owners from their own gardens. By noon, just an hour from now, what would be left would have declined in quality to a sad degree.
When one was shopping for moo dad diew, there was an obligation to procure the freshest moo dad diew possible. Pork that sat too long became tough and rubbery. This was well known.
Her duty suddenly clear, Ladarat stood aside to let a flock of nursing students flow up the steps and through the door, then she made her way along the access road and out to Suthep. Along the way, Ladarat thought carefully about what might tempt Melissa Double.
And that gave Ladarat pause. Khun Melissa was quite sick, was she not? Perhaps moo dad diew would be too heavy? Perhaps. Every vendor had their own recipe for jim jao, and Ladarat had learned through painful trial and error which ones were just spicy enough to be interesting, but which didn’t require an iron palate.
Nevertheless, even the mildest jim jao might be too much for a sick patient. And a farang at that. So no moo dad diew today.
Perhaps kao man gai? Just simple chicken and rice, usually boiled chicken, but the stalls here grilled theirs, and rice boiled in chicken stock to make it flavorful, but not heavy. Then a light mix of garlic and chili and oil and vinegar—just enough to make it interesting. That’s what a sick person would appreciate. That and kwitiau—just a simple noodle soup with vegetables. And kanom maprao, of course. She would ask the vendor to go light on the syrup.
So not fifteen minutes later—another advantage of beating the lunchtime rush—Ladarat was sitting across from Melissa Double at the small table in her room. Sharing the kao man gai between two paper plates and the kwitiau in two coffee mugs borrowed form the nurses’ kitchen, Ladarat was delighted to see that Melissa seemed to be in better spirits.
“You seem better, Khun … Your appetite seems good.” And indeed Melissa had devoured her kwitiau and—after a nod from Ladarat—poured the remainder in her mug.
“And you’re more comfortable, at least?”
Melissa nodded. “Much more. Dr. Taksin is a wizard when it comes to treating pain. I was on intermittent doses of morphine, but they always made me sleepy. He put me on a long-lasting form—a pill I just take twice a day—and I feel like a whole different person.” She divided the kanom maprao between the two of them. “A wizard,” she said again.
“A wizard?”
“Do you not say that in Thai? When someone is very good at doing something complicated? Like a wizard at math?”
Ladarat shook her head and shuddered. “No, in Thailand, wizards are not good. Not good at all.” She paused. “Not that everyone believes in them. It’s not like they’ve been proven to exist. But some say there are people—wizards, as you say—who are engaged in black magic.”
“But not real?” Melissa was smiling: a smile that, if she were Thai, would be called yim thak thaan. It was the tolerant smile one used when someone was talking nonsense, but had to be humored. “Not real black magic, certainly?”
“Well, no. Honestly, I don’t know much about it. There is not such a tradition of those beliefs in Thailand. Those beliefs come sometimes from Burma, and often from Cambodia. There are stories of horrible witches and wizards from the Khmer people. Not too unlike rituals of voodoo that people in the West talk about. But mostly the Thai belief in magic runs to harmless fortune-telling. You know—whether this girl will find love, or that man will live to a happy old age.”
Melissa put down her fork and seemed solemn. “I’m not sure all fortune-telling is so harmless, as you say. Of course, it seems that way. But think what damage a prediction of the future could do to a person. Telling them that things will go poorly … it can rearrange a life.”
“Ah, Khun, that is true. And a favorable prediction …”
Melissa smiled. “The same, of course, but in a different way. I had a diagnosis of pancreatic cancer a year ago. They said I could be cured. That I had a ‘very good’ chance of being cured, actually. So I went through horrible surgery, and chemotherapy, and they said that had gotten rid of all the cancer. That was the prophecy they gave me.”
“So that prophecy was wrong?”
Melissa shrugged and pushed the remains of the kao man gai away from her. “Perhaps. I don’t know. You see, I’d always wanted to travel in Southeast Asia. No,” she corrected herself. “What I really wanted to was to have a spontaneous trip. Deciding on Monday where I would be on Tuesday. Taking one day at a time. Being spontaneous. You understand?”
Ladarat nodded. Actually, that sounded like a horrible trip. Not knowing from one day to the next where you would be, or where you would spend the night? How was that amusing? But as she’d had reason to notice many times, farang often subscribed to odd views of what was amusing.
Americans in particular seemed to have highly idiosyncratic opinions about how to spend their time on vacation. Crisping themselves on a beach like bits of pork, or riding elephants, or—
“So as soon as I got my strength back—or some of it, at least—I came out here.”
“But …” Ladarat waved in a general way at the hospital room around them. This was hardly a spontaneous side trip.
“Ah, so I started having stomach pain. I was up in Chiang Kong, about to take a boat trip on the Mekong? You know it?”
She did. It was a perfect example of the strange travel habits of farang: spending several days in the open air with just a thin cushion to sit on, in a swallowtail boat navigating the Mekong’s rapids at a hundred kilometers per hour. Every week or two there was an accident, and many people died every year. How was that an amusing holiday? But Ladarat simply nodded.
“Well, I told the doctor in the small hospital there what my story was. He understood enough English to be worried that my cancer had come back. He did an ultrasound test that was ‘inconclusive.’ He didn’t speak much English, but that was a word he knew. So they arranged for an ambulance to take me here. Now they’re doing tests to find out how far it’s spread.”
“How far …? But do you know that the cancer is back? Many travelers in this part of the world get abdominal discomfort,” Ladarat said. “It could be many things …”
“You’re very kind, but that ultrasound test wasn’t good news. I’m not a doctor, or a nurse, but I know that ‘inconclusive’ is never good news. And I had a scan as soon as I got here that was worrisome, too. You see, I had such extensive surgery that my … anatomy is strange.” She smiled. “Those poor radiology doctors don’t know what they’re seeing. Everything is so twisted around and rearranged. They’re having a difficult time figuring out what’s normal and what’s not. But they will, and when they do, I’m pretty sure it will be bad news.”
