The Missing Guests of the Magic Grove Hotel, page 21
THE TRUTH ABOUT INFIDELITY IS NEVER AS BAD AS WHAT WE IMAGINE
No matter how productive her day had been—and it had been rather productive—Ladarat Patalung had the western disease of guilt over an early departure. It was only four thirty and she was leaving. Going home. In her heart she felt that she should be doing … something. But because she couldn’t decide what that something was, Ladarat decided to leave early.
She’d spend the extra hours of daylight pulling weeds in her neglected garden, perhaps. Or maybe she’d join Duanphen as she prepared for the evening rush and watch her … technique. She could probably learn a lot just by watching.
Ladarat was thinking so diligently about the benefits of watching Duanphen chop green onions that at first she didn’t register the gangly form that was preceding her down the hospital’s back hallway. Without really thinking, she’d taken the side door that led past the morgue and out to the physicians’ parking lot. The person up ahead was a physician. A familiar physician. In fact, Ladarat was pretty sure she’d recognize that clumsy but quick gait even if this particular physician hadn’t been right in front of her.
As she watched Dr. Taksin disappear down the stairs to the rear door, she faced a conundrum. Green onions forgotten, Ladarat hung back so she’d be invisible if her quarry turned around.
Having so elegantly avoided detection, however, Ladarat found herself at a loss. Should she follow him? Certainly that would be within her purview as someone who was asked to evaluate the doctor’s performance issues. Perhaps following doctors leaving work was not generally appropriate, but when a doctor who is under suspicion leaves work at four thirty in the afternoon, well, following would be called for, would it not?
Ladarat hitched her bag more firmly onto her shoulder and hurried down the steps, confident that Dr. Taksin was far enough ahead now that she herself could continue to evade detection. But that reassurance left her unsure exactly how she was going to follow the doctor. Because if he was leaving by this door …
And in fact as soon as Ladarat emerged, blinking, into the bright late-afternoon sunlight she knew that she had a problem. Dr. Taksin had crossed the doctors’ parking lot and was now at the far edge, which was interesting, because parking in that region implied that he had come late to work, after most of the closer spots had been taken.
He was getting into a tiny yellow car that wasn’t even a car: a little thing with just two seats side by side. Ladarat had seen them around town recently. They were very trendy—and very, very small.
The good news was that his little car was very distinctive. She should have no trouble following it.
The bad news, of course, was that she had nothing to follow that car in. Her own car was in the staff lot on the other side of the hospital. Now she had only her feet, which were unlikely to be able to keep up with a car, no matter how diminutive.
Unless … no, that wouldn’t work. Or would it? Maybe …?
Ladarat knew she had to make a decision right now. She also had to be lucky. Very lucky. And it had been a lucky day, had it not?
Again Ladarat hitched the shoulder strap of her bag up on her shoulder so far that the bag itself was wedged in place under her arm. She set off at a run around the path that led to the front of the hospital, curling her toes in hope of keeping her pumps affixed to her feet. Ladarat was halfway around the corner when she turned quickly to see how much progress the little yellow car had made, and she slowed to a trot when she saw that it hadn’t moved. She might make it after all.
But no sooner had she formed that happy thought than the little car backed out of its parking space more quickly than she would have believed possible for such a small vehicle. Without waiting to see how fast the car was racing toward the exit, Ladarat put on an extra burst of speed. A few moments later she pulled up, breathing hard, at the taxi stand in front of the hospital.
She opened the back door of the first bright white taxi in the rank and collapsed into the backseat. Unable to form a complete sentence—and unsure what that sentence would have been—she simply motioned to the elderly man behind the wheel to drive.
Perhaps the driver received many such requests, or perhaps, like Panit the hopefully suspicious medical records director, he was interested in any sort of intrigue that could infuse a little excitement into his day. In any case, he shrugged and put the car in gear. They wound around the hospital drive as Ladarat’s pulse returned to something more human and she found that she was breathing almost normally.
“There is a car,” she said, finally, between deep breaths. “It will be coming out of the doctors’ parking lot to the right—over there—you know the exit?”
The driver looked at her curiously in the rearview mirror and nodded imperceptibly. Obviously a man of few words. That would be welcome.
“It’s a small car. A very small car. Bright yellow. For two people.”
“For two?”
“That’s what I said, a car for two.”
“No, Khun, I meant that’s its name. It’s called a ForTwo. Because … well … it’s for two people. Hard to believe someone was paid millions of baht to come up with that name. So … you want me to follow that car?”
Ladarat nodded. “Exactly so. When you see it come out, follow it. But … don’t get too close. I don’t want the driver to see.”
The driver nodded, gunned the engine, and swung expertly out onto Suthep Road, pulling across three lanes of traffic and then over to the curb on the far left.
“We wait here until he comes out, you see?” The driver chuckled, as if this clever maneuver were a personal invention of his. “Do you know which way he’ll be heading?”
Ladarat shook her head. “No idea at all.” In the back of her mind, she wondered how this astute taxi driver knew that the car they were following would be driven by a man. But she had other more pressing concerns. For instance, she didn’t even know how far Dr. Taksin would be going. What if he was driving up to Chiang Rai? That would be a long and very expensive bit of detection.
“There he is.” The driver pointed at the little yellow car that swung out of the doctors’ parking lot heading roughly west, on the same side of the road that they were on. Like a trained operative, the driver pulled out into traffic, leaving a couple of cars in between them and the ForTwo. He cracked his knuckles loudly and settled in for what he was probably thinking would be the most interesting ride of the day.
“You know, Khun, if you don’t mind me saying so, you really have nothing to worry about.”
Ladarat wasn’t sure that was the case. She had lots to worry about, including her presentation at the ethics society tomorrow, which she’d completely forgotten about.
“I don’t?”
The driver concentrated for a moment on a tricky left turn toward the Old City, then resumed his train of thought as if there hadn’t been an interruption.
“Most men, their wives think they’re being unfaithful. The wives think it, you see, but it’s not real. It’s like women are programmed to think that men are being unfaithful. You see?”
Ladarat did not see. The taxi driver’s philosophizing made no sense whatsoever. Nor did it have anything to do with her worrying about a lecture that she would have to give in less than twenty-four hours. Unsure where to start or how to reply, Ladarat found herself momentarily at a loss for words.
“Ah,” was all she said.
The traffic was getting thicker now. They’d entered the part of the city that was filled with farang and the sorts of businesses that cater to farang—greasy western steakhouses, bars, karaoke clubs, and of course girlie bars. They followed the little yellow ForTwo onto Loi Kroh Road and then a smaller soi where Dr. Taksin whipped his car into a parking space that was not much larger than the area that a baby stroller would require. Without waiting to be told, the driver pulled off to the left side of the street in front of a dumpster to let the cars behind pass and to remain unobtrusive.
“Now we watch, Khun,” he said over his shoulder. “But don’t be surprised if you don’t like what you see. Your husband—I agree it looks bad for him. Very bad, it’s true. For a man to come to this part of town … well … there aren’t many reasons that a man would be here.”
He turned to look at Ladarat in the backseat. Ladarat had rather belatedly caught on to the driver’s interpretation of the situation, and was wearing an expression that she thought probably resembled total and utter confusion, which the driver mistook for the face a woman wears when she has discovered her husband venturing into this part of town.
“Ah, Khun. Well, these things happen, you know? Even the best husbands stray sometimes, it is a known fact. Ah—see, there he goes.”
And indeed, Dr. Taksin was extricating himself from the tiny car and straightening up as he unfolded his limbs. After carefully locking the door, he turned to cross the street and walked purposefully down the opposite sidewalk, as if he knew where he was going.
“Should we follow him, Khun? Or …” Here Ladarat could see the gleam in the driver’s eye as he glanced back in the rearview mirror. “Or maybe I could follow him … on foot. He doesn’t know me, you see? I could be like a detective.”
This notion seemed to make the driver’s day. It also led Ladarat to wonder how many people in her quiet city were apparently willing to leave their regular jobs behind and become detectives. As she was pondering the wisdom of sending this aspiring detective out onto the sidewalk, Dr. Taksin solved their problem by pushing through the swinging saloon-style doors of a tired-looking bar. Above the door was a broad, faded sign that read “WesternGirl.”
Unsure what that meant, but feeling sure she had the general drift, Ladarat sighed. The driver nodded sympathetically.
“Well, it’s better to know the truth, isn’t it? That’s not something you want to be surprised by. The truth about infidelity is hardly ever as bad as what we imagine. And knowledge is power, as they say.”
Ladarat agreed that was so. Most of the time. Although how this knowledge would be power was impossible for her to say.
Out of delicacy, perhaps, the driver left Ladarat to her thoughts on the way back to the hospital. He even refused her offer of payment. “I know it seems bad, Khun, but you will get through this. I promise.”
Unsure how a taxi driver came to acquire such wisdom, but grateful nonetheless, Ladarat thanked the man and made her way slowly and thoughtfully toward her car. There was still time to visit Duanphen to watch her work. But suddenly Ladarat felt very tired. She wanted nothing more than to go home, perhaps to pull a few weeds in her garden, and to have someone bring her dinner for a change.
THE DANGERS OF VANITY FOR THE COMMON CRIMINAL
Two hours later, after she had in fact made more than a little progress in weeding the beds close to the patio, Ladarat discovered one very crucial advantage of having your boyfriend pick up dinner.
“So much food. Did you tell Duanphen that you were having a party?”
Wiriya flashed the teasing smile: yim yaw.
“It is something we bachelors learn very quickly. Cooks are much more generous with men than with women, because we have bigger appetites. It is a known fact.”
Ladarat thought about that fact as she opened each of the cardboard containers that Wiriya had set down on the patio table. She’d worked up an appetite gardening for the last two hours. Wiriya had been running late, so he’d offered to pick up dinner while Ladarat weeded one bed after another. Now, fresh from the shower, she sat at the little iron table, exhausted, with barely enough energy to open cardboard containers and admire her handiwork.
Duanphen had been generous. Very generous. There was gang som pak ruam, a sweet, sour, and spicy soup with vegetables; gang som cha om kai, an omelet made of eggs and Thai acacia leaf (a variant on last night’s kai jiew moo ssap); and yam khor moo yang, salad with marinated pork, lemon, onion, and chilies. It was an Isaan specialty that Duanphen did particularly well, since that’s where she was from, as Ladarat had discovered recently. Eaten with sticky rice, dipped into sauce, it was a solid accompaniment to the lighter soup and omelet.
And … Prasert’s kanom maprao.
Wiriya smiled as he served her a generous helping of gang som cha om kai, which she knew was not his favorite, but which he knew was one of hers.
Ladarat would have been content to admire her gardening, happy in the knowledge that Wiriya had noticed it, too. Despite the fact that it had been almost dark when he arrived, and despite the fact that the beds around the patio were lit only by anemic outdoor lights and, a moment later, by the candles he put out, Wiriya had noticed the clean beds that ringed the patio. Pristine and weed-free, they were dotted by a few hardy Siam tulips that would be blooming soon, perhaps. She would have been content to admire her work, and not to talk about detection or crimes, or … anything.
They most definitely were not going to talk about the disappearances of farang. For now, Ladarat wanted to keep her continued interest—not even a suspicion—to herself. So no talk about the Magic Grove Hotel, or Jonah’s visit.
But there was a point about which Ladarat needed Wiriya’s expert opinion.
“So …” she said cautiously, in between bites of gang som cha om kai. “I was asked to look into the behavior of a certain physician at the hospital.”
“Behavior?”
Ladarat shrugged. “He hasn’t been himself lately. Coming to work late, leaving early, falling asleep …”
Wiriya nodded.
“Well, it seems that he might be engaged in … something.”
Wiriya looked at her more closely, a forkful of yam khor moo yang hovering midway between plate and mouth.
“Something?”
Ladarat told him about her afternoon adventure, laughing along with Wiriya as she described her mad dash to find a taxi and the driver’s mistaken impression that she was a jilted wife.
When she had finished, and after they had both mused about the driver’s exciting day—one that he would no doubt share with his wife—Wiriya summed up the situation in that way that only he could.
“So you think he is meeting women at this place … the WesternGirl?”
Ladarat nodded.
“And that these meetings are distracting him from work?”
Ladarat nodded again. That was pretty much the conclusion she had reached. It was, unfortunately, a clear case of a man led astray.
And so far astray! Could he not see that at least one of the nurses—Sudchada—was attracted to him? That was a conclusion Ladarat didn’t share with Wiriya, but it was obvious, was it not? Why else would she approach Ladarat to find out what was wrong with Dr. Taksin before anyone else did? And if Panit was correct—and he usually was—then she was probably also covering for him when he failed to sign his charts on time. All of that devotion, and yet here he was, wandering off to some girlie bar, staying up until all hours, and then literally falling asleep on the job.
“There is just one problem with your theory,” Wiriya said. He speared another forkful of yam khor moo yang, trying, and failing, to feign nonchalance.
“What could be wrong with that theory? I followed him, didn’t I? I saw him leave work early and go into this girlie bar. And, what I didn’t mention before but what is just as important, he parked and went into that … establishment as if he had been there many times before. It all fits, don’t you see?”
Wiriya might have been a great detective, but sometimes he just didn’t know people. He could put facts together, certainly. But this wasn’t a set of facts as much as it was a story, and the plot of this particular story seemed all too clear.
“Except for one thing.” Now Wiriya had put down his fork and took a modest sip of the Singha that he’d brought out: one glass between the two of them, of which he drank most, which was fine with her.
“One thing? What one thing?”
“Oh, I don’t doubt your skills of detection. And your taxi-hailing skills are also impressive. But the place he went? The WesternGirl?”
“Yes?”
“It’s not a girlie bar.”
“And you know this because …?”
“Because I’ve been there. Remember the retirement party I had to go to on Monday night? That’s where we went, because Arthit, the officer who was retiring, is a big fan of American country-and-western music.” Wirya paused to let that information sink in. “It’s a country-and-western bar, with that sort of music. And saddles on the walls, and lots of pictures of cowboys and …” Wiriya paused, trying to remember. “And horses, I think.”
“Horses?”
“Yes, horses. Horses are very country-and-western, I believe.”
Ladarat was having trouble processing this new information. So Dr. Taksin was risking a promising career as a palliative care physician for … horses? How would horses cause him to lose his grip on reality? How would horses cause him to function so poorly at work?
A girl, well, Ladarat could imagine how that might be a distraction. Or several girls. But a horse? Or—more correctly—pictures of horses? It made no sense.
So many questions, and Ladarat had imagined that she had the case all wrapped up. How wrong she’d been. Now there were so many questions, in fact, that Ladarat had trouble putting all those questions into words. Fortunately, one benefit of having dinner with a detective was that she didn’t have to.
“So you want to know what it is about the WesternGirl that is so distracting to your young doctor?”
Ladarat nodded. Her attention had just become distracted by the last unopened container, which she knew contained Prasert’s kanom maprao. But Wiriya was smiling in a way that she imagined could only mean he had an answer to the question he’d just asked. Kanom maprao could wait for a moment or two.
