Side Trip to Kathmandu (A Sidney Marsh Murder Mystery Book 3) (5 page)

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 small 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.

T
here 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.

But first, we were given a long car ride and the lowdown on our fellow guests by Brooke.

As the drivers stood at attention by their gleaming cars at the hotel entrance, Brooke ushered Lucy and Felix into the first car and sent them off ahead of us after telling them, “There you go, my dears. Your driver will take you shopping and assist you with everything. Have a wonderful time, and remember, don’t pay the first price you are asked! Bargaining is expected and all part of the game. I am taking Sidney and Jay with me for a little extra sightseeing drive through Connaught Place and down the Rajpath, perhaps also by the embassies. This is their first visit to India. I know that, having been here before, you’d be bored with all that. If we don’t find each other in the bazaar, we’ll meet you and the others later at the Imperial Hotel for high tea. Have fun!”

Even before entering the car, Felix was barking orders at the hapless driver. Lucy paid little attention to his bad humor. She was all smiles, chattering away as she settled in the car with her shopping bags.

As the car windows rolled up I saw her open a bright purple tin and offer him one of the delightful crisp ginger cookies that Justin had bought for all of us in the hotel gift shop. Felix grabbed a handful, stopped cussing out the driver, and looked as happy as he ever looked—in other words, only slightly calmer and less grumpy. They were good friends, which I found amazing because she was so nice and he, so disagreeable.
She just knows how to get along with him
, I thought. They’d known each other a long time, Brooke had explained.

“Good job, Brooke,” Jay said, nodding approvingly, as they drove away. “I have to tell you that I’m not exactly nuts about your boy Felix. Lucy is great, but Felix really doesn’t do it for me.”

“Not many people like Felix, Jay,” she replied smoothly. “I really don’t either, I must confess, but he certainly manages my portfolio well. Asking him along on this trip, with his distressing dislike of people of other ethnicities, may have been a mistake, but as you will learn, I had my reasons.”

“Well, he really is crabby today,” I said. “He and Jasmine had a spat in the hall outside her room just before lunch. It’s hard to imagine a beautiful woman like Jasmine having any type of relationship with a man as unattractive as Felix.”

“Jasmine apparently has lots of relationships with all sorts of men. I think his money is the attraction,” Jay said. “Not his looks or personality.”

“Well, they must have made up,” Brooke said, “for I saw her sharing lunch with him, all smiles. I think you could say that Jasmine is volatile. A real prima donna.”

We waved as their car rolled away, then we climbed into the backseat of the next one with Brooke. Rahim took the front seat next to Nigel, the driver. Brooke had already given instructions to Nigel, and as we left the hotel grounds, he turned the car in the opposite direction from the path the first car had taken.

“Now,” she said, settling in as we picked up speed and gliding smoothly toward India Gate and the Rajpath, “we can talk without anyone overhearing. Our driver has closed the glass between us and he has no interest whatsoever in what I have to say to you anyway. I wanted to give you some background on the other guests.”

For the next twenty minutes Brooke told us the histories of our fellow travelers, her friends and suspects, interspersed with comments on the buildings and monuments we were passing. Everything we were seeing had mostly been built by the British during their rule over India. The stately imperial government buildings and grand vistas of New Delhi made it easy to imagine the pomp and pageantry of the British rule, when India was described as “the jewel in the Crown.” The former splendor of many of the buildings was diminished, however, by the fact that some of the structures were in disrepair and showed signs of long-time neglect.

Brooke’s running commentary was the most unusual tour narrative I’ve ever heard—a light dusting of tour guide spiel sprinkled over layers of gossip steeped in a brew of horrifying revelations about our new companions.

According to Brooke, she selected each of our fellow guests primarily because he or she had endured the sudden death of someone close to them under questionable circumstances. Each one had inherited a great deal of money as a result. Suspicion, in some degree, had therefore been attached to each one following the tragic events. The facts on our new friends, winnowed from all the rumor and innuendo, were these:

1. Adam’s young and beautiful wife had been the heiress to a manufacturing fortune. She had fallen into the sea and drowned while walking on a rocky cliff path on the coast of Cornwall in the first year of their marriage. There was some local chatter that she might have been pushed or the pathway stones loosened, but those theories were discounted as gossip by the authorities. Adam was her sole heir. He had never remarried but was often rumored to be in one relationship or another.

2. Lucy had been married twice and inherited a fortune from each husband. The first husband died of food poisoning on a business trip to China. Lucy was in England at the time and was reported to be devastated by the news. In her sorrow she was comforted, some said physically, by her long-time friend, Felix. After several years had passed, she married again, this husband wealthier than the first. The second husband was hit by a car and killed coming home from a pub on a foggy night near their country estate in Northumberland. The teenage driver of the car was distraught and insisted to the policemen that he’d seen a second figure in the mist, but that was never proven and his story was discounted.

3. Felix’s business partner apparently shot himself in his office after a great deal of money was reported missing from the firm. The loss of the money, however, was more than made up for by an enormous insurance policy he’d taken out before his death in which Felix was named as the sole beneficiary. The firm had purchased life insurance policies for each partner in the formative years of the business, so the suicide clause had expired and no longer applied. The insurance company and police investigated but cleared Felix of any involvement in his partner’s demise.

4. Justin’s elderly aunt was strangled in her home by an intruder. There was no sign of a break-in, so some said that she must have known her assailant, but she had a reputation for leaving her doors unlocked. An itinerant housepainter was arrested for the crime. He claimed to be innocent but was convicted and was now in prison. Justin was his aunt’s sole heir. She had lived frugally in a small village in Provence, saving every spare franc. That savings, her insurance, and the escalation in value of her home and the surrounding real estate ultimately amounted to quite a pile of euros for Justin.

5. Jasmine’s lover, a wealthy and internationally known Indian film director named A.J. Gupta, was found dead in his bed of a drug overdose. Heroin. His death was a surprise to everyone because he had never been known to use drugs. He left his entire fortune to Jasmine, much to the dismay of his wife and family.

“So there you have it,” Brooke said, winding up her fascinating tale of sudden death and untimely inheritance. She leaned back in her middle seat as if the telling had exhausted her. Her eyes closed and Jay and I exchanged glances. He shrugged and turned to watch the buildings along the wide street, the embassies of various nations. I also looked out my window at the passing scene, noting the fading display of former colonial power as evidenced in some crumbling mansions, even while sorting through the stories I had just heard in my mind.

As soon as we had left the hotel and Brooke’s narrative began, Jay and I had paid scant attention to our surroundings, so absorbed were we in her stories of our fellow travelers. Every so often Brooke interrupted herself to point out one landmark or another, and we looked up, startled, as if we’d forgotten where we were. With Brooke’s speech apparently at an end, we began to take more notice of the sights we were passing, but my mind was spinning. There was no conversation. Each of us was lost in thought, mulling over the lurid histories of our companions. Even Jay remained silent, which was most unusual for him.

Nigel, our driver, left the broad straight avenues of New Delhi—built by the Brits in the early twentieth century—and the big car slowed as we entered the narrow, winding streets of Old Delhi, one of the oldest cities in the world.

Brooke had, apparently, fallen asleep. Not wanting to disturb her, Jay and I remained silent, occasionally pointing at something interesting that we were passing.

Jay clicked off some shots with his camera of a
sadhu
, or holy man, clad only in a white loincloth and standing with his begging bowl outside a Hindu temple. A slight breeze swirled strands of the man’s long, matted gray hair around his ash-covered face.

Our car slowed and carefully entered a narrow lane, threading its way around one of the white cows that roam freely in the streets. Cows are venerated by the Hindu people and not slaughtered for meat. The Hindu god, Lord Krishna, is depicted as a cowherd, and the products of the cow, milk, butter, yogurt,
ghee
or clarified butter, and dung are important to the well-being of Indian families.

I always try to read up on a new destination before I go there, knowing that I will get a lot more out of the trip as a result. This time, even on such short notice, was no exception. I had stayed up late the night before leaving, reading and trying to get some sort of handle on what we would be seeing.

In my reading I had learned that roughly eighty percent of the population of India is Hindu, with over thirteen percent Muslim. The final seven percent are Christians, Sikhs, Buddhists and Jains. Over six million additional people profess other belief systems as well, including a vast number of tribal religions.

Now, in the streets, evidence of this religious diversity and ancient customs was everywhere. Temples and shrines to various gods were abundant. Saffron-robed priests mingled in the crowded alleys and trucks of all sizes bore the symbols of gods on their front grills, primarily the trident of Lord Shiva.

“Each one of our friends,” Brooke said suddenly, “has greatly profited from violent death.” She opened her eyes, apparently refreshed from her brief rest. “I am serious in saying that I’m convinced one of them may have been the murderer of their loved one … I just don’t know which one.”

“Maybe so, Brooke, and I respect your reasoning and your judgment,” said Jay, “but I don’t get you going to all this trouble and expense just to figure out some cold cases that have stumped the cops. I know these are your friends, but why go to such extreme measures to figure it out yourself? This little mystery excursion is costing you thousands of dollars. Do you care that much? Why bring them all here? And why involve us?”

“Because, my dears,” she said quietly, with a sad smile and a forlorn look in her blue eyes, “one of these select friends has also tried to kill me.”

We were so shocked by that statement that it took a few moments to take it in. For a moment I couldn’t really comprehend what she had just said, but I believed her. In all the time since I had first met her, I had never once known Brooke to exaggerate or exhibit paranoia.

“Oh, no, Brooke!” I said finally, totally shocked. “Not really? How and why?”

Brooke gazed for what seemed a long time out of the window of the car at the passing stream of people, animals, and vehicles before answering. The car slowed even more. We were arriving at the market. The driver pulled to the side of the road and stopped. The car, stationed in the shadow of a building, was immediately cooler, just from being out of the intense sun.

She leaned forward and tapped on the glass separating the driver from the passenger compartment.

He opened the glass, smiling, “Yes, madam?”

“We’ll just wait here a few minutes, Nigel, before visiting the market.”

“Of course, madam, very good,”