Restless Soul (17 page)

Someone nudged her gently. “Rose is here for work. And she’d, uh, like to use her desk.”

Annja got up with a start, her neck making a popping sound and a lengthy list of curse words stopping in her throat. She’d had so much to do! She hadn’t time for the luxury of a nap.

But she had to admit the sleep was necessary. She glanced at the clock—eight-thirty. She’d slept for four-and-a-half hours. No wonder she felt better, but at the same time stiff. Her shoulders cracked when she rotated them. She hadn’t chosen the most comfortable position for a snooze. Feeling her forehead, she detected a line across it, a mark left by the edge of the desk.

Pete shoved another cup of coffee under her nose. “With real cream. The kitchen’s open. Join me for breakfast?”

That was an invitation Annja was quick to accept.

A short, stocky young woman in a three-piece suit nodded curtly to Annja and took her place behind the desk.

“Rose Walters, meet Annja Creed,” Pete said. “Annja, Rose.”

The women gave each other polite smiles.

Annja’s stomach growled noticeably.

“Our cook used to work at O’Malley’s downtown.”

“An Irish restaurant?”

“The best in my opinion,” Pete said with a grin.

Shortly after she settled at the table and was brought a steaming plate of food, Annja thought it was the best she’d eaten in quite some time. As Pete, who had changed into a suit and tie sometime while Annja was sleeping, explained about his dealings with the Chiang Mai police, she wolfed down a perfectly seasoned ribeye steak, three eggs scrambled with peppers, country potato cubes, mushrooms, toast and jam, fried tomatoes and baked beans.

“So you’re not a suspect in anything,” he finished as she upended her second glass of orange juice. “You’re a hero, stopping a smuggling operation that has probably plagued this part of the world for quite some time. I got a call shortly after you, uh, took a nap. It was Officer Johnson. He seems quite taken with you, by the way. He said that fellow you had trussed up in the truck was quite talkative. Maybe all that bouncing around.”

“Or maybe somebody went all Jack Bauer on him,” Annja said as she reached for more potatoes.

Pete cocked his head, not understanding the expression.

“Maybe the Thai police are persuasive,” she said.

He picked at his own breakfast, then reached across the table for the coffeepot and poured her another cup.

Annja thought she might float away from as much as she’d been drinking. She looked around for the restroom.

“Phillip came in two hours ago and went over to the station with that rust bucket of a truck you drove here. He called a little while ago on his cell—”

Annja gripped the edge of the table. Luartaro had a cell phone, but she didn’t know the number. She needed to call him…after a visit to the restroom. She downed the rest of the coffee.

“Phillip got a look at some of the stuff, and someone in the station told him one piece dated back several centuries and had been reported stolen last year. Probably quite a bit of it does date back a long way. Old, old stuff you found. A real hero, Miss Creed.”

She pushed herself away from the table.

“There’s been a problem for some time, people smuggling relics from ancient Asian temples and museums. It happens all over. Central and South America had tons of trouble with treasure hunters raiding the ruins. It was in the news,” Pete said.

Annja well knew about artifact theft and the resulting cultural loss.

“This gang you broke up trafficked particularly in gold.”

She could have told them that, based on what she’d seen in the treasure cavern. In fact, she had told Johnson that during the ride to Chiang Mai. And she’d probably tell the authorities again and again when they questioned her.

“Wonder if they still need to talk to me.”

Pete nodded and stirred his eggs. “Phillip said they expect you down at the station sometime this afternoon. Just for questions. Like I said, you’re not a suspect. You’re a hero. The local paper will probably want to do a piece.”

Standing over the table, all the wonderful scents of the kitchen assailed her. The spiced eggs and potatoes were especially strong, and she almost sat back down and asked for thirds. For some reason, she never seemed to gain weight no matter how much she shoveled in.

“Restroom?” she asked.

He pointed to a door over his shoulder.

“And you’ll get me a ride to the police station?”

He’d finally taken a forkful of eggs and was eating it, the words coming out muffled. “Driffmyself.” He swallowed. “I’ll be happy to drive you myself.”

She shook her head. “You look exhausted. On second thought, I’ll take a cab. I insist.”

She had a stop in mind before the station. After freshening up she returned to Rose’s desk and picked up the antiques-dealer cards she’d left there and the bag with the broken skull bowl.

“Mind if I borrow your phone?” she asked.

Rose waggled her fingers at it. She was busily typing away on the laptop Annja had been using. But this time it was plugged in so the battery could recharge. Annja took the phone a few feet away from the desk, as far as the cord allowed.

It took several minutes for the man at the lodge’s front desk to summon a sleepy and somewhat incoherent Luartaro.

“I have been worried about you!” He added that he had not yet panicked, however, as the resort reported that she had come and gone yesterday evening, and that he spoke with one of the policemen who’d remained behind after Annja left for Chiang Mai.

Annja gave him a rapid-fire account of finding Zakkarat’s body and dealing with the smugglers at the cavern, and told him she would return to the resort as soon as possible.

“I have to talk to more police today. Just routine.” Indeed, she figured it would be. There were always reports to fill out. “And there’s an antiques store here in the city I want to—”

“You think someone there’s involved with this.” Luartaro’s tone was matter-of-fact. “I think I know you well, Annja. You are curious, and you cannot quit on a mystery. My sister would like you.”

Annja had no reply for that. “I have to go,” she said.

“Take care of yourself, Annja. I don’t want to lose you.”

The cabdriver took her for a tourist, and when she asked him a few questions about the city, he broke into a clearly memorized speech in fluent English.

“This city, it was the capital of all the Lanna Kingdom after it was founded almost eight hundred years ago. It was also the land’s cultural center, and the center of Buddhism in Northern Thailand. Many, many temples were built by King Mengrai. We will drive by one of them.”

Annja had passed him the address she wanted to go to. “It was a little more than four hundred years ago that King Mengrai’s dynasty ended and Burma occupied this land. To this day you can see the Burmese influence on the city’s architecture. There and there.” He pointed to a pair of squat, ornately decorated buildings, one of which looked to be an art gallery.

“It was in the late eighteenth century that King Taksin—”

Annja thought sadly about Zakkarat Tak-sin and wondered if his wife had been notified. She would call Luartaro later to make sure, and she would send flowers or whatever was appropriate.

“—defeated the Burmese forces and took back this land.” He turned and looked over his shoulder, grinning broadly. “In the 1930s Chiang Mai grew to be more important when the last remnants of the Lanna Kingdom dissolved.”

She saw a man in a three-piece suit riding a bicycle and balancing a briefcase on the handlebars. Two blocks later she spotted more bike riders in business attire. Traffic had been light when they left the consulate, but it was becoming heavier now, and the driver wove in and out of the lane close to the sidewalk. The sky had been a brilliant blue, although it was full of clouds over the consulate. The farther south they traveled the more gray the sky became.

“It is going to rain again,” the cabdriver said.

“I wonder if all this rain hurts tourism.” It was an idle thought, and she’d voiced it to be conversational.

“Tourism is very good to Thailand. And Chaing Mai is important to tourists like you. Very scenic, this province, because of mountains, valleys, flowers. Good weather.” He paused. “But we are in the rainy season now. So many things to do—mountain biking, elephant shows, trips to hill tribe villages. There are many places you should visit. Chiang Mai Zoo has more than two hundred Asian and African animals. And Doi Suthep-Doi Pui National Park—”

“I don’t have much time for sightseeing,” Annja said politely. She slid to the other side of the backseat and looked out the window at a temple that was being renovated. Workers scurried over it, accompanied by music from a large boom box on the sidewalk.

“But you have time for shopping, yes? There is Walking Street that you must visit. A big market opens there on Sundays with handicrafts, all displayed and very colorful and very nice. Good prices. Silks, embroidery, umbrellas—hand-painted by the hill tribes.
Sa
paper, silverware, celadon, souvenirs.”

Annja tapped his shoulder. “On my next trip to Thailand. I’ll act like a proper tourist then.” She would come back, to see more of the caves and have a proper vacation, maybe with Luartaro. Definitely to see the long-necked women.

“It is too bad you do not have time for seeing sights this trip. There are many caves in this part of the country.”

Annja’s thoughts were suddenly thrown back to Tham Lod Cave and the caverns Zakkarat got them lost in the following day, and to the teak coffins with the precious and remarkable remains in them.

“You do have time for a little shopping, yes? The Night Bazaar, three blocks long, is good for tourists. Many goods there. Many restaurants.”

She sighed and bobbed her head. She smiled wistfully when the first few raindrops hit the windshield. “I will try to visit the Night Bazaar before I leave.” She had no intention of doing so, but she thought it would placate him.

“My brother has a restaurant there. Café Duan. Very good food. Good prices.”

He pointed out a few interesting buildings as he drove south on Suthep Road, one a massive white structure with ornate steps and roof sections.

“This was outside the city until the city grew,” he said. “Wat Suan Dok. Legend says that King Ku Na favored the pious monk Sumana Thera, and lured him and his teachings of Buddhism here from Sri Lanka. King Ku Na gave the monk his royal flower garden as a place to build a temple upon, and so Wat Suan Dok was built in 1371. Half of a very holy relic is housed inside. The other half is in Wat Phrathat Doi Suthep.”

“It is beautiful.”

“Part of the Maha Chulalongkorn Buddhist University of the Mahanikai sect is inside. The
wat
is open to tourists.”

“On my next trip,” she said.

The driver turned west at the following intersection and slowed. “So you will do a little shopping.” He stopped in front of an antiques store.
Chanarong’s Antiquities
were the English words displayed beneath the much larger, flowing Thai script.

“Wait for you?” he asked.

“No, thank you. I might be a while.”

“If you need another ride, you ask for me.” He passed her his card—Thai on one side, English on the other—as she handed over several more baht than the fare called for.

“I will do that. Thank you.” She slung the backpack over her shoulders, the broken pieces of skull clinking.

He drove away and she turned to scrutinize the business. The drizzle was turning into a steady, soft rain. Nearby, a restaurant which hadn’t yet opened for the day advertised lunch specials. The antiques shop was on the corner, an alley too narrow to drive down, to its left. It was an older building, three stories, made of dark red bricks that had been painted a few times, the current color dark green. The upper two floors looked to be apartments, one with a window air conditioner, one with a box fan, all of them with mismatched curtains. The antiques store had lighter green paint around its windows, and red chipped paint on the door trim. All of the windows were streaked with the grime of the city, but she could see vases, bowls and wooden knickknacks through the smears. She also spotted a small closed sign propped up against the bottom corner.

“Wonderful.” Annja had thought about calling the store before she came over, but didn’t want to tip anyone off. She’d decided just to stop by, as it should be open according to the hours printed on the card.

She stepped close to the door, which had a small window set in it, and she peered inside. The overhang kept her dry, rain pattering against it in a steady rhythm. It was dark in the shop, but she noticed shadowy shelves filled with all manner of objects, and larger pieces—chairs, tall urns and statues lining the walls—all of it too dark to make out much detail. It was not a large store, and everything looked cramped—a curiosity-seeker’s paradise.

A faint glow came from the back, and at first Annja thought it was a security light. But it flickered, as if someone was walking past it inside the shop, and she realized there was a doorway in the rear behind the sales counter, and the light was coming from a back room.

Annja didn’t hesitate; she headed down the narrow alley, tipping her head up to the rain and seeing a fat orange tabby cat resting against the screen of a secondfloor window. The police might already have been here; she’d given them the name of the place last night…or was it early this morning she’d done that? Maybe that was why it was closed; the owners were being questioned. She’d kept the business card, though, and the other cards—all tucked away in her fanny pack. She slowed at the end of the alley, out of force of habit, and took a quick peek around the corner.

The back of the shop was up against another alley, one that was wide enough to drive delivery trucks down and cut through by the back doors of other businesses. Trash cans lined the alley, several of them tipped over and spewing their contents onto the gravel. It reminded her of alleys she’d been down in New York. The smell was just as bad—smog from the city mixed with the garbage, the predominant odor being spoiled food tossed out by the restaurant, all of it picking up an even stronger scent in the rain. As she slipped around the corner, an oversize rat scurried out of her way and disappeared several yards away in a mound of wilted vegetables.