Murder at the House of Rooster Happiness (19 page)

But finally, her day was over. At least, her day as a nurse ethicist was over. And she was still feeling virtuous and valued and… clever, from the director’s kind words.

She felt so good, in fact, that she was momentarily nonplussed by the scrap of paper adorning the windshield of her yellow Beetle, tucked under a tired windshield wiper. It was not a parking ticket. Nor was it an advertisement, she realized as she drew closer. Because the page was blank, and that would be a highly ineffective way to advertise anything. It was simply a page of paper.

In the back of her mind, Ladarat recognized that this might be a message from Khun Tippawan. Certainly she seemed to favor such indirect means of communication. And yet there was the fact that this page was blank. Or was it?

Ladarat removed the mysterious page from its resting place, looking at it carefully. Nothing. It was only as she turned to open her car door that she thought to check the other side. And there the message was difficult to miss, and most definitely not the work of Khun Tippawan:

Khun Ladarat: Your car, it is very nice. An antique no doubt. It would be a shame if anything were to happen to damage such a fine machine that has lived so long and in such excellent health. Give up your Peaflower investigation now, and your car will live for many more happy years.

It took Ladarat several long minutes to calm down after finding the message threatening her little car. Her pulse had raced at first, at the very thought that someone might consider harming such a blameless vehicle. Who would consider doing such a thing?

Then, of course, she looked around. Surreptitiously at first, then more boldly. Was this Peaflower woman out there somewhere, watching her? Or did she have an… accomplice? But the parking lot was empty. Yet someone was almost certainly out there somewhere, watching her. Ladarat found that possibility even more disturbing than the threat to her Beetle had been.

A few minutes later, sitting in the front seat of her still-stationary Beetle, Ladarat had a second thought that made her pulse race all over again. Not only was Peaflower watching her now, but that woman had almost certainly been watching her this morning. How else would she have known which car was Ladarat’s? So Peaflower had been watching, and waiting for her to arrive at work. Or—much worse—Peaflower had followed her from home.

Eeeyy. That was very disturbing indeed. It was one thing to be chasing a murderer, but another thing entirely to be chased by one. Once again, Ladarat felt her heart bouncing up and down in her chest like a monkey in a cage.

And yet… Ladarat was pleasantly surprised to note that her pulse soon returned to normal. Or nearly normal.

Ladarat thought of calling Khun Wiriya, and indeed she knew that she should. But it was getting late, and she had a stop to make before she returned home. And besides, if she were honest with herself, she would have admitted that this threat didn’t seem real. It seemed like something one would see in a film, or read about in a book. People—real people—did not make threats like this. Against an antique car? Really?

Ladarat tucked the offending piece of paper in her glove box and started the Beetle. Her car, fortunately, seemed unimpressed by the threat that had just been leveled at it. In fact, it seemed to spring to life with more vitality than usual, as if to prove to its owner that it, too, was undeterred. So she put her faithful car in gear and pointed it toward the Ping River.

THE VERY LOW PRICE OF GENUINE HAPPINESS

T
he fruit seller was where he always was. Today, though, he wasn’t looking at Ladarat but at the Beetle. He seemed to be eyeing her car appreciatively. The man even stepped out from behind his booth as Ladarat emerged, sneaking a glance over her shoulder at the car’s odometer.

“
Sawat dee krup, ajarn.
” He often addressed her with the honorific
ajarn
reserved for teachers, and Ladarat had never bothered to correct him. “I’ve been waiting for you to return.”

Ladarat paused. That was unusual.

“Ah, really?” Even to her, that sounded like a poor rejoinder.

“Yes, Khun. There’s a man—an American. He is looking for just such a car as this. Of course, I didn’t tell him about yours…”

Of course, that’s exactly what you did.

“But I thought of you immediately. You wouldn’t be interested in selling it, would you? I could get you a good deal with this man. A very good deal, I’m sure. He seemed very wealthy. And I could find you a new, modern Japanese car. Or Korean? You like Korean? Much better value for the money. I can get you a top-quality Korean car, for just a fraction of what this man would be willing to pay, I’m sure. You’d have money left over…”

“No, thank you, Khun. I don’t think so. Not today. But I’d like a bunch of bananas, if it’s not too much trouble?”

The man looked downhearted, but not for long. In his line of work, he probably took chances and was rebuffed all the time. Ladarat hefted the bananas in the plastic bag he’d given her. (“Free! No charge! Special for you!”) Then she made her way down the small
soi
, toward the Tea House. The whole way, she thought about the man’s proposition. Not about what he was offering. She’d never sell the Beetle.

No, she put that out of her mind. But she was still thinking about what the man said. About his being an intermediary.

This woman, Peaflower. Perhaps she has an intermediary of sorts. Someone who can help her find the men, and who can set up a meeting. Perhaps that was a matchmaker, as they had guessed initially, or perhaps it was a friend or acquaintance.

But who?

She pushed through the double doors, offering a deep
wai
and the bananas to the
Hing Phra
Buddha shrine just inside.

One of the girls greeted her, seeming genuinely pleased to see her. She ran to get the mamasan. Then Kittiya—Ya—brought a cool towel and a glass of tea, and Ladarat thanked her.

But Ya didn’t leave. She simply knelt on the floor, just out of reach. She didn’t say anything but seemed to be waiting expectantly.

In all of her visits, Ladarat had never spent much time with the girls alone. Now she wasn’t sure what to say.

It wasn’t that she had moral objections to prostitution. It wasn’t that the girls were doing anything wrong. And yet Ladarat had always found it difficult to live and let live when it came to the sex industry. Too much bad happens as a result of all the money that it creates. The abductions, the drugs. No, Thailand should do away with it. At least as much as it’s possible to do away with something like that.

But that would be harder here than almost anywhere else in the world. Not just because of the
farang
who come here, but because of the way the population accepts prostitutes here. So many work to support family members, and they’re honored. A woman like Ya who works for five years in Chiang Mai to put her younger brother through school, and who builds a house for her parents, and buys them a herd of buffalo…

Well, what can you say about someone like that except that she has made much merit? Back in the village they worship her. It would take an ordinary businessman a lifetime to earn that amount of respect and merit for charitable works.

Ya was crouched a few feet away, looking at her expectantly. Ladarat took a sip of the tea and thought about what a detective would do. A detective, she decided in an instant, would ask a routine question to put the person at ease.

“Please, Khun. Keep me company.”

Ya rose and sat primly on the edge of a chair, keeping her head respectfully below Ladarat’s. Still, she said nothing.

“And where are you from, Khun?” she asked the girl.

“Ah, I’m from Mai Charim District, in Isaan.”

“Yes, that is beautiful country. Very peaceful.” Ya nodded and smiled. She seemed to be coming to a decision to speak.

“And so…” Ya said hesitantly.

Ladarat nodded encouragement and took a sip of tea.

“The mamasan says that you are not only a nurse, but you are now a detective.” She seemed suddenly wide-eyed with admiration. “How does one get to be a detective, can you tell me?”

Ladarat smiled and almost laughed, but caught herself just in time. And besides, it would not do to have people talking about her detection work. It was bad enough that Peaflower was aware. Even worse, what if Khun Tippawan were to find out? No, some activities are best kept quiet.

“No,” she said firmly. “I am hardly a detective. I am a nurse, it’s true. But as for the detective part… well…”

She wasn’t a detective, that was for certain. But she wasn’t
not
a detective, if that made any sense. Or she wasn’t
not
a detective in the same way that, say, the fruit seller on the corner was not a detective. She was, perhaps, a little closer to the detective end of the spectrum than to the not-detective end. But that wouldn’t help her answer the girl’s question.

“No,” she said finally. “I’m not a detective. I’m just assisting the police in a routine investigation. I won’t be arresting anyone.” She smiled. “And I certainly won’t be sending them to prison.”

“But that’s all right, I didn’t want to become a detective,” the girl said.

Well, that was good. But then why was Ya looking at her expectantly? Slowly she began to think through the possible options. She didn’t want to become a detective and so…

“So you want to become… a nurse?”

The girl’s plain face lit up in a smile. She nodded.

“I’ve always wanted to become a nurse. My mother wanted to as well, but her family didn’t have the money to send her to school. My parents didn’t have the money either but, well…” She waved her tiny hand at the room around her.

“I’ve been here for two years and the mamasan makes me put half of what I earn in the bank. Half! Can you believe it? At first I thought it was a joke. But at the end of the first month, I realized how much I was saving, and now that my brother has passed his exams, I can send myself to nursing school.” She paused. “But…”

“Yes, Khun?”

That seemed to give her encouragement.

“But I don’t know if I have the right… temperament to be a nurse. I believe I am able to learn—I always did well in school. But would I… fit in, do you think?”

Ladarat smiled and tried to appear very, very serious. In truth, it took the best Thai traits of patience and flexibility and diplomacy to work in both jobs, she thought. She was pleasantly distracted for a moment by how Khun Tippawan, the Director of Excellence, might greet this assessment. And further, by that shrewish woman’s reaction if Ladarat were to suggest to her that she might have a future in the sex industry. She couldn’t suppress a smile.

“I think…” she said.

“Yes?”

“I think I would need to know more about you from the mamasan, but I think perhaps you could be a very fine nurse. And if she agrees, I would be pleased to write you a letter of reference.”

“Oh, Khun, thank you!”

And Ya offered her a deep
wai
, and then another, backing across the room. Then she ran skipping down the hallway to the back stairs.

It was astonishing how little it took to give genuine happiness to someone else. That sort of happiness had a very low price. Especially if that person deserved something good. That seemed to make true happiness even less expensive somehow.

She sat pondering this truism for a few moments when another girl she hadn’t met materialized next to her chair. This girl was hauntingly beautiful, with long black hair and white skin, and a willowy grace that reminded Ladarat of the palm trees that she and Somboon saw on their honeymoon on Koh Samui.

She offered a
wai
and crouched down next to Ladarat, keeping her head well below Ladarat’s. For a terrifying moment, Ladarat thought that this girl, too, wanted to go to nursing school. What were the odds of that? And perhaps the entire house wanted to go to nursing school. All dozen or so girls. What would she do then?

But fortunately the girl told her that the mamasan asked her to come back to her office. Then she rose, as fluid and as graceful as a giraffe. Ladarat followed her as she glided down the hallway, feeling clumsy and oafish by comparison.

Her cousin was waiting for her and gave her a hug. Ladarat took a seat across from her cousin’s desk as the girl glided out and closed the door. The office was small and cramped but comfortable. There was the small desk, made of smooth, glossy teak. And plain white paneling lined the walls. On those walls were pictures—most in color—of more than a hundred girls. All of them had worked at the Tea House at one time or another. And most, Ladarat was pretty sure, had gone on to better things.

That was one accomplishment that Siriwan prided herself on. She really thought of her Tea House as a sort of finishing school that would give girls a leg up in the world. They’d emerge after a few years with more savings than many Thais amass in a lifetime, a decent command of English and perhaps some French or German, and the ability to carry themselves with poise and elegance. That was her dream, anyway.