Temple of Indra's Lies (Time-Traveling Bibliophile Book 3)

by Rachael Stapleton

  “I usually do,” he said.

  “My suitcase has been rifled through.”

  “Mine too,” Cullen agreed.

  It was only as the closet doors in the front hall banged open that we realized we weren’t alone.

  The figure glided out and in his hand was a large serrated knife.

  “Cullen!” I gasped, backing up.

  The intruder wore some sort of nylon material over his face but the outline of eye sockets, cheekbones, and a mouth came into focus. The face was vaguely familiar.

  “What do you want?” Cullen stepped in front of me.

  The intruder didn’t reply. Not a good sign.

  Cullen threw his wallet at the guy. “Take it and go and I willn’a chase ye.”

  The figure didn’t move for a moment. He seemed nervous.

  “What are ye waitin’ for, man? Go. The door is behind ye.”

  Cullen stomped his foot forward as if he was going to go at him. That was all the encouragement the man needed. He opened the door and bolted. Then we heard a thump and someone yelled.

  “That sounded like Sam,” I said.

  Cullen and I both took off out the door just in time to see Sam wrestling the man to the ground. Sam punched the intruder in the face and pulled the covering off but the man slipped from his grasp and ran for the trees.

  Just as I’d suspected—it was our tour guide, Mani. Sam was up on his feet and already after him.

  “Sam, stop, man. It’s not worth it. We know who he is,” Cullen called after him. “Aeval, Go check on Leslie. I’m headed for security.”

  It wasn’t like Mani would have hurt her just because he’d broken into our place, but what if he’d tried her place first? I climbed the steps to her front door and listened.

  No sound.

  I knocked.

  “Leslie? Is everything all right in there?”

  No answer.

  I leaned in closer, listening harder.

  Still no sound.

  I rested my hand on the door handle. It turned and I yanked the door open in time to hear Leslie scream.

  My breath caught in my throat and I backed away, bumping into Sam behind me.

  Leslie was dripping wet and naked. She bent and scooped her towel up, wrapping it around her body.

  “What are you doing?” she screamed. “You gave me a heart attack. I was in the shower and I think I hear knocking so I come out and see my door opening.”

  “I’m so sorry, Les. I was worried.”

  “That I might have a nice relaxing shower before dinner?”

  “Our place was broken into and we surprised the intruder—it was that shady tour guide.”

  Leslie cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me that he got the dagger and ring?”

  I shook my head no. “Just my sense of security.”

  “So you left it at the temple, that’s good. I guess we can go home now, huh.”

  “Not exactly. I had the stuff on me. Cullen threw his wallet at him and he fled but Sam jumped him outside. He took off after him and Cullen went for security.”

  “Oh my God. You are just addicted to adrenalin, aren’t you?”

  “Wait til you hear what else happened to me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I went back in time again.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Mani in the Grove

  A hush fell over the grove as night settled in. Most of the tourists had disappeared with the sun, settling into their chicken tikka masala and palak paneer, making it the perfect time for a secret meeting. Mani leaned against the trunk of one of the many mango trees that spread their broad, rounded canopy over the resort. He stretched his stiff muscles as ribbons of green leaves drooped down from almost a hundred feet overhead.

  If only he could sleep and luxuriate in a place like this. He glanced up at the cottage next to the river. The lamp inside the room had been switched on and he could see movement. The tourist appeared at the balcony’s door; Mani waved, and then glanced at the rock to make sure his sister, Riya, was still hidden. That silly girl was always following him. Her meddling was going to get them both into trouble.

  That had been a close call today. He’d been hired to rob the O’Kelley bunkie but it hadn’t panned out. One failed attempt after another. He’d taken the couple to the Airavatesvara Temple the other day. He had led many groups before, vacationers and historians looking to see the great living Chola temples. Mani was well suited for this job; he spoke several languages, and knew everything there was to know about Rajaraja Chola and Lord Shiva.

  What he couldn’t understand was why the tourist had wanted him to lie. So many fascinating things had happened in the Kumbakonam area. To make up additional outlandish stories seemed foolish, but Mani knew better than to speak his mind, especially to this particular tourist. He had that look of crazy in his eye. Besides, Mani needed money.

  For fifty thousand rupees, Mani would have told them whatever bedtime story they wanted to hear and so he’d arranged the secret room, just as the man had outlined. If there was one thing Mani knew how to do, it was his job…except things hadn’t exactly gone as planned. That stupid woman had refused to cooperate. Well, he couldn’t be blamed for that. Could he?

  To make matters worse, he’d told Riya, idealistic girl that she was, and she’d insisted on a thirty minute lecture about how any man foolish enough to lie and plant idols in the temple would be cursed. Hopefully she’d stay put and wouldn’t ruin this for him. He’d done plenty of things for money that she would have condemned him for. He was already at the whim of spoiled rich tourists, how could his life be worse?

  Overhead, the gray langur monkeys shrieked and screamed in the trees, shaking the branches. Mani glanced upward, wondering what had set them off.

  “Has the old woman been disposed of?” the man asked, appearing silently from the other side of the tree.

  “You scared me,” Mani answered, taking a deep breath. “Of course.”

  He hadn’t finished that particular job yet, but there was no need to tell him that.

  “Surely, this time ye made it look like an accident. The tour operator’s wife wouldn’t shut up about her man. Why would ye have the lads do your dirty work?”

  “Less conspicuous.”

  “Apparently not. What if they tell?”

  “They wouldn’t dare. They are my little cousins and they know better. I’ve used them for jobs before.”

  “Aye, do they know who I am?”

  “Of course not. No one knows you but me.”

  “And the woman’s body—it’s at her house? Ye’ll forgive me for my doubts, but I’d like to see it.”

  “I will do it tonight. My sister followed me there,” Mani replied sheepishly. “I promise it shall be done. Can I still get my money?”

  “Yer money,” the tourist said ominously. “For what? An unfinished job.”

  Mani sighed. He’d known this man would find a reason to rip him off. Silly Riyu, why had she interfered?

  “Stay put,” the tourist instructed. “I’ll get yer money.”

  He looked over his shoulder to where his sister was sitting behind a rock. She was still hidden well. When he looked back the man had already disappeared.

  He waited a few minutes and then moved out from under the cover of the tree, tired of waiting for the tourist. He wanted his money and he wanted out of here. He thought he heard boots squish in the mud behind him. Perhaps the tourist was on his way back.

  Then he saw his sister in a halo of blood. Mani felt his heart pounding as he fell to his knees and began to shake her. He wondered if she was really dead. He heard the boots behind him again, and this time he felt quite certain that the man was back. The monkeys began their shrieking, and Mani leapt to his feet and screamed.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Welcome to the Jungle

  Leslie sat propped up in bed surrounded by piles of yellowing parchment and dust while I told her about my trip to Dunla
ce Castle.

  “You are so lucky. Why doesn’t this stuff ever happen to me?”

  I blew a rogue strand of hair out of my face that had slipped free from its binding. “Lucky, yes, that’s just what I thought when I was being dragged to the altar.”

  “So you recognized Liam and ran and then he found you and roughed you up?”

  “No, that’s the confusing part. I don’t think my groom was Liam at all.”

  “What do you mean? You said he was violent and scary and attacked you.”

  “Yes, and I assumed when I saw him at the altar that he was a past life version of Liam. After all, the servant woman said I was marrying Conal’s cousin and from a distance it looked enough like him because of the dark hair, but I think when he accosted me in the room, it was because I’d jilted him. Not to mention he was drunk—who gets drunk before a wedding?

  “Well, you could be right. I mean your killer hasn’t been in the same role in every life but I thought you said you saw him. “

  “I did. I think he was the one who pulled Sorely off of me and then locked me in the basement.”

  “But you said that was your Da.”

  “I know. Strange. I can’t imagine having Liam for a father.”

  “Hopefully you didn’t screw up the past by not marrying that Sorely dude.”

  I bit my lip. “Yeah, hopefully. Although he did turn into a big jerk so maybe it was better that she or I didn’t marry him.”

  “Who knows? Maybe the castle will be standing in perfect condition when we get home.”

  We both laughed.

  “What are you gonna do with the jewels?”

  “You know I’ve been rethinking everything. Saraswati kept insisting that there was no temple and considering that Mani was a thief and a fraud, I think the jewels are safest with me. I mean, I need to make sure I don’t touch them because I never know what’s gonna trigger the damn things, but I kind of feel like maybe I’m meant to have them.”

  Leslie smiled. “Finally, you’re coming to your senses.”

  “I don’t know about …”

  “Shhh…Did you hear that?” Leslie asked. “I thought I heard something. A scream?”

  I paused and listened, but all I could hear were the sounds of the jungle outside the window.

  Leslie sat up straighter. “I guess it was just the monkeys but it almost sounded human.”

  “You’re just getting paranoid ‘cause of what happened today. I bet you’d feel better if Sam was here.”

  Leslie blushed but didn’t deny it. They’d spent the whole dinner in deep conversation, as if Cullen and I were invisible. That was of course after we’d spent hours with the local police. They were out looking for Mani now and the resort had promised to have security patrol our bunkies regularly. They’d even walked Leslie and I back from dinner when she’d been sick.

  “Why don’t I sleep in here with you? Cullen will be fine in our cottage next door on his own.” I took the extra pillow and propped it behind Leslie, knowing she’d relax if I got her comfortable. “How are you feeling? Still nauseous or would you like to try some of the naan bread I brought you?”

  Leslie scowled but relaxed back against the pillows. “I’m fine, Sophia. You know you don’t have to coddle me. Go back to the restaurant and finish your dinner. You make me feel like such a nuisance.”

  “I wasn’t hungry anymore anyway and Cullen’s meeting me here. I wonder why he’s not back yet. Maybe he stopped by Sam’s room to have a cigar.”

  Leslie sat back up. “What if that was Cullen I heard? Maybe you should go check on him,” she said.

  I frowned while carrying the tray of food over and setting it on Leslie’s lap. “Cullen’s a big boy and I’m sure he can fend off a few monkeys.”

  Leslie nodded, but didn’t look convinced. She was starting to make me paranoid. There were large cats in India after all and the resort wasn’t lit up very well. Maybe I should go next door and see if he was back.

  I glanced around the resort property as I walked toward the main building, noting how still the branches in the tall trees were. Security was posted outside just as they’d promised. I waved and unlocked my Bunkie but Cullen wasn’t in our room. No breeze and no relief from the heat despite it being evening. It was like breathing water for air, a wet heat that never went away. This must be how amphibians feel. I decided to walk back to the main resort to hurry the boys up. I felt safe enough now that extra security was posted.

  A noise off in the darkened part of the path startled me out of my daydream. There was no security post here but the main building was directly in front of me, as was the fountain. I glanced and saw a mound of something in the water. I moved closer and realized it was a yellow-and-orange sari and there was a mass of tangled black hair.

  “Help!” I fought to keep from hyperventilating and hurried to the door several feet ahead. I struggled to open it, just as Cullen called to me from behind.

  “Sophia. Come here, love.”

  He and Sam had come down a side path and they were now approaching me at an alarming pace. I could tell from the look on Cullen’s face that he too knew something was wrong. He pulled me into his arms and we both watched mesmerized by the horror floating in front of us. Sam stooped over the body in the fountain and as he rolled the mound of yellow over, her green eyes caught the light from the nearby lamps. It was Saraswati and she was dead.

  That was it. I was going home.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Back on the Emerald Isle

  Dublin, Ireland, October 2015

  In Dublin’s creative quarter, we sat at a café-style table outside Le Petit Parisien, with its orange-and-black façade, sipping coffee and tea. The trip to India, which was supposed to be the ultimate stress reliever, had been a bust. The jewels were still my cross to bear and the elusive Temple of Indra was as much a mystery to me as ever.

  After Saraswatti’s death, two more bodies had been discovered, including the body of our tour guide, Mani. Clearly one of his robberies had gone wrong. We’d all agreed that leaving the jewel in India was a bad idea. The closest airport was less than two hours away and so once we were cleared to leave, we’d booked plane tickets and put as much distance between us and the Airavatesvara Temple as we could. I’d locked the jewels up in Cullen’s office the moment we’d returned. There was no way I wanted them anywhere near my body.

  Sam had hitched a ride back with us and he and Leslie had become inseparable over the last week.

  “Whatever ye do, lasses, don’t crack a grin,” Cullen said, as Leslie stopped eating and reluctantly smiled for the camera yet again. Leslie of course was eating. She’d been drooling over something called the Croque-Monsieur since the man next to us ordered it. It looked like a normal baked ham and cheese sandwich but Leslie moaned over the béchamel sauce. Since leaving India, her appetite had returned with a vengeance. She ordered a chocolate croissant for dessert and a dozen tarts to go. I had plans to steal one later if there were any left. No bets there.

  My appetite had also improved in the last week. I’d dropped almost ten pounds while away, compliments of India’s sweltering heat, but that’s what happened when you had to change outfits three times a day. Leslie and I had visited the bridal boutique yesterday and I’d put on my wedding gown for the first time in months. The vintage mermaid that had been custom designed to fit me like a glove, now hung off me like a second skin. I was sure a few more months in Ireland would have me right but we were getting married next month and I needed that dress to fit perfectly. Luckily Dublin’s best seamstress had an opening in her schedule. I was due back on Monday for the final fitting—one less thing to worry about.

  We were headed back to Dunlace Castle next week to begin work, and life was running surprisingly smoothly for a change. I couldn’t help but think of Saraswati at times like this. I felt extreme guilt over her death. Had she died because she’d advised me not to leave the jewels in that temple? Or was it a complete coincidence—just ra
ndom violence in a poor country? It tainted my feelings toward a land I’d always imagined fondly. The India of my great-grandmother Gigi’s stories was magical.

  I pushed the negative feelings aside and focused on the present. If I’d learned anything in all my travels, it was that I couldn’t change the past the way I wanted to. The changes were random like my Gigi’s upbringing. My home was with Cullen in Dublin now, and we were in the midst of trying to convince Leslie that it was her home, too.

  Our realtor, Cullen’s cousin, had just left and we sat admiring the three-story brick edifice across the lane that housed an empty storefront. It was the fifth place for lease we’d checked out since returning from India two weeks ago. We liked the Creative Quarter best; it was a hub of design and ingenuity, stretching from South Uilliam Street to George’s Street, and from Lower Liam’s Street to Exchequer Street. There were exceptional artisan boutiques, studios, cafés and restaurants but it was severely lacking in bookstores and so Leslie and I were considering remedying that. Why couldn’t two librarians run a bookshop?

  The camera clicked as Cullen took another shot of us and then turned his aim to the empty shop across the lane. It was nice, but our favorite location was on the corner of Wicklow and Uilliam Street South. The building’s owner was asking much more in rent than Leslie and I wanted to pay but, of course, Cullen was willing to step in and take over negotiations. He might have been an architect who specialized in the restoration and conservation of historic buildings and castles, but his family was the silent partner in many businesses around the world. He had been raised to negotiate. Quite the opposite could be said for Leslie and me, so we were grateful for the help.

  Our second attempt at a wedding was going much more smoothly than the first, mostly because his psychotic brother was dead, but also because we had decided to keep it low key. Cullen had pulled some strings and we were getting married in the castle he’d restored a year ago. I’d never been there but Cullen had showed me pictures of the library and I’d swooned. It would just be us and his immediate family—that is, if his grandmother, who everyone referred to as Móraí, refrained from inviting strangers this time around.