by Marie Moore
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,”
The glass slid shut. Rahim got out of the front seat and stood beside the fancy car, waving away would-be salesmen.
Brooke heaved a big sigh. She had our full attention.
“I had a large cocktail party followed by a small dinner for Valentine’s Day,” Brooke said, in a small voice, for once looking her age, “at my house in New York. Valentine’s Day is one of my favorite holidays and I always have a party. My Valentine’s party has become a tradition among my friends. There were many guests invited for drinks, but only the people who are with us on this trip remained for the dinner.”
She stopped, again staring out the window, then continued, a faraway look in her eyes.
“As always, marking the place of each guest at the table were delightful little boxes of chocolates—tiny red satin boxes—tied up with silk ribbon. I order them from that fine candy shop on Lexington Avenue as favors. The dinner was a great success. Everyone had a good time and exclaimed over the chocolates, but they did not open them, not then. They all took them home at the end of the evening, as you do with favors. Now you both know that I love chocolate. All of my friends know I love chocolate, even though I try not to eat much of it because it’s so fattening. After everyone had gone, just before going to bed, I opened mine, took a nibble from one piece, and before long became violently ill.”
“Brooke!” I said, shocked.
“Yes. Fortunately, I was able to reach the phone and call the doorman, who called my doctor, Dr. Rosen. He actually lives in the building, so he came right away.”
“Were you taken to the hospital?” Jay asked.
“No, at the time we thought it might have been the seafood appetizer—I don’t always do well with that—or a virus. Neither of us suspected the chocolate. I was, as I said, quite ill, but Dr. Rosen treated me, stayed with me, until I was better. He felt that I would be all right by morning without going to the hospital and he was correct. But the next day, I thought about it and decided to have the remaining chocolates tested. Two of them were poisoned, including the one that I had nibbled. I am extremely lucky that it was only a nibble and not a bite. Had I eaten the whole piece I might not be here with you today. It was cleverly done. A tiny hole on the underside of each piece showed where it had been injected.”
“What did the police say?” I asked.
“I didn’t call the police,” she replied, lifting her chin and defiantly squaring her shoulders, red hair flaming in the light from the car window. “I decided to handle it myself, and eventually I devised the plan for this trip. I didn’t want policemen prying into my business and investigating.”
“You didn’t want the publicity either,” Jay said.
“Exactly. The tabloid press would love it, wouldn’t they? Just the thought of the headlines makes me shudder. I used a private lab to have the candy tested and the box examined, and paid enough to ensure that the result would remain private. The police were not involved.”
“But Brooke,” I protested, “this is so dangerous. As you said, if you had eaten the whole little box instead of a nibble—”
“I might have died. Yes. I am well aware of that, Sidney.”
“Were any of the others sick?” Jay asked, frowning, exchanging glances with me.
“No. Only me.”
She paused, remembering, then continued in a stronger, more determined voice, “I don’t want any recommendations from either of you about calling the police. That’s not why I told you this long story. It’s too late anyway; I destroyed the evidence. I did keep the lab report, however. It is in my safe, just in case something does happen to me. This is why I arranged the trip, and why I wanted you two to come along. I know I can trust you. What I want from you two are your eyes and ears and good brains.”
She smiled and patted each of us on the hands. “I want you to help me discover who did this. And when you have something to report, I want you to bring it directly to me, not the police. I hope I’m clear on that.”
“Brooke,” Jay said, “what about fingerprints? Wouldn’t those have told the police who the culprit is?”
“I thought of that, and the box was examined when the candy was tested. There were no fingerprints other than my own.”
“Gloves,” I said.
“Yes.” She squared her shoulders and picked up her purse, pulling out big round Chanel s
unglasses. “There now. We’ve talked quite enough about this miserable business for one day. I say, no more conversation, no questions, no lectures. Come along, we’re going shopping!”
And with that, she reached past me and opened the car door. We climbed out into the bedlam of the street and headed off at a rapid pace. She’d left us with no choice other than to follow her into the market, with about a million questions unanswered.
Chapter 8
“You said this morning that your beard needed a trim, Jay. Why not give this guy a try?”
Jay shook his head and gave a thumbs-down on my suggestion as we watched a sidewalk barber lather a customer’s face from a tin bowl held under the chin. He began to rapidly scrape the guy’s cheeks with a long sharp straight razor, wiping the blade with each stroke on his apron.
“Pass,” he said. “Don’t want anyone with a knife like that near my throat. Come on, Sidney, enough of soaking up the atmosphere. We’ve got to hurry it up if I’m going to buy my turban and still have time to shop the spice market.”
We had bargained our way through the bazaar, dodging weaving cycle rickshaws, motorbikes, chicken trucks and cow patties. Our distress over Brooke’s dilemma and ours had eased somewhat when she left us on our own in the Pul-Ki-Mandi, the flower bazaar. She returned to the car, followed by Nigel, whose arms were laden with flowers. As she left she pointed us toward the Kinari Galli bazaar. She said that there we could haggle over saris and turbans. The car would return for us in an hour.
“Rahim will show you the way. Then he will leave you to wander on your own and return to the hotel to help me prepare for the evening. Nigel will return with the car and wait for you just on the other side of the spice market near the far end of the Chowk. He will take you from here to tea at the Imperial Hotel then back to our hotel.”
“How will we find Nigel in all this?” I asked, waving my arm toward the crowded confusion of the market.