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  “Joan,” Sarah returned the hug. “No, you don’t have to go through customs again. But we do need to get your luggage. And this,” Sarah gestured to her companion, “is Tahm, my driver. Tahm, Mrs. Maguire will show you her luggage.”

  “Sawat dii kahp, Miss Maguire,” Tahm wai’d her politely, bowing with steepled hands. “Welcome Chiang Mai. Will you show luggage please?”

  “Oh,” Joan smiled. “Thank you. Very nice. Yes, I have three bags. There, the gray with the roses? And two more like that. There they are,” she gestured at the baggage rotunda. “I have the claim checks right here,” she produced her ticket folder. “Would you be a dear, Sarah? Is that a currency exchange? Over there? I must change some money, you know? I never go anywhere without local currency – dear James always insisted when we traveled and I just really don’t feel comfortable without. It seems silly sometimes since everyone’s always so agreeable – about accepting dollars, I mean – but it’s just so much nicer to have local money. I do have all these Singapore dollars and a lot of ringit from Malaysia but I don’t suppose those … No, of course not. So – yes, that’s the one – go on out and I’ll be there in just a minute. You don’t mind, do you?”

  Mrs. Maguire dismissed any objections unheard as she moved toward the currency exchange.

  Smiling and shaking her head, Sarah relieved Tahm of the smallest of the three bags – the young Thai was reluctant to allow her even that much of a load – then led the way outside.

  While Chiang Mai – population 150,000+ – is the second largest city in Thailand as well as the commercial hub for the northern provinces, the Chiang Mai Airport is not a large sprawling terminal. With most flights originating in Bangkok – an hour south – the concourse was not so large as to require moving walkways nor were the crowds, especially at this early hour, suggestive of a mob scene. Instead, the building was almost empty with less than a hundred travelers both arriving and departing, while the trip from the luggage carousel to the street was a short walk.

  Outside, other arrivals were waiting for vehicles; some were boarding the Red Bus; a few were hailing tuk-tuks, the three-wheeled, motorcycle-powered taxis which abounded on the streets of Chiang Mai. In the midst of all this, a samlor – also a three-wheeled vehicle as the name suggested but this one bicycle-powered – was dropping its passenger.

  “You bring the van,” Sarah suggested, outside at the loading dock. “I’ll wait here with the baggage. And thank you.”

  Tahm looked a question but didn’t speak.

  “Joan does like to talk,” Sarah explained.

  “She is nice lady,” Tahm smiled. “Mai pen rhy! I bring roht yohn, kahp.” “roht yohn” – car or van

  Sarah looked at the three bags on the curb. The morning was early yet – the sun was barely over the horizon and the breeze was cooler than she’d expected.

  Leaving the bags where they were, Sarah stepped back inside the building, watching the luggage through the broad windows. Down the concourse – not a large one as airports go – she could see Joan waiting at the currency exchange. Two other customers were at the windows but Joan appeared relaxed and unhurried.

  “Makes sense,” Sarah reminded herself. “Joan’s no stranger to airports. You should have had some breakfast, girl. Doesn’t matter what the local time is, your stomach’s still on California time.” For a moment, she considered taking the luggage inside and finding something to eat. It would be a half-hour’s or more drive back to the guesthouse. Was Joan hungry? Probably not since she’d arrived by Thai Air.

  It was only a two-hour flight from Penang – or maybe three, including the change in Bangkok – but this wasn’t like the states where you got a bag of peanuts and a soft drink for a four-hour flight. No, Joan would have already had a full meal during the flight. And a good one, as well. Or perhaps two.

  The air here was always fragrant – one of the things Sarah was coming to like about northern Thailand – but there was something in the air … something was making her mouth water.

  Sarah looked around, sniffing the air.

  Over there – that cart. What, she wasn’t certain but her nose had no doubts – whatever it was, it was eatable.

  Approaching the cart, the odors became almost irresistible. Some kind of small banana? Flattened and fried? And what were those bundles of yellowish sticks tied with a strip of green leaf. What they were didn’t matter – they smelled delicious as well.

  “How much,” Sarah indicated one of the bundles, remembering just in time that pointing was considered very impolite here and gesturing with an open hand.

  “Aroy mak, kahp!” the vendor assured her. “Sip hah baht, mai?” – ‘aroy mak’ – delicious

  Sarah shook her head, reaching for her fanny pack to search for her phrase book.

  “Sip baht!” the vendor offered, holding up ten fingers.

  Ten baht? What was that? About thirty-five … no, forty cents? Sarah smiled and nodded, fishing for money instead of the book. Handing over a green twenty-baht bill, she accepted the ten-baht coin in return and then took the banana leaf holding the bundle of … whatever. As she took the leaf, the vendor used tongs to add one of the bananas from the grill.

  “Missy! Mawng!” the vendor was suddenly urgent, gesturing behind her.

  As Sarah turned, she saw two men and a battered green pickup stopped next to the luggage at the curb. The two men were lifting the luggage into the back of the truck.

  Sarah dropped the leaf platter, running toward the thieves. Behind them, Tahm had arrived, jumping out of the Baan Orchid van, also coming at a dead run.

  One of the men, holding the smallest of the bags, slammed the bag into Tahm, knocking him to the ground before jumping in the back of the truck. His partner was already behind the wheel and the battered truck was screeching out of the parking lot before the girl could reach them.

  A moment later, Tahm vanished in hot pursuit.

  Baan Orchid, 8:00 AM

  “So we caught a tuk-tuk,” Sarah concluded. “And came here. I gave the police the address. I don’t know where Tahm is. Still chasing them, I suppose.”

  “But,” Mrs. Maguire picked up the thread, “you can see why it is absolutely essential that I go shopping. I mean, I haven’t a thing to wear and it’s really quite lucky, of course. Not that I need an excuse and I’m sure they’ll find my bags eventually but I hear there are marvelous shops here and it isn’t like they stole anything important really. Just clothes and I’m sure I brought too many anyway. My passport and credit cards,” she patted her side, “are perfectly safe. I always keep the important things in a money belt while traveling. It’s so much more secure, don’t you think. What do you call these? They are delicious,” she opened another of the leaf-wrapped cones.

  “Uh, it doesn’t translate well,” Nolan blushed slightly, then confessed, “They’re called ‘little girl’s tits’ – there’s a larger variety too, filled with fish or sausage, usually spicy …” He allowed the thought to trail off in confusion.

  “Because they’re sweet?” Joan questioned. “Of course, they are. That’s very nice really. If you think about it. Oh dear, I suppose that could be a bit of a faux pas, couldn’t it. On a menu, I mean. But these are really very nice.”

  Across the table, Bren and Jeffery appeared to be stifling a shared laugh.

  Shaking his head – possibly in amusement at his own bashfulness – Nolan stood and crossed to where he could reach the spirit shrine. Removing the small bowl, he replaced it with a shot glass filled with brandy. “Tahm boon, khap” he offered softly, before turning back to his guests.

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  Chapter Three:

  Chapter Three:

  Highway 11, Chiang Mai, Monday, February 5th, 8:14 AM

  Where Kaew Nawarat Road crossed Highway 11, Tahm pulled over and stopped. It had been fifteen minutes – maybe more – since he’d lost the pickup.

  The thieves had led him a confused chase; first down Suthep Road into the
old city – they’d almost lost him there before he’d spotted them on Chotana Road, headed north again. Then the traffic on 11 – it circled the city – had made things difficult and, after than, Tahm wasn’t sure. Had they turned off toward Doi Saket? Or south toward Sokhathai. Or back to the city?

  Tahm shook his head. There was simply no way to tell. They could have gone too many ways. And where was motor policeman when you needed one?

  Had pickup truck looked familiar? Was it one he had seen before?

  It had been green Isuzu pickup – that much he was sure of. Not new one. But there were many green Isuzu – that didn’t help much. And he hadn’t been able to read license plates.

  But the man who’d hit him … he had looked familiar. Not someone he knew well but someone … Yes, he’d seen the man around. Kamoy – cowboy, yes. Not good.

  He’d seen the man but where? Maybe, Tahm thought … maybe he’d remember.

  But Kun Sarah … he’d left her at the airport. And the lady they had come to pick up – the farahng lady whose luggage was stolen.

  He was closer to Baan Orchid …

  But were they still waiting at the airport?

  The airport, Tahm decided. He should go back.

  Chiang Mai International Airport, 8:40 AM

  At the airport, no Kun Sarah, no farahng lady. Tahm walked though the terminal to be sure. Another flight from Bangkok discharged a new load of passengers but nobody familiar. Had they taken airport taxi? Or Red Bus?

  He should go to Baan Orchid, Tahm decided. Then, no, he should call first. Maybe …

  Baan Orchid, 8:45 AM

  “Ka,” Mam agreed. “Kun Sarah, Kun Joan teenee ka. … Mai, not problem …Ka, I tell Kun Joan. When you come back, Kun Joan wish go shopping. She wish buy new clothes and things. … Ka … Kun Joan say tell you mai pen rhy ka … Ka, I tell her.” Mam closed the phone. “Tahm try chase burglar but lose them,” she offered. Then, to Mrs. Maguire, “Tahm back soon. Then you go shopping, mai ka?”

  “Oh, yes. I hope you told him not to worry about the luggage. It really doesn’t matter. Not like the time in Jadore when the airlines lost my bags and there was absolutely no place to get anything decent. My dear,” she laid a hand on Sarah’s arm, “you wouldn’t believe how I looked in a dashiki. And one of those cloche turban things? You’d have thought I’d gone native. But it was quite comfortable really. Do you think I should try something like hers?” She nodded at Mam’s outfit. “But maybe a pants suit would be better. Well, several of course. One does like to have variety …”

  Chiang Mai International Airport, 8:50 AM

  Tahm turned away from the phone, looking around the terminal once more as if expecting the men he had been chasing to reappear here, at the scene of the crime. So, he thought, farahng lady say not important, she go shopping instead. This was easy to understand – rich tourists always like to shop. But maybe, Tahm thought, he could keep lady from paying too much. If he was not able to stop kamoy from stealing luggage, at least he could see that farahng lady not pay pang mak mak! Yes, she pay Thai price, not pay farahng price.

  Nodding his head in decision, Tahm left the lobby, stopping outside for a moment for another look around. Maybe the cowboy would come back?

  Down toward the end of the building, Tahm’s eye was caught by a gesture from a vendor – a food cart selling cassava root and fried bananas from the aroma. The thought made Tahm’s stomach growl. Maybe a few minutes wouldn’t matter.

  “Tao ry?” Tahm queried. “Bpaat baht?” – How much? Eight baht?

  “Sip sawng,” the vendor countered – ten and two.

  “Gow baht,” Tahm raised – nine baht.

  “Sip baht,” the vendor insisted – ten baht.

  “Sip baht kahp,” Tahm agreed, exchanging a coin for a bundle of plantain root. “You were here when farahng lady’s luggage stolen, kahp?”

  “Kahp! You try to stop them, mai kahp?”

  Tahm nodded. “Do you know cowboy?”

  “Mai!” the vendor disagreed. “But one man drop something.” He reached inside the cart to produce a photograph, slightly worn, one corner bent. “This farahng lady, mai?” the vendor exhibited the photo.

  “Kahp!” Tahm agreed emphatically.

  The photograph wasn’t recent – or, at the very least, Tahm considered, it had been handled badly. The image showed two women – apparently standing on a stage somewhere – with the one handing something – a plaque it appeared – to the other. Both were in profile, turned half toward the camera, posed for the photographer. The woman on the left was the older of the two, white hair in a close curly cap. The woman on the right, much younger, was slim, dressed in a light suit and skirt, dark hair worn long but gathered in an elaborate French twist.

  “They drop this?”

  “Driver drop this,” the vendor agreed. “Cowboy here yesterday, today. All day, watching airport.”

  Both the driver and the cowboy, the vendor assured Tahm, had been at the airport both yesterday and this morning. But neither were familiar, neither had been hanging around before. And, yes, the police had been out to talk to the farahng ladies but, no, the vendor hadn’t talked to them. “Talk to police, they want tea money,” the vendor shrugged.

  Tahm nodded understanding. Tea money was the informal licensing fee demanded – unofficially – of street vendors by the police throughout Thailand. Tea money wasn’t something you could haggle about.

  “Maybe,” Tahm suggested, “I give you rway neung baht, kahp?” He produced a red hundred-baht bill. “For photograph? And,” he added, exchanging the bill for the photo, “if you see cowboy? Or driver? You will call me, kahp?” He produced a card with the phone number at Baan Orchid.

  “Hah neung, mai kahp? I call you, kahp,” the vendor suggested.

  “Hah neung, kahp!” Tahm agreed. Five hundred baht, roughly twenty dollars US but not petty cash to Tahm. Still, if he could get the luggage back … Not just for farahng lady but Kun Sarah was pretty. Older than Tahm but nice … exotic. “You see them, you call Tahm, kahp,” Tahm scrawled his name on the card.

  Kun Sarah, Tahm considered, leaving the airport, had arrived in Chiang Mai three days ago. Why had kamoy – cowboy – only been at airport two day? Maybe was wrong luggage stolen? Maybe, Tahm smiled at another driver while yielding the intersection, maybe Kun Sarah need protection.

  Maybe kamoy come to Baan Orchid, Tahm daydreamed. Then Tahm show how he chohk mooay! – ‘box, as in fisticuffs’

  Tahm wasn’t a professional nahk mooay – a kick boxer – but he had competed in amateur bouts. Thinking of the moves he could use – and imagining Kun Sarah’s admiring response – kept Tahm well occupied until he reached Baan Orchid.

  The photograph, he decided along the way, he would keep secret. Until he could catch the kamoy who had stolen the luggage. Or until the kamoy came to Baan Orchid which, of course, would be even better.

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  Chapter Four:

  Chapter Four:

  Night Bazzar, Chiang Mai, Monday, February 5th, 10:26 AM

  “Mai!” Tahm insisted. “Paang mak! Lady not rich! Everything stolen at airport! You make good price, mai kahp?”

  “I wish I spoke Thai,” Joan pitched her voice for Sarah and Nolan’s ears only. “Can you follow him?”

  “A little,” Nolan admitted. “He’s getting you a good price.”

  The shopkeeper, faced with Tahm’s onslaught, dropped the price of the dress another twenty baht, displaying the new price on a pocket calculator.

  “Four hundred fifty? What’s that in dollars? No, don’t tell me, I can figure … eighteen dollars? Nolan, tell her I’ll pay it! That suit would be a hundred twenty in New York. Sarah, dear, if you don’t want that young man, I’ll teach him English. Anyone who can haggle like that could make a mint in the gem industry. Nolan, tell them to stop. It’s too cheap.”

  “Relax,” Nolan grinned. “For pirate goods, the price is right. Nobody’s losing anything.”


  “Pirate goods?” Sarah asked before the older woman could interrupt.

  “Knock-offs of famous labels,” Nolan supplied. “They’re well-made but they’re also unlicensed. If it bothers you …”

  “I don’t think Ralph Laurent is going to starve,” Mrs. Maguire stepped in. “And he’s certainly made enough of my money in the past. But the price …” The calculator was now showing 440. “Stop,” she insisted, producing a gold credit card. “I’ll take it. And the blue and the one in rose. Thank you, Tahm. That’s enough. Pang mai!” She concluded with two words in Thai, pronouncing them almost credibly.

  “That’s mai paang,” Nolan corrected. “Tahm! Paw laaoh, kahp!” – It’s enough.

  11:05 AM

  “Goodness, I feel like … I don’t know. But I certainly think I’ve bought enough. And so cheap, too. You’d think I was the pirate. Could we sit down somewhere? And have some tea or maybe a cold drink? It is getting warmer. Are you sure you can carry all that, Tahm?”

  Tahm shrugged, indicating that the two suitcases – also purchased at prices which Joan had insisted were nothing short of extortion – and their contents were no problem.

  “I think,” Nolan suggested, “that Jack’s Number Five would be suitable. Unless you’d like lunch somewhere?”

  “Jack’s Number Five?” Joan questioned. “How many are there?”

  “I’ve no idea,” Nolan admitted. “Number Five’s the only one I know. Maybe it’s his lucky number. Anyway, it’s this way,” he led them up a flight of stairs.

  The market was four stories, one floor half below ground and three above street level. The upper two levels were balconies opening over the first floor center court. For the upper two levels, broad walkways at the center and at each end crossed the open space, connecting the two sides.

  On the three visible levels, from both sides, open-fronted shops faced the atrium, those on each level and side sharing a single broad walkway with a waist-high railing preventing accidents. On the lowest level, the open floor of the atrium was crowded with smaller carts and stands.