Murder Takes the High Road(3)
“There it is!” cried someone in the awestruck tones generally reserved for national monuments and famous film stars. We all turned to gaze in respectful silence.
Supposedly Europe’s largest Thai restaurant, Chaophraya occupied an impressive old building called the Townhouse on Buchanan Street. It was in this elegant and exotic setting that Queen’s Counsel Michael Patterson at long last proposed to Vanessa’s beloved series lead Chief Inspector Rachel MacKinnon. Choosing this particular spot for our first dinner together was a great way to begin the tour, as evidenced by the cries of delight and wonder as we hurried across the slick and shining road.
Alison shepherded us into the gorgeous lobby with its scarlet carpets, life-size golden statues and dark wood. We were led upstairs.
I found myself seated with two married couples, all four of whom were teachers who regularly vacationed together. Nelson and Wilma Scherf were tall, tanned and Germanic looking. Joel and Gerda Rice were shorter, slighter and darker.
We were introducing ourselves when we were joined by Ben and Yvonne. There were more introductions and then Yvonne picked up the menu, frowned, and whispered something to Ben, who nodded gravely while offering a general, pained smile to the rest of us.
“I think in these circumstances a set menu makes sense, Mother,” he said mildly.
I loved my parents but I couldn’t imagine trotting the globe with them. However, Ben and Yvonne seemed to enjoy each other’s company, so...good for them.
“When you consider how much we’re paying for this trip!” Yvonne shook her head.
In fairness, this meal was supposed to be one of the most lavish of the trip, and though the menu was set, the choices were noted as “our most opulent dishes.” And really, who doesn’t occasionally long for a little opulence?
Gerda said in the determinedly upbeat tone of the battle-scarred educator, “This is wonderful. There are some lovely vegetarian choices.” She read, “‘Thai green spinach curry made with spinach, enoki mushrooms, straw mushrooms and sweet basil.’ Yum.”
“You’re the librarian,” Wilma said to me.
“Guilty.”
“Isn’t it funny how Vanessa’s books appeal to so many teachers and librarians? Maybe we’ve secretly got a murderous streak.”
The others laughed.
Yvonne said, “I always thought I’d like to be a librarian.”
“Oh yes?” I said politely.
“I have a very good memory. A very good memory.” It sounded a little ominous, and had I been on Chaophraya’s management team, I’d be expecting an unfavorable Yelp review momentarily.
“A good memory is certainly useful.” More useful was a love of knowledge and learning—and the ability to enjoy (or at least cheerfully tolerate) working around people who didn’t necessarily share that love. I loved books and I liked people, and libraries are where those two things intersect.
Ben said, “It’s a shame the way funding has been cut. Our library is only open part-time now.”
I started to reply but broke off as Alison paused by my chair. Her expression was that of someone about to deliver bad news. “Carter, it looks like you’re going to have a roommate after all.”
“Oh.” I tried not to sound as unenthusiastic as I felt, but I must not have covered too well.
Alison said apologetically, “Because you originally booked a shared room, we did warn you that if someone turned up needing a roommate—”
“I know. It’s okay.”
And I did know, but I’d sort of figured since no one had turned up before the official start of the tour, I was home safe. It seemed not. Yet another reason I should have cancelled. I wasn’t thrilled with the idea of sharing my sleeping space with a stranger.
“His name is John Knight and he’s another American,” Alison said. “Unfortunately, we didn’t get his bio in time, but I understand he’s an insurance salesman from San Diego. Which is right around the corner from you. So that’s nice, right?” Her smile was hopeful.
Well, it was a one-hundred-and-twenty-mile corner, so...sort of. I summoned up another of those halfhearted smiles for her. “Sure. Great. When’s he joining us?”
“He’s flying in tonight.”
God. Not even a single night on my own.
I said with fake heartiness, “Great! I’ll keep an eye out for him.”
She looked relieved and moved on through the obstacle course of chairs, purses and people.
At the table behind me the conversation had turned, inevitably, to Vanessa’s notorious past. I glanced over tantalizing descriptions of fried sea bass with chili sauce, turmeric king prawns and massaman lamb curry while listening to the debate on whether someone convicted of murder should have been appointed to the Order of the British Empire.
This was a common point of contention even with Vanessa’s most devoted fans. Most agreed that her youth at the time of Donald Kresley’s murder—and the fact that Vanessa had completed her full sentence as a model prisoner—made for sufficient atonement. But awarding her a DBE, making her a Dame Commander of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire, was a step too far even for most Americans.
And yet the honor was rightfully bestowed on one who had made significant artistic contribution to the British Empire, and if that wasn’t Vanessa Rayburn with her 154-book-long, still-bestselling backlist, who was it?