Side Trip to Kathmandu (A Sidney Marsh Murder Mystery Book 3) by Marie Moore Read Free Book Online

enacted that were intended to protect the snakes.
    “He is a member of the Sapera caste,” Mohit murmured. “His father and grandfather were likely snake charmers before him. The Sapera are worshippers of Kāli, the Goddess of Time and Change, who is the consort of Lord Shiva . Her name conveys death. It is written, ‘At the dissolution of things, it is Kāli who will devour all.’ ”
    “I’ve had rather enough of this,” said Lucy, who was standing next to Brooke. “Gives me the shivers!”
    Lucy was a compact little woman with lovely blue eyes that crinkled when she laughed. I recalled how she had spent most of yesterday evening conversing with the Parisian filmmaker. Her precise British speech and erect posture spoke of her boarding school background. She was short, for her silver-blonde head only came to Brooke’s shoulder as they stood together in the sunlight, watching the man and his snake.
    “I agree,” said Brooke, “let’s walk to the fort and out of the sun. It’s time to move on anyway. We seem to be attracting quite a bit of attention.”
    Peddlers and beggars surrounded our little group. We walked briskly toward the gated entrance, with Mohit in the lead and Rahim and Sharma shooing away the more persistent of the salesmen.
    “Bloody pests!” said Felix, the big English money manager. “Filthy bugger! Get out of my way! Someone ought to arrest the lot of them.”
    His face, under the warming sun, was getting redder by the minute. In the sun’s strong golden light I could see through the thin blond strands of hair to a scalp that was reddening too. Sweat beaded on his forehead and ran down the sides of his beefy face. His overheated condition was probably made worse by the number of drinks he’d consumed at the hotel bar after Brooke’s dinner and the hair of the dog he’d had for breakfast. His hangover may have added to his bad temper as well. No one else seemed to be particularly bothered by the crowds or the temperature.
    Red Fort loomed above us as we filed through the entrance gate. Once inside, the morning was suddenly calm, quiet, and pleasant again, for the teeming mass of peddlers and beggars are not allowed inside India’s national monuments.
    Red Fort, like many of the other forts and palaces, was first built by Shah Jahān in the fifteenth century. A World Heritage Site, it was the seat of power for the Mughal rulers of India for two hundred years. We entered at the Lahori Gate, which has emotional and symbolic meaning for the people of modern India. Every year on India Independence Day a flag is raised here and a speech given by the prime minister.
    Just inside the outer wall we picked up a local guide, a pleasant, gray-haired man named Dave Patel. Dave led us though the first courtyard, explaining the history and traditions of life under the Mughal rulers, who were descendants of Genghis Khan.
    I stood with Jay and watched our group gather in the shadow of the ancient Hall of Public Audience. With a pleasant breeze blowing and a bird singing from his perch on the dazzling marble pavilion before us, it was hard to concentrate on the complex history that Dave was rattling off in his sing-song voice. Numbed by his rapid-fire delivery of facts and figures, my mind wandered back to Brooke’s startling revelations and suspicions.
    I could hardly wrap my brain around the idea that one of my companions might actually be a thief and murderer. I looked at them, now lounging on the marble steps in the sunlight as they listened politely or pretended to listen to Dave spout facts. Yet it must be so. Brooke certainly believed that it was and was spending a lot of her treasure to prove it.
    As Dave droned on at length about the military history of India, I mused over the puzzle, wondering how or if I could solve it. I knew that it would be difficult. All my fellow travelers were rich, smart, and sophisticated. Plus, the culprit must be very skillful to have eluded discovery thus far. It