Thai Die by Monica Ferris Read Free Book Online Page A

number?”
    “No, but Shelly does.”
    Mike made a note. “Who else?”
    Betsy named Shelly, Emily, Bershada, and Alice, of the Monday Bunch, and gave Mike their phone numbers.
    “Is there anything that strikes you as odd about her? Could she be a secret drunk? Does she light bonfires in the park and dance naked around them?”
    Betsy smiled. “I really don’t think so.”
    “Yet she ups and goes to Thailand all by herself.”
    “Oh, that. She and Carmen Diamond were supposed to go together, and when Carmen had to back out, we were kind of surprised that she decided to go alone. But she said she’d always wanted to spend some money foolishly, have an adventure, go someplace exotic. And she needed some kind of surgery, something elective, and she’d heard the hospitals in Thailand were far less expensive than here but just as good. Her surgery went well, and she had a marvelous time. She sent us an e-mail almost every day she was over there, telling us what she’d seen and done, and we loved hearing about her adventures. And she came home with some wonderful souvenirs.”
    “What kind of elective surgery?”
    “She didn’t tell me.”
    Mike just looked at her, and Betsy said, “I don’t know what it was, Mike—but she came home looking awfully good. Very rested .” She smiled at him, eyebrows raised.
    Mike smiled back. Once upon a time, when a movie star had a face-lift, the euphemism often used to describe the improvement was, “she looks very rested.” He flipped back a couple of pages in his notebook to read something. “Now, tell me about this statue she brought home from Bangkok.”
    “She brought two. One was a bronze of an elephant-headed god named Ganesha.” She stopped to look inquiringly at him.
    “Yes,” he said nodding, “it was on the floor in her living room.”
    “Ah. The other was that statue of the Buddha.”
    “What does the Buddha statue look like?”
    “Didn’t she tell you?”
    “Yes, but you tell me, too.”
    “Well, it’s about this high.” Betsy held out her left hand, her right hand hovering about seven inches above it. “Some kind of light-colored stone, fairly heavy. It wasn’t the fat, bald, Chinese kind, but slim, and standing up, not sitting. If Doris hadn’t told us it was a statue of the Buddha we never would have guessed it.”
    “We?”
    “The Monday Bunch, the people who come in on Monday afternoons to stitch. She brought in her suitcase full of souvenirs on Wednesday, and we had a special meeting to see them. We saw the box the Buddha was in, and made her open it.”
    Mike nodded. “Go on.”
    She described the statue. “Doris said it is an ancient form of the Buddha, but that the statue is a modern copy.”
    “Is it possible the statue is really old?”
    “I don’t know. She said it wasn’t—that is, the person who asked her to bring it here told her that. I saw no reason to disbelieve it. Mike, what’s the problem here?”
    “Didn’t you hear about Mr. Fitzwilliam on the news?”
    “No, I must’ve missed it. What about him?”
    “Fitzwilliam was found in his St. Paul antiques store around noon on Friday, dead. Murdered. And his store was trashed about as thoroughly as Ms. Valentine’s apartment.”
    “No! Oh my goodness, that’s dreadful! That’s . . . that’s horrible! Oh, and you think this burglary is related to . . . But how can that be? She took the statue over there! Why would they come to her apartment? What are they looking for?”
    Instead of replying, Mike asked, “Did you know that Ms. Valentine bought a gun?”
    “No, she didn’t. Phil bought it for her. I didn’t know anything about it until Phil mentioned it a couple of weeks ago. But that can’t be significant, since she didn’t buy it for herself. Is it missing?”
    “No,” he said. “It was up there, in her bedroom.”
    “Was Mr. Fitzwilliam shot?”
    “Yes.”
    “With Doris’s gun?”
    “Probably not. Though we’re waiting for the complete autopsy