“Are you sure he finished it?” I said.
“He told me he had.”
“Do you know what it was about?”
“He told me it was about a murder that occurred in Bangkok many years ago,” she said. “He said he had happened upon the story quite by chance, but that the more he looked into it, the more interesting it got. That’s all I know. He did not share any of it with me, so I can’t tell you anything more.”
“He was looking for a publisher,” I said. “That horrible man Bent Rowland was his agent. He told me he was shopping it around in Singapore or something.”
“William had a publisher. He had received, what do you call it in publishing, money before the book is published?”
“An advance.”
“Yes. He was waiting to see if the publisher wanted any changes. He told me he had decided to throw the party to celebrate. The strange thing is, he didn’t mention it at the party. I would have thought he would have made an announcement or something, but he didn’t. He and Mr. Bent—is that his name?—had an argument about it at the party. They were in the kitchen with the door closed, and I was trying to help, so I went in with some of the plates, you know, that needed more food, not realizing they were in there having a private conversation. William was very upset about something, and Mr. Bent looked to me very, I don’t know the right word, but like he was avoiding telling the truth.”
“Evasive should about do it. Mr. Bent told me he was still looking for a publisher, and that William hadn’t yet finished the book,” I said. “Not quite the same story. Are you sure about the publisher?”
“Yes,” she said. “William told me last spring some time, perhaps April or May. He showed me the check from that Mr. Bent. It had the name of the agency on it. It was for about two thousand U.S. dollars. William said that was for half of the advance, and he would get the other half when the publisher finished reading it. He joked about the name of his publisher. I didn’t understand the joke, but he called them after a dessert you have in your country. It is a pie with limes in it, or something.”
“Key lime pie?” Jennifer said.
“Exactly,” she said. “That was not the name of the publisher, of course, but that is what William called them. I asked him if he was going to serve this at his party, and he said something about how it wasn’t funny any longer, and he was going to have to have a serious discussion with Mr. Bent. I am certain they were having that serious discussion in the kitchen at the party.”
“Did he say where this Key Lime Pie company was located?”
“I don’t recall. I had the impression it was here in Bangkok.”
“Where did Will work on his book?”
“Here, in his apartment. He had a laptop, and he worked on that. He also went away from time to time to work on it. I arranged for him to use the family home in Chiang Mai when he found he needed quiet.”
“What did he do with the store when he went away to write?”
“He just closed it. I don’t think the store was going to make him rich, but he thought the book might.”
“Where is the book now, do you think?”
“I thought it was at the publisher.”
“Do you think we could use your key and get in and see if we can find it?” I said in as casual a tone as possible. “A copy, perhaps. I can’t help thinking this has something to do with his disappearance.”
“I’m not sure…” she hesitated. “Why not? If I didn’t act when he first disappeared, I can act now, can’t I? Let me get the key.”
We looked up and down the hallway before we went to the door, unlocked it, and slipped inside. The place looked much as it had before, despite the fact the police had been over it.
“He worked here,” Praneet said, pointing to a desk set up near the glass doors that led to the balcony. We went through it, but there was no manuscript.
“Where’s the laptop?” Jennifer said.
“Good question,” I said. “Where indeed?” We searched the room as carefully as we could. There was no laptop.
“Perhaps he did just go away,” Praneet said.
“Perhaps he did,” I agreed.
“Let’s have a look in the bedroom,” I said.
“It looks different,” Praneet said. “I’m not sure why.”
“The painting’s gone,” I said.
“That’s right,” she said. “The portrait of that lovely woman. But how did you know that?”
“A friend of Will’s told me it was missing,” I said. That was partly true. “Maybe we could just take a look around for the painting, too.”
We did. It wasn’t there. “I guess that’s it,” I said.
“Yes, I’m afraid it is. Now, come to my place again,” Praneet said. “I want to give you my phone number at home and also the hospital, and perhaps you could tell me where to reach you as well.”
We went back, had another cup of tea, and exchanged information. “And you, Jennifer?” she said. “Will I see you in Ayutthaya for the ceremony tomorrow?”
“I don’t think so,” Jennifer said, tearing up. “Chat and I had a fight.”
Praneet looked at her for a moment or two. “Jennifer,” she said. “Chat is under a lot of pressure. I don’t know how to say this, but I suppose I should just tell you. William always told me that with farang, I should be more direct, clear in what I was saying, and not try to hide bad news. As blunt as this sounds, I think this is for the best. The Chaiwongs will never permit Chat to marry you. Even though my father is the eldest son, Chat is the heir to the family business. They may smile all the time and be very nice to you, but they are determined he will marry someone else.”
“Who?” I said.
“Busakorn, of course.”
“Of course,” I said, thinking of the young woman dressed, like Wongvipa, to match the tablecloth. “Why Busakorn, in particular?”
“Two reasons: one is business. Busakorn’s father, Mr. Wichai, is a business associate in Chiang Mai, head of a company called Busakorn Shipping, or in English, Blue Lotus Shipping. As you have noticed, he named the company after his daughter. Let’s just say it would be mutually advantageous from a financial perspective if Busakorn and Chat were to wed. Secondly, the family will never allow Chat to marry a farang. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is.
“Thank you for your candor,” I said. “I think it’s time we went now, don’t you Jennifer?” She could barely nod her head.
“I’m really sorry, Jennifer,” Praneet said. “I tell you this because I know what they are like. As a family they can never be underestimated. I loved someone once they didn’t approve of, a farang. They drove him away.”
We had a very silent trip back to the hotel, punctuated from time to time with quiet little sobs from Jennifer. I just sat there beside her, ineffectually patting her arm. I was angry at the Chaiwongs and annoyed with myself for putting Jennifer through that, however inadvertently, in the name of finding Will Beauchamp.
When we walked into the lobby of the hotel, though, a man rose from his chair. “Hello, Jennifer. Hello, Aunt Lara,” Chat said. Jennifer just stared at him. “I’m sorry, Jennifer,” he said. “I’m not myself. My father… I have to run the company. My mother says that’s what my father wanted. I don’t know. I can’t. I need you with me, Jen. Is there anything I could say or do to convince you to come back? I mean…”
“It’s okay, Chat,” Jennifer said. “I’m here.”
Chapter 8
Once in powerKing Yot Fa remained much as he had been. He was not well trained for kingship, but he was an intelligent boy and tried hard to emulate his father.