Murder at the House of Rooster Happiness Read Online Free

disappointed, her mind hurried back up the hospital driveway, through the grand entry hall, and down to the basement, dragging its heels the whole way.
    “Khun Ladarat?”
    Oh dear. That was a voice she knew well. A moment later, the door opened and the face to which the voice belonged emerged in the gap, framed against the dark hallway beyond. Ladarat suppressed an instant of annoyance as she realized that her mind’s culinary wanderings had been so abruptly curtailed by her assistant nurse ethicist. She of all people should know that very few things are more urgent than khao neow dam .
    Ladarat had just received permission this year to hire an assistant ethicist, and she’d selected Sisithorn Wichasak from more than a hundred applicants. Sisithorn was a new nurse who had just graduated from school two months ago. Young and gangly, she had no discernable social skills whatsoever. She favored big, round glasses; oversize clothes; and wide, open-toed sandals that emphasized her big feet and inelegant toes. Not that Ladarat was qualified to critique anyone’s sense of fashion, but she could think of a few pointers one might offer, if one could find the right moment.
    In fairness, though, Sisithorn was exceptionally smart. She graduated at the top of her class at Kuakarun College of Nursing in Bangkok, and then she came here to Chiang Mai because she wanted to learn about ethics.
    “Khun Ladarat—Khun Jainukul is here.” Her assistant was breathless with excitement over such an important visitor. “Will you see him now?”
    Of course she would see Dr. Suphit Jainukul. The director of the Sriphat ICU was certainly more urgent than khao neo dam , and was not a man to be kept waiting. Nor was he a man who would generally come to visit her in this little basement office. So his appearance was strange indeed.
    They greeted each other formally with wais —the traditional Thai greeting. A sort of half bow, with palms pressed together at chest level and brought up to the nose as the head was bent. Much more sanitary, by the way, than the Western tradition of a handshake. More sanitary, and more respectful.
    Then the director straightened and took the seat that Khun Wiriya had just vacated.
    As he did, Ladarat had an unobstructed view of the door, which was still open, framing the face of her assistant ethicist. Sisithorn looked at her expectantly.
    “Khun Ladarat… is this a meeting for which I would be needed?”
    “Needed?”
    “To take minutes. To record.” She paused hopefully. “To… document important facts?”
    Ladarat sighed. She knew she should be pleased to have such an energetic and ambitious assistant. And for the most part she was. But there were times when such motivation should be curbed. Indeed, in Thailand the word “ambition,” tayur tayaan , was often used to mean “overly ambitious.” And it was not generally used as a compliment.
    But to be fair, would this be a meeting for which her assistant would be helpful? She glanced at the director, but his eyes were downcast, paying attention only to the iPhone that rested on a broad palm. He was clearly very worried about something. The director’s forehead, she noticed, was wrinkled with concern and lined like a page of sheet music. And his forefinger stabbed at his phone’s screen with an irritable energy that was most unusual for him.
    “Perhaps…” Sisithorn persisted, “Khun Jainukul would like tea?”
    The director glanced up and turned toward the door. He shook his head distractedly. “No, thank you, Khun.”
    “Or a sweet? I can run to get khao tom mud . It will only take a minute…”
    Again the director shook his head. “No, Khun. Perhaps another time.”
    Oh dear. Whatever the director’s purpose here, it was certainly serious.
    Dr. Jainukul always took tea. And anything else—sweet or savory—you’d put in front of him. He was a large man whose ruddy cheeks, shaved head, and plump fingers belied an indomitable strength of purpose