SABAI SABAI!

Khun Ladarat, you work too hard!” Khun Duanphen was beside herself with indignation. “The hospital, to keep you late like this. It’s not right!”

“Ah.” Ladarat smiled. She had heard this before. Indeed, when hadn’t she heard it? The small woman who plied her griddle and wok like an orchestra conductor managing a chorus of strings and woodwinds always seemed to take Ladarat’s tardiness as an affront to all that is sacred about Thai life.

To think that she would take her work seriously! To think that she would work so hard, and forget to enjoy life! She should—

“Sabai sabai!” Duanphen said happily.

A ubiquitous Thai phrase. It was like the American sixties, all rolled up into one word. It meant something like “take it easy” or “easy does it” or “take one day at a time” or simply “relax.”

“But, Khun, where would we be if everyone said that all of the time? There would be no hospitals, and no government. No streets, and no electricity…”

The food seller just smiled. “Oh, you know that things would work out somehow. We don’t need all of this, you know. We could be happier without anything at all.”

Was that really true? Perhaps Khun Duanphen was very wise. Or perhaps she was exceptionally simple. Sometimes it was difficult to tell.

Duanphen handed her a Styrofoam container with her gai pad pongali, and then handed over a second container that was very warm. Little wisps of steam leaked from the corners. “For you, Khun. A small something. Because you work too hard.”

Ladarat sniffed. “Ah… glooai tawt?”

Duanphen nodded.

Banana fritters. Made with dwarf-size apple bananas that were extra sweet, and firmer than the larger bananas that Khun Dole mass-produces. She didn’t let herself have them very often. They were very fattening. But she did love them. They reminded her of her mother’s kitchen years ago. She’d come home from school and in the kitchen would be her mother or her grandmother—sometimes both. They would always make something special for Ladarat, and Siriwan, if they’d walked home from school together as they often did when they were young.

She thanked Duanphen, promising to work less hard in the future. As if that were really possible.

A few minutes later, she was sitting happily in her little garden. She decided to eat the glooai tawt first. They were, after all, much better when they were fresh and very hot. It wouldn’t do to let them age. Loyal Maewfawbaahn slunk closer after finishing his dinner of canned cat food and waited patiently. These fritters were really too good to share, but he was a good cat.

And had anyone burglarized her house today? They had not. So he was doing his job. And a leader has to reward her subordinates.

She picked up the remaining one third of the banana and set it down gently in front of the cat. He sniffed at it gingerly. Then licked it. And a second later it was gone. Amazing.

She’d left the gai pad pongali inside, but she was too tired and lazy to get up and bring it out. Besides, the glooai tawt had been very filling. Enough for dinner, although not a very healthy one, to be sure.

She sat back in her chair, resting one hand on Maewfawbaahn, who bounded up onto her lap. Ladarat looked up and noted that it had become cloudy. It would probably rain tonight. There were no stars, and yet still plenty to see, as the city lights played against clouds that shaded from light to dark in wide swaths.

Watching the clouds, and thinking about her day, she found herself wondering about this mysterious woman, Peaflower, who was causing such trouble. Ladarat had promised herself that she wouldn’t think about this case tonight, but she couldn’t help it. Could it be that Peaflower had a vendetta? That she hated these men?

The fact that they had the same name gave her pause. What if someone of that name had harmed her once? Or her family? And this was her revenge?

But no, who would do such a thing? To kill people with the same name who were unrelated? It was crazy.

To do that once, perhaps… That would be a hot-hearted crime. What Thais called jai ron.

It had always fascinated her that the Thais said someone was “hot-hearted” while Americans—and everyone else, it seemed—said such a person was “hot-headed.” The Thais understood that the heart was the seat of the emotions and assumed that anyone who was acting aggressively or out of character must therefore have an overactive heart. But the Americans, who saw the head as the seat of reason, saw such behavior and decided that the brain must have switched sides. That the brain must have become hot instead of cool.

It was typical of the Americans to find such a roundabout explanation for things. And typical, too, of the Thais to find the easiest answer.

The easiest answer?

She smiled to herself. That’s it. The easiest answer.

It had to be money. It had to be. Insurance or… something. Perhaps there was revenge, or… other motives. But there was money involved. Suddenly Ladarat knew that with complete certainty. One must always look for the simplest answer first.

Even Professor Dalrymple said as much. “The most common diagnosis,” she counseled, “is always the most likely diagnosis.”

It was wisdom such as this that made Professor Dalrymple a useful companion to have in one’s head.

And there was no point at this stage of the investigation in looking for crazy theories. The simplest answer was the most common one. And what motivation is more common than greed? Peaflower was looking for money.

She thought about that a little longer as Maewfawbaahn fell asleep. She thought she heard the distant rumble of thunder that the clouds overhead had promised, but it was only his purring.

Ladarat moved and stretched as Maewfawbaahn slid, complaining, onto the flagstones at her feet. There would be time enough to be a detective tomorrow. For now it was enough that she knew—or thought she knew—that money was the issue. Now at least she had a motive. That was enough for a detective, at least for tonight.