Free Murder at the House of Rooster Happiness by David Casarett Page B

the desk, smiling shyly. “Or then you should save it. It will keep.”
    Ladarat agreed that it would. And she thought that it would be exactly what she’d need later in the afternoon, as she was struggling to finish reviewing all of the hospital guidelines.
    “So now we’ll go see the American family. We will do our best to make sure their questions are answered.”
    “And Kate and I will be… like friends,” Sisithorn added.

TOMORROW IS NOT USUALLY ANOTHER DAY
    T hat was perhaps easier said than done. Mrs. Kate Fuller was not in her room, and so they went looking for her in the ICU, where they found her with her husband’s parents in the waiting room. As it had been yesterday, the waiting room was almost empty. And the mysterious man, she noted, was nowhere to be seen.
    Truth be told, Ladarat was relieved that the man had not made an appearance. She had too much on her mind, and too much to be nervous about already. Like this meeting with the Fullers. She would address the problem of the mysterious man tomorrow. Now, she needed to focus all of her attention on what was likely to be a very difficult conversation.
    The Fullers had colonized the corner of the waiting room that was nearest to the double sliding doors that led to the ICU, and they had completely rearranged it. They’d brought two rows of six connected seats together in a “V” that provided them with a little private seating area, but which effectively reduced the seating available for others. It was not a crisis, as Sisithorn would say, since there were still seats available. And few people. But it was not polite. And Sisithorn looked genuinely surprised. She seemed to be on the verge of saying something as they approached the group, but Ladarat reminded her that the Americans had different customs.
    “In America,” she said preemptively, “such behavior is not unusual. Americans will often rearrange the world to suit themselves.”
    Sisithorn nodded uncertainly.
    As they drew closer, she could see that the elder Mr. Fuller was reviewing a pile of papers that he held on his lap. He seemed to be trying to sort them, imposing some sort of order. His organizational efforts puzzled her, though. As she got close enough, she saw that they were all in Thai. Could he read Thai? She doubted it. And yet he was shuffling the papers into an order that must have made sense to him.
    Sisithorn was hanging back, perhaps drawing some of the same conclusions. And presumably, she was also confused by those conclusions. But no matter. This, at least, was something they could help with.
    The two women looked up as they approached and offered passable wais —Kate seated in her wheelchair, and Mrs. Fuller standing to greet them. Mr. Fuller barely looked up and offered them something that—charitably—might be counted as a nod.
    It was Kate who explained that her father-in-law was trying to make sense of Andrew’s medical charts. She didn’t need to explain that those notes were entirely in Thai. The elder Mr. Fuller’s frustrated expression and the vigor with which he was shuffling papers made that abundantly clear.
    After introductions, it was her assistant, much to Ladarat’s surprise, who broke the silence.
    “Has there been any change?” Sisithorn was looking at the elder Mr. Fuller, as if she was trying to engage him as the most important person there. That was clever. Very clever. Although Ladarat would have preferred it if her assistant had allowed her to speak first. That would have been more proper.
    The elder Mr. Fuller shook his head and continued shuffling papers. But then he paused, looking up and seeing them, it seemed, for the first time. That was when he turned to Sisithorn, handing her the top paper in the stack.
    “Can you read this?”
    Sisithorn paused for a moment, her mouth open in an “O” of surprise. Then she smiled a thin, brittle smile that was perhaps best translated as: Yim mee lessanai , the sort of smile that hides wicked