Restless Soul - Alex Archer [80]
Pete shoved another cup of coffee under her nose. “With real cream. The kitchen’s open. Join me for breakfast?”
That was an invitation Annja was quick to accept.
A short, stocky young woman in a three-piece suit nodded curtly to Annja and took her place behind the desk.
“Rose Walters, meet Annja Creed,” Pete said. “Annja, Rose.”
The women gave each other polite smiles.
Annja’s stomach growled noticeably.
“Our cook used to work at O’Malley’s downtown.”
“An Irish restaurant?”
“The best in my opinion,” Pete said with a grin.
Shortly after she settled at the table and was brought a steaming plate of food, Annja thought it was the best she’d eaten in quite some time. As Pete, who had changed into a suit and tie sometime while Annja was sleeping, explained about his dealings with the Chiang Mai police, she wolfed down a perfectly seasoned ribeye steak, three eggs scrambled with peppers, country potato cubes, mushrooms, toast and jam, fried tomatoes and baked beans.
“So you’re not a suspect in anything,” he finished as she upended her second glass of orange juice. “You’re a hero, stopping a smuggling operation that has probably plagued this part of the world for quite some time. I got a call shortly after you, uh, took a nap. It was Officer Johnson. He seems quite taken with you, by the way. He said that fellow you had trussed up in the truck was quite talkative. Maybe all that bouncing around.”
“Or maybe somebody went all Jack Bauer on him,” Annja said as she reached for more potatoes.
Pete cocked his head, not understanding the expression.
“Maybe the Thai police are persuasive,” she said.
He picked at his own breakfast, then reached across the table for the coffeepot and poured her another cup.
Annja thought she might float away from as much as she’d been drinking. She looked around for the restroom.
“Phillip came in two hours ago and went over to the station with that rust bucket of a truck you drove here. He called a little while ago on his cell—”
Annja gripped the edge of the table. Luartaro had a cell phone, but she didn’t know the number. She needed to call him…after a visit to the restroom. She downed the rest of the coffee.
“Phillip got a look at some of the stuff, and someone in the station told him one piece dated back several centuries and had been reported stolen last year. Probably quite a bit of it does date back a long way. Old, old stuff you found. A real hero, Miss Creed.”
She pushed herself away from the table.
“There’s been a problem for some time, people smuggling relics from ancient Asian temples and museums. It happens all over. Central and South America had tons of trouble with treasure hunters raiding the ruins. It was in the news,” Pete said.
Annja well knew about artifact theft and the resulting cultural loss.
“This gang you broke up trafficked particularly in gold.”
She could have told them that, based on what she’d seen in the treasure cavern. In fact, she had told Johnson that during the ride to Chiang Mai. And she’d probably tell the authorities again and again when they questioned her.
“Wonder if they still need to talk to me.”
Pete nodded and stirred his eggs. “Phillip said they expect you down at the station sometime this afternoon. Just for questions. Like I said, you’re not a suspect. You’re a hero. The local paper will probably want to do a piece.”
Standing over the table, all the wonderful scents of the kitchen assailed her. The spiced eggs and potatoes were especially strong, and she almost sat back down and asked for thirds. For some reason, she never seemed to gain weight no matter how much she shoveled in.
“Restroom?” she asked.
He pointed to a door over his shoulder.
“And you’ll get me a ride to the police station?”
He’d finally taken a forkful of eggs and was eating it, the words coming out muffled. “Driffmyself.” He swallowed. “I’ll be happy to drive