A Steal of a Deal Read Online Free PDF Page B

you’ve ever heard.”
    Do you want to discuss the merits of time zones with her? Me neither.
    I hitch my way-too-heavy backpack a little higher. “All I know is, we’re finally in Srinagar, a whole lot of hours after we left New York. Too bad it’s so late in the afternoon. The sun’s setting.”
    Miss Mona comes to us. “Isn’t it romantic? Dusk is my favorite time of day.”
    Romantic? Dunno about that.
    When I look around, which I’ve tried not to do after the first time I laid eyes on them, I see the dark peaks of the Himalayas outlined in the red of sunset. It’s one of the most breathtaking scenes I’ve ever seen, just not breathtaking as in “Oooooh! I want to move here!”
    No way.
    The mountains around the city, shadowed and foreboding, scream danger to me, especially in contrast to the russet-and-ink-stained evening sky. Those craggy sky-high barricades make me think of cell walls, and that thought crash-lands me right down to immediate reality.
    As Dorothy woulda said, we’re not in Kansas anymore.
    Anything can, and very well might, happen here. As it did on our trip to Myanmar.
    Shudders rip through me.
    I silently pray for God’s protection, and then, as I hit my “amen,” Miss Mona lays an arm across my shoulders. “God is great, isn’t he?”
    “Mm-hm.” Totally true. And since silence is a virtue—sometimes— there’s no point infecting her with my wonky feeling until it’s time. Or at least until I have a better reason to do so than a weird reaction to a bunch of spooky mountains.
    “Wish I could draw like God,” Aunt Weeby says. “He didn’t go to no art school to make his perfect pictures. And, see? No black velvet, either. Isn’t that blue sky with a red bottom plum perfect?”
    That’s one way of describing an Asian sunset.
    While I wait for Glory and Allison to join us with their multitude of stuff, I check out the landscape again, but it still doesn’t give me any warm fuzzies. It’s exotic and beautiful, but with a heavy dose of woo-woo that makes me think of questions and riddles.
    I prefer answers to questions.
    The transportation Miss Mona had arranged beforehand hasn’t shown up, so I soak in the sights at the airport terminal. A number of display cases throughout the cavernous building hold a variety of crafts, anything from intricately carved wooden sculptures to gleaming brass bowls and urns. Other booths are filled with leather handbags and belts and sandals and shoes, gorgeous golden pieces that make this power shopper want to do her thing. But I can’t stick another thread in my bags, much less shoes or belts. I’ll have to wait till we’re heading back.
    Even our fellow travelers offer a feast for the eye. We denim- and khaki-clad Americans pale in comparison to the glamorous Asians in gorgeous red, gold, green, and cobalt silks, cottons, and chiffons.
    Aunt Weeby doesn’t let my visual feast last long. “Didn’t you say some high muckety-muck from the Something-or-other a’ Tourism was coming for us?” she asks Miss Mona.
    Miss Mona shakes her head. “I told you more than that.”
    “Oh, I know you did.” Aunt Weeby grins. “But it wasn’t the most interesting stuff you ever said, so I didn’t bother to remember a whole lot. I reckoned whatever I needed to know, you or Andie would tell me when I needed it. So are they coming or not?”
    I shake my head too—happens a lot around the Duo.
    “One of the deputy directors of tourism may be coming to meet us,” Miss Mona tells her. “Someone from the TASK, the tourism agents group, told me they’d arrange for a director or one of the agents to take us to where we’re staying while in Srinagar. The folks at the TASK are the ones who’ll provide our guides for our whole trip.”
    That’s when I ditch subtlety—and silence. “The tourism group, huh? From the government. Sounds like incoming goons to me.”
    Miss Mona gives me one of her more serious looks—I know when I’m being scolded as