Hillerman, Tony by Finding Moon (v4) [html] Page A

heard yesterday on the telephone. The difference of a night’s sleep, he thought. Yesterday’s trip must have been exhausting—getting to Manila from Timor.
    “You’re from Timor, I think,” Moon said. “I’m not sure I know where—”
    She was smiling at this. “No one ever does.”
    Moon realized the smile was wry; the amusement was at herself, at the obscurity of her homeland. Not at his ignorance. He found himself thinking he would like this woman.
    “People know it’s an island,” she said. “It’s the last large island in the Indonesian chain. Southeast of Borneo. North of Australia.” She laughed, her expression apologizing to Moon for underestimating his education. “Of course, north of Australia. Everything is north of Australia. Say halfway between Australia and the Celebes.”
    “Oh,” Moon said. “Sure.” Pretending to remember, flattered that she’d presume he could place the Celebes.
    “But I don’t live on Timor. I was there arranging to buy things. To buy folk art for the export business. I live in Kuala Lumpur.”
    “Oh,” Moon said. That’s somewhere in Indonesia too, he thought. Or perhaps the Malay Peninsula.
    “And you, of course, are from the United States. I think Ricky said from Colorado.”
    “From Colorado,” Moon agreed.
    “So,” she said. “Today you intend to talk to
    Ricky’s friends here. And you will learn if someone brought Lila to them but didn’t tell Mr. Castenada?”
    Moon nodded.
    “And if Lila is not here, you will find out if they know where she would be?” she suggested. “Whether she was taken to Saigon. Or perhaps to Ricky’s place at Can Tho?”
    Moon nodded. Can Tho? Yes. He remembered the sound of that. Ricky had mentioned something about that place when he’d visited at Fort Riley. Halsey had turned the name around and made a joke out of it. And it was mentioned in Ricky’s papers. “A town in the Mekong Delta?”
    “Can Tho? Yes. Near the river’s mouth. Where Ricky had his repair hangars. What are your plans if you find out Lila is there? Bow will you get there?”
    He thought. “I guess the airports are closed.” He tapped the newspaper.
    “They were this morning, except for Saigon,” she said. “I think getting into Saigon is still possible.” She smiled wryly. “They say the planes are pretty empty going in. Getting out?” She shrugged. “And how do you get from Saigon down to the delta?”
    “The rich folks leaving the sinking ship,” Moon said.
    Their breakfasts arrived. They buttered their respective slices of toast. Moon sampled his bacon. Excellent. The eggs tasted fresh. He savored them. Mrs. van Winjgaarden was looking down, toying with the melon. An interesting face, but her short hair looked as if she’d combed it with her fingers, and her jacket was rumpled. Like his own.
    “Why did you want to see me?” Moon asked.
    She looked up from the melon and down again. “I want to ask for your help. My brother is at a little place in the hills in Cambodia. With some of the Montagnard people. He has a medical station at Tonli Kong, a tribal village. I want you to take me there.”
    Moon’s face showed his amazement. “Me? How?”
    “I had called to talk to Ricky about doing it,” she said. “That’s when they told me he was dead. So I called Mr. Castenada. He told me you were coming to get Ricky’s daughter. So I thought I would ask you to help me.”
    Help me. Always that. Why not the other way around? Why not, How can I help you, Mr. Mathias?
    “I don’t see how I can do that.”
    She looked up from the melon, surprised. “I thought you would be taking over Ricky’s company. I thought you would fly us up to the hills and we would pick up Damon, and—”
    “I’m not a pilot,” Moon said. “I can’t fly a helicopter. Or anything else.”
    Mrs. van Winjgaarden stared at him numbly, melon spoon frozen in midair.
    “You can’t? I assumed—”
    “No,” Moon said. “I’m no pilot. I took a few