by Keene, Susan
I figured it was busy work, but I was tired and fussy like a three-year-old and sat in the car with my arms crossed, hating myself for the situation I was sure I created.
Ryan walked us to the elevator and rode up with us. When Amy got out, he told her he wanted to talk to me a minute and pushed the button to close the door.
“I could use a hug,” he said.
I stepped closer to him and hugged him as tight as I could, buried my face in his shirt, and relaxed as he held me back.
“What have I done?” I asked.
“I’m not sure you did anything. She was penned under that table long before you walked by her. If someone is killing because of it, it’s on him or her. Give yourself a break. Things will look better when you get out of this apartment, and we are actually working on the case. That will happen in the morning.”
I didn’t let go. He gently pushed me away and raised my face to his eyes so he could see me. “Would you care if I came back here tonight? I don’t want to go to my place and I don’t feel like being alone.”
“By all means,” I said.
He smiled. “Don’t shoot me, okay?”
I smiled back and he kissed me.
For a moment, all was right with the world.
CHAPTER 23
B y eight o’clock the next morning, we were all sitting at the dining room table eating bagels with cream cheese and drinking lattes. The mood was festive, in spite of the happenings of the days leading up to it. I knew it was because we were finally going to do something.
Our appointment with Stanley Woo/Wu was at ten. Ryan, Amy, and I ate and chatted about how to handle the meeting. We were on our way by nine. There was a car in front of us with two of Ryan’s men and one behind us with two more. I felt like a superstar in a motorcade.
We arrived with ten minutes to spare. One car dropped off at the entrance to the parking lot. The other passed us, went to the far end, turned around, and parked facing us. We put on our best professional faces and went inside.
The place was impressive. To get to the office we took an elevator to the third floor. From the landing, we looked over the vast warehouse with workers pulling product and moving it from place to place. The woman who greeted us was impeccably dressed in a black spring pantsuit with a vivid red figure eight scarf around her neck, red pump heels, and all red accessories. She carried a clipboard where she jotted down our names and repeated them back to us in a deep British accent. After asking if we wanted coffee or water, which we refused, she slipped quietly out of the room.
She was back almost instantly, bidding us to follow her down a long hallway. On both sides hung large framed pictures of the Chinese landscape. I didn’t know much about China, but I recognized a tea field, the Great Wall, the Oriental Pearl Tower, and the Lama Temple.
At the end of the hall, she opened the door and ushered us into an office that looked nothing like an office. It was a replica of what I supposed a Chinese aristocrat would live in. Were it not for a desk in front of a massive window at the far end, I would have thought I was in a palace. I stole a look at Amy. I wondered if she had met Mr. Wu in this room. Surely, if she had, it was something she would have shared. I didn’t want to sit down and conduct business. I wanted to start at one point and walk completely around the room, looking at all I could see. Instead, I sat with Amy and Ryan on a finely upholstered sofa to the left of the desk.
An older Oriental man came through the same door we had entered and walked up to us. He bowed to Amy and said how nice it was to see her again. He then turned his attention to me and nodded along with the words, “Ah, my pleasure, Mrs. Nash.” He then looked at Ryan and innocently remarked that he didn’t know who he was. Ryan introduced himself. Then Mr. Wu moved effortlessly to a small table about three feet away and began to pour tea. He didn’t ask us if we wanted tea, he just began serving.
“Wong Lo Kat is one of the teas we Chinese are most proud of. Although it is smooth and refreshing, I know Americans sometimes like cream and sugar.”
We said we would take it plain. I wondered for a brief moment if he was going to poison us, but he poured four cups, passed three out, and began sipping the fourth one himself.
I took a deep breath. I was almost sure this was the man in the video. The one who argued with Lizzy the day she went missing.
He also fit Amy’s description to a tea. He stood about five feet, six inches and looked Chinese but had sandy-blond hair that did not looked dyed. He wore a vivid green running suit, black Nike running shoes, and had a deep tan. If I had to describe him, I would say an average executive, except for the jogging suit.
“Mr. Wu,” I began. “My associate--” I nodded toward Amy. “--says you would like to use our detective services because you think someone is stealing from you.”
“That’s correct.” He had no accent whatsoever.
“What do you think is missing?”
“My daughter Jasmine’s paintings.”
Really? Really, he couldn’t come up with anything better than that? I felt Ryan tense beside me.
“Your daughter is the painter, Jasmine Wu, is that right?” I asked.
He nodded toward me. “Yes, how good of you to know that.”
Oh, he was good. He knew we knew who she was. He was a great actor.
“I haven’t seen any of Jasmine’s work lately. I have always been a fan. Has she stopped painting?” Amy asked.
He looked off into the distance, as if he were in pain, but when he looked back, his eyes revealed nothing. “No, it has been sometime since Jasmine has painted. She was in a terrible accident some years ago, and I’m afraid it has taken its toll on her. She took up painting after her skiing career was destroyed by her accident. I thought she was quite good, at both painting and skiing,” he said in a whisper of a voice.
Ryan took up the slack. “So when did you begin noticing her paintings were missing?”
“About ten days ago,” he answered.
Right when Lizzy went missing, I thought. “How many are gone?”
“Only two, but they were special. She painted them for me after we took a trip to China some years ago. She painted them before she went to art school.”
“Didn’t your daughter attend Kansas City Art Institute?”
“Why, yes, Miss Nash, she did. Now I know why your agency has such a good name. You do your homework. I am impressed.”
“Well, Mr. Wu,” I said, as I set down my teacup. “A dear friend of mine was an instructor there, and, she was impressed and told me all about her.”
He pursed his lips. “Who is your friend?”
I looked him straight in the eyes. “Lizzy Smith.”
It was the first time he betrayed himself with any emotion. He eyes clouded, and he glanced toward something in the corner. I couldn’t tell what it was. It all happened in an instant and I was hoping Ryan or Amy had been quicker at following his eyes and could tell me what he was looking at.
We spent the next fifteen minutes discussing what we would do and what it would cost him. He pressed a button under the table and miss black-and-red came back into the room. Mr. Wu got up and whispered something to her. She left and came back with a check, which he signed and handed to me. It was for ten thousand dollars. We all shook his hand and his assistant led us back to the elevator.
None of us spoke until we were in the car. Then Ryan said, “From the way he acted, I would say he knows Lizzy.”
“I saw him look at something in the northwest corner of the room, but I couldn’t tell what it was,” I said
“It was one of Lizzy’s paintings, and it’s signed to Stanley from Lizzy,” Amy said.
I looked at Amy. “How do you know that?”
“He wasn’t so prompt the other day. I waited in the room for about five minutes. During that time, I looked around. The painting was dated 2005.”
“And you didn’t think that was important enough to tell us?” Ryan said.
Amy stopped and put her hands on her
hips. “Come on, guys. When have we really had time to sit and talk? With car bombs going off and people being impaled, someone dying, and bodyguards everywhere, it doesn’t lend itself to remembering much of anything.”
“I guess you’re right,” I said, “but we have time now, so let’s talk.”
Ryan took out his phone and called Nathan Morris in the car ahead of us. He told them to head for Blues City Deli in Benton Park on McNair Blvd. He said he was tired of hiding and intended to have lunch in the restaurant. Then we followed their car, with the other two men still following us.
It was twelve-thirty when we got to the deli, and it was busy. Amy and I got a table in the sun, yet not near the front window. No use tempting fate. The four men placed themselves strategically.
I saw them split up. One went around back. I guess he was guarding the back door. Nathan stood just inside the front door, one was on the sidewalk, and the last leaned on Ryan’s car. I felt like everyone was staring at us, and they were. They were trying to figure out who in the place warranted all the firepower. They were soon off to other conversations, except for a young couple who spoke a few words to one another, left their place in line, and then walked out the front door.
Couldn’t say I blamed them for leaving. With the number of people who had been gunned down for no reason in the past few years, they probably didn’t want to take a chance on something happening.
Ryan came to the table with a number. He sat between us, and we began discussing things in hushed tones so no one could hear.
“What did you think of Mr. Wu?” Ryan said.
“If I didn’t know what I know, I would take his case and think I was making a lot of money for nothing.” I took out the check and looked at it again. “Ten thousand dollars is a lot of money for watching a warehouse. Come on, there’s only the front door, the loading docks, and the back door. Why didn’t he put up cameras? He could do that three or four times for the money he just laid out.”
Our conversation stopped while the server put three huge, Italian-roast-beef sandwiches on the table, along with several sides and drinks. “Are those men with you?” he said, nodding toward the door.
“Yes, yes, they are,” Ryan said. “I’m sorry, it can’t be helped. Miss Arnie here is a visiting diplomat, and her safety is a top priority.”
The server glanced toward me and I gave him a coy smile.
“Do you care if I let that float around in here? The patrons are nervous, and we don’t want to lose any more business.”
“Sure,” Ryan said. “Be discreet. Don’t announce it on the PA. We’ll finish our lunch and be on our way.”
The waiter began to back away. “Oh, no, sir, take your time. Enjoy.”
Ryan gave him his biggest grin. All Amy and I could do was sit with our mouths open and hope no one asked for an autograph.
We had no time to respond to what had happened. Ryan’s cell phone rang and he answered. “When?” he asked. “Okay, we’ll be there in about an hour. No use hurrying if she’s gone.” He put his phone away slowly, as if he were taking extra time to think. “Someone was at Lizzy’s apartment about three this morning. Jeremy thinks it was a woman dressed as a man. He thinks that because the person was tall and slight, and didn’t move like a man. Anyway, he watched whoever it was walk straight up to the front door and use a key to unlock it.
“They were there for about a half hour. He didn’t want to move away long enough to call me. Whoever it was, left with a suitcase and headed north. He had no trouble following and tailed her until she got into a dark blue Mercedes with no license plates. His car was a mile or so back.
He jogged back and then went to the place where the person got into the car. He spent all this time trying to find the car, but couldn’t.”
Amy put her sandwich down. “Was the person a passenger in the car, or did they drive it away?”
“Whoever it was, was the driver,” Ryan answered.
We finished our lunch in silence. I was sure we each had a million thoughts in our heads. Could it have been Lizzy? When we were about finished with lunch, the same waiter came over with a large sack of food that I assumed Ryan bought for his men. He left an enormous tip, and we left.
Amy and I stood quietly while Ryan talked to Nathan about what happened at Lizzy’s apartment. They spoke for about two or three minutes, then Ryan handed him the bag of food, and we walked over to the car where one of the guys stood. “No one came near the car, sir,” he said. “It’s perfectly safe.”
We got in and drove to University City to Lizzy’s apartment.
Now what? It was the only thought I had.
It was a silent ride.
CHAPTER 24
T he first car was there when we arrived. They were walking around the place, checking windows and the front door. I was hoping I could discern what was missing when I got inside.
I found out a minute later that it would not be so easy. The place had been ransacked. My stomach rose to my throat, and I thought my lunch was coming back up, but it didn’t.
Everything in the place was flung on the floors, every drawer was tossed. The mattresses were on the floor, there was paint thrown on the painting Lizzy had been working on when she went missing. It was horrible. I called Roger Simon and he was there in minutes.
“How did you get in?” he asked.
“We’ve been friends since college,” Ryan answered and looked at me. “We both have a key.”
Amy was wondering around, looking at things. I noticed she was careful not to touch anything.
“I don’t know what to think,” Roger said.
I bent down to look at a piece of paper I thought might be important. “Me either.”
“Where’s your man who saw the suspect?” Roger looked around for someone besides us.
“I hope he’s in bed. This happened in the middle of the night. He’s been trying to find the car. I didn’t find out about all of this until almost one. I’ll send him to the station to give a statement after he’s rested.” Ryan was firm.
“Sounds good. I’ll send a forensic crew over, and we’ll see what we can find.”
“Thanks.” The two men shook hands and we left.
“What do you think?” I asked Ryan and Amy when we got into the car.
“I think it’s a smoke screen,” Amy said. “Whoever it was went to that apartment for a specific reason. They did all of that to cover up what they were really doing.”
“We didn’t have a chance to look around like you did,” I mused. “What makes you think that?”
Amy was in the back seat. She leaned forward to answer. “For one thing, she’s a painter and there were no paint brushes.”
“They were there before,” I stated.
“And the clothes in the drawers were not gone thru. Some of them looked untouched, only taken out where they were. Her hanging clothes were laying on the floor in a neat pile, one on top of the other. If I had to guess, I would say Lizzy Smith needed some things and went home to get them,” Amy said, matter-of-factly.
“That’s impossible!” Ryan and I said at nearly the same time.
“Is it? How well do you know Lizzy? How much time did you really spend with her? Does she have a gym membership, what’s her favorite restaurant, is she dating anyone, what does she do all day?” Amy was, once again, proving she was the consummate detective.
I leaned back hard on the car seat. How many of those questions could I answer?
I heard Ryan take a deep breath. “When you put it that way,” he said, “I guess I don’t know her well at all.”
By then we were back at the apartment. Amy went to her room and I went to mine. Ryan followed me in. “How well do you know Lizzy?” he asked. “Ever had a girl talk where she let go of any secrets about herself? Ever since Amy asked about her specifically, I realize, I know nothing.”
I plopped down on the bed. “Lizzy and I were never close. She tried to be a friend when Michael died. She brought food and sent thank y
ou cards for me. She spent the better part of a week just hanging around trying to help. What about you?”
Ryan stood facing me. “When I think about it, I guess I don’t know her either. We went to dinner on a regular basis and talked about art and music. If she dated, she never did say. Her quiet reserved good manners, incredible good looks, and talent for small talk made her the perfect companion when I needed someone to take to the opera or a fundraiser. But when I really think about it, I don’t actually know anything about her.”
“Okay, let’s review.” I looked up and Amy was standing in the doorway. “Come in,” I said.
She sat in a chair on the other side of the room near the balcony door.
I cleared my throat. “I got a text from Lizzy ten days ago saying she needed to talk to me at the gardens behind your house. I went and waited a couple of hours but she didn’t show up. I went to her apartment but she wasn’t there. You and I--” I nodded at Ryan.“--canvassed around the art gallery downtown, her apartment, and the U City loop. We found out she had an argument with who we now know was Stanley Wu. She texted us two more times, once on day three and again on day five and gave hints that she was okay. We have not heard anything for five days. Now her apartment has been ransacked and things are missing. Things like paintbrushes, and we think some of her clothes. Someone who could be Lizzy took them--or not. Stanley Wu has a signed painting of hers prominently displayed in his office. What does all of this tell us?”
“Absolutely nothing,” Amy said.
“I agree,” Ryan stated. “I think the answer lies with our Mr. Wu. Let’s all get some rest. Tonight, we’ll be spending the night at the warehouse. I’m going down to let the men go home until eleven p.m. That gives us several hours to rest before a long night. You two okay with that?”
We said we were.
***
The men took Digger out before they left. Amy and the dog went to bed in her room, and Ryan came in with me. He slipped off his shoes and lay on the far edge of the bed away from me. He looked exhausted.