“Look at that one,” Gracie said, pointing. “It’s so tall it’s disappearing into the clouds. And the one with the round globes built into it—it looks like something out of the Jetsons cartoon.”
“It’s called the Oriental Pearl,” Pen said. “Rather striking, for a radio and TV tower, isn’t it?”
Amber perked up, pulling out her phone and shooting pictures of the brilliantly lit structures. Pen, as was her habit nearly all the time, watched the people come and go. She often found inspiration for characters in her novels from some little action or exchange she witnessed between strangers.
She’d no sooner had the thought than she noticed a little girl tugging at her father’s sleeve. He leaned forward to listen to what she had to say. Then the man bent down and in one quick move, picked up his daughter and pulled her slacks down. He held her over a large trash bin and the girl proceeded to urinate into the open container. When she finished, he pulled her garments back in place and set her feet on the ground again and the two strolled away, hand in hand. Pen blinked—had she actually witnessed what she thought she did? Oh, yes, she thought. This is a vignette for a book.
She told the others about it as they walked back to their hotel. Amber laughed out loud. Gracie commented on the number of times she had scrambled to find public restrooms when her kids were younger. “Sometimes, you do whatever works,” she said.
They agreed to sleep late in the morning, have a leisurely breakfast and check out by noon. It allowed an hour to get to the airport, the requisite two-hour lead time for an international flight, and a little breathing space.
“I want to make one final recon of Clint’s office at Tong Chen Enterprises,” Amber said.
Pen halted in the middle of the crowded sidewalk.
“I’ve gotten in there once,” Amber argued. She took Pen’s elbow and resumed walking. “I can do it again. Clint may have left something behind that could be very beneficial to us. Who knows? A notebook with all his passwords in it, a copy of his will?”
“That won’t happen,” Gracie said, giving her a stern look.
“Okay, I know. But there might be something. It wouldn’t take me but a few minutes to check. I need to do this.”
The hotel doorman stood aside for them and Pen led the way in. Neither of the women believed Amber would find anything but she was adamant about trying.
Chapter 35
Sandy sat at her desk, twirling a pen between her fingers, unable to concentrate on the stack of loan applications in front of her. Not something a banker should skim over in haste, she reminded herself. Pen, Gracie and Amber would be leaving Shanghai in a few hours—if they hadn't already. She never could keep track of time across the international dateline. Her personal phone rang, startling her.
“Sandy Werner?” said a male voice.
“Speaking.”
“This is Billy DeWitt at the gym. You’re Mary Holbrook’s friend, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Is everything okay?” She hadn’t spoken with Mary since the day before yesterday, when she went over to deliver the news about Clint’s death.
“Well, she hasn’t been to work in two days,” Billy said, “and hasn’t called in either. It’s not like her. I tried her cell phone and didn’t get an answer.”
Sandy looked at the stack of applications and pondered what to do.
“Sorry,” Billy said. “I wouldn’t be calling you except Mary listed you as her contact person. I just thought you should know.”
“Yes, thank you. It’s fine. I’ll go check on her.”
Sandy clicked off the call and glanced at the time. Ten a.m. was a little early to leave for lunch, but Billy’s tone worried her. Mary had been understandably shocked to hear of Clint’s dying, but she’d handled it well. They’d been divorced a couple of years, after all. She certainly didn’t seem as if she would take to her bed over the news.
Still, Sandy knew she needed to find out. If her workday slipped away she would take the paperwork home and work on it tonight. She went out to her car and steered toward the 101. As she parked in one of the many empty slots, she noticed Mary’s apartment building seemed even more drab for some reason. Had she never noticed it was such a crappy place?
She closed her eyes, gripped the wheel and opened them again. Okay, so the landscaping was nothing but gravel with a couple of lanky palm trees, which offered no shade at all, and the building could use a coat of paint. Otherwise, it wasn’t in a bad neighborhood and most of the tenants appeared to keep their clutter to a minimum. Most likely her perception was all in her mood. None of the group seemed very perky since events with Clint had gone so wrong. She called Mary’s number, thinking to give a little warning before just appearing at the door, but if her friend was screening calls it wasn’t only Billy she was avoiding.
Sandy got out of her car, hoping Mary hadn't fallen into another depression. It had been sad and frightening to see how Mary declined after the divorce. Please let her be okay, she thought as she took the sidewalk toward the back of the building.
She listened at the cheap hollow-core door for a moment before knocking. A television talk show’s raucous laughter came from inside. Sandy knocked. The TV sound diminished a bit and she swore she saw movement at the window blinds.
“Mary, it’s me. Can I come in?”
A full minute passed.
“Mary? Come on. I really need to talk.”
She sensed movement behind the door and finally it opened. Mary wore a shapeless caftan that must have come from her heavier days. It hung from her shoulders now.
“Hey.”
“Hey. You okay? Billy’s worried that you haven’t been at work.”
“Come on in. I know I should have called him. My phone ran out of minutes and I haven’t felt like dressing up enough to go out and refill it.”
“But you’re doing okay in general? Not sick or anything? If it’s because of the news about Clint, I’m here if you want to talk about it.”
Mary shrugged. “Nah, not really.”
But Sandy noticed three empty soda cans and a near-empty bag of tortilla chips on the end table near the chair Mary had obviously occupied. Junk food and sloppy clothing went completely against Mary’s new lifestyle, so all was not right.
“I took the rest of the morning off, thought maybe we could grab some lunch. I’ve been in the mood for one of Brannigan’s turkey club sandwiches. Sound good to you?”
Mary stared down at a soda stain on her caftan. “I don’t know …”
Sandy stepped closer and gripped both of Mary’s shoulders. “Talk to me. Or don’t. But I can tell this thing is really eating at you. You don’t, in some way, feel guilty about Clint, do you? Nobody chased him over to the Far East and nobody put him on a boat in a stormy sea—well, except himself. He made those choices.”
“It just keeps coming back at me, when I said water torture would be too good for him. And now this—”
Sandy almost laughed. “Mary, Clint didn’t drown because you said the words ‘water torture.’ That’s crazy.”
Mary looked up at her, finally. Her eyes brimmed but the smile was back. “Well, when you put it that way. I know. You’re right. I’m just being …”
“You’re being hard on yourself, trying to take the blame for something that was purely an accident.”
“What if it wasn’t?”
“Wasn’t an accident?” Sandy struggled to wrap her thoughts around the idea. “He goes off fishing with some charter boat operator, there’s a storm and he’s swept overboard … how … what are you thinking?”
“Oh, I don’t know. It’s silly. From the minute Clint said he would be working in China I thought how weird that was—for him. He has no experience in international business. And the talk about Chinese mobsters and rackets and stuff like that …” She exhaled sharply. “You know what—I’ve had too much time and too much sugary junk. To start thinking someone over there might have wanted to be rid of Clint? Clint Holbrook from Arizona? Silly.�
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Sandy was happy to see the smile return to Mary’s face. “Yes. Silly.”
She glanced around the room. “I’m going to sit here while you shower and dress, and then you and I are going out to lunch. First, use my phone to call Billy and reassure him, okay?”
Mary took the phone and made the call. Sandy heard her tell the boss she would be in later and would teach her afternoon classes. She breathed a sigh of relief. Looked as if she would get to those loan applications today, after all.
Mary was midway through a salad—greens with chicken, cranberries and a sweet-sour dressing—when her expression turned glum again. They had been discussing the other Heist Ladies’ plan to come home tonight and how their mission had taken a turn.
“Mary? You okay?”
Mary poked at her salad with the fork, shuffling bits of food around on the plate. “It just hit me—what you said. I’ll never get my share of all that money from Clint now, will I?”
Sandy pondered the question for a moment. “I don’t know. I would guess it’s pretty certain a divorce court judge won’t look at the case. But when I talked to Pen she hinted that they may have some other avenue to pursue. I wouldn’t write it off yet.”
“Life is just so freaking unfair, you know. I should have known better than to get my hopes up. Every time I do—I mean, like, every time in my whole life I’ve counted on something—it falls through and things only get worse.”
Sandy watched her friend slump against the banquette seat.
“Do you honestly believe that?” She said it quietly but she could tell Mary heard her. “Every single time?”
Mary raised one shoulder in a half-shrug.
“Yeah, Clint dumped on you. It happens. The right and fair and wonderful thing doesn’t always happen. But it damn sure gets worse if you believe it will.”
She had Mary’s attention now. A scowl wrinkled the space between her eyebrows.
“You may never get that money, but will it be the end of things? Look how far you’ve come in the last few weeks. Even at that low point when you were homeless you still had a lot of gumption. You got healthy and fit. You have a job you love. You made an amazing transformation. Now there’s a setback and you’re ready to go back to square one, to let a dead guy ruin the rest of your life? Get with it—pick yourself up and start over again.”
Mary actually smiled. “Okay, now you’re starting to sound like a cheesy musical number.”
“Sorry. I guess I revert to clichés when I’m riled.”
In her agitated state she’d knocked a spoon to the floor. She bent down to retrieve it. When she looked up, Mary’s face was calm.
“Thanks, Sandy,” she said. “Thanks for believing in me.”
Chapter 36
“Just remember, you must—absolutely must—be back before we leave for the airport,” Pen said.
Amber nodded impatiently.
“Take your ticket and passport with you. I can manage your bag, but we can’t take the chance you won’t be able to check yourself in if we become separated. We’ll leave the hotel at noon. If you can’t be back here by then, go directly to the airport.”
Amber gave an irked smile. “Yes, Mom.”
Pen ignored the sarcasm. They were all tired and the circumstances were wearing them down. Amber mumbled a small “Sorry” and went back to her own room. She scooped clothing from the closet and dresser drawers and smashed it into her suitcase. She tossed in her bag of toiletries, made certain her documents and iPad were in her tote bag, and wheeled the large suitcase across the hall to Pen’s room.
“Just in case,” she said before turning away. She called over her shoulder, “I will be back in time.”
Out on the street she took a deep breath. For all her bluster, this was a huge city and she felt barely confident about smoothly negotiating her way around with public transportation and her limited knowledge of the language. She watched for the correct bus, the one that would get her to Tong Chen Enterprises with only a couple of stops along the way. She could have easily walked the distance but as Pen had reminded her, time was of the essence and it was way too scary to think of missing the flight and having to straighten out the resulting mess.
Settled into a seat, she calmed down. Yeah, maybe she should have gotten an earlier start, but it was only ten-thirty. Plenty of time. The bus roared into the left lane. Uh-oh, this didn’t seem right. She looked at the lighted printing above the front window but the writing was all in Chinese characters. Had she accidentally boarded an express bus? Shit.
She twisted in her seat, watching the neighborhood disappear as the bus entered the ring road. Oh god. She forced her pounding heart to slow down then reached for her phone. Her finger scrolled through the contacts before she paused to think about the situation. What was I thinking? Telling Pen she was lost—she’d never hear the end of it. She’d best figure this out on her own.
Maybe it wouldn’t be all that bad. She would get off the bus the very next time it stopped and figure it out from there. Surely, someone could tell her how to get back. She told herself not to worry about it.
I’m smart and competent and I’ve done a fair amount of travel. I can do this.
The bus stayed on the ring road nearly twenty minutes, every one of them taking Amber farther from her destination and closer to missing her flight, every mile diminishing her bravado. Finally, it pulled to the curb outside a train station. She got off and looked around for any signage she could read. The few signs in Roman lettering didn’t help much. The destinations all contained the same set of letters—Qingsun, Chondau, Guisang. Even if she could remember the name of the neighborhood she needed to reach, the train was probably not the way to get there.
She had paused near a vendor, a man cooking a massive wok full of noodles on a portable cart. An impatient Chinese man who looked close to a hundred pushed her aside to get to the food. She stepped aside and rummaged in her deep tote bag for the address of Tong Chen Enterprises. Where had that scrap of paper gone? She remembered tucking it into the coin pocket of her wallet. Operating by feel she undid the clasp and touched the little slip.
Luckily, the first time she went there she’d asked the hotel concierge to copy the English version of the name into Chinese characters. When the pushy old man stepped away with his cup of noodle soup, Amber held up the address to the vendor.
“Can you tell me how to get to this place?” she asked, remembering belatedly to repeat the question in Mandarin.
The vendor squinted at the paper, made a dismissive gesture and turned away. Amber felt a surge of panic. The blare of a car horn caught her attention. Behind her, across a wide median and divider, idled a line of taxis. It was a risk-your-life move as she dashed between cars to cross over to them. The driver of the first car she came to gave her a tired look.
She held out the slip of paper with the address. He read it and nodded.
Hěn yuan. Very far away. Shit—how far?
She was running low on cash. Duōshǎo qián?
He named a figure, which she barely understood. What option did she have? She nodded and got into the back seat. He clicked the button on the taxi meter and pulled into the stream of traffic. As the money ticked away, she vowed she would never, ever admit to Pen how harrowing this little adventure had become.
She decided to visualize Clint’s office, the layout and the types of paperwork she’d seen, envisioning herself arriving there and finding something of value to their mission. There were huge rolls of blueprints on a big table, a diagram of the jobsite on one wall. When Clint was there he’d worked on a computer. Had he left it at the office or was it a personal one he carried everywhere? She had no way to know so she kept her thoughts positive. All this effort had to be worth something. Surely, Clint didn’t pack up everything in the office every night and take it to his hotel. There must be important documents somewhere in that office.
It was eleven-thirty when the taxi deposited her in front of Tong Chen Enterprises. Sh
e approached the front door with all the confidence she could muster.
“Miss?” a voice said in English. A uniformed guard stood at a small podium inside the door. “Your employee badge?”
Badge? She’d never had a badge when she came the first time. Of course, she’d arrived with the morning rush of employees and most likely had scooted on past the checkpoint without realizing she was expected to stop.
“My badge.” She patted her chest where a lanyard might hang, if she’d had one. “Oh, no! I must have left it at my desk when I stepped out for lunch. It’s the temporary offices of Redwing Holdings … Clint Holbrook is my boss. Do you want to come up with me? It’s in my desk drawer.”
Amber gave the whole spiel as quickly as possible with a little California-girl spin and a series of hand gestures indicating upstairs. The guard’s patient smile stayed in place but she could tell he didn’t get half of what she said.
“Please go ahead,” he said.
Whew. Thank goodness—aside from the fact she’d lost another two minutes. She rode the elevator with three men in business suits, one of whom must have just finished a large serving of garlic.
Clint’s office down the hall on the tenth floor was dark. She wondered what would happen with the construction project he’d begun. Most likely, the work would continue under the supervision of the second-lowest bidder. She tried the doorknob but of course it was locked. However, it was a cheap lockset and she was willing to give breaking and entering a try.
With a scan of the corridor in each direction she pulled a plastic card from her wallet. Thinner than a credit card, it would, she hoped, have the flexibility to be maneuvered between the door and the jamb … and, yes. It worked.
She slipped inside, locked the door behind her and left the lights off in case someone who knew the situation came along and noticed. The large window in Clint’s private office provided almost enough light—enough for her to see the project diagram on the wall and the heavy roll of blueprints on the table. Aside from that, no computer. It looked as if he’d had the good sense to take it back to his hotel each night, although Amber snickered a little, remembering the totally inadequate security on the machine.
The Trophy Wife Exchange Page 14