Skin Puppet

by Jeffery Craig

  “Why do you think there’s a catch? Can’t I just bring you a couple of cookies?”

  Lindsi waited.

  Melba smiled engagingly.

  Lindsi waited some more.

  “Damn, you’re good. You didn’t even peek in the bag.”

  “Thanks. So, why the cookies? And don’t try to pull one over on me. Those cookies are the best in town. Bernice has been trying to duplicate the recipe forever. Plus, they cost almost four bucks each.”

  “Okay, I give,” Melba answered with a huff. “I’m going back to talk with Zhou Li. There may be shouting before we’re done with our discussion. Just trust me, and don’t come back to see what’s happening. And for your own future happiness, forget you ever heard any explosion—if there is an explosion, that is.” Lindsi blinked, and Melba didn’t know if it was a positive sign or a negative indicator. “There won’t really be an explosion,” Melba assured her. “I’m pretty sure.” Then, she played the last card she could think of. “Jon knows about this.”

  That got the needed reaction.

  “Okay. It’s a deal.” Lindsi pulled the bag to her side of the counter, then reached underneath and pulled out a set of huge, padded earphones. She held them up and explained. “When I put these on and turn the music up, I won’t be able to hear a thing. I’ll have…eh…some kind of deniability.”

  “Plausible deniability?”

  “That’s the one.” Without another word, Lindsi shoved the earphones over her head and went back to her book. She never took her eyes from the page, but worked one cookie out of the bag and held it at ready.

  Bargain sealed, Melba started toward the beaded curtain. “Madame Zhou,” she called. “Are you there?”

  “Yes, dear. Please join me.”

  Melba parted the curtain, mentally preparing herself for battle.

  Zhou Li was filling a kettle with water, and smiled when Melba entered the back room.

  “Good afternoon. I was just about to make a fresh pot of tea. Will you join me?”

  “That would be perfect,” Melba answered. “As a matter of fact, I was running a few errands and ran across something I thought you might enjoy. I suspect my surprise will be perfect with your tea.”

  She handed over the bag without the tell-tale chocolate smears.

  Zhou Li took it from her and set it on the counter. She read the advertising logo on the side of the bag and looked over the rim of her glasses, giving Melba a penetrating glance. She carefully unfolded the bag and peered inside. “This is indeed a surprise. You are correct; these will be perfect with the tea.” She pulled a plate from the cabinet and arranged a few cookies on it, and handed it to Melba. “If you will place these on the table, please, I will be along with the tea in a moment. Make yourself comfortable.”

  Melba sat the delicate porcelain on the carved dragon table and took a seat in her usual chair. “It’s kind of strange that I have a chair here I think of as mine,” she thought. Across the table, near Zhou’s customary place, was a small stack of old documents, very similar to those she’s seen in the woman’s apartment. Her speculation was confirmed by the presence of the sleek laptop computer sitting next to them.

  Zhou Li joined her at the table a few moments later, carefully carrying a tray loaded with a teapot and two cups arranged on saucers. They were different than those Zhou normally used—much more formal and delicate. She placed the tray on the table near Melba. “As you can see, my side of the table is full, and I do not want to disturb the things I have been working with. Perhaps you would be so good as to pour for us this afternoon.”

  “All right,” Melba replied, hesitantly. The request surprised her. “I’ve never done this before, at least not with a real tea service.”

  Zhou inclined her head regally. “Then, it is time for you to accustom yourself to these things.” She didn’t wait for a response, moving instead to take her seat in her chair. She folded her small hands on her lap and waited.

  Melba wiped her suddenly damp palms on her slacks before leaning forward and pouring the tea from the pot into the two waiting cups. She replaced the pot back on the lacquered tray, and praying she didn’t suddenly become clumsy, lifted one saucer and handed it across the table.

  Zhou nodded her approval and took the cup and saucer from her. Melba lifted her own, thankfully without mishap, and they each tasted the brew.

  “Oh,” Melba said. “This is the jasmine blend. I was expecting a variation on the new tea you’ve been working on.”

  “I thought this would go best with the lovely cookies you have provided. The jasmine will complement their delicate flavor. It will also serve as a happy reminder of the first time we took tea together.”

  Melba sat her tea down on the table, and picked up the plate and held it toward her hostess.

  Zhou Li extracted a single almond cookie, and held it delicately by thumb and finger. “Are you not having one, dear?” she asked when Melba began to replace the plate on the table.

  She thought about explaining her earlier binge, but decided it might open a line of questioning she wasn’t quite ready for. She picked up a cookie and placed it on her saucer.

  Zhou stared at it meaningfully, so Melba picked it up, and following the old woman’s lead, she raised it to her mouth and took a tiny bite. It’s simple, elegant flavor balanced perfectly with the jasmine tea. They each slowly finished their treat, oddly, but unsurprisingly, in sync with each other.

  “It has been ages since I have had the pleasure of enjoying one of these cookies. I had forgotten how much I enjoy them. I must make a note to keep some on hand from now on.” Zhou Li sipped her tea for a moment, and then placed the cup and saucer back on the tray. She scooted back in her chair, and regarded her visitor. “So, my dear, it is time to talk about Vassily Grokov and what he said to me the night of the party. That is the purpose of your visit, is it not?”

  Melba was speechless, flabbergasted by this woman. She forced some tea down, hoping it would prevent her from stuttering. “Yes. How did you know?” She was pleased her voice stayed even and calm.

  Zhou regarded her over her glasses and…giggled. “You came unannounced, bringing bribes on the afternoon following Toby’s horrible incident. I knew the minute I saw the delightful bakery bags something was on your mind. But truthfully, I had insider information.”

  “Oh?”

  Zhou smiled and nodded. “You almost have the tone of that down perfectly. A little softer inflection at the end, and you will sound almost as formidable as me.” She covered her mouth with one hand. “If you could see your expression right now, dear! Now, pour us another cup, and I will tell you about my family’s history with that horrible man.”

  Melba was ridiculously relieved she was not going to have to bully Zhou into telling her what she wanted to know. She poured the tea as requested, still curious about the source of Zhou’s information. She passed the cup and saucer across the table and waited.

  “I will first answer the question foremost on you mind. I had two informants today. Each called with the same request. The first was Toby. The second was Agent Edmondson. They did not tell me what you were coming to ask. They simply asked me to consider your request. That, of course, got me to thinking about what possible information you might feel the need for, but would make you apprehensive in terms of asking. It took me a considerable amount of time to come to the conclusion I did. In fact, until you confirmed I was right, I was not total certain my deduction was on point.”

  Zhou paused to select another almond cookie. “The second question in your mind is the key to the puzzle. Will you ask it now?”

  Melba met Zhou’s dark eyes and nodded. “What did Vassily Grokov say to you on the night of the party?”

  Zhou lowered her cookie. Melba suspected it was to hide the trembling of her hand. Still, the tiny lady was made out of stern stuff.

  “He told me that he hoped my stubborn nature did not lead to my death, as it did to my father.” Zhou Li lifted her cookie, and
with tiny, sharp white teeth, bit off one edge.

  Melba didn’t trust herself to speak. She sat frozen in her chair, watching Zhou systematically devour the almond and sugar confection until there was not a single bite left. Zhou disdainfully brushed a few crumbs from her hands and lap, her eyes fierce and determined. “You see, Vassily Grokov hounded my father to death. For all practical purposes, he murdered him, although there was no proof.”

  “Why?” Melba asked, once the Zhou’s face settled into a more normal visage.

  “Greed,” she answered. “It seems so petty a thing to have caused such sorrow. Let me see if I can make a long story short. Back in the early 1970’s, my father was searching for a project that would keep him occupied in his later years, but would also be meaningful to the community. A section of land was rumored to be coming up for auction. This land was once a part of a large and prosperous family estate, but over the years it had changed hands as various fortunes fluctuated. When this land came to my father’s notice, there was little to recommend it, other than its relatively secluded location and the three buildings located on the land itself.”

  Zhou handed her cup to Melba, indicating she would like to have her tea refreshed. While Melba poured, she continued with her story. “The buildings weren’t much to speak of. They included a house, along with cotton warehouses and storage facilities for various equipment. One building —the house —had more promise. It was not large, but was in good shape. There was a kitchen facility, and a large common space on the first floor. It had been used to prepare food and provide a gathering place for farm workers at some point in its history. The foundation was in excellent shape, and it had a full basement. The second floor was comprised of a series of small rooms, perhaps offices or temporary sleeping quarters in the past.”

  “Why was your father interested in the property?” Melba asked, passing the tea across the table.

  Zhou smiled and to Melba, her smile was filled with fondness. “He wanted to turn it into a facility for displaced women and children. The sort who are trying to get away from something terrible, but have no place to go. He hoped eventually there would even be a small clinic there, one where he, and other interested colleagues, could provide basic medical care. My father was quite involved with social programs in his later years. He felt he had a responsibility to direct some of his wealth and expertise to helping those less fortunate.”

  “That sounds like quite an undertaking.”

  “Yes. It would have been. But remember, my father and I had just relocated to this area. He was, in many ways, at a loss for what to do with himself. I think he saw it as a project which would benefit others, but could also help him find a place in the community. He was getting on in years, but other than some slight heart issues, he was in good health. He needed an occupation of sorts, for the stimulation, not for income. He had this shop, of course, but to him, it was not sufficient.”

  “What happened?”

  “Vassily Grokov was also interested in the property. He, like my family, was new to the area and anxious to make a name for himself. He had monetary backing from some unknown source, but had little capital of his own. Eventually, the property did come up for auction and my father and Vassily competed for ownership. My father won the bid, and his dream could become reality. Or so we both thought at the time.”

  Zhou cradled her cup in her hands, and closed her eyes. Melba could see the delicate, thin eyelids flutter behind the thick glasses. After a moment, Zhou opened them and took a sip of tea. “My father was ecstatic,” she continued. “He hired architects and a project supervisor and formed a charitable foundation. It was the happiest I could remember him being since my mother’s death. At first, things seemed to be progressing very well. Then, the trouble started. Delayed permits. Required revisions to the plans. Zoning challenge after zoning challenge. Vandalism. Threats. Unflattering editorials in the newspaper. With each new challenge, my father would become more determined, although the stress and disappointment was taking its toll on him. At each roadblock, Vassily Grokov would offer to help him out and take the troublesome property off his hands. Each time my father said no, the difficulties escalated. Grokov was behind it all, of course. It became obvious over time. Everyone knew.”

  Zhou placed her now empty cup back on its saucer. “This went on for over two years. Father kept battling the obstacles and raising money for the foundation. Then, Grokov engineered the most despicable thing. Using his contacts and his money, he pressured for a formal investigation into the project and insinuated that foundation funds had been used inappropriately. A good portion of the money spent had come directly from my father, but there were grants and awards and matching loans from various public sources, so this was taken very seriously, at least, on the surface. Those in the know recognized it as the sham and ploy it was. The stress built until the pressure had to find an outlet. It did. My father had a serious heart attack, and died shortly thereafter. As for Mr. Grokov…well, he played the perfect gentleman. He publically praised my father, and called him a great champion for social justice. He wrote a very successful editorial for the paper, lauding my father’s stubborn fight against any obstacle, even unto death.”

  Zhou abruptly stood from her chair, and picked up the tray. ”Would you care for more tea?”

  Melba rose to help. “No, thank you. Please, let me do this.”

  “I need to do it!” Zhou exclaimed. “I need to move. I need to make myself useful for a moment.”

  “All right,” Melba agreed, quickly stepping out of the way. She waited a minute before picking up the plate with the three remaining cookie and following Zhou to the small sink. She placed the plate on the counter. “Shall I put these back in the bag?”

  Zhou nodded, lips pursed as she began to rinse the cups.

  Melba put away the sweets, and picked up a dishtowel and gently took a rinsed cup from Zhou’s hand. “I like to dry,” she explained softly. They worked side by side in silence, until everything was put away.

  “I couldn’t do anything.” Zhou turned to her, looking up into her face. “The foundation floundered. The project died. The remaining monies went back to their original source. I worked to make sure the only loss was the funds my father had contributed. I did everything possible to preserve his good name. I could not keep the property. I did not have the resources that I later built. I sent it to auction.”

  “And it was bought by Grokov,” Melba replied.

  “Yes.”

  “Bastard.”

  “Yes,” Zhou agreed.

  “He’s using the same tactic again,” Melba realized. “But this time, you’re the target. And his intended prize is the corner building on Capital Street.”

  “Very good,” Zhou said, approval clear in her voice. “But this time, I am ready. I had the entire structure, and foundation, certified months ago. The electrical wiring has already been completely replaced, although no one is aware of that except for Joel, and the lead inspector for the city. All of these new issues and complaints will soon to be called into question at the next city council meeting. I am already on the agenda. I suspect many individuals will be shocked to find there is graft and bribery happening within key departments.”

  Melba smiled, recognizing the intended cynicism. “In other words, you set a trap and baited it.”

  Zhou nodded.

  “One last question. Where was the property? The property Grokov hounded your father over.”

  The woman’s face was serene and starkly beautiful as she answered. “You were there last night, as was Toby. Part of the original property is now Gro-Transportation.”

  ***

  By Thursday evening, the additional agents were on the ground.

  Most of the day was spent on tactical planning, although the first team was already glued to Grokov. Toby completed the cross-referencing of all the registry numbers, tying most to the photographs of trucks and containers he’d taken with his phone. There were fourteen registry numbers unacco
unted for, presumably those trucks were in transit.

  Once that was completed, he and Mitchell made a visit to Jessica Fields’ prior school.

  After explaining their business, the school secretary escorted them to the vice-principal’s office.

  Wesley Wentsworth offered only the most perfunctory of introductions and a cursory handshake, before getting down to business.

  “I understand you have some questions about some of our students.” Wentsworth addressed his comments to them from behind his large desk. “I’m not sure how I can help you. All of our records are strictly confidential.”

  “I’m aware of that,” Mitchell answered smoothly. “We’re prepared to get a warrant if necessary, but given the lives and welfare of several children are at stake, I hope you’ll spare us all the effort. Please, tell us what you can, Mr. Wentsworth.”

  “We only have a couple of questions.” Toby smiled engagingly at the man across the desk, giving a small, internal shout of triumph when the man preened at the attention. He directed the full force of his blue eyes across the polished wooden expanse. “I’d be very grateful for your assistance.”

  For a moment, he thought his flirting might have pushed things too far, but Wentsworth leaned forward and nodded slowly, offering a tentative smile of his own. “I’ll tell you what I can, Mr. Bailey.” His smile faded. “But if the questioning gets into matters deemed confidential by statute, I have no option but to insist the proper process be followed, for my protection and the protection of our students.”

  “Maybe this isn’t going to be so easy after all,” Toby realized. Deciding to give it his best shot anyway, he opened the file he’d brought with him. “Understood,” he assured the man with another smile. “We already know Jessica was a student here, before transferring a few months ago.” He passed a picture across the desk. “I’m sure you remember her.”

  Wentsworth gingerly took the photo from Toby’s hand and gave it a careful once over. “Ah, yes,” he confirmed with a sniff. “I remember her very well. Her father, Mr. Fields, was unpleasant at the end of Jessica’s tenure here. He insisted our curriculum was lacking, although no one else has ever made such an assertion. He even had the nerve to demand a refund.”