by Joan Hess
“Have you heard from Miao since she arrived in China?”
“Not a peep, but I didn’t expect her to have time to send a postcard.”
“She might not have made it home,” I said. “She must have required quite a few connecting flights. If she missed one, she might still be sitting in an airport. Don’t you agree, Miss Parchester?”
“If that were the case, I would feel dreadful for her. Poor little thing, stranded in one of those vast, impersonal airports with those blaring speakers. No, something tells me she’s just fine. I can’t claim a little birdie told me, since the birdie wouldn’t last five seconds in this house.”
“Miao didn’t fly anywhere. The police checked with the airlines.” That wasn’t true, I admit, but I didn’t want to sit in her living room all day. “She’s upstairs, isn’t she?”
Miss Parchester’s small mouth opened in surprise. “She is? Oh, my goodness, I must be more impaired than I thought. I’d like to think I’d notice if someone was in my own house at this very moment.”
“You offered her a haven Monday night. Have you forgotten that?”
“Why would you think such a thing? Miao is not upstairs. If you care to have a look, please do so. Don’t think badly of me if you encounter a few small brown objects under the beds. Presumed Livingston, the Siamese, has a devious sense of humor. Go on, Claire, I insist.”
I knew she wasn’t bluffing. All I’d find upstairs would be the consequences of Presumed Livingston’s so-called sense of humor. “Do you know where she is now?”
“Who?” Miss Parchester took a sip of tea.
“Miao. You warned her that I would show up here. Did she go out the back door and head for the apartment she shares with Luo Shiwen?”
“I do so admire your thoroughness, dear. I really have no idea where Miao is at this time. Perhaps you should contact her family in Tai Po.”
“Her boyfriend already did. She’s not there.”
“How frightful if she were stranded in Cleveland. I went there once with Mama and Papa. We went on a train. I was six years old, and it was a great adventure. I recall running up and down the aisles while a porter chased after me. Papa gave him a very large tip when we got off the train in Cleveland.”
I accepted defeat, thanked her for the tea, and walked out to my car. She’d wanted me to search her house for Miao. Not to humiliate me, since she was too good-natured for that, but to strengthen her position. As we stood, she knew that I knew. I knew that she knew that I knew. So what? I tried to think of a place where she might have stashed Miao. I’d never seen Miao talking to anyone at the Literacy Council. If she was avoiding Jiang after their argument, she wouldn’t have gone to him. Luo wasn’t going to offer me the names of Miao’s friends. Maybe a professor or her adviser.
Miao was in the math department. I thought about my Saturday afternoons in grad school. The English majors could be found at the beer garden, ridiculing popular fiction (without admitting they’d read it). The physics students spent their free time playing some sport involving discs. The engineers seized the campus green, testing solar robots and dropping insulated eggs from the bell tower. No one ever saw the math majors. They were as pale as chalk and rarely emerged from their subterranean classrooms.
It wouldn’t hurt to try. I had no trouble finding a parking space on the deserted campus. The math department shared a building with the chemistry department. The doors were unlocked; the hall was vacant. I studied the wall placard listing the offices and their numbers. The math department had the second and third floors, so I walked upstairs. The main office was locked. I wandered down the dim tunnel. There weren’t any lights showing beneath the doors of professors’ offices. I continued to the third floor, which was as gloomy as the second floor. The faculty lounge room was unlocked, but the coffeepot was cold, and Miao was not camped out on the worn sofa. The usual inhabitants had either taken refuge in their home offices or had succumbed to lethal emanations from the chemistry department in the basement.
I’d started toward the stairwell when I saw a figure crouched at the far end of the hall, almost invisible in the shadows. My heart began to thump. There was no way to know if the skulker had followed me into the building or was already there. The stairwell was equidistant between us. I stood for a long moment while I considered my options. Apparently my skulker was as indecisive as I was.
We both started walking slowly toward the stairwell, our footsteps echoing. It was high noon (or thereabouts). The only thing I could draw was a scribble on the faded green wall. When we were forty feet apart, I recognized my adversary and let out an exasperated growl. “Jiang, what are you doing? Did you follow me?”
“I am worried about Miao. You are looking for her like me, so I follow you. I am a student and you are a detective. Like you, I thought she might be at the house of Miss Parchester. I watched through the window while you drank tea and talked.”
“How long have you been following me?”
“Only since I told you Miao was not in Tai Po. You had a funny look on your face that made me suspicious. You are a busy woman, Ms. Malloy. All day long you go one place and then another. My car has used much gasoline.”
“What color is your car?” I said this levelly, although I wanted to yell at him. The idea of being relentlessly followed made me shiver.
“Old black Chevy. I bought it for two hundred dollars when I came here to study.”
“Did you follow me to my house?”
“I think maybe you let Miao stay there. She told me you were nice.”
“Let’s get out of here.” I made sure Jiang was behind me as we went down the flights of stairs. I couldn’t be sure I might not shove him in the back. Had he peeked in the window while I changed clothes? Could he have found a way to slip inside the house to search the second floor? My stomach was roiling and my hands were clenched. I’d been spied on because Miao had run away from a marriage proposal.
Once we were outside, I turned around to glare at him. “Did you slash my tires, you little weasel?”
“What is a ‘weasel’?”
“Someone who spies on people. Did you slash my tires?”
Jiang looked puzzled. “Why would I do that? All I did was follow you, Ms. Malloy. Today you go to the market, Miss Parchester’s house, and now this building. You could not drive to these places if your tires were not good.”
“I’m talking about Wednesday when you followed me to my house. I saw you in the apple orchard, didn’t I? Did that make you so angry that you took it out on my perfectly contented tires? That’s vandalism. You could go to jail.”
“I was not in the apple orchard; I was on the other side of the river. I have excellent binoculars, made in Japan. I parked in a dirt road and walked across a pasture to some trees.”
“How did you know which house I live in?”
“I didn’t. I was trying to determine which house when I saw you come outside and look around. I never went near your car. I do not own a knife. If I am attacked, I will use my martial arts to defend myself. I have black belts in tae kwon do and jujitsu. No one bothers me a second time.”
How handy that my stalker could fill in as my bodyguard, I thought. He’d have to keep his role straight, though. I pictured him on the far side of the stream, hunkered down in the small grove of oak trees. “Did you see anyone in the apple orchard? A man in a brown coat, also watching the house?”
He shook his head impatiently. “Where can Miao be? She has no friends but Luo. Luo is a serious student. She does not go out with us or have a boyfriend. She swears she does not know where Miao was. Last night I made sure Miao was not hiding in their apartment.”
“How did you accomplish that?” I shouldn’t have asked, since I knew what the answer would be and I really didn’t want to hear it. His attitude reminded me of Caron’s: If you believe you have right on your side, you’re empowered to flout the rules. That’s what she’d told me after she and Inez stole frozen frogs from the high school biology dep
artment in order to give them a Viking funeral.
“I climbed up to the balcony so I could see into both the living room and the bedroom. Miao was not there.”
“You’re damn lucky you didn’t get caught—or shot. A black belt in jujitsu won’t stop a bullet. We’re very touchy about our privacy in this country. Spying on people is rude—and against the law in certain situations.”
“Privacy is not so important in China. There are nine members of my family, and we have three rooms. We are fortunate. But I will go to jail to protect Miao, if I must. What if Whistler has locked her in his house? Can you make him let me search for her?” He struck a fierce pose. “I will throw him out the door and stomp him into the dirt like a worm!”
“Did I mention jail?”
“I don’t care what happens to me if he has poor Miao in a dirty room with only a mattress to sleep on and no food! He is an evil man!”
“Is that why you put a dead bird in his wastebasket?”
Jiang ducked his head. “Only to warn him to leave Miao alone,” he muttered.
“Some kind of ancient Chinese curse?”
“No, from a comic book. He is worse than the local authorities in my town, who think they can push us around because of their power! It was meant to warn him!” He dropped into a posture that was, I supposed, meant to look menacing.
I poked him in the chest. “Stop bellowing. I’m not in the mood to deal with campus security. Do you know the names of Miao’s adviser or any Chinese professors in her department?”
He scratched his head and scowled. “She told me the name of her adviser, but I don’t remember. The woman is not Chinese. Miao does not dislike her, but they are not friends. Miao is too shy to make friends, even with the Chinese students in the International Students Association. She is the only girl in her family. She has two older brothers who were rough with her. When she and I first went on dates, one of her brothers always came with us.”
“What about Chinese professors?” I thought of an easy way to find out. “Go back inside and find the placard with all the office numbers. See if any of the names in the three departments sound Chinese.” He dashed away. I sat down on a concrete bench, marginally optimistic that he would find such a name and that within the hour we would be having lunch with Miao and her host. Miao might be unhappy that I’d led Jiang to her. Young love was a pain in the butt.
“No one,” Jiang said as he reappeared and sat down on the grass. “What now, detective lady?”
“First off, you are to stop following me. I don’t like it. Got that?” He nodded. “If I see you, you’re toast!” I noted his expression and said, “You’ll be in big trouble with me. You won’t like that, I assure you.” I wanted to embellish my dictum with a threat, but bleaching his black belts was rather lame. I went for the jugular. “I’ll say dreadful things about you to Miao. I’ll tell how badly you frightened me and ranted about violence. She won’t toss you a grain of rice when I get finished.”
He didn’t look all that terrified, but he got up and said, “I will not follow you, Mrs. Malloy, as long as you promise to tell me if you find Miao. I am so worried that I cannot eat, I cannot sleep, I cannot study.”
“I will let you know that she is safe. It’s up to her to decide if she wants you to know where she is. Also, stay out of Gregory’s office. Do we have a deal?”
It took him a moment to realize that he was supposed to shake my outstretched hand. His grip was firm, very firm. He took out a notepad and wrote down a telephone number. “Please call me. I need to know that she is unharmed.” He walked across the grass and around the corner of the building.
As I walked back to my car, I saw a black car in the far corner of a student parking lot. Jiang had gone in a different direction. There were three or four other cars in the lot. I stared at it, but my laser vision needed to be recharged. I got into my car and drove toward Thurber Street. It was time for lunch.
I parked behind the Book Depot and went in through the back door. Jacob’s head swiveled when he spotted me, but he merely raised an eyebrow and turned the page of the book in front of him. I sat behind my desk and flicked a paper clip in the direction of the wastebasket. I felt strangely gratified when it dropped in the basket. I took another one out of a holder and tried again. This one went sailing to the left. The next one was worth two points. I was lining up my next shot when Jacob cleared his throat.
“We received a catalog from a small mystery press,” he said. “I put it aside for you, since you like that sort of thing.”
“You mean mindless, escapist fiction in which people do more than make significant small talk riddled with symbolism and relive their imaginary childhood in ghettos? I’ll take the catalog with me and look at it later. Would you please go to the front of the store and see if there are any black cars parked in the vicinity? I don’t care about the make or model, as long as it’s black.”
“As you wish.” He turned around and did as I’d requested. A minute later he came to the doorway. “There’s a black van in the alley beside the furniture store. Two women, possibly mother and daughter, are watching men struggle with a long sofa. It’s a hideous shade of mauve.” His lips curled briefly to indicate he meant to be funny. “A black sedan is parked in front of the beer garden. Those are the only two, Ms. Malloy. Is that all?”
“Yes, Jacob, that’s all.” It seemed as if every third car in Farberville was black. I came up with a plan to force the driver out of his car, if indeed he was watching me. If it proved to be Jiang, I wouldn’t take responsibility for what happened. I went out the front door, stopped under the portico to look in both directions, and began walking briskly up Thurber Street. I crossed the side street and continued at the same pace, despite the dire possibility of sweat in the near future. Halfway up the block, I cut into an alley that would take me behind several restaurants to a narrow street. The Dumpsters reeked of rotting meat and produce. I sucked in a breath when I saw a rat dart into one.
When I reached the end of the alley, I glanced back. A figure lurched behind the garbage bins, redefining the art of Dumpster diving. I felt charmingly nefarious as I walked up a narrow street lined with decrepit rental houses on one side and parking lots on the other. A gray-haired hippie lying in his front yard offered me a beer, but I declined. The music drifting out of open windows was from the 1960s and early ’70s. The scent of marijuana smoke was in the air. I’d entered a time warp.
I made sure the figure dodging between cars in the parking lots kept up with me. I stopped to chat with a woman in a long skirt and bare feet, who was nursing her baby on the steps of her front porch. We agreed that it was a wonderful day for all creatures under the sun. When I was nearly to the corner, I abruptly turned and went through the back door of a restaurant. The kitchen staff ignored me as I hurried through them and found a booth in the back of the room. I picked up a menu and held it up to cover most of my face.
Showtime.
15
“Today’s special is grilled tilapia with rice pilaf,” a waitress said. “Comes with choice of soup or salad. Soup of the day is creamy mushroom.”
I lowered the menu. The man who was following me was not in sight, but I expected him any moment. “A cup of the soup and iced tea,” I said to appease the waitress. The restaurant was busy with the lunch crowd. I was lucky to have found an empty booth. I raised the menu to nose level and watched the front entrance. A trio of women came in together and found a table. Patrons were eating, talking, and texting at the same time. I was not impressed. Boys in frat T-shirts spotted friends; chairs were borrowed from other tables to accommodate them. Waiters and waitresses wound through the narrow paths with laden trays and weary smiles.
Maybe I’d made a mistake. The figure in the alley could have been planning to urinate when he saw me. The figure in the parking lots could have been shopping for a new car radio. Or he could have failed to see me come into the restaurant. My incredibly clever ploy wouldn’t work with a dimwit. I was about t
o give up on him when I heard a commotion in the kitchen. Several seconds later an olive-skinned man came out of the small hall and stopped in the doorway. He was in his twenties, with a small mustache, black hair, and dressed in a brown sports jacket. Caron and Inez would be madly jealous of his long eyelashes.
I put down the menu and waved at him. “Over here. I saved you a seat.”
He gave me a startled look. I waved again and repeated my invitation for him to join me. He was clearly unnerved. In other circumstances, I would have felt sorry for him. He glanced back at the kitchen and then at the front entrance. I waited to see which way he would bolt. Odds were equal. He’d encountered a problem in the kitchen, but the door that opened onto Thurber Street required artful navigation between the crowded tables and the stream of waiters. He finally gave up and came to the booth, his lips clamped together and his dark brown eyes too bright for my taste.
“Sit,” I said, indicating the opposite side of the booth. “You must be exhausted after all that dashing and ducking behind cars.” I held out the menu. “Hungry?”
He stared in response. If he wanted to sit and pout, I would at least have a chance to eat lunch. When the waitress appeared, he shook his head with the ferocity of a tiger ripping flesh off his prey. She glanced at me as she backed away. He still had not spoken when she returned with my soup and tea.
“He want anything?” she asked me.
“It doesn’t seem like it, but go ahead and bring him a glass of water. He looks as though he needs to cool off.” I looked across the table at him. “Do you speak English? My Arabic is rusty, and I was never able to learn Farsi. I had trouble with calculus, too. You’re probably quite proficient, since it’s part of your heritage. Didn’t the Arabic scholars develop the decimal system in medieval times?”
“I have no idea.” He had a British accent, to my surprise. “I studied bacteriology at Oxford.”