A servant told them to wait in the foyer while she announced them, but Wolsey ignored her instructions. He set off behind her, and the rest of the group followed.
The servant, seeing that they were right behind her, became agitated; she half-ran to the end of a corridor and burst through the door, babbling as she entered. Wolsey and the others stepped into a breakfast room.
That Wei Lin had not told Fang-Hua of her impending arrest was obvious. The woman, dressed in an elaborate silk gown, paused stock-still, a corner of toast halfway to her mouth.
“What is this?” she hissed.
Two guards who had been standing inconspicuously in a corner took a few steps forward. Wolsey pointed at both of them. “Do not interfere in police business, boys. My men will not hesitate to shoot you.”
Wolsey and his party knew their roles. His two officers faced the guards and drew their weapons, keeping them trained on the nervous guards.
Wolsey took a step forward. As did Bao Shin Xang.
Fang-Hua’s eyes bulged and she sputtered a curse word. Her head whipped toward Wei Lin, but he had not moved, nor had he shown surprise. Fang-Hua’s eyes narrowed.
So! This traitor has come home and has, perhaps, betrayed me to my husband. No matter.
She composed herself by slowly and meticulously wiping her fingers on a napkin and then smoothing the folds of her gown. She ignored Bao and addressed Wolsey.
“May I ask who you are and why you do not properly introduce yourself rather than behaving as impolite ruffians?”
Wolsey smiled and chuckled. “Detective Martin Wolsey, at your service, madam. Here to serve an arrest warrant on you.”
Fang-Hua froze. She shifted her eyes toward Wei Lin. His face still reflected no emotion.
Reggie must have been caught, she reasoned, her breath coming in shallow gasps, and he has turned on me!
“You will be booked into custody, Mrs. Chen, but before you are, we will read the charges and, if you care to make a statement, you may do so.”
Wolsey tugged a notebook from his inside breast pocket. “Let’s see. First degree murder—two counts. Attempted murder—one count. Kidnapping—one count. That should do it for now.”
Fang-Hua caught herself before she spoke. Kidnapping? If Reggie had been caught, it would only be attempted kidnapping. He must have the child!
She calmed herself by picking at the tablecloth as though the detective’s words had not been directed toward her. “I beg your pardon,” she scoffed, “but would you kindly explain how I could have been involved in such sordid activities? My comings and goings are well known. And witnessed.”
Wolsey’s smile grew. “We have evidence that you planned and financed the abduction of the child of Mei-Xing Li. Your co-conspirators, however, made a mistake. They took the wrong child, the baby son of a friend. Miss Li’s daughter was found unharmed.”
“Daughter?” Fang-Hua jumped to her feet. “That little whore had a son, not a daughter! He told me—” she closed her mouth on the words and sat down, grinding her teeth.
O’Dell was spellbound by the evil coldness of the woman in front of him. Her voice was familiar to him from his own encounter with her and her thugs, and he listened, mesmerized—until her words sank in.
“So you did believe Mei-Xing’s baby to be a boy!” he declared. “You sent your thugs to take a baby boy!” He turned to Wolsey. “That is why they took the wrong baby—the two infants were in the same buggy, and they were sent for a boy!”
O’Dell could tell Jinhai was stunned, but Wolsey nodded thoughtfully. “That makes sense. Chinese put more stock in boys.”
Wolsey turned back to Fang-Hua. “You sent them to steal your own grandson and kill his mother—only, as it turns out, you don’t have a grandson.” He laughed. “I guess the joke is on you.” He took handcuffs from his pocket, but O’Dell shouldered his way toward him.
“Wait. What she just said—He told me, she said!” O’Dell rounded on Fang-Hua. “The leader of your conspiracy sent us written evidence that you hired him to kidnap Mei-Xing’s baby. He wrote that letter after he shot four men—your little band of thugs.
“He also gave us a man named Clemmins, a woman named Mrs. Gooding, and their phone numbers. The police have already arrested them and they have confessed.”
O’Dell’s eyes met Fang-Hua’s. “The man who wrote the letter signed it with the initials R.S. Who is R.S.?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you are talking about.” Fang-Hua waved her hand dismissively.
O’Dell became quiet, but his face turned down into menacing lines. He crossed to the table where Fang-Hua sat and she drew back, alarmed.
“I am a Pinkerton man, Mrs. Chen. My job is to find missing kids. Kidnapped kids. I have a lot of experience with my work.”
He leaned in closer to Fang-Hua’s face. “One thing I know? I know that kidnappers are almost always caught. And when they are? If the kid is dead, the law hangs the kidnappers—and their co-conspirators hang right along with them.”
Fang-Hua shrank before O’Dell’s growing rage.
“If we don’t find that child, I will see that you hang, Madam Chen, and I will watch when they drop you through that trap door and the rope snaps your neck,” he snarled. “But before that? I will give interviews to every reporter I know, making sure that the precious name of Chen is smeared in every newspaper across the country.
“Your only hope is if we find that baby alive. Now, R.S. Who is he?”
“Say nothing more, Fang-Hua. Say nothing at all.”
Wei Lin had, at last, come to life. His eyes, simmering with disdain, swept over the men in the room—Wolsey, his officers, Jinhai, Liáng, Bao, Groves, Pounder, and O’Dell.
They came to rest on Bao. “You! My own sister’s son. After I gave you every opportunity, you betrayed your own family. You know what the penalty will be. You cannot run far enough to escape your shame—or the wrath of my hand!”
“He does not need to run.”
Jinhai faced Wei Lin. In a voice that resounded through the room he announced, “I proclaim here today, before these witnesses, that I am adopting Bao Shin Xang as my son and heir.”
Wei Lin’s expression hardened; Fang-Hua’s mouth opened just a little. Bao himself gaped and stared at Mei-Xing’s father as though he were mad.
Well done, my friend, well done, Liáng cheered in silence. He could not stop the smile that crept to his lips.
“He is my sister’s son,” Wei Lin growled, “and no relation to you!”
“But he will be. From this moment on, Bao Shin Xang will be known as Bao Shin Li. And anyone—” he turned in a wide circle to include Wei Lin and his restless thugs and repeated the word with emphasis “—anyone who attacks or slanders Bao Shin Li attacks me and the might of all I own and those I command.” Jinhai’s threat was unequivocal.
“Moreover, my protection extends over my daughter Mei-Xing and my granddaughter, Shan-Rose.”
“My granddaughter!” Fang-Hua screeched. “My son’s child!”
Jinhai rounded on Liáng. “What say you of my daughter and her child, Yaochuan Min Liáng?”
“They are mine,” Liáng responded in a clear voice. “The child is mine! She will bear my name: She is Shan-Rose Liáng!” A triumph surged through Liáng’s breast—a possessive, protective love that enfolded both Mei-Xing and Shan-Rose.
“You hear this man? He is Shan-Rose’s father.” Jinhai turned to Wei Lin and Fang-Hua and added, his voice cold, “Your son is dead. He has no offspring.”
A garbled curse burst from Fang-Hua. Lacquered nails bared, she lunged toward Liáng. Wolsey and Jinhai reacted quickly, but it was Wei Lin who caught Fang-Hua by her wrist and twisted it until she shrieked—shrieked and turned her grasping talons on him.
The crack of Wei Lin’s open palm connecting with her cheek silenced the room.
He released her wrist and she dropped to the floor, her silk skirts pooling around her.
Wei Lin picked up
a linen napkin and dabbed at the blood dripping from his cheek. He motioned to Wolsey.
“You came for her. Take her.”
He jerked his head for his guards. They formed around him and, without a backwards glance, Wei Lin Chen stalked from the room.
Wolsey and his officer grabbed at Fang-Hua but they could not fasten the handcuffs as she struggled and screamed curses. Chief Groves and Marshal Pounder helped subdue her until the manacles locked. Wolsey sent one of his men to fetch the other officers.
While they waited, O’Dell leaned near Fang-Hua’s face. Her features were distorted and spittle dribbled from her chin.
“Tell me who R.S. is!” he demanded.
“Never,” she gasped. “But I assure you, he will soon die.”
“Tell us where he took the child!”
“Even if I knew, I would not tell you!”
She burst into crazed laughter, and they carried her, kicking and writhing, from the room. O’Dell could only stand there thinking, She does not know where baby Edmund is! What will I tell Joy?
O’Dell, Jinhai, and the others who had confronted Fang-Hua were now alone in the Chen’s dining chamber. It appeared that none of Wei Lin or Fang-Hua’s servants remained to show them out.
From the shadowed doorway a timid voice whispered, “Sir? Sir, I can tell you what you wish to know.”
Bao blinked. “Will you come forward so we can see you? We are alone, I believe. No one will hear you.”
A small woman, likely a servant, crept into the room.
“Your name is Qiong, isn’t it? You are my wife Ling-Ling’s cousin?”
The woman nodded. “Yes, Bao. For Ling-Ling’s sake, I will tell that man who R.S. is.” She pointed to O’Dell.
O’Dell slowly turned to her. “You know him?”
“Oh, yes, sir. Fang-Hua called him Reggie, sir. Her men brought him here and she had him locked in the basement—very hush-hush—until she sent him away to get her grandson.”
O’Dell stared at her and then at Bao. “R.S. stands for Regis St. John—Morgan. Morgan has Edmund?”
How could I have been so blind! O’Dell raged. I believed he had fled far from Fang-Hua’s clutches!
He asked the woman, “If this Reggie were to bring Mei-Xing’s baby here, what preparations were made for caring for the child?”
Qiong drew closer. “It is known that Madam Chen sent a woman to Denver to be wet nurse to the child. The woman had recently lost her own baby.”
“We found no evidence of a woman at the house Fang-Hua’s men were in. The men were all dead, but we found no woman.”
O’Dell was talking to himself, grasping at possibilities. “Why would he take Joy’s son away? As part of a disguise? Or out of simple spite? Where would Morgan take this woman and Edmund if he dared not come back here?”
The woman, thinking O’Dell was asking her for answers, shook her head. “I do not know, sir, but he hid himself from Fang-Hua once before, and she hunted him and found him. I am sure that now he will run as far as he can to never be found by her again.”
As O’Dell heard her words, his heart sank.
~~**~~
Chapter 29
O’Dell was silent on the drive back to the Li residence.
It all made sense now—the urgent note to him with the Acorn Street address; the letter left at the house; the snide, insincere apology made to him—Sorry to have taken the wrong child, O’Dell—and the enigmatic signature he should have recognized: R.S.
Morgan.
I was right. He was laughing at us, taunting us, and especially Joy. How is it that at every juncture Morgan has plagued Joy’s life? O’Dell deliberated. The fire in Omaha was designed to run her out of town. Burning down the lodge was supposed to drive her from Corinth. Morgan was behind both these heartbreaks.
O’Dell could still recall every detail of the night the lodge in Corinth burned.
That night in the plaza, Joy managed, in one blow, to uncloak Morgan’s crooked dealings, destroy his ill-gotten wealth, and send him to jail. And I was right there helping her to thwart him. Morgan would have taken that personally.
O’Dell’s mind wandered back to that scene, the torches lighting Corinth’s little town square, and Joy, her hair hanging loose about her shoulders, passionate but eloquent, her every word tearing down the false empire Morgan had built.
How Morgan must hate Joy, O’Dell realized. And now he has abducted Edmund. Did Morgan know that he had taken Joy’s baby when he found that his men did not have Mei-Xing’s child?
Rose’s words in Palmer House’s great room the night before they left for Seattle came back to him: I have a concern . . . I am afraid my journal contains many personal details. O’Dell had to face the possibility that if Morgan were in possession of Rose Thoresen’s journal and had read it, he would know, with certainty, who Edmund was.
When the cars returned to the Li residence, Joy was standing in the doorway, watching for them. O’Dell dragged himself up the walk behind Jinhai and Liáng, loathe to burst the fragile bubble of hope to which she clung.
This is not the first time you have had to deliver bad news to a parent, he told himself, but it did not help, because this was not any parent—this was Joy.
Without looking her in the face, he took her elbow and steered her into Jinhai’s library. He could feel her trembling as he seated her. He forced himself to keep his tone level and impersonal. If he did not envelop himself in detached professionalism, he feared he would shatter with her.
“Joy. The police have arrested Fang-Hua; she is in custody right now. When we confronted her with the proof that she initiated and financed Edmund’s abduction, she refused to provide information about the man whom she hired to do so. In a fit of rage she admitted to hiring him, but would not give us his name.” O’Dell paused. “I demanded that she tell us where Edmund is. Her answer was, Even if I knew, I would not tell you.”
O’Dell finally looked at her. “The truth is, Joy, I can spot a lie when I hear it, and . . . I don’t think she was lying. I don’t believe she knows where Edmund is.”
Joy was shaking all over now, shock taking hold. O’Dell recognized it. He stepped to the door and called a servant to him. “Mrs. Michaels requires hot tea immediately. Please add several spoons of sugar. Hurry.”
He turned back to Joy and gripped her hand, hating to give her even worse news. “After they took Fang-Hua away, one of the servants, a cousin to Bao’s wife, approached us. She was able to tell us whose initials were R.S.”
Joy’s eyes were glassy when they lifted to his. “Whose?”
“Regis St. John—Morgan’s real name. Morgan took Edmund.”
It was, as O’Dell had feared, too much for her. She pitched forward, unconscious. O’Dell caught her before she slid to the floor and then he called for help. Breona and Bao were first to respond. Jinhai was right behind them.
“Please call a doctor,” O’Dell rasped.
The doctor arrived after Breona and Mei-Xing had put Joy to bed. He said she was, understandably, under a great deal of stress, and he recommended complete rest. Breona stayed with her while she slept.
Downstairs, the atmosphere in the Lis’ living room had changed—the tension of impending danger was gone—but disappointment clung to those in the room: They knew now who had taken baby Edmund, and even O’Dell had little hope of successfully tracking him.
It’s been a week now. He has a week’s lead over us. O’Dell thought about Morgan traveling with a woman who would be nursing Edmund. Like a family.
Finding them would be like trying to find a pebble in a rockslide.
Mei-Xing and Liáng sat together but apart from the others, talking privately. Mei-Xing’s mother and father joined them.
“Will you marry in Denver?” Jinhai asked. Ting-Xiu waited with sad eyes for their response.
“We will,” Liáng answered. “But we hope you will come and be part of it. You are Mei-Xing’s parents, after all, and Shan-Rose’s grandpa
rents. You will always be welcome with us—” he broke into a rueful laugh.
“What is it?” Ting-Xiu asked, concerned.
“It is only that at present I share a small two-bedroom house with two other men, although I assume Bao will not be returning to Denver with us?”
“No. He will stay here. I will have my attorneys draw up the adoption papers this very week and will begin training him in my business. And now that Bao does not have to fear for his life, he can reclaim what is his in his own right—his house and possessions.”
“Ah! Then I now share a small house with only one other man.” Liáng laughed but turned to Mei-Xing, his serious eyes finding hers.
“I had not intended to ask you to marry me—I would not have dared to ask you—before I had a home for you and Shan-Rose. Are you willing to wait a while until I can adequately provide for you?”
Ting-Xiu tugged at Jinhai’s sleeve and he placed his hand on hers, patting it. “Mei-Xing will have a generous dowry when she marries, my dear friend, and Ting-Xiu and I wish to buy you a home as a wedding gift. More than that, we will help finance the ministry you have given yourself to.”
Jinhai and Ting-Xiu both stood and bowed low to Liáng. “We owe you our lives, Yaochuan Min Liáng. It was you who led us to the Savior and you who reunited us with our daughter and granddaughter. We could not be prouder to call you our son-in-law, nor could we be more pleased that you will be Shan-Rose’s father.”
O’Dell entered the Lis’ living room and saw that Inspector Wolsey had come to report on Fang-Hua’s booking. He, Jinhai, Gresham, and Bao were talking near the fire.
“Wei Lin has no options left,” O’Dell heard Wolsey saying. “The court will air all the filthy things his wife has done—and we will use the occasion to delve into every aspect of Wei Lin Chen’s businesses. We have been waiting a long time for just such an opportunity!”
“I fear you underestimate him,” Jinhai murmured. “I sincerely doubt you will have such an opportunity.”
Stolen (A Prairie Heritage, Book 5) Page 27