Dropping her face in her hands, Mei massaged throbbing temples with her thumbs. Not even her favorite nighttime tea soothed her unrestunrest that stemmed from the first question on her list. Why Houston? Why her city? She knew about collectors whod pay small fortunes for the privilege of including any of those rare items in their private hoards. Not one lived in Houston.
She took a slug of cold tea, made a face and rose to go dump the contents of the pot. At her feet, her dozing dog stirred. Come on, mutt. Its late. I dont have any answers, so I may as well go to bed. Ill need a good nights sleep to cross swords with Archer tomorrow.
The dog yawned and staggered to his feet. He trotted at her heels after she flipped off the light. Strangely, in spite of his short legs, he beat her to the bed. Laughing, Mei played hide-and-seek with him by rolling him up in her spread and letting him find his way out. Having spent too many years of her life in solitary pursuits, she couldnt thank Abby Carlton enough for recommending that she get a pet after moving out on her own.
Suddenly lamenting the departure of her good-hearted friend, Mei flopped down on the bed and reached for her private directory and the phone. She assumed all members of her former circle had gotten a postcard last week with Abbys new address and phone number. It wasnt until Mei started to punch in the area code that she realized what time it was in Houston, and how much later that made it in North Carolina. Returning her phone book to the drawer, she jotted down a note, reminding her to try calling Abby tomorrow night.
Finally, as his mistress folded back the spread and gave every appearance of heading to bed herself, Foo took that as his cue playtime was over. He curled up in his usual spot at the foot of her bed. His dark, liquid eyes were closing as Mei shed her clothes and pulled a nightgown over her head.
Her nightly routine was simple. Clean her face, brush her hair and teeth. Adjust the window-mounted air conditioner and turn off the light. It took barely fifteen minutes. Then she lay in bed watching the play of a streetlight across her ceiling as her curtain fluttered in the breeze created by her window unit.
She remembered how Crista had poked fun at her over her man from Interpol. Rolling onto her stomach, Mei settled in, wishing she had time to do some investigative work on Archer. Although, Catherine said he came with excellent credentials
Mmm. He came with a good physique, too, Mei mused. Cullen, whod also changed clothes between their morning and evening encounters, had switched to snug black jeans, a black windbreaker and white sneakers. He looked as if hed been called out to the murder site from a more relaxed activity. The sneakers had grass stains on the toes. Maybe hed been playing tag with the twins in his massive yard. She sincerely doubted that his grass stains resulted from anything as plebeian as mowing his lawn. She drifted off to sleep smothering a laugh.
A STRIDENT AND IRRITATING ALARM brought Mei awake seven hours later. She rarely slept late enough for it to ring, and therefore had trouble finding the shut-off button. Yawning as she climbed out of bed, she couldnt believe how well or deeply shed slept. Generally, starting a new case left her sleepless.
Foo hadnt budged all night either. At the alarm, his head had emerged from under his blanket, then hed hidden again until the noise abated. Now he bounded out and zoomed straight for the door.
Mei drew on a robe and hurriedly unlocked the door leading from her bedroom to her minuscule back patio. The brick was chilly on her bare feet. She saw the day was going to be overcast, and decided to wear a pantsuit instead of a skirt.
What she liked best about Houston was that there were so few gloomy days. The fall storms that blew in from the gulf she considered more dramatic than depressing. Those storms brought thunder, lightning, and dumped a lot of rain, but blew through fast. Frequently the sun reappeared directly afterward. Today looked bleak, and matched her feelings about meeting Archer again.
Foo, hurry up. Mei spotted him sniffing around the bottom of the oak barrel that held a mimosa tree shed bought the first month after moving in.
Mei could hear her neighbors on the other side of the solid wood fence. The Shigiharas were an elderly Japanese couple who spent a good part of every day puttering in their backyard. Mei loved going over there just to see what wonderful new things theyd done. They had a waterfall, a pond filled with koi, and lush bonsai trees displayed to perfection amid a plethora of bright flowers. To add to her gardening acumen, Mrs. Shigihara was a fabulous cook. The old couple liked having a police officer and her dog living next door, and Mitzi Shigihara was forever bringing over lovely wok concoctions or melt-in-your-mouth tempura dishes for Mei to try. In turn, Mei watered their yard and kept an eye on their duplex whenever they flew east to visit their son. She had to be careful not to rave about or even mention the Shigiharas to her folks. Well, not to her mother, anyway. Aun, like many from mainland China, had never forgiven the Japanese invasion. So Meis neighbors were another contentious issue.
Mei thought her Japanese neighbors culture as rich and interesting as her own. But she had to remind herself that she lived in a different era from that of her mother. Her dad, because he was American-born and because hed traveled extensively, had more tolerance.
Later, as Mei sat in traffic on her way to Cullens, she wondered once again what might possess a cosmopolitan man like her dad to virtually buy a bride steeped in the old ways. An arranged marriagean exchange facilitated by a Dingzhou matchmakermeant, to Meis belief, anyway, that Michael Ling had bought himself a bride.
Why she chose to brood over it today, she didnt know. Unless it had to do with Cullens insistence that they kick off the mornings investigation by visiting her father. What did Cullen hope to accomplish?
Did he know her fathers history? Michael Lings parents had met in Washington, D.C. Her grandfather taught Asian dialects to American interpreters, and his future wife, an American-born Chinese woman, had been in his class.
Mei knew little else except that theyd split their time between the U.S. and Hong Kong until theyd perished in a typhoon. Stephen remembered them vaguely, he said. Mei had no recollection at all. To her they were faces in an album. When their only son, her dad, was in his teens, theyd opened Ling Limited in Hong Kong, adding branches over the years, which her dad inherited on their deaths. Theyd had one, much younger daughter. She and Michael remained close.
Meis Aunt Tam had married a military pilot from Houston. The childless couple maintained a residence in the city, but mostly traveled. Mei had never asked, but now she supposed it was her aunts interest in Houston that had prompted her grandfather to open a gallery here.
As a child, she hadnt questioned why so few Asian students attended her school. In the last few years their number had grown exponentially. New Asian businesses were springing up along Bellaire Boulevard, Mei reflected as she identified herself through the speakerphone at the gate hiding Cullen Archers home.
Freda answered. This time, though, when Mei entered the house, the toys were gone, the floors gleamed and the housekeeper looked less harried.
Im here for an early meeting with Mr. Archer.
Freda cast a glance up the stairs. Mr. Cullens already in his office. Please talk softly for a while. Then I might get some housework done before the cyclones wake up. Its not like them to sleep late when theyre visiting their dad.