Meet Me in Venice (26 page)

Her brain still reeling from hours of travel stuffed into a steel cylinder, breathing bad air and obliterating the bad memories with champagne, Preshy wondered uneasily who it could be. She headed into the bar and her heart did a double flip. It was Sam.

“What are
you
doing here?” she demanded.

“Waiting for you, Rafferty, of course,” he said.

She squeezed onto the leather stool next to him. “Why?” she
asked, looking into his eyes. They were red-rimmed behind the glasses.

“Because you need help. And I can’t let you go through this alone.”

“Hah!” She lifted a shoulder in a disbelieving shrug. “The last time we spoke you didn’t want to be involved. Anyhow, you look like crap.”

“It’s merely a reflection of the way I feel. By the way, what would you like to drink?”

She glanced disparagingly at the double vodka in front of him. “Perrier. With lime.”

He said, “I had the opportunity to rethink my position on the flight to Paris.” He raked his hands through his short brown hair, offering a smile. “Let’s just say I changed my mind.”

“Oh? And what part did Leilani play in that role reversal?”

He stared blankly at her, then he shook his head and said sadly, “You didn’t have to go there, Rafferty.”

The waiter delivered the water and she looked, shamefaced, into her fizzing glass. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I didn’t mean it.” Her voice trailed off and her shoulders sagged with weariness. “It
was
Lily in the canal, of course,” she said. “They’ve shipped her body back. I came here to bury her, but first I need to see if she has any relatives, find her friends.”

“I knew you would. I came here to help you.”

She glanced at him. He looked a bit worse for wear, but then she figured she probably did too. And she still didn’t know whether to trust him. After all a man didn’t just fly halfway
round the world to come to help her bury a cousin, unless he had a motive.

“Thanks. But you don’t have to.” She slid from the stool. “I can take care of myself.”

“Good. I’ll see you around then.”

“Maybe.”

She glanced back at him as she trailed from the crowded bar, wanting to believe him. Of all the men in all the world, she thought, I have to bump into him. Wasn’t that a quote from
Casablanca?
Or was it “of all the bars in all the world . . .” She was too tired to remember.

And then there were the beautiful flowers waiting in her room. “Welcome to Rafferty,” the card said, and her heart melted. Just a bit.

I
N
her room, Preshy saw there were three messages waiting. Casting off her clothes, she showered, put on a robe, then flung herself on the bed, picked up the phone and listened.

The first was Aunt Grizelda, saying she must call and let her know she had arrived safely, and tell her what was going on. She said that Maow had completely taken over the apartment in their brief absence and now the two dogs sat on the floor at the cat’s feet, while it lolled lazily on the sofa, keeping a beady brilliant-blue eye on all of them.

The second was Daria. “What the
fuck
were you doing in Venice, involved in what Sylvie tells me (via Aunt G) might have been Lily Song’s death? And what
the fuck
are you doing in Shanghai, burying the poor woman? Why can’t you leave well enough
alone, let her family and friends take care of it?” There was a pause, while Daria thought, then she added, “If she has any. And if Super-Kid didn’t have the chicken pox, I’d be on the next flight, but soon as she’s better, I’m coming to get you, wherever you are in the world. And for your sake, Presh, I’m praying it’s Paris. I’m so worried, Preshy, please, please,
please,
tell me you’re okay.”

The last was Sylvie. “Aunt Grizelda told me all about it,” she said sternly. “I can’t tell you how reckless your behavior is. Why do you feel you have to be involved with this woman? Her problems were her own, not yours, and now you might be in danger.”
Oh my God, Sylvie was crying!
“I’m getting a flight tonight, I’ll be in Shanghai tomorrow. I hope you are still alive, or that at least I don’t have to resuscitate you.
Merde,
Preshy, I love you, you silly bitch.”

Despite her fatigue and her worries, Preshy laughed. They had always called each other “silly bitch” when they did something stupid.

Clicking off the lamp, she lay back against the pillows, trying to adjust her aching travel-weary back to the soft comfort of the bed. Had she not been so tired she would have had a massage to remove all those travel crinkles from her spine . . . but she was just so sleepy . . .

IT WAS FIVE O’CLOCK THE
next morning and still dark when she awoke. She pulled back the curtains and stared out at the blinking neon of the foreign city, wondering what the day would
bring. She thought of Sam, hunched over the bar, glass in hand, and wondered how he was feeling. He was probably out to the world. Still, he had come all this way to help her—and she could certainly use some help. She thought for a minute, then smiling wickedly, she picked up the phone and ordered a full breakfast for two, right away. Then she called Sam’s room.

It rang and rang, then at last,
“Wha
. . .
?”

She grinned. Sam wasn’t sounding too alert.
“Bonjour,”
she said.

“What?”

At least he’d added a consonant to the end of the word. “I said good morning,” she replied. “Perhaps you didn’t recognize it in French.”

“Jesus!” She heard him groan, imagined him falling back against the pillows, eyes still shut. “Rafferty, do you know what time it is?
Five a.m.
Isn’t that a
teeny
bit early for a telephone conversation, complete with good morning in a foreign language?”

“You said to call as soon as I was ready . . . so . . . here I am. I’ve ordered breakfast for us,” she added briskly. “Should be here in ten minutes so you’d better get your act together. I thought we would have a meeting, discuss procedure.”

“Hmm, quite the corporate woman today, aren’t we? Last night I thought you never wanted to see me again.”

“Like you, I changed my mind,” she retorted. See you in ten,” and she put down the phone.

He was there in fifteen, arriving with the floor waiter with the breakfast. She inspected him while the waiter arranged the table. His hair was wet from the shower but he was unshaven with that
stubble growing in again. And his eyes behind the gold-rimmed glasses looked sunken. Booze did not become him.

“Try the orange juice.” She handed him a tall chilled glass. “I hear it’s good for hangovers.”

He drank it down then gave her a level look. “We each have our own way of dealing with our demons,” he said. “Mine is drink. Yours, I assume, is cats.”

Preshy laughed. “You’re right,” she said, suddenly missing Maow’s sinuous Siamese presence.

They sat across from each other at the table. She poured coffee and ignoring the bacon and eggs Sam helped himself to a croissant from the basket.

She handed him the little black leather address book. “You’ll find all Lily’s contacts in here. I thought about going through it, calling them one by one. But then I came across this card.”

He read it. “Mary-Lou Chen. And the same address as Lily.”

She stared at him astonished. “How do you know that?”

“The concierge got it from the telephone directory. I went over there yesterday to check it out. No one was home.”

She would never have thought of anything so simple, not when everything else seemed so complicated. “Well, anyway,” she said, “my guess is Mary-Lou is Lily’s assistant, so she’s the first one we should call.”

He glanced at the clock. “At five-thirty in the morning? Somehow, I don’t think Ms. Chen would be too pleased about that. She probably doesn’t start work until nine.”

“Okay, you’re right. I was just so fired up and ready to go . . .

“I know, I know, Rafferty.” He reached across the table and patted her hand. “But after what happened to Lily, I think we’d better tread more carefully.”

“You sound like a writer,” she said impatiently.

“Probably because I used to be one.”

“Used to be?”

He shrugged. “Somehow I’ve lost the knack.”

Looking at his haggard face she felt pity for him. “I’m sorry for what I said last night. About Leilani.” She swirled the coffee dregs in her cup, avoiding his eyes. “I don’t know what came over me, but I honestly didn’t mean it. And I want to thank you for coming here to help me.”

“That’s okay.” He got to his feet. “I’ll meet you back here at nine-thirty. Then we’ll call Ms. Chen and see what she knows.” He grinned at her from the door. “Better take a shower,” he said, “you look like crap this morning.”

M
ARY-LOU
did not look too good either. She rummaged through her closet trying to decide what to wear. By rights she should wear white, the color of mourning, but she couldn’t do that until Lily was found. If she ever was. Weren’t there tidal currents in Venice that swept things away? Debris, possessions, bodies . . . She prayed it was so.

She finally put on a pair of khaki pants and a white shirt, tying it in a knot at the waist. She added a coral necklace and chunky bracelets and gold hoop earrings. She brushed her short black hair and applied her usual scarlet lipstick. She was not satisfied with the result. Murder, she thought, did not add luster to a girl’s looks.

Throwing on a red leather jacket, she took the elevator down
to the garage, got in the little car she hated and drove to the French Concession. Life must go on. She must act as though nothing was wrong.

She let herself into the courtyard, parked next to Lily’s SUV, walked up the shallow steps onto the verandah and unlocked the door.

The old house seemed eerily quiet. Not even the ticking of the clock disturbed the silence. The clock had been Lily’s mother’s, brought over from France. She had stolen it, along with the necklace, and it had always been there, like background music to Lily’s life. Now it had stopped.

Superstitious, Mary-Lou shivered. She opened up the case, and gave the hands a little push. The clock still didn’t tick. She searched in the drawer underneath, found the small key and wound it. There was a faint whirring then the clock fell silent. It seemed like a bad omen and she flung the key back into the drawer and slammed it shut.

She glanced round wondering where Lily’s canary was; at least its song would bring life into the place. But the bird was not there.

Thinking of the necklace, she remembered that Lily kept her own jewelry in the small wall safe in the back of her closet. She knew where the key was hidden—under a pile of sweaters third shelf from the top.

There wasn’t much, only a large diamond ring Lily had worn occasionally. About five carats, she estimated, and a good color. She put it in her pants pocket. There was also a heavy gold necklace with a matching bracelet; some gold and jade bangles, and a pendant or two. A bundle of documents that she saw were the
deeds to the house. Not such a big haul. Deciding that for the moment she had better leave the bangles and the gold necklace in case anyone came inquiring, she stuffed them back in the safe along with the documents, locked the door and was heading down the rickety wooden cellar steps to the big safe when her phone rang.

“Yes?” she said impatiently.

“Am I speaking to Miss Chen? Mary-Lou Chen?”

It was a woman’s voice, but no one she knew. “Yes,” she said in a tone that indicated she was busy and not happy about this interruption.

“Miss Chen, this is Precious Rafferty speaking. Lily’s cousin from Paris.”

“Ohh.” Shock hit her first, then fear.

“Miss Chen, I’m here in Shanghai—”

“You are in
Shanghai?”

“I arrived last night. I need to see you. I have some important news.”

Mary-Lou realized immediately that Precious must know about Lily. “What kind of news?”

She heard Precious sigh, then she said, “I prefer to speak to you in person, Miss Chen. I can be there in half an hour, if that’s okay with you.”

Mary-Lou hesitated. If she refused it might look suspicious, after all she was Lily’s partner and best friend. “I’m happy to meet any relative of Lily’s,” she said, adding a warmer note to her voice. “Lily mentioned that she had a cousin in France. I’m sorry she’s not here to greet you personally, but by a coincidence she is in Europe.”

“I know,” Precious Rafferty said, sending new chills down her spine. “In half an hour then, Miss Chen.”

Despite the surprise phone call, Mary-Lou hadn’t forgotten all that money stashed in the basement safe, Lily’s profits from the selling of the illegal treasures. She still had half an hour. Just enough time to pack it into a suitcase and into the trunk of her car. And speaking of cars, Lily’s was much better than hers. The keys were probably still in it. She would take possession of that later.

S
AM
said it would be better if Preshy met Ms. Chen alone, so leaving him in a nearby teahouse, she walked down the lane crammed with small houses behind big arched stone gates. Lily’s gate was painted green. Preshy rang the bell and waited. Mary-Lou Chen answered on the intercom and buzzed her in.

The big old house with its Chinese garden, its fragrant lotus pond with the goldfish, and the cool trickling fountain made her feel as though she were entering another, more tranquil world. Mary-Lou was standing on the verandah steps waiting for her.

“Won’t you please come in,” she said. “Lily will be so sad to have missed your visit, but I hope I can make up for it with some small hospitality.”

She waved Preshy into the living room, indicating a chair, then excused herself while she went to get the tea.

Curious, Preshy looked around, noting the spare furnishings, the shiny bamboo floor, the altar table with the golden Buddha. It was simple and quite beautiful and for the first time she wished she had known her cousin.

Mary-Lou was back in an instant and Preshy thought admiringly how lovely she was, with her shiny black hair and wonderful amber eyes, and that full scarlet mouth in a shade of lipstick she would never have dared to wear.