The Scratch on the Ming Vase (2 page)

Chapter Three

Nicki paced the floors. An hour later, the officer returned and found her in the foyer. “Hasn't anyone checked you over yet?” she asked, taking Nicki by the arm. One look at the crowd of people slumped against walls and the officer had her answer. “I guess you want to go home.” She headed to the main desk and found a nurse who took thirty seconds to check Nicki's blood pressure and determine she wasn't in shock.

“It's okay, I'm fine,” said Nicki. “I just want to know who tried to kill Mr. Kahana.” She looked at the officer. “Do you have any leads at all?”

“I didn't come here to answer questions, I came to ask them.” The officer took a pad out of her jacket and dug through her pockets to find a pen. “What can you tell me about Mr. Kabbana?”

“Kahana. I met him in Honolulu and planned on taking classes with him this summer.”

“Are you…Hawaiian? I thought you were—”

“Chinese? You thought right.”

Nicki dashed from the hospital lobby and across the parking lot.

“Thanks for coming,” she said, jumping into the frontseat of the luxury sedan. “Hope you don't mind if I ride up front. I can't stand the backseat.” She threw her bag onto the floor. “You must be our new butler. I'm glad to finally meet you, Fenwick.”

“Very pleased to meet you, Miss,” replied the gray-haired man. “But are you sure that you should—?”

“Be in the front? Who's going to know?”

The butler nodded and smiled. “I would know you anywhere from your portrait, Miss.”

“Oh, right, the portrait,” mumbled the teenager. She rolled her eyes. “So you're from England?”

“Yes, Miss. From Milchester.”

“Milchester?”

“A little town, southeast of London.” The rain splashed in the window, so he closed it tight. “My sister and I have a cottage there.”

“You must be used to weather like this,” said Nicki. “Every time I compete in London, it rains.” She reached inside her bag for a water bottle and chugged some back. “What's your real name, Fenwick? And please, you don't have to call me Miss.”

“Willard Huntington Wright, Miss…uh, Nicki. But Mrs. Haddon insists—”

“I know—that you're Fenwick. Our butlers are all Fenwicks. Even our Filipino butler in Manila is Fenwick.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't realize you had arrived. I would have picked you up at the airport.” He turned off the motor.

“I decided to take an earlier flight at the last minute,” said Nicki. She fanned herself with her hand.

“Are you all right? If you don't mind my saying, you look a bit, well, uh…”

“I went to Chinatown tonight to meet with David Kahana. He's a Grand Master of kung fu and one of the best martial artists in the world,” Nicki explained. “Fenwick, someone put a sword through his back tonight, and I don't know if he's going to survive.”

The color left the butler's face.

Fenwick rubbed his knuckles nervously. Nicki noticed that part of the first finger on his right hand was missing. “I wish I had known you were back,” he said. “Why didn't you wait and fly with your mother?”

“I hate private jets. Anyway, she wanted to stay in Honolulu for a few more days.”

“And your father?”

“He's in Paris, I think.” The Haddons owned an international chain of luxury hotels and resorts. Their Toronto home, a mansion on the Bridle Path, was cared for by Fenwick and a small household staff.

Nicki took another sip of water. “I was going to call you.”

“I don't think your parents would like you to be on the streets alone.”

“I can look after myself.”

“Yes, I suppose you can,” Fenwick admitted. “The cook tells me you're a silver medalist in kung fu.”

“Gold.”

“Your parents must be terribly proud, Miss.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I don't know,” she said. “Maybe.” She put her thumb over the mouth of the bottle and shook it until it fizzed. “I was hoping one of them could have been there to see my wushu team compete last week. We won in both the bare-handed and sword competitions. But they're always busy. Always.”

Fenwick wiped condensation off the window with his handkerchief. “That must be difficult for you, Miss.”

Nicki had no response.

“They're good people, the Haddons,” offered Fenwick.

“Oh, yes,” said Nicki. “And I'm grateful for everything. It's just that—”

“They haven't always been there for you. I understand.”

Nicki turned in her seat to face the butler. “Were you adopted?”

“No, Miss. But my parents did leave my sister and me to be raised by an uncle.” He lowered his gaze. “It wasn't an easy time for us.”

“I'm sorry,” said the girl
. I like Fenwick
, she thought.
I think I can trust him.

The two of them sat quietly for a minute.

“Did the cook tell you the rest of my life story?” asked Nicki.

Fenwick nodded.

“Guangdong province,” she said. “The last place you'd choose to be born, right?” The butler nodded again. “I like to think my birth parents had no choice. Maybe it was thanks to China's one-child policy, I don't know. But leaving me in a box on the side of a busy street? One careless driver and I'd have been roadkill.”

Fenwick shook his head in disbelief. “It's always the baby girls who are abandoned,” he said.

“But why leave
this
with me?” She reached for a charm that was dangling on a chain around her neck. “This is the Chinese character for good luck.” She let go of it. “Why bother if you're going to leave somebody to die?”

Fenwick had no answer.

“Well, anyway,” she said, “that's how Fu Yin became Nicki Haddon.”

“Fu Yin?”

“Every baby in the orphanage gets the surname Fu. My given name was Yin. My parents—well, the Haddons—changed it to Nicki.”

They stared out the windshield. Then the butler spoke up.

“Ever wonder about them?”

“Sometimes.”

“Have you tried to find them?”

“No.” Nicki leaned back in her seat. “Wouldn't know where to start.”

There was a pause.

“May I take you home now?” asked Fenwick.

“Not yet.” She buried her face in her hands and sighed. “I don't know what to do.”

“About what, Miss?”

“I can't dump this on you—I mean, I've only known you for a few minutes.” She took a deep breath. “But I feel I can trust you. My parents think a lot of you, that's for sure.”

“Of course you can trust me.”

“Master Kahana insisted that I find a Ming vase.”

“A Ming vase? How will you do that?” asked the butler.

“I don't know. But I've got to start somewhere.”

The martial arts academy swarmed with crime-scene investigators. Fenwick stopped when he saw the yellow tape across the door. Nicki ducked underneath.

“I'll be back in a minute,” she told him.

She darted upstairs.

A senior officer noticed her immediately.

“What do you think you're doing?” he shouted.

“I'm looking for something…I left behind,” she said.

“Look, Miss,” said the cop, “this is a crime scene. You'll have to leave.”

The female officer who had accompanied Nicki to the hospital stepped forward. “This is the girl who found the victim,” she offered.

“I'll only be a minute.” Nicki's eyes scoured the room.

“You'll go now,” said the cop. He turned to the female officer. “Get her out of here.”

“Okay, I'm leaving,” said Nicki.

The female officer escorted her downstairs.

Nicki went to find Fenwick, but a conversation between two officers stirred her curiosity. Their voices were barely audible over the sounds from the street. She listened intently.

“The RCMP is going to be handling the investigation,” said one of them. “Once we're finished here.”

“The Royal Canadian Mounted Police? Why?”

“David Kahana isn't just a kung fu expert,” replied the officer. “He's a United States Secret Service agent.”

Chapter Four

“You had no idea?” asked Fenwick.

“No, not really,” said Nicki, as the limo pulled through the wrought-iron gates and onto the driveway of the Bridle Path mansion. “I met the Grand Master once at an event in Honolulu. He watched me compete; about a month later, he asked me if I wanted to train with him in Toronto. I jumped at the chance, believe me.” Nicki released her seat belt. “Someone said he worked as a bodyguard for the president while he was vacationing in Hawaii.”

“And that's why the Royal Canadian Mounted Police have been called in?” asked Fenwick. By the time he got out of the car and came around to open the door for Nicki, she was already out and halfway across the lawn. She waited by the tennis court for him to pull the car into the garage.

“I guess. Makes sense if he's involved with the intelligence program,” said Nicki. “And I can see why he would be. He's an authority in surgical strike techniques. He's very close to holding the highest title that anyone can achieve—Supreme Grand Master—and he's ranked as a tenth degree black belt.”

“I see,” said the butler.

“He could take out three or four men with one arm tied behind his back.” Nicki picked up a stray ball and fired it into the court. “Whoever tried to kill him tonight must have taken him completely by surprise. It's the only way the fiend could have done this.”

“And what about you?” asked Fenwick.

“What about me?”

“How many men could you take out with an arm tied behind your back?”

Nicki grinned. “I don't know. Maybe two?”

By the time the butler called her for breakfast, Nicki had been gone for hours. After an early morning run through the trails of the Don River Valley, followed by a quick shower, she headed for the hospital.

“Is there any change in Mr. Kahana's condition?” she asked the nurse in charge.

“Are you a family member?”

“I'm a close friend. Is there anything you can tell me?” She leaned over the reception desk. “Does the surgeon expect him to live?”

“Hi there,” said a voice from behind a cart of books and videos. It was Margo Bloom. She smiled at Nicki while the nurse checked the file.

“I thought you worked at night,” said Nicki.

“I'm here whenever they need me.”

“How is Grand Master Kahana?” Nicki bit her bottom lip.

“Grand Master?”

“He's a kung fu expert.”

“He is?” Margo looked at Nicki. “Do you know martial arts?”

“Yes.”

“Wow!” said Margo. “I'd like to find a class in that one day. My dad's always after me to take self-defense. Are you just learning?”

The nurse interrupted.

“David Kahana is in a comatose state,” she said, with no expression in either her voice or her face. “That's all I can tell you.”

Nicki sat down in the lounge, and Margo joined her.

“People can come out of comas,” offered the girl. “And Mr. Kahana must be very fit, right?”

Nicki nodded her head. “What about his personal effects?” she asked. “Did he have anything with him when he arrived? Any notes? Anything?”

“I think the police took everything,” said Margo. “But I'm not supposed to say anything—”

“Except the weather.” Nicki turned in her seat. “You must have seen what they took away.”

“No, the only thing I saw was a key card. One of the nurses found it and gave it to the police.”

“A key card? For a hotel?” asked Nicki.

“Yes, that's right.”

“For which hotel? Did you get a look at it?”

“I sure did,” said Margo. “It was for Haddon Heights. You know the place. It's right beside our deli.” A nurse walked by and gave Margo a steely look. Margo got up and wheeled her cart out of the lounge. “The Haddons own the building our deli is in.”

“Really?” Nicki followed her down the hall. “Listen, Margo, I've been wanting—”

“Yes, really. And they're filthy rich. Filthy stinking rich. Yet they raise our rent every chance they get. I think they want to drive my parents out of business so they can tear down the deli.”

“Margo—”

“They'll put in a parking lot or something. They won't worry about us.” She straightened a stack of books that had fallen over. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“Nothing. I've got to go.”

“Why don't you come with me to the dance on Friday night? You'd love it!”

“Thanks, but—”

“Oh, come on.”

“Maybe some other time.” Nicki walked away.

“Hey,” said Margo, “what's your name, anyway?” She caught up with Nicki. “I hope you don't think I'm nosy. I just…well, I don't know what to call you.”

Nicki stopped abruptly, turned around, and looked Margo in the eye.

“Yin,” she said. “Fu Yin.”

Chapter Five

Nicki stood in front of Haddon Heights hotel and gazed up at the cascade of plate glass windows that reached so high into the sky even the clouds could see their reflection. Taxis pulled up in front, people came and went, streetcars shuttled by, and men and women in suits filed into the canopied outdoor restaurant to order tall drinks in iced glasses.

Next door, outside Bloom's Deli, two men on a picnic table bench drank coffee out of chipped mugs and ate blintzes and bagels and argued over exactly how thin pastrami should be sliced. A woman came out, filled up their cups, and handed them each a creamer and a paper envelope of sugar.

She must be Margo's mom
, thought Nicki.

They laughed about something, then the woman shuffled back inside. She stopped at the door to adjust a sign that was propped in the front window. It read
Same Great Menu. New Prices.

Nicki headed for the hotel lobby.

“Excuse me,” said the doorman. “Are you a guest?”

“No.”

“You'll need proper attire for the dining room.”

Nicki pushed past him and through the revolving door.

“Can you tell me what room Mr. David Kahana is staying in?” she asked the receptionist.

“I'm sorry,” the woman replied curtly, “I can't give out that information.” She turned her back to Nicki.

“Fine.”

Nicki headed down the first corridor and found a bellhop carrying some luggage to the service elevator.

“Wow,” said Nicki, “I'll be glad when things are back to normal on my floor. The whole thing makes me uneasy.”

“What makes you uneasy?”

“The attempted murder of that hotel guest.”

“Oh, right,” the bellhop said.

Nicki reached into her pocket. “Darn! I've left my key card upstairs. You aren't going to my floor by any chance, are you?”

“The eighth? No, I'm not,” he replied. “But they can help you at the main desk.”

Nicki thanked him and hurried back to the lobby.

Silver chandeliers hung like earrings from the ceiling, and every stick of furniture flaunted velvet cushions. Even the elevators had attitude—gold doors with platinum fittings and original paintings on the walls. The uniformed elevator operator beckoned her inside with white gloves.

She took the stairs.

A police guard stood outside room 813.

Nicki approached him.

“Mr. Kahana asked me to retrieve something for him.”

“You can't enter the room. I'm sorry.”

“He's in intensive care. I have to—”

“Not even staff members can enter this room,” he said. “Not until the forensics team gets here and gives the all clear.”

Staff members.
That gave Nicki an idea, and she headed back downstairs.

She assumed the manager's office wouldn't be far from her mother's, near the front desk. She was right; the black oak door displayed a brass sign that read
Trent Newman, Manager
. The door was slightly ajar, so she rapped on it and walked in.

The manager swung around in his chair. He had thick brown hair and a mustache that grew over the corner of his mouth. His face was sunburned, his eyes yellowish-gray.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I'm here to apply for a job,” said Nicki.

“In the restaurant? I don't need any waitresses.”

“No. Housekeeping.”

He pointed to a stack of applications sitting on a bureau near the door.

“Blue form,” he said. “Make it quick, will you?”

Nicki sat on the floor in the hallway and filled it out, complete with false address, false references, and false employment history. She went back into the office and handed it to Newman.

“Fu Yin. And you've just moved here?”

“Yes.”

“From where?”

“Buffalo.”

While he scanned the form, she glanced at the photos on his desk. In one of them, he was standing next to an older woman in the front yard of a small, wood-frame bungalow, surrounded by flowering hibiscus plants. He had no mustache then. In the distant background was Diamond Head, the distinctive landmark near Waikiki.

Oh, no
.
He's from Hawaii!

She felt a slight moment of panic and then she thought about it.

He won't recognize me.

She looked at the photograph again, trying to figure out where in Honolulu it was taken.

That's out in the suburbs. Looks like Kaimuki
.

Newman followed her gaze to the photograph. “My mother,” he mumbled.
He picked up the application form. “What about your Social Insurance Number?” he said. “You say it's forthcoming. What's that supposed to mean?”

“The employment office said it might take a couple of weeks.”

“When they say two weeks, they mean two months.” He tugged at his mustache. “I can wait for it if you want to work for me. God knows I need housekeepers. But I can't pay you until I have the number. It's up to you.”

“Okay.”

“Can you handle a cleaning position?” he asked. “You don't look very strong. What are you, five feet tall?”

“Five two,” she replied. “And yes, I can handle it.”

“I hope so.”

His cell phone rang.

He pulled it out of a brown briefcase sitting on the floor next to his feet.

“Just a minute,” he said to the person who had called, then to Nicki, “Report to the head of housekeeping.”

“Thank you,” she said.

Newman didn't reply.

Nicki pulled the door behind her, but didn't let it click shut.

“Aloha, Kimo,” said Newman, leaning back in his chair.

Kimo must be Hawaiian
. She peeked through the crack.

Newman threw both his feet up on the desk and put one arm behind his head.

“Arrested any chicken thieves lately?” Newman laughed.

And Kimo must be a cop.