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His smile kicked up a notch. “You’re welcome.” He turned to greet Mr. Wu, then introduced him to me.
Wu’s English was perfect and we talked a great deal about the relief effort. After a while, I felt comfortable enough to ask him about something that had bothered me while I was in China. “I helped a survivor there, a pregnant woman named Mrs. Han, whose husband was killed. She was naturally very distraught, but it struck me as odd that the main cause of her distress was that she wanted to go home. The woman looked Asian, but not Chinese, and she spoke very little Chinese. It turned out her primary language was Russian. She told a story about being taken out of Siberia and brought to China as a bride. She said there are others like her, living in China, brought there to be wives to Chinese men because there’s such a shortage of females. I wondered if this is something the government sponsors.”
Mr. Wu looked shocked. His soup spoon clattered against his plate. “This woman, where can I find her?”
China clattered from behind the ambassador. I glanced back to see one of the waitstaff, a striking blond woman whose name tag read “Olga.” When she noticed me watching her, she quickly turned and headed for the kitchen.
I redirected my attention to Mr. Wu. “Unfortunately, while I was looking for a policeman to help us, she disappeared, and I was unable to locate her again.”
“This is most disturbing. Did she give you any indication who brought her into China?”
I shook my head. “As I said, she didn’t speak Chinese, and the woman who translated knew only rudimentary Russian. After Mrs. Han disappeared, the CERF contact in Beijing, Robert Wang, said it’s not uncommon for people to be disoriented after something like an earthquake.” Remembering the poor woman, her tear-streaked face, swollen belly and woeful dark eyes, I felt a knot form in my throat. Where was she now? And what of the others? Mrs. Han said she’d been brought into China with five other young women from her village in Siberia.
Watching Mr. Wu process the idea, I said, “During my visits to China I’ve been proposed to several times by men in search of a bride. There’s obviously a need for women.”
He relaxed a bit, darted a glance at Steve, then leveled his gaze at mine. “It is true that the female-to-male ratio in China is shrinking, which leaves many of our young men without the opportunity to marry. It’s an unfortunate result of our law allowing only one child in a family. Because of our custom that parents live with their son in their later years, a couple who has a son is assured of a home. Those with a daughter do not have that option.”
“Because a daughter goes to live with her husband’s family?”
He nodded. “Many women abandon their baby girls at birth, then try again until they have a son. Despite this, the one-child law is good, because without it, there would not be enough natural resources to support the population. The side effect is the shortage of females. I suspect that an enterprising person has been recruiting women from outside of China to fill the gap.”
Olga returned and collected our soup bowls. When she asked Mr. Wu if he was done, I noticed her heavy accent. I thought she sounded Russian. Of course, to my West Texas ears, anyone from an Eastern bloc country would probably sound Russian. And I did have Russia on the brain.
“Thank you for alerting me to this problem, Miss Pearl,” Mr. Wu said. “First thing tomorrow, I will contact someone who can look into this unfortunate business.”
“If you hear any word on Mrs. Han, I would very much appreciate the information.”
Olga hurried off with the tray of dirty soup bowls, then reappeared with the salad course. She set a plate in front of Steve, then looked a little flustered and snatched it away. He shot her a confused look, to which she smiled and mumbled an apology. “I have forgotten the garnish. Please excuse me.” Before he could protest, she turned, still clutching the salad tray. She stumbled as she rounded the table and one of the salads slid off the tray and into my lap.
It took a bit to clean up the mess—this in the midst of Mr. Wu tut-tutting and Steve glowering at Olga, who looked ready to run away. Or burst into tears. Feeling for her, I hastened to assure her there was no harm done.
“But, miss, you’ve spots on your pretty pink dress. Please, come to the kitchen and I will clean?”
I didn’t see much point. The dress was destined for the dry cleaner. But Olga was beside herself, and Steve looked uncharacteristically annoyed, so I followed her to the kitchen. Just as I suspected, club soda didn’t faze raspberry vinaigrette. I thanked her anyway, assured her it was quite all right and escaped back to the table.
As I took my seat, I noticed Mr. Wu’s forehead was wrinkled in concentration, his gaze fixed on a spot somewhere behind my shoulder. “Sir,” I said, “my apologies if what I said has upset you.”
He looked at me and shook his head. “Nothing of the kind, Miss Pearl. I am glad to have the information.”
When Olga returned with a fresh set of salads and set his before him, he picked up his fork and started eating. He seemed upset, and even though I was relieved to know he would do something to investigate the China brides, I felt guilty for bringing it up.
He ran a finger along the inside of his collar as though it was too tight, then gave me a weak smile. “This earthquake is a bad, bad thing. So many homeless, and so many without families. It will take many years to recover fully. Thank you for helping my country.”
“You’re welcome, Ambassador Wu. I’m glad to be of any help, especially because I’m very fond of China and her people.”
After all the salads had been served, the conversation turned to other topics.
The ambassador’s attention was on the guest to his left, and Steve said under his breath, “You’re fantastic.”
“Not hardly. Just nosy.”
He smiled at someone down the table, then his gaze moved to my cleavage, then to my eyes. “Nice dress, Pink. Even with salad dressing.”
“Thank you.” My stomach started that weird jumpy thing again. Oh, man. My first bite of salad didn’t go down well, so I set aside the fork and concentrated on the wine.
“Now that the finance committee is adjourned for a while, I’ll have a lot more free time. You’ve been here two weeks and I’ve only been able to see you twice.”
“I’m pretty busy myself, Steve.” And I was about to be a lot busier, searching for the rotten dog who set me up. I wondered what Steve would think about it, and how he’d feel about marrying me if he knew I could potentially ruin all future political races. Even if I didn’t intend to marry him, I wanted us to be friends, and I prayed all over again that the culprit would be nailed before anyone else found out about it. Even being friends with Steve would be impossible if word got out about the bank account with my name on it, and five hundred thousand of CERF’s dollars deposited in it.
“Is something wrong?”
I gave him a reassuring smile. “Not at all. And you’re right, it will be nice to spend some time together.”
Olga appeared at my elbow and pointed at my plate. “The salad is wrong?”
“No, it’s fine,” I said, wishing the woman would leave off being so attentive. She looked like somebody who had just realized she’d boarded a plane to Cleveland instead of the one to Paris. “I’m just not very hungry.” Blame it on Steve, making my stomach do that squiggly thing.
Olga nodded and picked up my plate, then moved to the next guest.
As happens at all dinner parties, the ebb and flow of conversation created a dull roar, with no voice particularly audible. Until I heard Mom.
“You arrogant son of a bitch! You invited me and the IRS commissioner so you could get your own agenda front and center.”
“The only reason you’re so angry is that you know I’m right. Without people like you, CPAs on the front lines, standing up and demanding a simplified tax law, nothing will ever change. It’s your duty to do so, and your life is wasted if you shrug off the responsibility.”
“My life is a lot of things, buster, but it sure as hell isn’t wasted! I’m calling a cab because there’s no way I’m listening to any more of your bullshit. You’re crazy, Mr. Santorelli.”
I leaned forward a little bit and saw that she was no longer in her chair. Neither was Lou. Yet, I could hear her distinctive West Texas twang, along with Lou’s deep, clipped voice. Where were they?
Steve touched my shoulder and I turned to look at him. “This is a very old house and the ventilation system’s pretty rudimentary. I think they must have gone into the study, at the front of the house.” He glanced up at a register close to the ceiling of the dining room. “It’s like a P.A. system.”
Lou said, loud and clear, completely audible now because everyone in the room had fallen silent, “I’m probably crazy, but you should know I didn’t invite you because of the damn tax law. That was strictly shooting from the hip. We’ll discuss it later.”
“No, we won’t. I’m calling a cab. Where the hell’s the phone?”
“You’re not leaving, Jane.”
“Oh, no? Hide and watch me. Now get out of my way.”
There was a moment of silence, followed by the distinct sound of a slap. “Who said you could kiss me? Oh, my God! I have got to get out of here. If you don’t step aside I’m gonna scream, and won’t that be embarrassing for you!”
“I’m never embarrassed.”
“Yes, I can see how that might be. You’re too arrogant to be embarrassed.”
Ignoring the chuckles around the room, I rose from the table, intent on saving Mom from what would surely be the most embarrassing moment of her life, but before I could step away from my chair, Mr. Wu made a strange noise. I looked across the table and saw that his face was bright red and he was sweating profusely.
“Sir, are you okay?” I asked, moving around the table toward him.
Steve stood, calling for a towel from one of the waiters, while I loosened the ambassador’s tie.
“I…can’t…breathe,” he croaked, clawing at his throat.
“He’s choking!” someone yelled.
Hauling the man to his feet, Steve moved behind him and performed the Heimlich, but when Mr. Wu vomited it became apparent he wasn’t choking.
“Is he having a heart attack?” someone asked.
An attractive woman hurried toward us, shooing people out of her way. “I’m a nurse. Let me see.” She took one look at him and said, “Get him to the couch, and somebody call an ambulance.”
Steve and one of the generals carried the heavyset man into the living room and laid him on the couch, where he promptly threw up again. Dinner forgotten, the entire party crowded around the couch, anxiously watching. I noticed that Mom and Lou were there, but with everyone’s attention on the ambassador, they didn’t realize how public their private conversation had been.
I felt a tap on my shoulder, and when I turned, Olga was gesturing me toward the kitchen. Evidently I had a phone call. As if I cared right now! But recalling her persistence in cleaning the salad dressing, I followed her to the kitchen. As I reached for the wall phone, I wondered who would call me at Steve’s. I said hello over the noise of the waitstaff, the cooks, water running and dishes clinking together.
“What do you want?” I heard Taylor Bunch say on the other end of the line.
“Shouldn’t I be asking that question? You called me.”
“Pink, what are you up to? I didn’t call. You did. So what’s this about? If you’re calling to apologize for this afternoon, save your breath. You’re going down, sister, and soon. When I got home from the office, I found a package on my doorstep that’s gonna put you away for the rest of your natural life.”
Thoroughly confused, I stared at a stack of plates. “Taylor, I’m at a dinner party, and I didn’t call you.”
“Well, somebody did. Told me to hang on, and here you are.”
I glanced over my shoulder but didn’t see Olga, or anyone else who looked out of the ordinary. The kitchen was a hive of activity and frantic chatter about the ambassador, and no one appeared to notice me. Turning back to the stack of plates, I asked, “What was in the package?”
“Everything I need to prove you ripped off CERF. I’m about to call Parker. Then I’m calling the police. Maybe the FBI.”
“I don’t know what you’ve got, or where it came from, but if it points to me, it’s fake. I didn’t do it, Taylor.”
“Yeah, well, tell the judge.” She hung up.
I returned the phone to its cradle, my mind leaping ahead, wondering what on earth Taylor could have that would hang me. And who had left it on her doorstep. Things were quickly spiraling out of control and I suddenly panicked. I felt an overwhelming need to see Taylor, to find out what she had, to talk her out of calling Parker, or the police.
Turning to leave the kitchen, I noticed Olga as she slipped out the back door. She wore a light jacket over her uniform and had a backpack slung over her shoulder, and an alarm went off inside me. I asked the waiter closest to me, “Why is Olga leaving?”
He looked confused. “Who’s Olga?”
“One of the waitstaff.”
“She’s not with us. Must be a regular of the senator’s household help.”
She wasn’t with the household staff. Steve had a housekeeper named Carla and a driver named Bill and that was it.
One of the catering staff rushed into the kitchen to announce that Mr. Wu was dead, probably from poisoning. I gasped.
My gaze went to the door where Olga had disappeared. Could she have had something to do with his death? Was that what the whole salad thing was about—she’d given Steve the wrong salad?
The thought made me breathless with terror.
I glanced at the telephone. Olga had to be the one who called Taylor, then brought me to the phone. Why? What did that have to do with Ambassador Wu?
My mind raced with possibilities, and it occurred to me that the quickest way to get answers was to ask Olga.
Not stopping to explain, or even to grab my handbag from the dining room, I took off after her, through the back door, through the garden gate and into the alleyway behind the row of houses along Steve’s street.
Running has never been my strong suit and my strappy high heels took my pathetic athletic ability to new lows. Taking them off on the rough ground would slow me even more, so I hauled it as best I could out into a side street, looking both ways. I caught a glimpse of a dove gray jacket turning the corner. I ran after Olga, my mind churning through what had happened, and no matter how I sliced it, I kept coming back to wondering if I was supposed to be Olga’s hit. Had my discovery that morning marked me as a dead woman?
I thought of the salad, of how disappointed Olga was when I failed to eat it. Had my salad also been poisoned? If so, it was no wonder that Olga had been upset. Someone had sent her to off me, and I had to go and be goofy over Steve, killing any desire to eat. I sent a quick thank-you to God for making me crush on Steve Santorelli.
Two blocks later, I had to admit defeat. Olga had vanished. Probably just as well, I decided, if the woman was out to kill me. Nobody but a fool chases death.
I kept walking until I came to a major thoroughfare, where I hailed a cab and gave him Taylor’s address. I knew she lived in a condo complex a block over from my loft, because I’d seen her leaving a couple of times when I passed the building on my way to work. When we arrived I realized I had no money, which naturally annoyed the cabbie to no end.
“Look,” I said, trying to mollify him, “if you’ll just wait here, I’ll be right back with some money.”
“Do I look stupid, lady?”
Taking in his hairy face and hard eyes, I shook my head. “You’ll just have to trust me.”
“Hurry up about it, will ya? The meter’s gonna keep running.”
In the lobby, I signed the guest book, but when I explained that I had no purse and no ID, the security guard waved me on, barely looking at me as he read a magazine.
At Taylor’s door, I sucked in a breath of courage, raised my fist and knocked.
“Come in!”
I reached for the knob, opened the door and was instantly hit with a sense of seriously bad karma. I’m not psychic or anything like that. I just get this bizarre feeling of impending doom sometimes, and it never fails to pan out.
Inside, it was gloomy, with only one lamp lit in the far corner of the living area. The wooden blinds were closed, blocking any light from the city outside. “Taylor? Where are you?” It felt strange walking into someone’s home without that person there to greet me. Strange, hell. My hair was standing on end.
She didn’t answer, so I went toward the only other light, streaming through the doorway to the kitchen.
I found Taylor. On the kitchen floor. With a telephone cord around her neck. Her wide green eyes stared up at me without blinking. Maybe I wasn’t a fan of Taylor’s, but Jesus, I didn’t want her to die. I felt sick to my stomach seeing her there, so twisted and dead, a look of startled fear frozen on her face.
It hit me then. If Taylor was dead, who had called out for me to come in? The voice had been muffled and indistinguishable.
I turned quickly, just in time to see the front door closing. I booked to the door, jerked it open and saw the sleeve of a dove gray jacket just before the fire-exit door slammed shut. I nearly fell several times rushing down the concrete steps in my heels, but I didn’t want to stop long enough to take them off. Maybe I should have. By the time I reached the ground floor, the outside exit door was closed. I ran outside, into the alley, but it was pitch dark and I knew it was way past stupid to continue any farther.
Unfortunately, the damned exit door locked behind me and I couldn’t get back in. I had no choice but to walk down the alley, in the dark, and hope I made it to the street alive.
For approximately one nanosecond, I considered jumping in the still-waiting cab and gettin’ the hell outta Dodge. But I knew it would bite me in the ass later. I’d signed in at the front desk. I’d probably left something in Taylor’s apartment, like a hair, or carpet fibers from Steve’s house. Hey, I watch CSI. I know about those things.
There also was that pesky problem with the Kansas bank account, and all those people who saw the catfight between Taylor and me that afternoon.
Running from the problem would not make it go away. It would only make me look more guilty. Deciding to face it head-on and be completely honest, I made my way around to the street side of Taylor’s building, winded and pissed off because I hadn’t caught Olga. At the security guard’s desk, breathing heavily, I said, “You need to call the police. I went up to see Taylor Bunch and she’s dead. Whoever killed her ran out the fire exit in back.”
