She Walks the Line. Roz Fox Denny

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СКАЧАТЬ 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, who’d 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 he’d been called out to the murder site from a more relaxed activity. The sneakers had grass stains on the toes. Maybe he’d 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 couldn’t believe how well or deeply she’d slept. Generally, starting a new case left her sleepless.

      Foo hadn’t budged all night either. At the alarm, his head had emerged from under his blanket, then he’d 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 she’d 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 they’d 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 Mei’s 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 he’d traveled extensively, had more tolerance.

      Later, as Mei sat in traffic on her way to Cullen’s, 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 marriage—an exchange facilitated by a Dingzhou matchmaker—meant, to Mei’s belief, anyway, that Michael Ling had bought himself a bride.

      Why she chose to brood over it today, she didn’t know. Unless it had to do with Cullen’s insistence that they kick off the morning’s investigation by visiting her father. What did Cullen hope to accomplish?

      Did he know her father’s history? Michael Ling’s 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 they’d split their time between the U.S. and Hong Kong until they’d 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, they’d opened Ling Limited in Hong Kong, adding branches over the years, which her dad inherited on their deaths. They’d had one, much younger daughter. She and Michael remained close.

      Mei’s 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 aunt’s interest in Houston that had prompted her grandfather to open a gallery here.

      As a child, she hadn’t 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 Archer’s home.

      Freda answered. This time, though, when Mei entered the house, the toys were gone, the floors gleamed and the housekeeper looked less harried.

      “I’m here for an early meeting with Mr. Archer.”

      Freda cast a glance up the stairs. “Mr. Cullen’s already in his office. Please talk softly for a while. Then I might get some housework done before the cyclones wake up. It’s not like them to sleep late when they’re visiting their dad.”

      “The children are visiting their father?”

      “Well, I suppose visiting is the wrong word. Cullen and Jana have joint custody. The twins live with her in Austin during the school year. They spend summers here, and some holidays—and any time their mother flies to Dallas or Kansas City for shopping, or otherwise goes globe-trotting.” The woman uttered a disgusted snort. Then, as if she realized she’d overstepped her bounds, she rearranged her features and hurried down the hall toward Cullen’s office, leaving Mei to follow.

      Freda thrust open Cullen’s office door and announced Mei Lu. Just as on the previous day, she then made herself scarce.

      “You’re prompt,” Cullen said. “I like that in an associate.”

      Mei unbuttoned the single button on her jacket and sat in the same chair she’d occupied yesterday. His casual use of the word associate didn’t escape her. She sincerely doubted it held the same meaning for him as it did for her, and decided to test the waters now. “I see you have a photocopy machine.” She avoided looking directly at him as she kept her gaze on the notebook she flipped open. “Since we’ll be splitting tasks, wouldn’t it be wise if we started with the same facts?”

      Raising her eyes a little at a time, Mei added, “I’m sure you see the logic of giving me all the evidence you have up to this point.”

      She’d quite clearly caught Cullen off guard. He said nothing, then coughed, then rapidly clicked his ballpoint pen—a habit Mei had noticed whenever he seemed deep in thought. As if on cue, Freda breezed into the office bearing a tray filled with steaming dishes. A pot of tea. A small carafe of coffee. On the tray, as well, was a variety of breakfast items. Fluffy scrambled eggs. Buttered homemade breads. Sausage patties СКАЧАТЬ