The South Beach Search. Sharon Hartley

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      TAKI GLARED AT the gold leaf letters adorning the heavy wooden door to Reese Beauchamps’s office. Of course she wasn’t actually experiencing déjà vu. She had already been here once today, at 9:00 a.m., when she’d left two photographs of her missing Tibetan bowl with a receptionist before setting off to the pawnshops.

      She pushed open the door. What an adventure that had turned out to be.

      At the sixth musty, crowded, depressing store she visited, she found a man who thought maybe someone had possibly come in with something that looked like her bowl yesterday. A bit vague, sure, but she’d been thrilled and pressed him for more info. But he put her off, telling her to come back later and talk to his boss.

      “I’d like to see Reese Beauchamps,” Taki told the same pale, pregnant receptionist from this morning, having decided it best to relay the information directly to Reese. While she normally avoided lawyers like flu germs, she hoped his authority might encourage the pawnshop owner to talk.

      “Do you have an appointment?” the woman asked. She placed her hand on her swollen belly and winced as if in discomfort.

      “No. But I have valuable information I’m sure Reese will want. Please let him know I’m here.”

      The receptionist lifted arched eyebrows at the use of his first name. “Your name again, please?”

      “Taki.”

      “Taki...?”

      “Just Taki. How far along are you?” she asked.

      The woman rubbed her abdomen and sighed. “Six months, but I have nausea like I’m six weeks. If it doesn’t stop, I’m going to have to go home.”

      “Have you tried ginger?”

      “Ginger?”

      “Ginger makes a soothing herbal tea. Small amounts are safe for the baby and, trust me, it works. Cinnamon also helps. You might add some if you like the taste.”

      The receptionist smiled dubiously. “Thanks. I’ll let Mr. Beauchamps’s secretary know you’re here.”

      After the woman slid her frosted window shut, Taki seated herself in the waiting room and glanced at the wall clock. Almost one-thirty. Looking around, she noted sleek and modern furnishings that didn’t look all that comfortable. Plenty of magazines littered tables to help pass the time, but she’d rather meditate, if it came to that. Hopefully, she wouldn’t have long to wait.

      Guru Navi always said waiting was an opportunity to spend quality time with yourself. But would Reese make her wait awhile? Was he that busy?

      The only other person in the room was a balding elderly man. She smiled at him, but he didn’t make eye contact. Instead, he closed his eyes and shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

      Becoming more and more concerned for him, Taki suffered along with the poor man while he twitched and uttered quiet moans. Every few minutes he rose and limped around the small room, sat again, then struggled back to his feet, pressing both hands against his lower back.

      She nibbled at her bottom lip. All the signs of a bad lumbar area. She’d helped more than one chronic back patient with either yoga or herbs. Why not assist another while she waited for Mr. Big-shot Lawyer?

      “Are you all right?” she asked. She’d learned most people loved to talk about their pain.

      “It’s my lower back,” he said and sucked in a quick bit of air as if it were torture to even breathe. “Hurt it on the job.”

      “Where exactly does it hurt?” Taki asked, making her voice soothing and sympathetic.

      “Right СКАЧАТЬ