Roz Fox - She Walks the Line

Foo whined and snuggled his head against her as she drove home. He was perceptive enough to know when his mistress was upset.

“Sometimes I wish you could talk,” she said, reaching down to rub his ears at a stoplight. “By the very nature of Ling Limited’s dealings, it’s reasonable that Archer might consider it a gallery of interest.”

The dog emitted a little bark, licking her hand before she eased her car from behind the vehicle stopped in front of her. Mei felt foolish confiding her concerns to a dog. For a fleeting moment, as she approached an exit that would take her to a street near Risa’s, Mei considered swinging by to ask her advice. Risa had street savvy and access to information on Houston’s criminal underbelly. Her friends on the force worked a cross section of undercover assignments. As part of her job, Risa dealt with snitches and could probably fill her in…. Mei hesitated for many reasons, including the fact that she no longer felt comfortable just dropping in now that Risa was living with Grady.

Mei was sure of one thing: smuggling rings didn’t appear overnight. Especially rings attempting to peddle the items she’d seen in those photographs found on the dead couriers. Illegal exportation of national treasures and artifacts carried hefty fines and stiff jail terms. Early Dynasty pieces ranked right up there with ivory, or trying to peddle endangered wild animals, either alive or for pelts. This was serious business.

When she’d worked at the Hong Kong firm, a clerk had been approached to find a buyer for a rare ivory hairpin topped by an intricate solid-gold phoenix set with ruby eyes. Ling’s dedicated clerk had detained the man after she’d pressed a hidden buzzer connected directly to the local police department. They came at once and hauled the would-be seller off to jail.

Mei later found out the poor man legitimately owned the piece. Or rather, his great-grandmother did. The old woman had fallen ill and he, like a dutiful grandson, had been sent to secure money to pay for her care.

The woman died while authorities fought over whether the government had the right to confiscate her property without restitution of any sort because the item was deemed a national treasure. Mei and her clerk felt horrible, and so sorry for the family. Stephen, who’d been away at the time, said Mei had handled the man incorrectly. Her brother told her next time to buy the piece to put in his private collection. He bought estate pieces in China’s rural areas and insisted that if word of her actions got out, it’d cause good citizens to be angry at the government—and to feel leery of working with gallery buyers in the future.

But her dad had personally trained the clerk. Mei was positive he’d never approve of the way Stephen chose to ignore the rules. She hadn’t discussed the incident with her father, yet it remained an issue between her and Stephen.

A second question nagged her as she drove past the ramp that led to Risa’s. Since her father was also a kind, loyal man, could he—would he overlook a flaw in a friend or fellow dealer?

Until she had that answer, she wouldn’t seek advice from Risa or anyone else. Meaning Cullen Archer, as well. If he thought she’d automatically throw open the doors to Ling Limited and allow him to interrogate her dad, he needed to think again.

At home, she brewed sweet mint tea in a black earthenware pot of the kind preferred by Chinese all over the world. A methodical investigator, Mei pulled out a chair at her kitchen table and opened her notebook. She made two lists. One contained what she knew about the case thus far. The other was a series of questions. She stopped the question list at the end of page four. On the fact side, she had only three things. The priceless items in the photographs were missing from museums in China. Houston, Texas, was being canvassed for possible buyers. Two couriers had ended up in the morgue.

Dropping her face in her hands, Mei massaged throbbing temples with her thumbs. Not even her favorite nighttime tea soothed her unrest—unrest that stemmed from the first question on her list. Why Houston? Why her city? She knew about collectors who’d pay small fortunes for the privilege of including any of those rare items in their private hoards. Not one lived in Houston.

She took a slug of cold tea, made a face and rose to go dump the contents of the pot. At her feet, her dozing dog stirred. “Come on, mutt. It’s late. I don’t have any answers, so I may as well go to bed. I’ll need a good night’s sleep to cross swords with Archer tomorrow.”

The dog yawned and staggered to his feet. He trotted at her heels after she flipped off the light. Strangely, in spite of his short legs, he beat her to the bed. Laughing, Mei played hide-and-seek with him by rolling him up in her spread and letting him find his way out. Having spent too many years of her life in solitary pursuits, she couldn’t thank Abby Carlton enough for recommending that she get a pet after moving out on her own.

Suddenly lamenting the departure of her good-hearted friend, Mei flopped down on the bed and reached for her private directory and the phone. She assumed all members of her former circle had gotten a postcard last week with Abby’s new address and phone number. It wasn’t until Mei started to punch in the area code that she realized what time it was in Houston, and how much later that made it in North Carolina. Returning her phone book to the drawer, she jotted down a note, reminding her to try calling Abby tomorrow night.

Finally, as his mistress 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.