Legend of the Jade Dragon

by Yasmine Galenorn

  By early afternoon, we’d cleaned up the worst of the mess and I took a break, putting in a call to Safety-Tech, the town’s premiere security monitoring company. They promised to have someone come over the next day to install a system. Then I called Marvin Eyrland, who owned a glass company down the street. He came right over and measured the windows. To tide us over until he could replace them, he kindly brought back a huge plywood board and affixed it across the broken front panes.

  “I can’t thank you enough,” I told him.

  “No problem,” he said. “This is sick. Whoever did this ought to be throttled. I should be able to get the pane cut by tomorrow afternoon and installed before closing. You wanted safety glass?”

  I nodded as he flipped his order book closed and waved good-bye. After he was gone, I wandered around the shop, unable to speak. So many bare shelves. Every time I looked over at the NFS cabinet, a lump formed in my chest. So many lovely pieces, including a few passed down to me by my nanna, were either stolen or ground to dust and rubble. One way or another, most of my inventory was gone.

  The girls and I’d been working for a couple of hours when Randa came through the door, towing her friend Lori behind her. She gaped at the empty shelves and the bags of trash that littered the floor. “What happened?”

  “We were robbed last night. Whoever did it, tore the shop apart.” I leaned on my broom and wiped a trail of dust off my forehead. There was still so much to do; vacuuming was high on the priority list, and hauling the bags out to the Dumpster in back.

  Randa’s gaze flickered up to mine. She threw her arms around me and gave me a long hug, then turned to Lori and whispered for a moment. Lori waved briefly and took off, and Miranda waded into the mess, looking for some way to help out.

  I put in a call to home and managed to catch Kip while he was having an afternoon snack. “We need you right away, please. Take your bike so you can get here quicker, and don’t dawdle.” He showed up in twenty minutes.

  The kids pitched in without complaint. Kip, after his initial spate of questions, grabbed a dust cloth and started wiping down the shelves. Miranda carefully ferried what stock remained unbroken into the bathroom, where Cinnamon washed the dust away. Lana dried the pieces and brought them out to me where I took over, arranging them on the newly cleaned shelves. Promptly at five-thirty, I placed the last plate on the shelves and dusted off my hands on my jeans.

  “We’re done.” I stood back. The sparse dappling of china against the lemon chiffon walls sent my confidence spiraling in a nosedive, and I dropped into a nearby chair, trying to ignore the gash that tore through its upholstery. None of the tearoom furniture had made it through intact. “Look at that. Barely enough stock to make a decent window display.”

  Miranda patted me on the shoulder. “It’ll be okay, Mom. It’ll be okay. Aren’t you supposed to get some plates or something as a little gift from Mr. Mitchell’s mother?”

  The “little gift” was actually going to be quite an infusion of expensive china and crystal; but right now everything seemed pale in comparison to the damage the vandals had caused to my shop. I wanted to wring their scrawny necks. I’d worked so hard over the past two years, building the Chintz ’n China piece by piece, managing to garner enough reputation to keep us going. Now that the shop was taking off, some son of a bitch had come along and shredded everything I’d accomplished.

  I looked up at Randa. Her dark eyes were filled with worry, and I realized that she could see through my bravado. I gave her a painful smile. “That’s right, hon. Everything will be okay. It just hurts to think that someone could come along and destroy so many beautiful things—everything I’ve worked for—in one night.”

  Kip’s lower lip jutted out. “I wish I could find ’em! I’d give ’em a whopping.”

  I kissed my son on the head. “You would, would you? Well, thank you, sir. I appreciate the sentiment. Okay, we’ve done everything we can for now. I just hope they don’t come back before the security system can be installed tomorrow.”

  “We could sleep here at the shop,” Kip suggested. Miranda nodded, but I overruled them. We weren’t about to take a chance on being here should the thieves make a return trip. I escorted everybody out the door, making sure it was firmly locked. With a little luck, tomorrow morning we wouldn’t be facing the same thing that had awaited us this morning. But then again, what was there left to steal?

  MURRAY JOINED US for dinner, bringing over three pizzas and a salad. She always knew when I needed her. My best friend, Mur looked like a cross between an Indian princess and a warrior woman. Tall, muscled, and stocky, her personality matched her regal beauty. I gave her a grateful smile as she slid dinner onto the counter.

  The kids set the table, and we dug in, nobody saying very much. Miranda and Kip had never expressed much interest in my shop before, but seeing it destroyed had left quite an impression. After we finished eating, we sat around the dining room table, unwilling to leave the comfort of the kitchen.

  “I hate to tell you this, but if this Jimbo character didn’t do it, we’re probably going to have a hard time finding out who did.” She’d stopped to change into her familiar jeans and T-shirt and looked much more comfortable than she had that morning. “I checked out his rap sheet. He could be dangerous, Em. He’s got some pretty harsh charges against him.”

  “Dangerous?” I’d thought he was just a drunken slob.

  “Apparently, when he was fifteen, Jimbo lost his little brother to some drifter. The transient, I think his name was Gats, killed the kid—real nasty stuff. Well, Jimbo went a little weird in the head after that, and before the police could track down Gats, Jimbo found him and worked him over real good. Almost killed him, and probably would have if somebody hadn’t called the cops. Jimbo didn’t do any time; the cops looked the other way, considering what the circumstances were. But after that, he was in and out of trouble. Over the years he’s racked up charges for burglary, a lot of assault and battery charges for bar brawls. We suspect he’s running guns or drugs, but we don’t have any proof. He’s never done jail time, though. Always gets off due to one technicality or another. I tried to get hold of him today, but he wasn’t at any of his usual haunts. I’ll go out looking for him again tomorrow.”

  I shook my head. We picked up our coffee cups and went into the living room. I asked the kids to give us some privacy, and they took off, Miranda to the kitchen and Kip, upstairs.

  When we were alone, I leaned back, resting my head against the sofa. “Everything seems out of kilter.” I spilled out my problems with Andrew. “By the time he left, the tension was so thick I could barely breathe. I dunno, I’m not sure what to do.”

  “Do you love him?” Murray’s voice was calming, the voice of reason.

  I shrugged. “I honestly don’t know.”

  “If you don’t know, then you don’t love him. There’s no shame in that. He just isn’t the right person. I think you’re making the right choice by waiting, and if he can’t handle it, then that’s his problem.”

  “How about you?” I asked. “How’s your love life?” Murray didn’t have many affairs, seldom hooking up with anybody, but when she did, the relationships were always torrid and brief, burning out before they could really begin.

  She stared down at her coffee cup. “Love life? What love life? I go home and what do I do? I work on a project or call my aunt or read. I don’t have much of a social life other than you. At work, I’m the token minority and the token woman. Oh, the guys are nice to me, except for Coughlan, but they never ask me out when they go out for drinks in the evening. Not dates, but you know, to unwind from the day? Greg and Deacon used to, but now that I’m a detective, they’ve backed away.”

  “Maybe you and Andrew—” I was joking, but she still gave me a dirty look.

  “He’s not my type. I’m not even sure what my type is. I thought I knew, but now I think maybe I never did. Anyway, I’m too busy with the problems at work to wor
ry about my nonexistent sex life.” She set her cup down. “Want to read the cards?”

  The cards. I hadn’t touched the cards since Daniel’s death. “Maybe in a week or so, when things calm down. They’re so topsy-turvy all of a sudden that I don’t know whether I’m coming or going. Damn it, everything was settled, and now this—”

  The phone rang, and I grabbed it, hoping it was the station with some news about the vandals. No such luck. It was Roy. My ex. My absolutely horrendous, abusive, cheating, cheapskate of an ex-husband who would rot in hell if there was justice in the universe. “What do you want?” I didn’t feel like being polite.

  His voice grated on my nerves. “The check is going to be late this month. I’m in Aruba, so don’t sic your goddamn lawyers on me just because I’m a couple days late. This trip is Tyra’s birthday present, and I’m not going to let your whining ruin it.” I heard a high-pitched squeal next to him and then a flurry of breathless words. His little trophy wife, no doubt, berating him for even calling me.

  “How nice she gets a trip to Aruba when you forget to send your children Christmas presents or even a card for their birthdays.” I grimaced; I hadn’t meant that to slip out, but it was too late now. Oh well, might as well plunge into what really mattered. “How late are you talking?”

  “Crap, you’ve really turned into a bitch, haven’t you? Are you so hard up that you can’t wait a few days? I don’t know how late. I’ll be as late as I goddamn well please.” Once again, Mr. Father of the Year was showing his true colors.

  I cleared my throat. He wanted hardball? He’d get it. “If I don’t have your check by the fifteenth, then my lawyers will be in touch with your employer, and we’ll garnishee your wages. Do you understand me, Roy? I don’t need your money, but your children are entitled to it, and I’ll be damned if I let you squirm out of your obligation. Unless…” I paused, considering the trump card I’d been waiting to play.

  “Unless what?” I could hear interest in his voice, but he obviously wasn’t going to make this easy.

  “Unless you sign over sole custody to me and give up any rights you have as their father.” Please, oh please, for my children’s sake say no, but for my sake, say yes. Torn, knowing either way we would lose because with Roy, there was no way not to lose, I waited for his response.

  His voice was softer when he finally spoke. “I’ll call my lawyer and have him wire you the money tomorrow. I’m going to send you the cash for the rest of the year, so don’t bother me again until January.”

  “Don’t you even want to see your children this year? Don’t you even care?” My heart sank. He wasn’t going to give in. He had to hang on to the illusion that he was a good father, even though he never even bothered to call the kids or wanted to see them.

  Roy let out a huge sigh. “I don’t know what you expect out of me.” He paused, then continued, patronizing me as if I were a little slow. “Look, I know I forgot Christmas and Kip’s birthday. I’m so busy making all this money to send to you for the kids that I don’t have time to do things like pick out presents and take them out to the zoo on the weekends. Tell you what, I’ll enclose an extra check, and you can get them something and tell them it’s from me.” And then, he hung up.

  I stared at Murray, who had been listening to the whole interaction. “He’s never going to admit that he doesn’t give a damn about his kids,” I whispered. “He’s going to go on being a shadow presence in their lives, keeping them hoping. Damn him, I hope his boat sinks while he scubas in Aruba.”

  She reached out and squeezed my hand. “Well, if he’s down in Aruba, then he didn’t trash your shop.” We chatted for a while longer, then she said, “Okay, I’ve got to take off. Wish I could stay, but I need to get to bed. I’ve been going in early every morning since I got this job.”

  I walked her to the door and then turned off the downstairs lights, checked on the kids, and finally dropped to the edge of my bed. I slowly undressed and got into my bathrobe, debating the merits of a long, hot bath. The day had left me tense and so tired I could barely move, and tomorrow—tomorrow I would have to go down to the Chintz ’n China and face the reality of what still seemed like a nightmare.

  My shop. My beautiful shop. I started to cough. I’d managed to repress my tears all day, but now they grew thick in my throat. Leaning forward, I fought against the growing lump in my chest. I wouldn’t cry, damn it! I wouldn’t give in to the bastards who’d trashed my shop.

  Then I remembered. Miss Kitty! I still had Miss Kitty. I belted my robe and made my way downstairs. Picking my way over the chilly ground, I rescued her from the Jeep, then trudged back to my room and set her on the nightstand. Whimsical, I thought. Nothing in her world ever went wrong. She would live in a Winnie-the-Pooh world, where misplaced honey pots were the worst that could happen.

  My lower lip began to tremble. Oh, for the days when I could run to Nanna, crying over a skinned knee or an imagined slight from a playmate; when all bad experiences could be remedied by a cuddle on her large, comfortable lap. She would take me in her arms and listen to my story, then tell me to buck up as she kissed me and handed me a cookie. Nanna… how I missed her. If only she was here now; maybe she could help me understand what was going on.

  I picked up Miss Kitty and gave the statue a gentle kiss. “Oh Nanna, where are you? I need you so much. I don’t know what to do. Nanna? Please, help me.”

  The curtains rustled as a delicate hand rested on my shoulder. As had happened several times over the past years, a golden glow enveloped me, and I knew that Nanna had heard me. I peeked over my shoulder, and there she stood, outlined in the gentle glow of the lamp, apron stretching across the Bavarian print dress she’d worn on her last day in this world. She leaned down, and I sensed more than felt her kiss the top of my head. “Cry, my beautiful Emerald. Go ahead and cry.” Her voice lilted along on a sudden and unexpected draft that rushed through the room.

  “I’m trying to be strong. I’m really trying—” My voice caught, and I pressed my knuckles to my lips. I could try all I wanted, but it wouldn’t change the fact that someone had wantonly destroyed everything beautiful I’d worked to build in an orgy of theft and vandalism. The shields I’d built through the frustrating, bewildering day came crashing down, and I hiccupped once before the floodgates opened. All the while, Nanna remained, hand on my shoulder, watching over me as I gave in to the anger and fear.

  Chapter 5

  I DIDN’T WANT to call Walter Mitchell and admit that I was having problems, but after a battle with myself that raged through breakfast, I broke down and picked up the phone. If they were on schedule, he and his mother should be nearly finished with the assessment of the property they’d recently inherited, and I’d be able to pick up the china they promised to give me after I was almost killed in their old house last winter. Maybe I wouldn’t have to close the shop until I could reorder stock.

  Walter was pleasant enough when I reached him. He’d better be, I thought. I’d saved his ass. But as surprisingly benign as he seemed, he wasn’t the bearer of good news. “I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch with you lately,” he said. “There’s been a snag. We have to go through the appraisal again with a new firm.” He coughed, sounding embarrassed. “It seems that our appraiser was recently arrested for tax evasion, and now all of his records are suspect. It’s going to take at least two or three more weeks before things are sorted out. You don’t need the plate right away, do you?”

  I could actually hear a spark of regret in his voice. Damn! I let out a low sigh. “I understand. I’m grateful for the gift, and I’m not going to complain about a little delay.” I paused, feeling like I had to give him some explanation for calling, and even though I hadn’t planned on it, found myself spilling out the news about my shop.

  Walter was a cold, ruthless man. Not only had he cheated on his late wife, but rumor had it that he beat her up regularly. I shouldn’t like him, and I didn’t, at least not on principle. But he h
ad a certain charm that was hard to ignore. He murmured a sympathetic response. “Do you need a loan to tide you over?”

  Hasty backpedal! Under no circumstances would I allow myself to become indebted to good old Walt. The china was my reward for saving his butt; anything more would be far too intimate. I thanked him and extricated myself from the conversation.

  I pulled out my calendar and glanced through the upcoming events, ticking off notes as I went. I’d have to cancel the tour from Abbottsford, BC, due to arrive Saturday. They expected a full shop, and if I wasted their time, I’d chance losing them as customers. We wouldn’t be making much money for the next couple of weeks, not until the insurance check showed up. I could restock the shelves on my own credit, but what if Applewood Insurance didn’t come through? Nope, restocking would have to wait for a few days. A glance at the clock told me it was time to head out to work and try to make the best of a bad situation.

  Before I opened the shop, I crossed the street and tapped on the window of Hodges & Sons. Mr. Hodges let me in, even though it was fifteen minutes earlier than his store opened. He handed me back my dragon, wrapped in a layer of bubble wrap. “Well, I don’t know who made it, but it’s an exquisite piece. Emerald, do you have any idea how old this is?” There was a queer tone in his voice.

  I shook my head. “Fifty or sixty years? That’s why I brought it to you. What did you find out?”

  “Not much, but enough for a start.” He cleared his throat. “The only thing I can tell you for sure is that this statue is close to five hundred years old, from the latter part of the Ming dynasty and, I’d say, worth over five thousand dollars. You’ll need an expert on art from that period to pinpoint more accurate information.”

  I gaped at the little jade figurine in my hand. “Five hundred years old? Five thousand dollars?”

  With a nod, Mr. Hodges handed me a paper on which he’d written a few names. “You might consult one of these people. They’re all experts in Chinese porcelain and art, and one lives in Glacier. That’s not too far away. Emerald, whoever sculpted this was still somewhat inexperienced, I think, but must have developed into a master craftsman. I’d bet the statue either comes from a private collection or wasn’t discovered until recently. I couldn’t find any records for it, but that doesn’t mean much, considering this isn’t my area of expertise. I certainly don’t advise that you leave it lying around.”