The Trophy Wife Exchange

by Connie Shelton

  “What do you think?” Amber said with a laugh. “I can greet waiters, hail a taxi, and ask where the nearest bathroom is.”

  “All very handy phrases, I’m sure. The big question is, do you understand enough to comprehend the replies to your questions?”

  “Mei Ling, my friend who owns the Peking Palace, the lady I’ve been practicing with, says I’m getting pretty good.”

  “Excellent—I’m suitably impressed.”

  “Oh, I also discovered which hotel Clint and Kaycie are staying at—the Grand Plaza Peace Hotel. It’s in the business district, so I assume his job or his client’s offices must be nearby. We called—Mei Ling handled the query—and it looks like Clint and Kaycie checked in two days ago, right on schedule.”

  “What other hotels are nearby?” Pen asked. “We want to be close but we should avoid being in the same place. A chance encounter in a corridor or restaurant would, as they say in the spy business, blow our cover.”

  She could hear Amber typing on computer keys.

  “There’s one called Lotus Blossom. It looks like a small, boutique type of place. For big and anonymous, I’d probably go with the Hyatt Imperial. It’s next to theirs but both hotels are such large places we could surely avoid contact.”

  “I’ll book three adjoining rooms,” Pen said.

  Once they ended the call, she stared at the manuscript she was supposed to be editing and drummed her fingers on the desk. As if in answer to her impatience, the phone rang again.

  “Good news—I have all three of your completed passports in my hands,” came the greeting.

  “Marty, you are a godsend.”

  “You owe me a fantastic lunch. I spent three hours at the embassy the first day, then had to go back this morning to pick them up. There was a little hang-up with your stating on your application that you are a writer. They don’t seem very open to writers visiting and taking notes.”

  “How did you handle it?”

  “I assured them your position was more of a secretarial one, that you make notes on manuscripts and such. I suppose if they really wanted to know what you write, a quick Google search would tell them everything.”

  “That I write novels involving heiresses with a penchant for getting involved with the wrong sorts of men? None of which could possibly be a threat to a foreign government.”

  “At least you now have your travel authorization.”

  “And you have a special lunch coming to you. Are you back in Phoenix now?” Pen made herself a note to order a gift basket and full spa-day pass at the Phoenician for her friend.

  “Arriving tonight.”

  They made plans to meet and Pen immediately got online to book reservations. Within the hour she had three business class tickets (because they might as well arrive rested and ready to work) and three rooms reserved at the Hyatt. At last—the operation could move forward.

  Chapter 22

  “Welcome to Shanghai, where the local time is seven p.m.,” came the voice over the plane’s intercom.

  Pen looked out her window and saw it was dark already. Lights reflected off wet pavement on the tarmac. From her seat across the aisle, Amber practically sparkled. Her first overseas trip and she was wound up. Pen doubted her young companion had slept a moment of the flight, she’d been so busy fiddling with the gadgets around her seat, watching movies and playing games on the screen.

  Gracie, on the other hand, must have been exhausted from the last-minute preparations, arranging for her family’s needs while she would be gone, turning the reins over to her mother to run the household. She’d eaten the dinner served early in the flight then slept nearly the entire way.

  Pen feared both her companions were in for a time-zone crash. Gracie would be awake and wired, all the way into the early hours of the local morning, while Amber … well, who knew what Amber would do. Youth was on her side. For herself, she’d remembered the practical advice which had served her well through much of her international travel—set your watch for the destination time and start thinking and acting as if you are in that zone. She’d eaten two meals and slept well during the fifteen-hour flight.

  She gathered her belongings and herded her companions off the airplane and through the immigration lanes at Pudong International, a huge glass-and-steel modern structure with sweeping curves and acres of roof. She was thankful she’d arranged a limousine with English-speaking driver for their arrival. No matter how well Amber had learned Mandarin ahead of time, nothing could prepare them to negotiate the tangle of roads and newly created flyovers that comprised the current city. Not at night. Not in their jet-lagged state.

  The car zigged and zagged through traffic on the ring expressway, where it felt as if they were flying when they passed upper-story windows in tall, high-rise buildings. The driver pulled off the freeway, made a few turns and slowed to a stop.

  “Your hotel,” he announced. “Hyatt Imperial.”

  He offloaded their bags at the curb and drove away. Apparently door-to-door service meant exactly that.

  “From this point on, we aren’t all seen together on the street,” Pen said in a low voice as a bellman stepped out to take the luggage. “I’ll handle the check-in and you girls find spots to wait in different sections of the lobby.”

  She tucked all three passports into her coat pocket and approached the reception desk. A bright-faced young woman greeted her with a practiced smile, and in only a few minutes she had a receipt and keys for three rooms on the tenth floor. When Pen headed toward the elevators, Gracie sauntered over from the gift shop and Amber tucked her paperback book into her purse and caught up just in time to step into the same car.

  “That went well,” Pen said, once the three were alone after stopping for an elderly couple to get out at the third floor. “Now, I recommend we all get some sleep, keeping in mind it’s already nine o’clock here. In the morning, we can discuss our next moves over a good meal and with clear heads. Set your alarms for seven, come to my room at seven-thirty.”

  Clearly, Amber was coming down from her earlier restive state. She accepted her room key with glazed eyes, and Pen took her by the shoulders and pointed her toward the door. Gracie met the bellman with their baggage and showed him which pieces went to each room before the ladies bade each other goodnight.

  China. Pen stared out her window at the endless lighted windows across the city. More than a billion people lived in this country. Would she and her friends be able to unravel the web one American man had woven here, to right the wrongs that man had created? She went to bed with the question weighing on her mind.

  In the morning, she phoned room service and ordered a substantial quantity of eggs, bacon, sausages, toast, pancakes and an assortment of fruit and pastries. This should satisfy all tastes, she thought, when the cart was wheeled into her room.

  Amber arrived first, fuzzy-headed and shuffling her feet, obviously not adjusted to the time difference yet.

  “Good thing you told us to set alarms last night,” she mumbled, holding her hand out toward the coffee cup Pen extended. “I could’ve slept another whole day.”

  “Some breakfast and getting into a routine will help.”

  A tap sounded at the door and Pen admitted Gracie, who looked freshly showered and dressed in lightweight slacks and a T-shirt.

  “Oh good—food,” she said. “I’ve been awake since four o’clock and the restaurant downstairs was cold and dark when I went to check. And the desk clerk—he popped up so quickly from behind the desk, I think he was actually asleep on the floor back there.”

  Amber laughed. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. Anyway, I’ve spent the time productively. I logged onto the hotel wi-fi and checked emails, sent a note to Scott that we’ve arrived and all is well.”

  Amber’s expression went solemn. “Be careful on the internet here,” she said. “I meant to warn everyone ahead of time. The Chinese have been known to get past visitors’ passwords and spy on their communications. Just be caref
ul what you say. Don’t mention our mission here or anything about banking or business.”

  “Geez. Okay.” Gracie exchanged a look with Pen. “So, how are we going to get information back and forth from Sandy?”

  Amber held up her iPad. “For whatever reason, these are more secure. I’ll send important messages through this. Sandy and I worked out a few code words ahead of time, too. Things we can say innocuously. For instance, in all messages, Clint is going to be ‘Dad’ and Kaycie is ‘Sis.’ We’ve also worked out ways to send account numbers and such by breaking the data into smaller pieces and coding it. When we need to talk about places, we’ll do it through chatty emails making it sound like we went there on a tour.”

  Pen could see a hundred ways this could go badly, but she kept quiet.

  Gracie eyed the table laden with food. “Is that for us?”

  Pen gave a relaxed smile. “Absolutely. Help yourselves. I didn’t know what you like so I basically ordered everything. Myself, I’m starving.”

  Amber took fruit, two muffins and a cereal bar that appeared to consist of a sticky substance coated with a million various seeds. Gracie went the all-American route with bacon, scrambled eggs, and two pancakes. They took seats in the small sitting area while Pen filled her own plate. Conversation lagged for a few minutes until finally Gracie moaned and swore she’d better slow down or risk exploding.

  “Now that we’re here, I must admit I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed as to how we’re going to locate our subjects and get the information we need,” Pen said, after wiping her mouth with a napkin.

  Amber brushed muffin crumbs off her hands. “I’ve got some basic info as a starter. For one, the address of Tong Chen Enterprises, Clint’s client. Their offices are located on Tsing Bao Road. Apparently, this is a manufacturer of electronics—they’re cropping up all over China as competitors to the big Japanese players such as Sony and Mitsubishi. A news release three months ago said they are expanding their manufacturing, breaking ground on a new factory in the Laogangzhen district. The contractor is Redwing Holdings.”

  “That’s one of Clint’s companies, isn’t it?” Gracie asked.

  “Yes. I’m not sure why they’re going through that one—I had the impression it was simply an investment vehicle or holding company of some sort.”

  “Perhaps the Chinese were attracted by the name redwing—it has the sound of nature.” Pen put forth the suggestion with no idea whether it had merit.

  Gracie and Amber both nodded. “Anyway,” said Gracie, “it’s Redwing Holdings but what can we do with that information?”

  “Reading between the lines of the press release, it looks like Tong Chen has given Redwing some space within their building. I think it said something like ‘working under the auspices of’…”

  “And?” Gracie wasn’t understanding where this was leading.

  “Well, girls, I’m going to work in their offices.” Amber sent them one of her perky smiles.

  Chapter 23

  Sandy Werner sat at her desk trying to make it appear as if she was doing her job on any ordinary day. This morning she’d received a cryptic email from Amber: Arrived. Dad and Sis at hotel. Will get together tomorrow.

  Sandy pondered the words. Surely Amber didn’t mean they actually planned to meet with Clint and Kaycie? It must mean the ladies had a plan for tracking the two.

  Movement outside her door caught her attention. She closed the page with her personal emails, blanking her screen from view.

  Tap, tap. Mary’s face appeared at the edge of the door. “Are you busy?”

  Sandy waved her in. “Close the door.” She repeated Amber’s message.

  “So, they are in China,” Mary said. “Amazing. And it sounds like they know for sure Clint has arrived, which is perfect for my plan.”

  “Plan?”

  “I’m paying a little visit to my former business.”

  “Mary … are you sure that’s wise?” Sandy had to admit, it must be tempting to go back and see old acquaintances after a life-changing makeover such as Mary’s.

  “The bookkeeper and I were pretty good friends. Even after I left her in charge while I cared for my parents, she and I would touch base, have lunch once in awhile. Debbie was the one who let me know he was sneaking around with Kaycie Marlow while we were still married.”

  “So, is this visit purely social or are you on a mission?”

  “How about we say it’s a little of each.” Mary’s eyes gleamed.

  * * *

  The sign above the building had been repainted, Mary noticed. Holbrook Plumbing. Seeing it here in writing brought back too many memories—she and Clint working side-by-side to start the business, the day they’d installed that sign with their names on it. What was she doing, keeping Clint’s name after all he’d done?

  She looked away. Depending on how the next few weeks went, maybe she would change hers, go back to her maiden name or pick something she liked better.

  The displays in the front windows were less inspiring than before, a collection of miscellaneous bathroom fixtures. In past times, she’d organized things herself, insisted each window depict a finished room—kitchen or bath—with the newest fixtures to showcase the company’s capabilities. Now, it looked like a row of toilets in some public restroom. Clint had probably become so busy with his big projects he’d left something as mundane as window displays to one of the staff.

  She pushed open the glass entry door, noticing that the bell she’d had installed to announce customers was no longer operational. It was the little things that told how successful a business was, not the money hoarded away in a bank somewhere. She walked up to the sales counter where no one was visible or acknowledged they knew she was here.

  Formalities be damned. She swung open the moveable section of counter and walked through to the employee area. The wall behind the desk held the same tile samples, rather outdated now, that she’d put up three years ago. She let the gate swing shut with a clatter. No response, so she headed down the narrow corridor that led to the offices. Clint’s office door was closed and a quick twist of the handle told her it was locked. The one across the hall had once been hers. She started farther down, toward Debbie’s small office.

  “Ma’am?” came a familiar voice as she passed her old office. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

  Mary turned and peered around the doorjamb. “Hey, Debbie. It’s me. I was heading for your office.”

  “Mary? Oh. My. God. You look amazing.” Debbie, at ten years older and thirty pounds heavier than Mary, stood up and emerged from behind her old desk. “Look at you, girl. You’re doing something right—you look so much younger!”

  Mary did a little turn. “Thanks. New exercise program.”

  Debbie folded her into a hug. “I hadn't heard from you in so long, I wondered if you’d moved away.”

  Another thing living in your car or a homeless shelter takes away from you, the dignity to stay in contact with old friends. She gave a weak smile. “Yeah, well. No, I’ve just been busy.”

  “Come on in, sit down.” Debbie waved toward the guest chair, which felt a little awkward to both of them.

  “It’s a quick visit,” Mary said. “Just wanted to say hi. Look, I noticed there’s no one up front. We always had a strict policy about that.”

  “Yeah, I know … it’s just …” She picked up her phone and hit the intercom line. Her voice echoed in the distant warehouse in the back. “Joey, Rob, we need a counter person up front.”

  She sighed and sat down behind the desk. “Hopefully, that’ll bring one of ’em.”

  “Things feel different,” Mary said, taking the guest chair. “I suppose because I’ve been away.”

  “Nah, it’s not only that. It really is different since …”

  “You can say it. Since Clint remarried. Since Clint expanded the business beyond this little shop?”

  A nod and a shrug.

  “I can say his name, Debbie. I can say Kaycie’s name. I’m over it
.” Mary leaned forward and winked. “Unless you’ve got some juicy gossip.”

  Gossip had always been Debbie’s weakness.

  “Well …”

  “Yeah? Something good?”

  “He’s out of the country now, so I guess there’s no way he’ll hear me from over there.” Debbie tilted her chin toward the closed office across the hall. “He’s been getting calls from women who aren’t the current Mrs. H.”

  “What kind of calls?”

  “The kind he goes into the office to take. Where he closes the door and speaks real quiet.” She fiddled with a pen, moving it from one spot to another on the desk.

  “The kind he used to get from Kaycie when I wasn’t here?”

  Debbie blushed. “I didn’t want to say it that way.”

  “I know. It’s okay. So, you think the gleam is off the romance between them?”

  Debbie looked as if she didn’t want to voice the opinion, but she gave a little nod.

  “What else reminds you of that time before? Is he moving money around, getting it out of sight?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t know about that, Mary. Really. He handles a lot of things he doesn’t let me see.”

  Mary eyed a small stack of mail in a tray labeled Filing. The envelopes that were visible seemed to be from an investment firm and a bank she’d never known Clint to do business with. It appeared to be correspondence, not junk mail.

  Debbie reached for them at the same moment Mary did.

  “Uh-uh,” she said. “He’d kill me if he knew I let you see stuff of his.”

  “Sorry. I won’t jeopardize you, Debbie. You know that.” Mary left her hand at the edge of the desk. “I’ll never admit I was inside this office today.”

  Debbie met her gaze with surprising candor. “I’d better go see if one of those guys ever showed up to work the counter. Since you’re not here today, you’ll want to be sure I’ve sent him to the back room before you walk out that front door.”