The Scarlet Macaw

by S. P. Hozy

  “Yes, that’s right,” said Axel. “Dinah said you were a painter. I’d like to look at your work sometime.”

  “I haven’t done much lately,” said Maris. “Not since Peter died. It kind of took the stuffing out of me and I had a bit of a dry period. I even went back to Canada for a while to stay with my family. But I decided I really wanted to be here, and I’m glad I came back. Dinah’s been shouldering the whole thing on her own, and I want to help her keep the gallery going. I certainly owe it to Peter, and Dinah’s the best friend I’ve got.”

  Dinah smiled. “Thanks, Maris,” she said, raising her glass of wine.

  When they finished their meal, Axel and Maris ordered dessert, but Dinah declined and just had coffee.

  “That’s another thing I hate about her,” said Maris, “besides the fact that she doesn’t sweat. She eats only as much as she needs and doesn’t stuff herself like a Christmas turkey.”

  “That’s okay,” said Axel, signalling for the bill. “Between the two of you, I think I got my money’s worth. It’s been a pleasure, ladies, and I hope we can do it again sometime.”

  “I hope so, too,” said Dinah. “But it will be our treat next time. We’ll do a hawker crawl. You can’t be in Singapore and not eat hawker food.”

  “Absolutely,” Maris agreed. “We’ll show you the town.”

  “Sounds fantastic,” said Axel. “And will you hold that goddess piece for me, Dinah? I’m giving it very serious consideration.”

  Dinah smiled. It was a small sale, but maybe they had a real collector in Axel and he’d buy more. Angela would be pleased. A new client was always good news.

  The next day when he got to the office, Axel said to Satya, “Get me everything you can on Peter Stone, gallery owner, murdered about a year ago. And I mean everything.”

  “Okay, Boss,” she said. “I’m on it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Satya managed to get hold of the police report on Peter’s murder. As he read through it, Axel saw that the investigation had been pretty thorough — interviews with all known associates, customers, neighbours, people from both the personal and professional sides of Peter’s life — but it had all turned up nothing. Death by poison, inflicted by person or persons unknown. Strange, thought Axel. And worth filing away for future reference.

  For the last few months, Axel had been working through Satya’s alphabetical list of possible smuggling operations, which included his own suggestion of art galleries. There were many in Singapore, and there had been another alphabetical list to work through in that category. Peter Stone’s gallery was pretty far down the list, but it was the only one in which the owner had been murdered. Could there be a connection?

  He had enjoyed his dinner with Dinah and Maris, and found himself thinking about Maris. She was very attractive: tall, big-boned, but graceful and kind of sexy. She had worn a gauzy blue dress that swirled and clung to her at the same time: very feminine without being girlish. Axel wasn’t attracted to thin girls who never seemed to enjoy food and usually smoked to kill their appetite. He’d grown up in Sweden where girls were health-conscious but not to the extreme of working out five times a week and eating only raw foods, or whatever fad diet was current. Maris had enjoyed her food and didn’t seem self-conscious about it. She had joked about Dinah being so slim and not overeating, but it had been with affection, not malice or envy.

  Axel decided to wait a while, then go back to the gallery, purchase the Indonesian piece, and take them up on their offer of a hawker crawl, as they called it. That way he could see Maris again, and find out more about the workings of Peter Stone Gallery.

  Satya’s research had revealed that the gallery had opened in May of 1989 and had quickly become successful. Stone’s taste and his instincts for what people would like were undisputed, and it hadn’t taken long for word of mouth to spread among well-to-do Singaporeans, expats, and tourists. A good part of the business involved distributing artworks (mainly sculpture) from mainland China, Thailand, Burma, Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam to Europe and America.

  Stone had been born in England in 1959 and had moved to Singapore with his parents as a child, where his father worked as a tea exporter. Raised and schooled in Singapore, Peter had met his future wife in Germany where he was taking a fine arts course at Berlin University of the Arts. They had married in 1986 and moved to Singapore. Shortly after that, they set out on a tour of Southeast Asia. Their interests in art and sculpture, especially South and Southeast Asian, had coincided and, during their trip, they had shipped back numerous artifacts, including sculpture, jewellery, paintings, and handicrafts, both modern and ancient.

  The decision to open the gallery had been a joint one, and they became equal partners in Peter Stone Gallery in 1989. As time went on, Peter spent more and more time at the gallery and Angela spent more time in Germany, where she contracted a number of agents to travel and buy for the gallery — young, adventurous travellers like she and Peter had been.

  Eight years after they married, Peter and Angela divorced, although they remained business partners. Peter’s half-sister, Dinah, had been hired in 1993 as Peter’s assistant. Dinah also had a degree in fine arts, from the Malaysian Institute of Art. As she had told Axel, she was not a partner in the business, but she had taken over the day-to-day running of the gallery after Peter’s death.

  Axel finished reading the file and wondered if it could be a front for a smuggling operation. If it was, it seemed doubtful that Dinah knew about it. Although why he thought that, he wasn’t sure. He had liked her and had not detected anything of a devious nature in her. She had seemed open and honest and genuine. That didn’t mean she was, of course, it only meant she seemed that way. Axel had known very charming and seemingly guileless people who were actually pathological liars and thieves. If you were going to operate in the world of international smuggling, you had to be good to survive and not get caught. Being personable was part of the game. Still, his instincts were telling him that Dinah was not a liar and a thief.

  Maris seemed to have no part in the business, other than that her paintings were sold through the gallery. She seemed to have taken Peter’s death hard, and it had blocked her from working for several months. Could she be the connection? Was there more at stake for Maris in the gallery’s continuing than met the eye? Maybe Peter had been the mastermind all along. And maybe his untimely death had nearly put an end to the whole operation. And what about the ex-wife? Where was she in all this?

  He would definitely have to meet her.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  On the Tuesday following their dinner with Axel, Angela arrived at the gallery unannounced. Maris thought the gallery was looking wonderful and was quite pleased with the way she and Dinah had displayed the new works but Angela barely noticed and did not comment. She swept into the back room, depositing her umbrella and bag in the space behind Dinah’s desk, and demanded that Lim bring her tea and biscuits.

  “Welcome back,” said Dinah under her breath. Really, she thought, there’s no excuse for this kind of rude behaviour.

  Maris, who hadn’t seen Angela for months, popped her head around the door and said, “Angela! What a pleasant surprise.” Her face was expressionless and her voice flat. Angela didn’t seem to notice.

  “Hello, Maris,” she said absently, as she sifted through a pile of mail. Looking up, she said, “When did you get back?”

  “Didn’t you get my email?” said Dinah. “I told you Maris was here two months ago.”

  “Yes, of course you did,” said Angela, looking down at the papers on the desk. “I forgot.”

  Maris looked at Dinah and mimed wiping away tears. Dinah rolled her eyes and thought, Here we go. She had learned long ago that it was better to wait until Angela spoke. There was no point being polite or asking questions. Angela would tell you what she wanted you to hear when she was good and ready. Anything else was useless chit-chat.

  “Has anyone interesting been in the store lately?”
Angela asked, without looking up.

  “Interesting how?” said Dinah. “All our customers are interesting.”

  Angela shot her a scornful look. “I mean unusual, different, asking a lot of questions about how we do business.”

  “No,” said Dinah. “We’ve had a few new customers. Just last week a man from Sweden was here and purchased an Indonesian fertility goddess. He was a beginner and asked questions about collecting.” Dinah didn’t mention that she and Maris had gone to dinner with Axel and he had paid.

  “Sweden?” said Angela. Dinah nodded. “Hmmmm,” murmured Angela.

  “What?” said Dinah. “We’ve had customers from Sweden before.”

  “Nothing,” said Angela. “It’s just that there’s a rumour going around that Interpol is planning some kind of sting in Singapore, something to do with animal skins or whatever.”

  “So what’s that got to do with us?”

  “Nothing. I just don’t want anybody snooping around, that’s all. You never know who might talk to who about what.” Angela was being cryptic and both Maris and Dinah looked baffled.

  “Okay,” said Dinah. “I never talk about the business to anyone, anyway.” She tried to remember if Axel had asked any probing questions. But why would he? They didn’t deal in animal skins. She shrugged at Maris and shook her head. When they were alone in the gallery, she said, “See what I mean? She comes in here out of the blue and then comes out with something like that. I think she’s paranoid.”

  “She’s probably got permanent jet lag,” said Maris.

  “Do you think it might be terminal?” said Dinah.

  Maris groaned. “Was that a deliberate pun? Like, should I laugh now?”

  “Yes, and yes. You see how she spreads darkness and despair whenever she’s here? You were in a good mood half an hour ago. So was I. Now look what’s happened.”

  “Hmmmm,” said Maris. “And you were funnier half an hour ago. You’re right. It’s her.”

  They agreed to keep their heads down and avoid contact with Angela. She’d hunt them down when she wanted something.

  “What do you think of this sting thing she’s talking about?” said Dinah.

  “I don’t know. Sounds weird. I know there’s a lot of smuggling of exotic animals and birds that goes on, but why would she think we had anything to do with it?”

  “Because she’s paranoid, that’s why.”

  “We haven’t had any strange customers lately, have we? At least, not that I’ve noticed.”

  “No,” said Dinah. “Things seem pretty normal to me. Look at this,” she added, picking up a small framed drawing of a rickshaw. “Isn’t it lovely?”

  “Yes,” said Maris. “It is. Very evocative of another time and another place.”

  “I wish you’d start painting again, Maris. I really miss seeing your work in the gallery.”

  “I know. I want to, Dinah. I really do,” she said. “Soon. I promise.”

  “Okay,” said Dinah. “I’ll hold you to it.”

  Over the next few days, it became apparent that Angela was going to be around for a while. She was staying in Peter’s condo, for which she had continued to pay the maintenance fees. “No point staying in a hotel while I’m here,” she’d told Dinah. “It’s a perfectly good apartment and a good location. Besides, it’s not the right time to sell. The market’s down.”

  If you say so, thought Dinah. There was never any point to arguing with Angela. She did what she wanted. There were still things in Peter’s estate that hadn’t been settled because of their business arrangement. As far as Angela was concerned, the condo belonged to the business. The paperwork just needed to be completed, which she hadn’t gotten around to yet.

  Axel called one day to ask about their hawker crawl. Dinah told him the gallery was closed on Mondays, so that would be the best day for her and Maris. Axel agreed to meet them at Raffles and they would go from there. Dinah wasn’t keen on Angela finding out about their spending time with Axel — she might want to muscle in and hard-sell him on something expensive — so she waited until Angela was out of the gallery before telling Maris.

  “I said we’d meet him at his hotel,” Dinah said. “No point arousing Angela’s curiosity.”

  “Agreed,” said Maris. “Good idea.”

  They met at eleven in the morning and Dinah suggested they take the MRT to the Maxwell Road Food Centre. “The nearest station is Tanjong Pagar and then we can walk to the corner of Maxwell Road and South Bridge Road. It’s right in the heart of Chinatown,” she told Axel. “Don’t be fooled by the modest exterior. It’s one of the best, if not the best, hawker places in Singapore.”

  “I’m in,” said Axel. “Lead me to it.”

  They got there in plenty of time before it started to fill up with the lunch crowd.

  “You have to try the Guangdong wonton mee,” said Maris. “It’s my favourite. Noodles with roast pork and wonton.”

  “And the pork rib soup with rice and the char kway teow,” said Dinah. “Sublime.”

  “Char what?” said Axel.

  “Char kway teow,” Dinah said. “It’s like a national dish, with noodles and soy sauce, and eggs and cockles.”

  “Cockles?” said Axel. “You mean those little clam things?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” said Dinah.

  “I think we should get one more dish,” said Maris. “Why don’t we order some oyster fritters?”

  “Good idea,” said Dinah.

  “And Tiger beer?” said Axel.

  “Tiger beer all round,” said Maris. “We don’t have to go back to work.”

  They told Axel about Angela’s unannounced arrival and complained that she always criticized whatever they did. He listened attentively and without comment. He had called Satya and Charles that morning and told them he wouldn’t be in the office, and that he was going on a hawker crawl with the two women from the Stone gallery.

  “Are you sure this is strictly business, Boss?” Charles had asked.

  “Of course it’s business,” said Axel. “What else would it be?”

  “Um, let me think,” said Charles. “Two attractive females. One Chinese, one Canadian, unattached.” He paused. “You’re right. What else could it be?”

  “Exactly,” said Axel.

  “I bet they take you to Maxwell Street,” said Charles. “If they do, make sure you have the wonton mee. It’s exceptional.”

  “If it’s so good,” said Axel, “how come you haven’t taken me there?”

  “It’s on the list,” said Charles. “Keep me posted.”

  “About what?”

  “The food, of course. I want to know what you eat.”

  “Goodbye,” said Axel.

  “Bye,” said Charles.

  Axel had to agree. The food was exceptional. He didn’t let on to Maris and Dinah how long he’d been in Singapore and how he was being educated in the local cuisine by his two assistants. He wondered if there was some way he could find out more about this Angela character. Why she spent so much time in Europe and also why she flew back and forth to Singapore unannounced.

  They sat there until almost three o’clock, digesting their food along with another beer. Dinah told him he should come back another time and try the Hainanese chicken rice at Tian Tian, and she pointed out the hawker stall with the blue and white sign so he’d remember. But for tonight, she said, we’ll go to Lau Pa Sat Festival Market because there’s a night market on Boon Tat Street, and also, he simply had to see the amazing Victorian cast-iron filigree structure that was the old market. It was one of their favourites, and she and Maris went there often. Tonight they would go for satay and the twenty-four-hour dim sum.

  “Not to be missed,” said Dinah.

  “Definitely not to be missed,” said Maris.

  “You two can eat more than any two women I’ve ever known,” said Axel.

  “The secret is to pace yourself,” said Maris. “We’ll have the satay as a kind of appetizer, maybe with
a little more beer, then later, much later, after we’ve shopped the night market, we’ll do the dim sum. It’s not far from your hotel,” she continued, “so you’ll be able to roll yourself back and into bed.”

  Axel sighed. “Count me in,” he said. “Not to be missed is not to be missed.”

  As the afternoon and evening wore on, and they ate, drank, and shopped their way through Lau Pa Sat and Boon Tat Street, Dinah noticed that Axel became more and more interested in Maris and Maris seemed to get more and more interested in Axel. He bought both of them beaded bracelets at one of the craft stalls. Then he bought a few trinkets for his nieces in Sweden. “My sister’s kids,” he said. “They tell me I’m their favourite uncle, and I know it’s true,” he said, laughing, “because I’m their only uncle.”

  Maris told him she had two nieces, as well, and they were growing up way too fast. She told them the story of her mother begging them not to have breast implants. “Then their father told them to wait until they were married so their husbands could pay for it.”

  Dinah thought Axel laughed harder than was warranted, but then decided it was because they had drunk a lot of beer and were having such a good time. Besides, she reminded herself, she had no nieces or nephews so maybe the story was funnier than she thought.

  They finished their hawker crawl around one in the morning and took Axel back to his hotel, where he put them in a cab and paid the driver to get them home safely.

  Back in the apartment, Dinah turned to Maris before going into her bedroom and said, “I think Axel likes you.”

  Maris yawned and said, “Get out. He was flirting with you all night.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  But it was Maris that Axel was interested in. He couldn’t seem to get her out of his mind. She was smart, funny, beautiful, and she had a sense of adventure. He wasn’t looking to fall in love, but he knew that when two people were away from home, anything could happen. There always seemed to be a heightened sense of urgency, as if everything would end when the journey was over. People were more impulsive when they travelled, especially when they travelled alone. Should I take a chance? he wondered. Would she reciprocate?