Fenwick had no answer.
“Well, anyway,” she said, “that’s how Fu Yin became Nicki Haddon.”
“Fu Yin?”
“Every baby in the orphanage gets the surname Fu. My given name was Yin. My parents—well, the Haddons—changed it to Nicki.”
They stared out the windshield. Then the butler spoke up.
“Ever wonder about them?”
“Sometimes.”
“Have you tried to find them?”
“No.” Nicki leaned back in her seat. “Wouldn’t know where to start.”
There was a pause.
“May I take you home now?” asked Fenwick.
“Not yet.” She buried her face in her hands and sighed. “I don’t know what to do.”
“About what, Miss?”
“I can’t dump this on you—I mean, I’ve only known you for a few minutes.” She took a deep breath. “But I feel I can trust you. My parents think a lot of you, that’s for sure.”
“Of course you can trust me.”
“Master Kahana insisted that I find a Ming vase.”
“A Ming vase? How will you do that?” asked the butler.
“I don’t know. But I’ve got to start somewhere.”
The martial arts academy swarmed with crime-scene investigators. Fenwick stopped when he saw the yellow tape across the door. Nicki ducked underneath.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” she told him.
She darted upstairs.
A senior officer noticed her immediately.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he shouted.
“I’m looking for something…I left behind,” she said.
“Look, Miss,” said the cop, “this is a crime scene. You’ll have to leave.”
The female officer who had accompanied Nicki to the hospital stepped forward. “This is the girl who found the victim,” she offered.
“I’ll only be a minute.” Nicki’s eyes scoured the room.
“You’ll go now,” said the cop. He turned to the female officer. “Get her out of here.”
“Okay, I’m leaving,” said Nicki.
The female officer escorted her downstairs.
Nicki went to find Fenwick, but a conversation between two officers stirred her curiosity. Their voices were barely audible over the sounds from the street. She listened intently.
“The RCMP is going to be handling the investigation,” said one of them. “Once we’re finished here.”
“The Royal Canadian Mounted Police? Why?”
“David Kahana isn’t just a kung fu expert,” replied the officer. “He’s a United States Secret Service agent.”
Chapter Four
“You had no idea?” asked Fenwick.
“No, not really,” said Nicki, as the limo pulled through the wrought-iron gates and onto the driveway of the Bridle Path mansion. “I met the Grand Master once at an event in Honolulu. He watched me compete; about a month later, he asked me if I wanted to train with him in Toronto. I jumped at the chance, believe me.” Nicki released her seat belt. “Someone said he worked as a bodyguard for the president while he was vacationing in Hawaii.”
“And that’s why the Royal Canadian Mounted Police have been called in?” asked Fenwick. By the time he got out of the car and came around to open the door for Nicki, she was already out and halfway across the lawn. She waited by the tennis court for him to pull the car into the garage.
“I guess. Makes sense if he’s involved with the intelligence program,” said Nicki. “And I can see why he would be. He’s an authority in surgical strike techniques. He’s very close to holding the highest title that anyone can achieve—Supreme Grand Master—and he’s ranked as a tenth degree black belt.”
“I see,” said the butler.
“He could take out three or four men with one arm tied behind his back.” Nicki picked up a stray ball and fired it into the court. “Whoever tried to kill him tonight must have taken him completely by surprise. It’s the only way the fiend could have done this.”
“And what about you?” asked Fenwick.
“What about me?”
“How many men could you take out with an arm tied behind your back?”
Nicki grinned. “I don’t know. Maybe two?”
By the time the butler called her for breakfast, Nicki had been gone for hours. After an early morning run through the trails of the Don River Valley, followed by a quick shower, she headed for the hospital.
“Is there any change in Mr. Kahana’s condition?” she asked the nurse in charge.
“Are you a family member?”
“I’m a close friend. Is there anything you can tell me?” She leaned over the reception desk. “Does the surgeon expect him to live?”
“Hi there,” said a voice from behind a cart of books and videos. It was Margo Bloom. She smiled at Nicki while the nurse checked the file.
“I thought you worked at night,” said Nicki.
“I’m here whenever they need me.”
“How is Grand Master Kahana?” Nicki bit her bottom lip.
“Grand Master?”
“He’s a kung fu expert.”
“He is?” Margo looked at Nicki. “Do you know martial arts?”
“Yes.”
“Wow!” said Margo. “I’d like to find a class in that one day. My dad’s always after me to take self-defense. Are you just learning?”
The nurse interrupted.
“David Kahana is in a comatose state,” she said, with no expression in either her voice or her face. “That’s all I can tell you.”
Nicki sat down in the lounge, and Margo joined her.
“People can come out of comas,” offered the girl. “And Mr. Kahana must be very fit, right?”
Nicki nodded her head. “What about his personal effects?” she asked. “Did he have anything with him when he arrived? Any notes? Anything?”
“I think the police took everything,” said Margo. “But I’m not supposed to say anything—”
“Except the weather.” Nicki turned in her seat. “You must have seen what they took away.”
“No, the only thing I saw was a key card. One of the nurses found it and gave it to the police.”
“A key card? For a hotel?” asked Nicki.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“For which hotel? Did you get a look at it?”
“I sure did,” said Margo. “It was for Haddon Heights. You know the place. It’s right beside our deli.” A nurse walked by and gave Margo a steely look. Margo got up and wheeled her cart out of the lounge. “The Haddons own the building our deli is in.”
“Really?” Nicki followed her down the hall. “Listen, Margo, I’ve been wanting—”
“Yes, really. And they’re filthy rich. Filthy stinking rich. Yet they raise our rent every chance they get. I think they want to drive my parents out of business so they can tear down the deli.”
“Margo—”
“They’ll put in a parking lot or something. They won’t worry about us.” She straightened a stack of books that had fallen over. “Sorry, what did you say?”
“Nothing. I’ve got to go.”
“Why don’t you come with me to the dance on Friday night? You’d love it!”
“Thanks, but—”
“Oh, come on.”
“Maybe some other time.” Nicki walked away.
“Hey,” said Margo, “what’s your name, anyway?” She caught up with Nicki. “I hope you don’t think I’m nosy. I just…well, I don’t know what to call you.”
Nicki stopped abruptly, turned around, and looked Margo in the eye.
“Yin,” she said. “Fu Yin.”
Chapter Five
>
Nicki stood in front of Haddon Heights hotel and gazed up at the cascade of plate glass windows that reached so high into the sky even the clouds could see their reflection. Taxis pulled up in front, people came and went, streetcars shuttled by, and men and women in suits filed into the canopied outdoor restaurant to order tall drinks in iced glasses.
Next door, outside Bloom’s Deli, two men on a picnic table bench drank coffee out of chipped mugs and ate blintzes and bagels and argued over exactly how thin pastrami should be sliced. A woman came out, filled up their cups, and handed them each a creamer and a paper envelope of sugar.
She must be Margo’s mom, thought Nicki.
They laughed about something, then the woman shuffled back inside. She stopped at the door to adjust a sign that was propped in the front window. It read Same Great Menu. New Prices.
Nicki headed for the hotel lobby.
“Excuse me,” said the doorman. “Are you a guest?”
“No.”
“You’ll need proper attire for the dining room.”
Nicki pushed past him and through the revolving door.
“Can you tell me what room Mr. David Kahana is staying in?” she asked the receptionist.
“I’m sorry,” the woman replied curtly, “I can’t give out that information.” She turned her back to Nicki.
“Fine.”
Nicki headed down the first corridor and found a bellhop carrying some luggage to the service elevator.
“Wow,” said Nicki, “I’ll be glad when things are back to normal on my floor. The whole thing makes me uneasy.”
“What makes you uneasy?”
“The attempted murder of that hotel guest.”
“Oh, right,” the bellhop said.
Nicki reached into her pocket. “Darn! I’ve left my key card upstairs. You aren’t going to my floor by any chance, are you?”
“The eighth? No, I’m not,” he replied. “But they can help you at the main desk.”
Nicki thanked him and hurried back to the lobby.
Silver chandeliers hung like earrings from the ceiling, and every stick of furniture flaunted velvet cushions. Even the elevators had attitude—gold doors with platinum fittings and original paintings on the walls. The uniformed elevator operator beckoned her inside with white gloves.
She took the stairs.
A police guard stood outside room 813.
Nicki approached him.
“Mr. Kahana asked me to retrieve something for him.”
“You can’t enter the room. I’m sorry.”
“He’s in intensive care. I have to—”
“Not even staff members can enter this room,” he said. “Not until the forensics team gets here and gives the all clear.”
Staff members. That gave Nicki an idea, and she headed back downstairs.
She assumed the manager’s office wouldn’t be far from her mother’s, near the front desk. She was right; the black oak door displayed a brass sign that read Trent Newman, Manager. The door was slightly ajar, so she rapped on it and walked in.
The manager swung around in his chair. He had thick brown hair and a mustache that grew over the corner of his mouth. His face was sunburned, his eyes yellowish-gray.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I’m here to apply for a job,” said Nicki.
“In the restaurant? I don’t need any waitresses.”
“No. Housekeeping.”
He pointed to a stack of applications sitting on a bureau near the door.
“Blue form,” he said. “Make it quick, will you?”
Nicki sat on the floor in the hallway and filled it out, complete with false address, false references, and false employment history. She went back into the office and handed it to Newman.
“Fu Yin. And you’ve just moved here?”
“Yes.”
“From where?”
“Buffalo.”
While he scanned the form, she glanced at the photos on his desk. In one of them, he was standing next to an older woman in the front yard of a small, wood-frame bungalow, surrounded by flowering hibiscus plants. He had no mustache then. In the distant background was Diamond Head, the distinctive landmark near Waikiki.
Oh, no. He’s from Hawaii!
She felt a slight moment of panic and then she thought about it.
He won’t recognize me.
She looked at the photograph again, trying to figure out where in Honolulu it was taken.
That’s out in the suburbs. Looks like Kaimuki.
Newman followed her gaze to the photograph. “My mother,” he mumbled. He picked up the application form. “What about your Social Insurance Number?” he said. “You say it’s forthcoming. What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The employment office said it might take a couple of weeks.”
“When they say two weeks, they mean two months.” He tugged at his mustache. “I can wait for it if you want to work for me. God knows I need housekeepers. But I can’t pay you until I have the number. It’s up to you.”
“Okay.”
“Can you handle a cleaning position?” he asked. “You don’t look very strong. What are you, five feet tall?”
“Five two,” she replied. “And yes, I can handle it.”
“I hope so.”
His cell phone rang.
He pulled it out of a brown briefcase sitting on the floor next to his feet.
“Just a minute,” he said to the person who had called, then to Nicki, “Report to the head of housekeeping.”
“Thank you,” she said.
Newman didn’t reply.
Nicki pulled the door behind her, but didn’t let it click shut.
“Aloha, Kimo,” said Newman, leaning back in his chair.
Kimo must be Hawaiian. She peeked through the crack.
Newman threw both his feet up on the desk and put one arm behind his head.
“Arrested any chicken thieves lately?” Newman laughed.
And Kimo must be a cop.
Chapter Six
Nicki was in the den going through her mother’s desk when Fenwick came in, feather duster in hand.
“What are you doing, Miss Nicki?”
“I need my mother’s pass key for Haddon Heights, and I need the override tool. I have to bypass the security system, and I’ve got to be able to open a safe.” She searched the drawers until she found them.
“I don’t understand, Miss.”
“I don’t have much time. I’ve got to be back at the hotel in less than an hour.” She looked at her watch. “I’ve taken a job there.”
“You’ve done what?”
“It’s the only way, Fenwick. I’ve got to find that vase for Mr. Kahana. And Haddon Heights is where he was staying.”
“Just tell the manager who you are, Nicki, and he’ll help you, I’m sure.”
“I doubt it. If I reveal my identity, everyone will clam up and watch my every move. That’s the last thing I need right now.”
“But there’s a murderer out there, Miss Nicki. How do you know—”
“I don’t know.” She turned to leave. “Fenwick, you’ve got to promise me that you won’t say a word to anyone. Please.”
Nicki picked up a mop and pail and followed Dolores and Ellen into the service elevator.
“You’ll be dead on your feet for the first week or two, then you’ll get used to it. Once the blisters heal.” Dolores pulled a compact out of her pocket and checked her face. “Always look your best, Yin,” she added. “There are lots of millionaires in this place, and plenty of them are single. That’s how I’m going to escape one day. On a yacht. Hopefully before I’m thirty.”
“You turned thirty last y
ear, didn’t you?” Ellen tapped her fingernails against the wringer bucket. “Only way out of here before you’re sixty-five is in an ambulance. Or a coffin.”
Dolores glanced at Nicki.
“You’re too young for this. You should try for something better. If I had it to do all over, I’d become an actress or a hairdresser or something. Something glamorous.” She pulled out a pair of rubber gloves and snapped them on. “So where do we start, girls?”
“How about the eighth floor?” said Nicki.
“Sounds good,” said Ellen. “That way I can talk to that handsome police guard.”
“Someone tried to murder the man who was staying in 813,” Dolores told Nicki. She felt around in her pocket, then handed the girl a staff keycard. “This will work on any door in the hotel, but remember, every time you use it, it’s recorded on the computer downstairs. The room number, the time, and the fact that it was your card.” She smirked. “That way, if a guest can’t find her pearl necklace, they’ll have somebody to blame.”
The service elevator opened, and they lifted the cleaning cart out and started down the hall. Ellen smiled at the policeman when they passed room 813.
They walked to the far end of the corridor and pushed open the door to a recently vacated suite. “Looks like they’ve been having some fun in here.” Dolores tossed a load of clean linens onto the bed.
Toppled wine and liquor bottles oozed out their dregs onto the rug, half-eaten plates of shrimp and lobster slopped over the dresser, and honey from the breakfast tray coated the TV remote. The bathroom was even worse.
Slobs, she thought.
“Start with the bed,” said Ellen. “I’ll face the bathroom.”
Nicki threw off the quilt, stripped the bed down, and reached for the fresh sheets. She threw one over the bed and started to jam the edges under the mattress.
“What the heck are you doing?” Dolores leaned her dust mop against the wall and called Ellen out of the bathroom. “Will you look at this? The girl has never made a bed in her life!”
Ellen laughed. “Here’s how it’s done,” she said, starting with a fitted sheet and smoothing it out from the middle to each end. “Everything has to be tight as a drum, and remember that the flat sheet always goes good side down, so when you fold it back—and it must be exactly one-third of the bed—the right side will face up.”
The Scratch on the Ming Vase Page 2
