Skin Puppet

by Jeffery Craig

  “Well, ma’am…” he immediately directed his laser bright smile toward the real fan in the room.

  “Madame,” Zhou Li corrected him. “I prefer Madame Zhou.”

  The megawatt smile faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered. “Oh, of course. Well, Madame, I was born and raised here, but went away several years ago to pursue my dream of seeing my name in lights. Having achieved my dream, I decided to move back and help my sister with the family business.”

  That was an odd thing to hear; Melba practically blurted out her question. “Your family business is puppets?”

  “Yes. My grandfather was a famous puppet carver back in the old country and actually started this little enterprise a gazillion years ago. My sister followed in his footsteps and has been running the show, so to speak, since she graduated college. It has mostly been a touring company until now, but thanks to the generosity of a family member and benefactor, our dream of having a permanent home is now a reality.”

  “Anthony doesn’t seem to be a European last name.”

  “It isn’t, Ms…Rightman?”

  “Reightman,” she corrected him. “But please, call me Melba.”

  “All right, Melba. The family name is actually Antonovic, but was westernized some time ago. That’s a good thing since it’s handy to have a name people can both pronounce and remember.”

  Melba was at a loss of how to appropriately respond. She was spared any additional awkwardness by Zhou Li’s natural curiosity about anything having to do with downtown real estate. “And how did you come to secure this delightful place, Mr. Anthony?”

  “Well, as luck would have it, about the same time I decided to come back home, this space was offered to us by my uncle—my mom’s brother, in fact. He owns most of this block, I think, and several other buildings around the city.”

  “Oh! Vassily Grokov is your uncle?”

  Jake didn’t notice the sudden chill in Zhou’s voice.

  “Yes, he is. He very generously offered this space. With it and my star power, we’ll soon be the most successful theatre of its kind in the entire United States.”

  Zhou Li tilted her head to one side, in a pose Melba immediately recognized as a danger sign. “Well then, I can only wish you the best of luck. Although, I am naturally curious. As delightful as this all sounds, I cannot help but think this will be somewhat of a step down for you. Not to disparage your family business—after all, I have carried on family traditions myself—but a man used to the fame and fortune in New York and Los Angeles must occasionally wonder how he now comes to be running a puppet theatre? Although, now that I mention it, I suddenly realize what a rude question that must be. I can only apologize and wish you the very best. It is past time we let you get on with your lunch. Your family must be waiting on you. Come along, dear.” With a rapier-edged smile toward their famous host, Zhou Li made her way to the open front door.

  Melba blinked at her deliberate rudeness and turned to offer her own apologies. She stopped herself before she even got started. Jake Anthony’s furious, narrowed gaze as he followed her companion’s progress out the door removed any need for words. She edged past him with a mumbled goodbye and blocked his view with her body. “Welcome to the neighborhood,” she added as she exited. “What’s gotten into Zhou Li today?”

  “What in the heck was that all about?” she asked as she navigated her way around the block so she could head back toward Green Dragon.

  Zhou Li shrugged and looked out the window. “I simply found Mr. Anthony to be unpleasant. Given who his uncle is, it does not surprise me.”

  “You disliked him because of his uncle? It’s not like you to dislike someone because of their family.”

  “In this case, my aversion is justified. The relation of a venomous snake must, by nature, also be venomous. The kin of rats are also rats.”

  “Is that some kind of ancient Chinese proverb?”

  “Perhaps it should be. I am quite convinced Jake Anthony is of the same species and nature as Vassily Grokov. I have also remembered some unpleasant things about Mr. Anthony himself.”

  “Such as?”

  “I would prefer not to discuss it further, except to advise you to do an internet search on him when you get to the office. Consider it a practice piece of investigation, although I suspect it will be laughably easy to discover the salient highlights.”

  Melba steered in silence until she pulled up in front of Green Dragon. She wasn’t sure how to handle the drop-off today, since normally she helped Zhou Li to the door. After the way the morning had progressed, she was undecided if she should even make an attempt to help. Weighing a broken hip against an ass-chewing, she decided she’d recover from another round of snippiness, and turned the car off. She extracted herself from her seat belt and opened the car door. As she started to ease herself up and out, Zhou spoke up.

  “I owe you an apology.”

  Melba eased back down and pulled the door closed. She faced forward, deciding that maybe she wouldn’t get bitten if she kept her demeanor non-challenging. It worked with angry dogs and most big game animals. At least, she’d heard it did.

  “I have been a horrible old woman today and you do not deserve it. You have been nothing but solicitous, but today for some reason, that rubbed against the grain. Please do not take it personally and accept it when I tell you how very regretful I am that I behaved in such a way.”

  Melba allowed herself a glance toward the passenger seat and met the pair of troubled black eyes. “Thank you. Apology accepted. I’m almost afraid to ask, but is something wrong?”

  “I do not have an answer for you, or at least, not a clear one. I am simply tired and cranky. However, I do have one request. No, make it two requests.”

  “All right. What are they?”

  “First of all, please do not tell anyone how badly I have behaved. It would injure my pride if they even suspected I would act the way I have this morning.”

  “You afraid that they might suspect you’re mortal after all?”

  Zhou looked away for a moment, contemplating the front of her shop. “Yes.”

  The straightforward answer threw Melba for a complete loop. She’d been expecting an acerbic volley at least. “Okay. I won’t say anything. What else?”

  Zhou Li lifted her purse from the floorboard and placed it on her lap. She opened it and withdrew a small white card and, after a moment’s pause, handed it to her. “I have apparently been referred to a specialist for some additional tests following my doctor’s visit today. Would you mind taking me? You see, I do not want to needlessly alarm my nephew. I would prefer you not mention this either.”

  Melba quickly tucked the card into her coat pocket for later examination. She reached over and gave Zhou’s hand a gentle squeeze. “You can count on it. Thank you for trusting me with this.”

  Her elderly friend gave her a very formal nod—almost a bow— and then unhooked her own seat belt. She opened the car door and swung her feet to the side. “One more thing...”

  “Sure.”

  “Would you please help me to the door? I am suddenly very tired and unsure about the step up to the curb.”

  Melba hurried to comply. Once Zhou was safely inside, she climbed back into the car and made the block so she could more easily navigate into the small corner lot. She killed the engine and reached into her coat pocket. For a moment, she just sat perfectly still, feeling the shape and weight of the stiff pasteboard with her fingers. Once she had memorized it by touch, she pulled it out slowly and read the words. One side was a simple, two line form with the date and time of the appointment—exactly two weeks from today, at eleven in the morning. It took everything she had to make herself turn the card over.

  The black, block letters were very clear and painfully to the point: “Dr. Malcolm Fielding: Capitol City Oncology: Cancer Diagnosis and Strategic Care.”

  “I’m not going to cry,” she told herself, ignoring the tears already rolling down her checks. “I am not go
ing to cry.”

  She sat in the car until she was sure she had herself under control, then made herself walk across the street to the office.

  “Toby!” she called out with forced cheer as she entered the front door. “SarahJune! I have a special project just for you two. Your mission is to find out absolutely everything there is to know about a Mr. Jake Anthony, star of stage and screen. Although, his last notable appearance was on the tube.”

  “Really?” SarahJune practically squealed. “He’s so dreamy.”

  “Isn’t he just?” Melba quipped back with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. “See what you can find out about him and his family. In fact, why don’t we make it a contest? We’ll all do our research and meet to go over it Monday or Tuesday. Losers have to provide lunch for the rest of the week.”

  “Sounds like fun.” Toby’s voice was pretty enthusiastic, but his eyes said he knew something was up. She gave him a tiny shake of her head, and he let it slide. “Are we looking for anything specific?”

  “Nope, not really.” Melba started down the hall to their shared back office and stopped suddenly at her next thought. “Actually, there is something else we could all check—just to make things a little more challenging. See what you can find out about Vassily Grokov, local real estate mogul and Jakey-boy’s uncle. Word on the street is he might bite and could be poisonous.”

  “Oh yeah? Who’s your source?”

  “Why, Toby! You know I won’t reveal my source. The Reightman and Bailey Agency guarantees confidentiality under absolutely any circumstance. You better get crackin’, unless you’d prefer to concede right now.”

  She purposefully ignored his very creative vocabulary all the way down the hall, although privately, she grudgingly admitted his cussing was beginning to show real promise.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Melba woke up the next morning tired and cranky. A fretful night spent tossing and turning made her regular finger-fight with the alarm clock more intense than usual and the first cup of coffee hadn’t kicked in. Zhou Li’s little bombshell yesterday had shaken her up badly. To make matters worse, she’d completely forgotten to drop her pile of clothing off at the dry cleaners, and that meant she hadn’t picked up the clean stuff. “Well, Reightman, looks like it might be a day to drag out your old suit.”She wrinkled her nose at the thought, having become accustomed to having a much better selection to choose from. Used to be, she wouldn’t have thought a thing about what she had—or didn’t have—in her closet. Hanging out with Moon and Zhou Li had certainly adjusted that attitude, although all things considered, it was probably a much-needed shift in perspective.

  She poured another cup of caffeine and clicked on the tube, hoping the weatherman had good news. She froze when she recognized the photo flashed up on the screen.

  Lucy Escabar looked just as she remembered—dark, curly hair and a sunny smile. Melba turned up the volume as four more photos were added. According to the report, several children were missing from the area; one for as long as six months. Cradling her coffee, Melba sunk into her new and improved couch as the story continued. No solid leads. Mounting concern from parents and schools. Disillusionment with the local authorities. Some talk of bringing in outside help.

  The last surprised her. Things must be getting serious for Chief Kelly to even consider bringing in another agency to assist. If he did, not only would the City Police Department take yet another hit to its credibility, but Kelly would lose control of the case. She knew from personal experience he didn’t play well with others unless he was in undisputed charge. Speaking of the devil, the scene shifted to recent footage of Kelly avoiding reporters as he made his way into headquarters.

  She still had a bad taste in her mouth from Kelly’s actions last fall, and hadn’t resolved in her mind if he’d been directly involved with former Councilman Dameron’s machinations. There was just enough doubt in her mind the Chief had intentionally played her dirty and in the process, endangered Toby and Mitchell. City scuttlebutt suggested he’d had a very uncomfortable few months,and there were rumors his job was on the line. Maybe it was time to see what new information she could dig up. Thinking through the list of possible insiders who could bring her up to speed, she landed on the one person she knew would tell her the truth—whether she wanted to hear it or not.

  She tilted the coffee cup to get the last remaining drops, picked up her cell phone and scrolled through her contact list. As expected, she was shunted to voicemail. When directed to please leave a message, she was ready.

  “Hey, Tom. How’re things? I was wondering if you’d like to catch up over lunch or dinner in the next few days. I need a dose of your wise-ass humor—believe it or not. Nobody does inappropriate like you. Give me a call and let me know. And yeah, in case you haven’t already used your forensic super powers to figure it out, this is Reightman.”

  She didn’t doubt for a minute he’d call her back. Tom Anderson was a friend and no one had a better read on department politics. If there was something brewing, he’d know.

  ***

  Jon Chiang finished putting away the training mats and stretched to work out the tension in his back.

  Melba and Toby had put up quite a fight this morning—certainly better than most Mondays. Maybe the extra morning off had helped. He wasn’t surprised Melba Reightman could hold her own, given her past experience on the police force. Even though she was well into middle age, she kept herself fit and had benefit of quite a bit of past training. Once she’d worked past an injury to the knee and stepped up her physical conditioning, she’d picked up the new blend of fighting styles like a champ. She also wasn’t afraid of fighting dirty, which as far as he was concerned, was a point in her favor.

  As for Toby, Jon had to admit his progress was a surprise. Although he was a seasoned and conditioned runner, to Jon’s knowledge, he’d never been in a real fight in his life. Oh, there were probably a few school boy tussles, and given the man’s propensity to smart off, it wouldn’t be surprising if he’d found himself pounded on the playground a time or two. Still, that was different than being in a situation that was truly dangerous.

  Making sure the cabinets in the front room were all properly closed, Jon reflected on the last thought. Toby had been in a dangerous situation—a life or death situation—last fall. He’d gotten himself tangled up with some very nasty people, although from what limited information his aunt had shared, it hadn’t been his fault. He’d stumbled into something rotten the night he found his former lover, Geri Guzman, dead in the spa across the street, and to his credit, had assisted in the investigation that led to finding the killer. That should have been the end of it, and things should have gone back to normal—or as normal as could be expected. However, one very clever, duplicitous hit man had other plans. Auntie Zhou hadn’t shared much else, other than to say things had worked out much better than she’d feared and that Toby, with assistance from Melba and Officer Mitchell, had taken care of the problem.

  After first meeting Toby, Jon had, for some reason, been driven to find out more. Culling together a few offhand comments made by the regulars and shop owners on Capital Street and trolling through a few newspaper articles filled in some of the pieces. Jon knew there’d been something between the young officer and Toby Bailey, but wasn’t sure exactly how far their relationship had gone or why things cooled off. The expression on Toby’s face when he’d addressed the envelope to Officer Mitchell and Mr. Bradley Clark told Jon there was a lot more to the story.

  Jon stretched again and felt the muscles in his shoulders loosen. After checking there wasn’t any stray debris on the polished wooden floor, he headed to the back room to grab the mop and bucket. If he took care of the daily damp mop now, he wouldn’t have to deal with it first thing in the morning. After filling the bucket, he placed it back on the rolling cart and wheeled it to the front. Slipping off his sandals and making sure the soles of his feet were perfectly clean, he started his chore.

  The familiar, re
petitive routine of dunking, wringing, and mopping brought to mind the small studio where he’d started his training. His mother and father hadn’t been pleased when he’d announced at a very young age that he wanted to take lessons. In fact, they refused to pay for his instruction. Auntie Zhou and his grandmother, Zhou Mei, intervened. They listened calmly to his complaints and decided between them that it as a worthy pursuit for a child with too much restless energy. After consulting between them, and brokering a family conference from which Jon was excluded, it was decided they would—at some sacrifice—cover half the cost of the lessons. He remembered feeling a wild, intense joy at their unexpected support and generosity, which was quickly followed by despair when he realized he had no hope of covering the remaining fees. After all, he was only six years old and didn’t have any money.

  His aunt had calmly told him there were still options to be explored.

  “Although, some of those options may require considerable effort on your part to bring to fruition,” he remembered her saying. “Are you sure this is a path you wish to take?”

  “Yes, Auntie. I’m sure.”

  Her black eyes glimmered behind the flashy, rhinestone trimmed glasses that reminded him of cat eyes. After some consideration, she nodded. “All right, then. I think you are old enough to have some say. However, I want it understood that if you commit, I will expect you to fulfill whatever bargain is struck, regardless of how hard the terms are. Will you agree to that, Jon Chiang?”

  She waited while he considered. Even then, his Auntie was a considerable force in the family, and he knew better than to give a careless answer. “Yes,” he whispered.

  “Very well, then. Tomorrow morning, we will go and speak with the instructor. It will be early, since I have other appointments. You should be ready at eight o’clock. Please do not be late. We are going to a negotiation, and we must show our respect. Punctuality is one of the highest forms of courtesy.”