He laughed despairingly. “Assistant Matron Blanc, this is Tom Foo Yuen, the Hop Sing president, and his three favorite hatchet men, Lai Ying, Shi Cheng-Fung, and I don’t know the fat one. He’s new. Mr. Tom is a very powerful, very dangerous man. Usually, he does business from a restaurant on Apablaza Street—that one with the statues in the window. I’m not sure what he’s doing here.” Joe followed his pronouncement with a broken string of Chinese words. “They don’t speak English. We could really use Mr. Jones right now.”
Unfortunately, Anna had driven Mr. Jones away. At least he was safe. She curtsied anxiously. “But where is the Bing Kong president?”
“Wong Nim?” Joe pointed to the dead man in the noodles. “And his henchmen.”
“Oh,” said Anna. “And who is the woman?”
The dead woman looked plump, well-tended, pampered even. Anna hoped she’d died quickly.
“His wife, maybe? He dressed her well.”
Anger flooded Anna, mixing with her fear. “She didn’t deserve to die.”
Joe nodded. “Tom Foo Yuen called to report the murder to the police. I just responded to the call.”
“Tom Foo Yuen called the police? On himself?” she asked.
“Not on himself. He claims he found them like this. He says he came to broker peace, and speculates that Wong Nim was killed by one of his own men.”
Anna swallowed. She drifted closer to the bodies. Each man had an exit wound in his back. “Wong Nim was shot by someone he lets watch him eat noodles. Someone with whom he plays dominoes. Someone he allows around his wife. His friends were caught by surprise . . .” Anna’s eyes sought Joe’s. “These men are innocent. Wong Nim was shot by his own man.”
“Maybe someone who wants to take his place.”
“Good. We’ll find out who’s taking his place and—”
“Anna, I won’t be the detective on this case. I just got here first. I’m too new, and it’s too important. Wolf will send somebody else, and it’s not going to be you.”
Anna crinkled her face. “Did he have to kill the woman?”
The Hop Sing president leered with his doggy eyes and said something to Joe. Anna wished again for Mr. Jones’s translation.
Joe smiled and pulled Anna close again. “He wants to know if you’re a prostitute.”
“Tell him I’m a detective.”
“That’s not going to fly.” Joe said something to the president, who looked disappointed. The president scanned Anna from hat to waist and back again.
“What did you say?”
“I’ve just made it clear that you’re my favorite girl.”
“You mean like a courtesan? You lied.”
“He said you were very beautiful, and I said no, you’re not very beautiful, and that he was much too kind.”
“Hah! Is he going to steal me then?”
“He also said your feet are too big.”
Anna twisted away from him. She turned on the gangster and spoke sharply, her face contorted. “Slavery is an abomination. You must set the singsong girls free.”
Joe spoke through gritted teeth. “Anna, be quiet.” She saw his jaw clench as he waited for the man’s response.
“He doesn’t even speak English,” she said.
“He understands contempt.”
Tom Foo Yuen’s accent was as thick as glue. “This is your favorite woman? Control her, or I will put an end to her. I don’t care if your father is the police chief.”
Joe Singer stalked forward and pulled Anna roughly behind him.
Anna’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth, but Joe silenced her. “Sherlock, be quiet.” Then he proceeded to growl softly in Chinese. He sounded both threatening and conciliatory.
The president grunted and spewed out words that oozed vitriol.
Joe whispered to Anna. “Let’s go.” He backed out of the apartment, hand on his gun.
CHAPTER 15
When Anna and Joe stepped out into the cold night, the corner bell began to ring. They walked quickly, dodging a staggering white man, and passing the barred windows of a brothel. Joe tried to take her arm, and she shook him off.
Joe said, “Nice job, Sherlock. You can’t speak to a tong president like that. If you’d made Tom Foo Yuen lose face in front of his men, you’d be dead. As it is, he’s very, very angry. The only thing that saved your life is that his men don’t speak English and maybe that I’m the police chief’s son.”
“So you think those were empty threats or full threats?”
“Definitely full threats. You should stay out of Chinatown.”
“Oh.” Anna felt sobered and foolish.
“I told you, Anna. But you never listen to me.”
“Who do you think they will assign to the case? That poor, dead woman. She might have children.” Anna thought of her own dead mother, whom she could only really remember because she had a picture, and how terrible it had been to lose her so young because the nuns at the convent school were not good mothers, as her bottom could testify.
“Wolf will probably take it on himself.”
Anna tried to put the lady’s lifeless face out of her mind. Wolf was a good detective, and there was nothing Anna could do to bring her back. At least the lady had been cherished in life, or so it had appeared.
When they crossed the street onto another block, the bell behind them ceased ringing, and the bell on the next corner started to chime.
Anna gazed down the street. “I understand the bells now. They’re announcing you because you’re a cop.”
“That’s right. They’re sounding the alarm.” Joe adjusted his derby hat. “I’m back on the investigation now, Anna, so tell me the news.”
“All right. It’s looking bad for Mr. Lim.”
“There are other possibilities.”
“She could have been killed by the tong, like Wong Nim’s wife, if they were going after Leo Lim, but Mr. Jones doesn’t think so. And we can’t rule out a white man angry about Elizabeth’s love affair with Lim. Remember the indentation next to the dummy? I thought about that. What if Elizabeth was sleeping in the bed with that dummy, someone thought it was Lim, and killed her because she was in bed with a Chinaman or out of jealousy.”
“But why was she in the bed with the dummy?”
“I don’t know.” The wind blew on Anna’s bare cheeks, making them sting. “I have Elizabeth’s letters. I found them in her trunk. We can read them now if you’d like.”
“All right.” He slipped out of his heavy wool coat, and wrapped her in it, and dropped his hat onto her bare head. Anna stiffened. “Are you still pretending I’m your favorite girl?”
“I thought you were cold.”
“I’m polar bear cold. Unhand me and let’s go somewhere warm and read the letters.”
He let his arm drop. “Not the station. Too many busy bodies.”
“Somewhere we won’t run into a cop.” Anna thought about inviting Joe to her apartment but knew there were drawers drying inside on a line, and it wasn’t heated. Plus, he said he would never go there, although as far as she was concerned he was as safe from her as he could be. “Your digs?” she ventured.
Joe said emphatically, “No.”
“Well, we have to go somewhere private.”
“Agreed. What about La Placita? Won’t the sanctuary be open for prayer?”
“Not at this hour, but we can climb in the window. I’ve done it before.” As a teen, Anna had indeed broken in to drink the communion wine, because she needed the extra holiness. Also, her father had fired the maid he suspected of tippling and began locking up his alcohol.
Joe helped Anna retrieve her bicycle and walked it for her along the bumpy plank sidewalks, through the crowd of carousers, all the way to the Plaza. The Plaza slept, dark and quiet, empty but for palm trees and star jasmine and a man snoring on a garden bench, covered with newspapers. La Placita was a small church with white plaster walls and a bell tower. It had stood at the edge of the Plaza for a hundred years. An
na had taken her first communion there.
A late trolley rattled past. It must have been nearly midnight. Anna led Joe around the side of La Placita, tiptoeing through the rosemary to where a small glass window opened into the sanctuary six feet off the ground. She picked a sprig of the herb and rolled it between her fingers, held it to her nose, felt the cooling scent. Anna unbuttoned Joe’s coat. It hung almost to her ankles and would get in the way. Then she shed her own cashmere wrap, which she had worn beneath, and stuffed them through the window. Joe put his hands on her waist as if to lift her. Anna pulled away, giving him a reproachful look.
“Anna, I know you hate me, but you’re not going to get through that window without my help.”
Anna looked up at the window, and then at Joe’s unsmiling face. Regrettably, he was right. Anna had promised herself not to let her feelings about Joe Singer stand in the way of her vocation. If she needed his body to get through the window, she would use it.
She moved in front of him and raised her arms up, not meeting his eyes. He plucked his hat off her head, replacing it on his own, and began to hum absently. She felt his hands easily lift her into the air. She grabbed the edges of the window frame with her fingertips.
The window opened with a stubborn crack, leaving Anna’s fingers red and chalky with dust. She took a deep breath, and pressed down, slowly raising herself. Joe gave her bottom a helpful shove, and she swung her leg over, her skirts riding up to her knee. The places where Joe had touched her were tingling madly, and she hated him for it. She took a deep breath, rotated her frame, and gingerly swung her second leg over, lowering herself into the sanctuary.
She heard Joe’s voice. “You okay, Sherlock?”
“Of course.”
As agile as a cat, Joe swung through the window and landed softly beside her, still wearing his derby hat. He removed it and tossed it onto a pew. The inside of the church was dark and void. Joe plucked a candle from the upraised hand of a carved wooden angel. He took a matchbox from his pocket and set the candle ablaze. It cast deep shadows onto the plaster walls and oak pews. The light flitted across the ceiling, illuminating mandalas in turquoise, green, gold, and red. Icons with glowing gilt frames loomed over the altar. Anna had never seen the church this way, dark and beautiful. The shadows made Joe’s lips appear more curved, his dimples deeper, like an angel.
They were alone again, with only God as their chaperone. The darkness and Joe’s proximity made Anna feel fallen, because he was a slave trader and still she ached for him. It was only the watchful eyes of the saints, and her anger at his grave sin, that kept Anna from offering him her lips. Because the truth was, she missed Joe Singer fiercely and there was no replacing him. Anna would never love again.
She said, “Let’s sit on the floor so we can spread out the letters.”
“All right.”
They walked up the aisle to the altar. She gracefully lowered herself onto the rug. Joe sat beside her, so that she could benefit from the light, holding his handkerchief under the candle so the drips didn’t stain her skirt. On her back, she could feel the eyes of Our Lady Queen of Angels, Saint Joseph, John the Baptist, and the Magdalene. On her legs, she could feel the heat of his nearness through three inches of air and five blessed layers of fabric. She closed her eyes.
“Anna?” Joe said.
Anna’s eyes popped open, her cheeks a little flushed in the candlelight. “I was thinking about . . . crime.” She rustled in her bag and pulled out the bundle of envelopes, which she fumbled so that they spilled across the carpet and onto the tile like cards.
She straightened her back, assumed her most professional demeanor, and selected an envelope at random. She cleared her throat. “They must be important letters, or Elizabeth wouldn’t have taken them with her.” She extracted the stationery, handing it to Joe, averting her eyes. “You read? I’ll hold the candle.”
“All right.”
Anna took the lit taper from his long fingers, accidentally dripping wax all over his pants. He winced.
Joe began to read, his voice thrumming with a rich, male sweetness.
“Dearest Mine.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Your silk shawl covers a garden. Orchids peek from your clothes.”
Anna and Joe exchanged a glance.
“I flirt and you resist, but already we are secretly connected.”
Anna bit her lip.
“Like two kinds of jade, we are right together.”
Joe hesitated. Anna leaned toward him. “Go on.”
He wiped little beads of sweat off his brow. “Your warm red lips melt mine. I taste your breath like a fragrant blossom, your skin, cream; your sweat, pearls. Your hair is loose and black. Oh God.”
The “Oh God” part sounded very much like Joe’s addition. He put down the letter and eyed Anna. “I don’t know. I feel like I’m in someone else’s bedroom.”
“But it’s from Leo Lim. You have to read it. It’s part of our investigation.”
Joe’s eyes slipped down the page to the bottom. “It’s not from Leo Lim.”
Anna’s shapely brows drew together. “But Leo Lim was her lover. Her mother said so, and I have a letter to prove it.”
“This is from someone named Chan Mon, and it’s dated three weeks ago.”
“Then Elizabeth had two Chinese lovers.”
Joe raised both eyebrows.
Anna scoffed. “You’re shocked? You have multiple sweethearts. And it’s terribly unfair. Elizabeth couldn’t marry either Chinaman. It’s against the law, whereas you could move to Utah and marry all of your gals at once.”
“So now we have a motive for both Leo Lim and Chan Mon. Jealousy.” Joe scooted his bottom away from Anna, and she felt the colder for it. Then, he stretched out on the floor, his boots nearly touching the altar, and laid his head close to her hips, so he could have the light. He put a handful of letters on his belly. “I have a headache.”
Anna gazed down at his handsome, upside down face, which winced in pain. His hair looked soft and slightly flattened from his hat. He made a pained sound and pinched the bridge of his nose. Without her permission, her hand reached down and lightly stroked his temple. His face relaxed. She kept caressing him, scratching circles on his scalp. He made an mmm sound, shifted, and laid his head in her lap, using it as a pillow.
She cradled his head and ran her fingers through his hair, which smelled like bay rum. “I despise you,” she said.
“It’s probably for the best.”
“I’m only petting you so your headache will go away and you can work, even though touching you appalls me.”
“It’s helping.”
“Does the letter have an address?”
“No, and if it did I wouldn’t give it to you. If you go to Chinatown, you’re going with me, Anna, not alone. We’re a team.”
Anna didn’t answer. Were they a team? Could she be a team with Joe Singer? If so, would the saints frown upon their partnership given that he was such a wretch? She gazed up at Mary’s placid face, looking for a sign.
Joe picked up a second letter and cleared his throat.
My Dearest Elizabeth,
Now on the summit of Love’s topmost peak
Kiss we and part; no further can we go:
And better death than we from high to low
Should dwindle or decline from strong to weak . . .
Anna said, “Hm. It doesn’t sound Chinese. Does she have a white lover, as well?”
“No, this one’s from Chan Mon, too.”
When the meaning of the words penetrated Anna’s rattled mind, she expelled a gasp. “He’s proposing a lover’s death pact.”
“Exactly that.”
“This casts even more suspicion on Chan Mon.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Love makes me want to kill myself.”
The corners of her lips turned slightly down. “Are you in love again already?”
Joe looked up into Anna’s eyes. “What do you think?”
A
nna didn’t know what to think, except that his Arrow Collar Man eyes were very blue. She said nothing and stroked his head as he read her more love letters, and the candle burned down, and the church became dark so that the saints couldn’t see.
CHAPTER 16
A string of bells tinkled as Anna pushed open the door to Mr. Jones’s medicine shop. She found him bespectacled and leaning on the counter, reading a book. When he noticed her, he stowed the tome under the counter and straightened up.
“Assistant Matron Blanc, where is Detective Singer?”
“That’s the funny thing. I don’t know. He didn’t come into work this morning. The investigation can’t wait, so I’m proceeding on my own.” Joe’s absence irritated Anna. Part of her hoped he was in jail again eating bugs.
“And what brings you to me?”
“I have information to trade. Elizabeth Bonsor had two Chinese lovers—Leo Lim and a man named Chan Mon. I think she was leaving Leo Lim for Chan Mon.” Anna slapped a love letter down onto the counter, one about ducks with their necks entwined. “Read this, if you please.”
Mr. Jones started on the epistle and blushed. Anna didn’t blame him. It was steamy. He set it down. “I don’t know a Chan Mon.”
“But surely you can find him. How many people are in Chinatown? Two thousand? You could ask around. I’ve been to the mission. Miss Robins says he wasn’t a student there.”
“I can’t help you.”
“Can’t help me or won’t? I can exchange information. Last night, I found the Bing Kong president dead in his rice bowl.”
“I know.”
“The Hop Sing president was in his house, which is very suspicious. But the Bing Kong president may have been killed by one of his own men.”
“Leave it be, Matron Blanc. The Bing Kong will avenge their president’s death. They don’t need your assistance.”
“But what about Elizabeth? I have a family debt to pay. What about Chan Mon?”
“I can’t help you.”
Back at Central Station, Anna stood in the kitchen and held a hot enamel cup to her lips. Mr. Melvin quivered nervously at her side. She hesitated and then sipped the dark brew—the first she had ever made.
The Woman in the Camphor Trunk Page 14
