Confucius Jane (33 page)

“No, I … you were the first person I thought of.”

“Are you sure the store's empty?”

Sue was silent for a long moment. “I haven't gone in the back yet,” she whispered fearfully.

“Okay. Here's what you're going to do.” Jane braced herself on the table as her brain spun wildly. “Don't stay in the shop. I want you to walk over to Dragon Land Bakery right now—they'll be open already. When you get there, dial 9-1-1. You'll tell the dispatcher exactly what you just told me, except with even more details if you can. I'm coming over right now and we'll wait for the police together. Do you understand?”

“I walk to the bakery,” Sue said, her voice trembling. “And then call 9-1-1.”

“That's right. I'll be there very soon. Okay?”

“Okay.”

As the dial tone sounded in Jane's ear, she faced her aunt, who stood clutching a frying pan in one hand and the countertop with the other, frown lines wrinkling her brow. “Sue's shop was robbed. She says it's a mess. Send anyone you can.”

With that, she spun away, hurrying toward the front door. “Be careful!” Aunt Jenny shouted after her.

Jane ran. Her sneakers thudded against the pavement and the crisp morning air burned in her lungs, but she didn't slow down before skidding to a halt underneath the sinuous crimson sign of the bakery. Immediately, Sue stepped out onto the sidewalk.

“The police are coming. They told me to stay here until they arrived.”

Jane looked her up and down. She was pale and trembling, and Jane reached out to rub her shoulders gently. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

“No. But the shop…” Her eyes filled with tears. “They smashed so much. Why would someone do such a thing? Why not just take the money and leave?”

At that moment, the wail of approaching sirens rose up into the sky, sounding strangely mournful even as they trumpeted the alarm. Like a pack of hounds baying, Jane thought as she hooked her arm through Sue's and led her slowly back toward the store. They turned the corner in time to see a pair of cops enter, pistols drawn. Two more flanked the door, listening intently. Only at a distant shout of “Clear!” did the backup lower their weapons.

“Um.” Jane swallowed hard when her first attempt at speaking failed. The sight of those guns, out and ready to be used, made her quail inside. “Officers? This is Sue. She's the one who called.”

At a nod from his partner, the man on the near doorpost walked forward to greet them. Jane stood by Sue, sometimes helping her answer the questions, but mostly offering silent support. A crowd was beginning to gather, and Jane recognized many of the faces. She was oddly comforted by the fact that these people weren't random tourists hoping to be titillated by New York City crime, but neighbors who would support Sue as she and her business tried to recover. Red Door Apothecary was her life's work, and now it was in ruin.

“Are you ready to go inside, ma'am?”

When Sue nodded, the cop turned and led them both over the threshold. Jane couldn't help but feel irony at walking across the doorstep when the entire window to their right was shattered. When the sun broke through the clouds, the long glass shards littering the sidewalk gleamed fiercely, looking for all the world like prismatic knife blades as they scattered the light. Trying to escape the sinister image, Jane turned away and moved into the shop.

And gasped. The destruction was even worse inside. Almost every jar had either been upended or smashed, and the cabinets stood with their doors flung open, contents spilled out on the floor below. Herbs and roots lay strewn among the scintillating bits of glass, and the couch cushions and pillows had been sliced open, their white, fluffy guts festooning the sitting area.

“Who would do something like this?”

She hadn't meant to speak the words aloud, and when Sue buried her face in her hands and began to cry softly, Jane regretted her outburst. As she wrapped one arm around Sue's thin shoulders, she wished she'd brought tissues. Swallowing against nausea, Jane focused on the officer standing beside her. She could at least try to get some answers.

“Do you have any suspects?”

“Not yet, ma'am.”

At a gesture from one of his colleagues, he moved away to confer quietly with a few more uniformed police and what looked to be two detectives in dark suits. Even if the police did have their suspicions, he probably wouldn't be able to tell her. Squinting down at her shoes so she didn't have to see the mess, Jane tried to think back. Had she heard of any other similar robberies in the city recently? Was this related to something bigger, or was it an isolated incident?

A new thought dawned. Forcing herself to look up, she took in the ransacked store with fresh eyes. It had quite literally been torn apart—as though the perpetrators had been looking for something. But what had they been hoping to find?

Beside her, Sue was wiping delicately at her eyes, clearly determined to pull herself together.

“What happens now?” she asked tremulously.

“I imagine they'll ask you to give a statement,” Jane said. “They might want you to go to the station for that.”

Sue looked alarmed. “Will you come with me?”

“Of course.” Jane glanced around the room again. “Do you remember seeing anyone suspicious recently?”

“Difficult to say. I used to know everyone who came into the store, but for the past few days, it's been so busy.” Sue shook her head wearily. “Everyone has come in wanting ‘Eastern medicine.' They think I have opium!”

Jane froze. Suddenly, the scene before her made perfect sense. This hadn't been an act of vandalism or even a simple robbery. “That's it. They were looking for drugs.”

“Who?”

“The people who did this.” The realization burned away her queasiness. “We have to mention that to the police, okay?”

Sue nodded slowly. Her eyes looked a little glazed. Clearly, she was still in shock, and Jane wondered if the police would let her remain with Sue while they took her statement. Just then one of the detectives approached—a woman, whose brisk gate and alert expression conspired to lend her an air of competence that immediately made Jane feel much more at ease.

“Good morning. I'm Detective Hoffman.” She looked to Sue. “And you're the owner?”

“Yes.” Sue had to choke out the monosyllable, as though identifying herself had reminded her of just how much she had lost.

“This is Xue Si Ma, Detective,” Jane said, when it was clear Sue wasn't able to continue. “And I'm Jane Morrow. I help out around the shop.”

“I'm sorry that this happened.” Despite her efficient mannerism, Hoffman's eyes were sympathetic. “I'd like to take you over to the station to get your statement. Our people here will secure the scene.”

“May I come along?” Jane asked.

“Yes.”

But when they emerged onto the sidewalk, a male voice immediately called out Sue's name. A moment later, Jane located Giancarlo waving urgently from behind the garish crime scene tape. When Sue's face brightened and she turned aside, Jane started after her, fearing the detective would be angry.

“Sue. We need to go.”

“I … but…”

“This won't take long,” Hoffman reassured her.

Sue's indecision turned to obstinance. “I want Giancarlo to be there.”

Jane watched Hoffman's internal debate—the frown, the flick of her eyes back toward the shop, the glance at her watch. And then she sighed. “Fine.” Striding forward purposefully, she beckoned for Giancarlo to step beneath the tape.

As he and Sue embraced, Jane suddenly felt like a third wheel. At a crime scene. Shaking her head, she trudged in their wake, suddenly overwhelmed by fatigue. In that moment, she missed Sutton so fiercely that it hurt to take her next breath.

But Sutton was miles away, embroiled in her own crisis. And if Jane told her what had happened, she would probably feel responsible. Best to keep it to herself for now. She would find out soon enough.

*   *   *

THE AMBULANCE JOLTED OVER
a pothole and immediately slammed on the brakes, probably in response to a red light. Strapped into one of the jump seats in the back, Sutton kept her hands in her lap and tried to look calm even as she glanced over to the monitor recording her mother's vital signs. Not so much as a blip in her heart rate. Good. At first, Sutton had been hesitant about having her sedated for this trip. But ever since the seizure, Priscilla had experienced intermittent bouts of intense disorientation and even some paralysis in her extremities. It was better, the attending physician had argued, for her mother to make the trip unconscious than to risk triggering additional anxiety that might lead to an even more significant relapse.

Sutton had insisted on riding in the back of the ambulance. The EMT who joined them looked as though he had just graduated from high school, but he had watched over her mother like a baby-faced hawk for the duration of the drive. She had tried not to scrutinize his every move throughout the three-hour trip, but giving up control had never been her strong suit.

Except with Jane.

The thought seared through Sutton's mind, leaving her resentful of the heat prickling her skin and the dull ache in the pit of her stomach. Shifting uncomfortably on the hard plastic seat, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to will away the surge of unwelcome arousal. She didn't want to want Jane while she was sitting in the back of an ambulance with her mother lying unconscious a few feet away.

Her fingertips strayed to her right pocket and traced the hard edge of her phone. Since receiving the news early this morning that her mother would be immediately transferred to New York Presbyterian Hospital, Sutton had had plenty of chances to text Jane with the news that she was coming home. But every time she reached for her phone, something stopped her from typing out a message.

Maybe it was that when she saw Jane again, she would have to explain everything. Jane would be gentle and solicitous, wanting to hold and comfort her while she shared the story of the past two weeks. But Sutton didn't want to go back there in her head. She had lived under the cloud of her father's infidelity long enough, and at this point, she just wanted to move forward. To escape. Sweden was looking better each day. And even though Jane would probably understand if Sutton said she didn't want to rehash everything, what sense did it make to go running back to her when she would have to turn around and leave again in a matter of months?

And yet. The desire was a hot coil in her belly, twisting tighter at the memory of Jane moaning her name. If she concentrated hard enough, she could taste the salt-cut sweetness of Jane's skin, feel the magnetic heat of her body, picture the brilliant ring of gold that always encircled her irises when they were making love. Such distinctive, expressive eyes—the very attribute that had first caught Sutton's attention months ago.

As the ambulance bobbed and wove in and out of traffic, the rush of desire began to cool, cracking like dried lava floes to reveal the layers beneath. She didn't just want Jane's body—she craved the banter they had swapped, the laughter they had shared, the peace she felt in her embrace. Whenever she was around Jane, she felt more herself and less what everyone else wanted her to be. But that was dangerous, wasn't it? She couldn't rely on another person to bring her serenity. Another person might break a promise. Another person might leave, or life might separate them by thousands of miles. She needed to find contentment in herself.

“ETA five minutes.”

The driver's voice cut through her musings, and she watched as the EMT began to ready her mother for transport. She had yet to speak with her father. Shortly after visiting hours had begun this morning, the order had come down from on-high, sudden and swift, that her mother was to be moved to the city. The decision had caught Sutton completely off guard, leaving her angrier than ever. She wanted a say in her mother's treatment—she deserved it. But her father had the power to cut her out of the loop completely if he wanted.

The ambulance pulled to a stop and the driver flung open the back doors a few seconds later. Quickly and efficiently, they worked together to lower the stretcher onto the waiting gurney. Intending to follow them, she hopped out onto the pavement.

“Dr. St. James!”

Sutton looked around for her father before suddenly realizing the greeting was meant for her. A young, harried-looking woman in pale green scrubs waved as she approached. Probably an intern, if her bloodshot eyes were any indication.

“Your father asked me to look out for you. He's in his office and would like to speak with you right away.”

Sutton glanced between her and the gurney. Best to get this confrontation over with while her mother was being admitted. “Thank you. I'll go see him now.”

Her legs wanted to lag, but she forced herself to hurry through the maze of corridors. The familiar glare of the fluorescent bulbs and the scent of antiseptic anchored her racing thoughts. Right now, she didn't want to deal with what her father had done to their family. Right now, she wanted to talk to him, professional to professional, about Priscilla's case. Steeling herself, she pushed open the door leading to his office suite.

“Good afternoon, Sutton.” Diane had her hair pulled back in a bun so tight it gave her eyes a slightly slanted look. Her black-and-white checkered suit was as dizzying as an Escher painting. “He's expecting you. Go right in.”

“Thank you.” Sutton made her voice as frosty as she knew how.

His door opened before she could touch the handle, and then he was there, dressed as always in a dark Armani suit, looking perhaps a little thinner than he had been but still radiating charisma. He loomed over her, welcoming her inside with the solicitous tone that always put his patients at ease. When, Sutton wondered, did that tone begin to change from solicitous to seductive? The thought made her want to vomit.