I CALLED FRANK LIU’S HOME NUMBER BEFORE I LEFT RIVER CITY. No answer, just as Grandma Rosie had said. I figured I’d try again later. I stopped for groceries on the way home. Damn Norah anyway, I had actually developed a craving for apples. I’d have to find something with high fructose corn syrup in it to dip them in just to counteract their innate goodness. I did not luck out in the parking space lottery on the way home and had to struggle almost three blocks with my two canvas bags (yes, Norah’s influence again) of items.
Ben was sitting on the front porch with another kid. A girl. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite place her at first. Then it hit me like a bag of Granny Smiths. Sophie. From the dojo.
“What are you doing here?” I asked when I finally put it together. It came out sounding harsher than I’d intended it. I don’t like surprises. Generally, I’ve found they’re not good. In my life, surprises tend to run more toward ninjas jumping out of trees and kicking my ass than friends jumping out from behind sofas and giving me presents. Hence my reluctance to welcome surprises with open arms.
Sophie let her hair fall back over the web of scars on her face. “Ben and I go to the same high school,” she said. “I thought I’d say hello.”
Almost no one stopped by to say hello to Ben. His old friends weren’t coming around anymore now that he wasn’t using, and he didn’t have any new ones that I knew of. I don’t think it’s any easier to switch cliques in high school now than it was back in my day. If you’re a stoner to start with, a stoner you shall stay in everyone’s eyes, even if you never touch weed again and all your stoner friends have dropped you like a hot bong with a broken carb. I’m afraid it left Ben alone most of the time. “I didn’t know you were friends,” I said, sounding like the lame adult I was.
Ben looked up at me, his hazel eyes slightly narrowed. “Well, we are.”
You don’t need to tell me twice when my interference isn’t wanted. I toted my groceries up the stairs.
I tried Frank Liu’s number again. Still no answer.
I started my laundry. My life is one glamour-packed moment after another.
Norah eventually stumbled out of her bedroom and plugged in
Grey’s Anatomy
on DVD. Oh, how I wish half the doctors at Sacramento City Hospital were even a quarter as cute as the ones on TV. And half as promiscuous. It would make work so much more fun. The only hunkalicious doc we had was Alex, and while I suspected he was every bit as promiscuous as McSteamy, he tended to make sure his hunting grounds were far away from the hospital. Which was good, right? Hot vampire sex would be bad for me, right? Maybe if I kept telling myself that, I’d actually start believing it. Maybe if I kept telling myself that, I wouldn’t dream about it again.
I tried Frank Liu’s number again at about the time Mer looked at Der and said, “Choose me.”
Still no answer.
“Who you calling?” Norah asked, stretching on the couch like a cat. All that yoga has made her disgustingly limber.
“My grandmother’s tai chi instructor. She hasn’t seen him in a few days and she’s worried about him.” There is simply nothing better than the truth. If one can get away with telling the truth or even truthiness, it is always the best choice.
Norah looked profoundly uninterested. “Tanya and I are going out with those guys we met at McClannigan’s last night. Wanna come?”
I shook my head. It was a kind offer but not a tempting one. “No thanks.”
“Where did you go last night anyway? I don’t even remember you leaving.”
“Tequila’ll do that to you,” I observed, truthinessing again. Tequila was a wicked inebriant.
Norah rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it. I swear, nothing but vodka tonight. I need to cleanse.”
Ah, the vodka cleanse. That’s my girl.
MAE HAD FRANK LIU’S HOME ADDRESS BECAUSE SHE’D BEEN TO his house the year before for some kind of big martial arts instructor potluck. I could only imagine. I mean, what would they bring? Flying Sidekick Pasta Salad? Kata Cold-cut Platters?
After Norah left for her date, I got in Grandma Rosie’s Buick, hopped on the interstate and headed south to Florin Road. It was already getting dark. Liu lived in the Pocket. It’s a little bulge of Sacramento that sticks out into the Sacramento River on the west side and is bordered by I-5 on the east. It’s shaped like a
U
, hence the name. It’s also a little pocket of residential saneness in a part of Sacramento that’s begun to go insane.
I cruised past Liu’s house once. It was a single-story cottage. There were no cars in the driveway and the blinds were closed. I couldn’t see any light shining from the windows. If someone was home, they would have turned on the lights. It was dark enough for that now.
I went around the block and cruised past again. Nothing changed. I parked two houses down and on the other side of the street and considered my options. There was something to be said for the straightforward approach. I got out, walked up to the front door and rang the doorbell.
Nobody answered. I didn’t hear or smell anyone inside the house, human or otherwise. There was a faint something in the air, though, a residue of power and conflict, but nothing I could really nail down.
I waited a few more minutes and pressed the button again. Still nothing.
It had gone from dusk to darkness. I glanced around. Lights had come on in most of the neighboring houses. A few TV sets, too. I went back to my car to contemplate my next move.
It was entirely possible that Frank Liu was only on vacation. Or out to dinner with friends. He may have simply forgotten about his class at the Sunshine Assisted Living Facility and been too busy to return my grandmother’s phone calls. People forget about old people all the time. It’s practically a national pastime.
It was also possible that something had happened to Mr. Liu and that he could be in trouble. I leaned my head back against the comforting plush of the Buick’s headrest. I wished like hell I could figure out whom to go to to straighten this all out. I would have liked nothing more than to dump it in someone else’s lap. But whose?
To figure that out, I needed more information. It was possible that some of that information was inside Frank Liu’s quiet, darkened, empty house.
I looked around the neighborhood again. More lights had come on in more of the houses. People were home for the evening. The street was quiet. I got out of the Buick, walked in what I hoped was a nonchalant manner down the sidewalk and ducked down through Mr. Liu’s side yard to the back of his house. If I was going to indulge in a little B and E, at least I could be discreet about it.
Walking into Frank Liu’s backyard was like entering an enchanted garden. A stone path wound between raised beds. I could smell basil and cilantro and green tomatoes. I smelled rich, well-tended dirt. These gardens hadn’t gone untended for long. Another few days of Sacramento summer and they’d be dry as a bone. For now, however, the ground still held a faint tinge of moisture. A fountain burbled somewhere, its sound a soothing tone over the whir of the neighbor’s air-conditioning units. Faint light spilled from ankle-high lights along the path.
I stepped carefully, trying to be as quiet as possible. I had just gotten to the back door of the cottage when the beam of a high-powered flashlight spotlighted me against the wall.
“Hold it right there.”
I took off like Peter Rabbit with Farmer Brown hot on his heels.
WHY HADN’T I HEARD HIM APPROACHING? GRANTED, I’D BEEN near intoxicated by the smell of Frank Liu’s garden. Still, I smelled him fine now and heard him even better as he charged toward me.
I broke to his right, jumped over a raised bed that I think might have had zucchini in it, stumbled a little on the path and headed for the back fence. My goal was to get over it, into the neighbor’s yard and out onto the street before he got a good look at me. I sent up a little mental prayer. Please, by all that’s holy and a few things that are not, don’t let the neighbors have a dog. Dogs get one whiff of me and all the hair on the back of their necks stands straight up. It’s not a pretty thing.
Now, I’m fast, but I didn’t have a lot of maneuvering room and he was blocking most of it. I hit the back fence ahead of him, just not far enough ahead of him. I was halfway over when he grabbed my ankle and yanked me unceremoniously to the ground.
We tumbled in the soft grass. He landed on top of me and knocked most of the air out of my lungs. He was heavy as hell. Still, I managed to hook my ankle around his calf, knock his left hand out from under him and throw him. By that point I knew he had about six inches on me and quite a few pounds. Unfortunately, he also had me by the damn foot again before I could scramble away.
He dragged me back toward him. I scrabbled at the grass, but there was nothing I could catch hold of. I kicked hard and was rewarded with the sound of the air leaving his lungs, but he wouldn’t let go of my foot. Tenacious bastard. His grip was hard and unyielding. He wasn’t fooling around.
He pinned me beneath him. His chest pressed against my back. His thighs splayed over mine. His breath felt warm at the base of my neck, and, oh my, was that a gun or was he just happy to see me? And did I smell cookies?
My heart was pounding harder than it should have been with what little space I’d had to run. Damn adrenaline. It wasn’t always my friend. I took a few deep breaths and tried to still its frantic tattoo. I let myself feel the cool soft grass beneath me. I focused on that in an effort to ignore the heat and hardness of the man’s body on top of me. I’d need to be calm and collected to get out of this one.
He must have sensed the relaxation in my muscles because his weight shifted so he wasn’t directly on me anymore.
“Turn over slowly,” he said.
I did as I was told and got hit in the face with the full blast of a high-powered flashlight. I scooted back, sat up, shielded my eyes with my forearm and squinted into the light.
“Ms. Markowitz?” the voice behind the flashlight said.
I knew that voice. That voice came with the delicious smell of vanilla. “Officer Goodnight?” I said, feeling slightly incredulous.
He aimed the flashlight off to the side and out of my eyes. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
I was still blinking, trying to get my eyes to adjust to the sudden change. I do pretty well in darkness. I don’t exactly see like a cat, but pretty damn close. It still takes me a few seconds to correct for big changes like that, though. I blinked for longer than it took me to adjust anyway. There was no need for Office Goodnight to know how good my night vision was. Plus, it gave me a little time to come up with a story. I opted to go with a slightly edited version of the truth, which all good lies are. “My grandmother’s tai chi instructor hasn’t been around for a while. She sent me over here to see if he was okay.”
I heard Officer Goodnight inhale deeply, hold his breath for a second and then let it out with a whoosh. His breath smelled like cinnamon. Cozying up to this guy was going to be like climbing into a giant sticky bun. Not that I had any intention of cozying up to him. I just really like sticky buns. I know. I know. Put it on the list with margaritas and hot fudge sundaes. My weaknesses are legion. “What’s your grandmother’s tai chi instructor’s name?”
I could hear wariness mixing with the cinnamon in his voice. What a surprise. He didn’t trust me. “Frank Liu,” I said. I love it when my lies work for me.
He shifted the flashlight back to my face. I ducked away. “If she was so worried about him, why didn’t she call the police?”
That actually did make me smile a little. “You seriously want my grandmother to call the police on her tai chi instructor for not showing up for lessons at the retirement home? That would almost put her on a par with Mr. Moore. He’s the one who called the cops on the kids who were playing in the pond out front. He wanted them arrested for koi rustling.”
“Those fish can be expensive,” Officer Goodnight said. He sounded a little defensive.
“Those fish get bought every other week from PETCO. She didn’t want to be just another cranky old woman. Besides, why should she call the police when she has a perfectly good granddaughter who owes her a ton of favors?”
The flashlight dropped and I could make out his features again. Damn, he was pretty. “It just seems kind of weird.”
“Weird that my grandmother takes tai chi? I assure you, it’s not. It’s very popular in the senior population. Everybody who’s anybody who might break a hip wants better balance.” Perhaps inane chatter would distract him. Maybe I’d be able to waltz out of here yet.
“So why’d you run?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Or whatever that move was that had you sailing over that zucchini bed. Way to get some air, by the way.”
I bit my lip. Come on, Melina. Plausible lie. You can come up with a good one. It took a huge effort not to raise my hand and yell “I’ve got it!” when I came up with it. “I’m a woman alone at night in an unfamiliar place. You frightened me.” Just how deep did that desire to protect and serve go?
His eyes narrowed. He still didn’t want to buy it, but the sales pitch was definitely tempting him.
“Look,” I said with just the slightest of catches in my voice. “My hands are still shaking. I’ve had kind of a rough week, you know.” I held out my hand. With the right amount of focus, I can get it to tremble really well. It’s one of the nice things about having a body that responds to mental commands. I wasn’t sure he’d be able to see it in the light from the flashlight, but I threw in a little lip tremble for good measure anyway.
