“The others don’t like her, but I don’t see her as a murderer. Do you?”
“No,” David said, then after a beat added, “I find it interesting what people don’t talk about. We’re at a famous Ba site, but have you heard anyone talk about the Ba?”
“Only in the context of the Four Mysteries.”
“Right. These people are choosing to spend all of their waking hours in difficult living conditions absolutely removed from the rest of the world because, we must assume, they’re passionate about the Ba, but the way they were discussed was in the philosophical context of those four archaeological mysteries. No one seemed particularly concerned about the artifacts missing from the site.”
“They talked about the ruyi.”
“Not exactly. Everyone went on about Miller’s ruyi collection. Only Dr. Ma mentioned that a ruyi was missing and that it didn’t have much value. I mean, it sounded like a mushroom on a stick. What’s the value in that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it fills a hole in Miller’s collection.”
“Which is why his daughter is out here?”
As soon as the words were out of David’s mouth, Hulan let her hand trail down his torso. She put her head on his shoulder. “I was wondering how long it would take you to get to her.”
“I just find it hard to believe that a girl like that would want to spend the summer in a place like this.”
“Just because she’s beautiful doesn’t mean she doesn’t have her interests.”
Hulan’s voice had a teasing quality about it, which he hadn’t heard in over a year, and it had an immediate effect on him. She sighed deeply, and her warm breath traveled downward, doing little to relieve his suddenly heightened state.
“You said we were here about Brian, and yet we heard almost nothing about him,” David said, trying to change the subject.
“He was one of Miller’s protégés.”
“Yes, we learned that, and I have to tell you I’m concerned about Stuart Miller,” David said.
“Because he’s a businessman?”
“He’s not just any businessman, Hulan. He’s Miller Enterprises!”
She pulled away and got up. She picked the wet clothes up off the floor and draped them over a couple of chairs. He watched as she opened her bag, pulled out a dress, shook it loose, and put it on a hanger. She was naked and unabashed as she went about her mundane tasks.
“We’ll stay awhile longer,” she said, “talk to Lily and the Wus, and see if one of those pieces of circumstantial evidence shifts and becomes tangible.” She turned to him again, put a hand on her hip, and asked, “Do you think they have hot water in this place?”
His voice was gruff as he said, “Come here.”
A little after seven, David and Hulan emerged from their room. The rain still came down in sheets, and they strolled under the covered corridors that edged the linked courtyards back toward the main entrance. The restaurant was in the largest pavilion in the compound. It had a veranda—dotted with potted plants and wicker furniture—which overlooked a lotus pond. Faded vermilion brocade covered the restaurant’s walls. The tables and chairs dated from the Ming Dynasty, and had all the scuffs and dings of four hundred years of use. David and Hulan sat at a table for two. Little dishes of lotus root, string beans with chilies, and salted cashews were already set out as appetizers.
Only two other tables in the vast room were occupied, but instead of clustering guests together, each party had been isolated, which was just fine with David. He’d done his work for the day and didn’t want to make small talk either with Lily, who sat alone reading a book, or with the archaeological team—minus the Millers—who’d gathered at a large round table. With them was a young woman with cropped hair whom David didn’t recognize from the dig. Aside from the occasional bouts of drunken laughter from that table, the only sound came from the comforting sough of rain through the stand of bamboo outside the window. Beijing’s horns, smog, and crowded streets seemed very far away.
David took a quick look at the English menu, then set it aside. He’d let Hulan read the Chinese menu and question the waitress about local specialties. He felt incredibly and surprisingly happy. Hulan appeared peaceful and relaxed. She should be, he thought, his mouth spreading into an unselfconscious grin. Her inhibitions, reserve, walls, or whatever you wanted to call them had fallen from her this afternoon in layers. He’d done that for her—again and again.
The young woman at the archaeologists’ table got up and crossed over to David and Hulan. She wore a sleeveless black top and trim khaki pants. Her arms were strong and tan, and she was pretty in an athletic sort of way.
“They tell me you’ve come to look into my brother’s death,” she said to Hulan. “My name is Angela McCarthy. May I talk to you for a minute?” Without waiting for an answer, Angela pulled over a chair and sat down. “I’d like to know what you can tell me about Brian.”
“Not much, I’m afraid,” Hulan answered. She glanced at David. This was not the way either of them had planned on spending the evening.
Angela bit her bottom lip and confided, “I knew something was wrong when I didn’t hear from my brother.” She smiled sadly and explained. “Our parents died in a car accident ten years ago. Because of that we had a rule that we had to make contact every two days. We kept in touch on the Internet. He was able to send or receive e-mail at least once a day. Anyway, when I heard he’d disappeared, I suspected the worst and decided to come here.” Her eyes reddened as she fought back tears. “Our family has not been lucky.”
The waitress arrived with notepad in hand. Hulan said a few words in Chinese, but when the waitress turned away, Angela said, “Oh, please, don’t let me interrupt you.”
She made a move to leave, but David grabbed her wrist. “Stay.” Then, “Hulan, why don’t you go ahead and order? Angela, have you eaten?”
She had, but she readily agreed to have a glass of wine. Hulan placed the order, and the waitress left. Hulan said, “I have to admit, I’m surprised to see you here when your brother’s still in Beijing.”