Flower Net (Red Princess 1)

“Not some pencil pusher.”

David agreed. “It has to be someone in a high enough position to have met him socially or professionally. Zai would have needed to see this man in action, trusted his discretion, and”—David thought for a moment—“yes, and believed his innocent aw-shucks demeanor.”

“Phil Firestone.”

Still nervous about who else could be involved

at the MPS and not wanting to spend the time filling out a car requisition form, Hulan flagged down a taxi outside the ministry. Quickly they sped across town to the diplomatic area along Jianguomenwai. The driver honked through the masses crowded outside the embassy and dropped them off at the gate. They were shown up to the ambassador’s office, where they were told that he was “out of town” and that his adjutant was at the official residence planning a Valentine’s Day tea with Mrs. Watson.

A few minutes later they knocked at the door of the austere building the Watsons called home. A Chinese woman greeted them and led the way to a parlor for receiving guests. The room was decorated in what could be described as American Diplomatic, a style that allowed for few concessions to the country of residence. Chairs and settees were covered in a variety of royal-blue damask and silk moiré fabrics. Small pillows of blue brocade and heavy gold fringe served as accessories. Low, early-American tables were set with bouquets in Chinese blue-and-white ceramic bowls, silver dishes filled with ribbon and peppermint candies, and a few photography books that extolled the natural beauties of states like Vermont, Colorado, Alaska, and, of course, Montana.

It had been two months since Hulan had met Elizabeth Watson sitting on an iron bench in the dead of winter waiting to see if the dead body frozen under the icy expanse of Bei Hai Lake was her son. Now, as introductions were made, Hulan was once again struck by Elizabeth Watson’s reserve. Her sorrow still showed in the sadness of her eyes, in the circles that hung beneath them, and in her slightly sallow complexion. Nevertheless, her hair was done in one of those politicians’ wives dos, each strand held in place by hair spray. The severity of her hair was offset by the casual elegance of her gabardine slacks, silk blouse, camel’s hair jacket, and string of pearls. She had the air of someone who had been busy all day, planning meals and seating charts, catching up on her correspondence, perhaps even chatting on the phone with a girlfriend or two back in Montana. What she did not look like was a woman who, as her husband had explained, was so deep in mourning that she couldn’t receive visitors or answer questions about her son.

“Actually you just missed Phil,” Elizabeth said, “but I expect him back shortly. If you run back to the embassy, you’ll probably miss him again. So let’s have some tea and visit for a while.”

She poured tea from a heavy silver pot and handed the delicate cups and saucers to her guests. The whole while she carried on a mostly one-sided conversation about the weather, about plans for the upcoming party, about her visits to factory nursery schools in Sichuan Province where business was booming for Chinese and American entrepreneurs. David and Hulan let her talk, knowing that, as with most parents who mourn the loss of a child, she would bring the conversation around to Billy.

“He was such a bright boy and we had such hopes for him,” she said. “He had just one more year to go at USC, and I remember the last time I saw him we talked about what he might do next.”

David and Hulan glanced at each other, realizing that Ambassador Watson hadn’t told his wife that Billy had dropped out. Silently they decided to see where this conversation would go.

“I kept stressing the importance of an education,” Elizabeth Watson continued. “‘Go to graduate school,’ I said. Political science, history, maybe even law school. But Billy had other ideas. ‘Ah, Mom, I’m sick of school. I want to get out, start a business, make my own way.’ You see, I think it was always hard for Billy growing up in a small community where his father was so important, such a force, if you know what I mean. Like a lot of kids, Billy rejected everything his father stood for. But I always saw that as a phase.”

“It sounds like you and your son were close,” David said.

“Close?” Elizabeth Watson laughed. “I’ll say we were close. Being a politician’s wife is a lonely business. Being a politician’s child is even worse. Billy and I were left alone in Montana a lot of the time. Someone had to stay behind and deal with the ranch. That someone was me. And I wasn’t about to let Billy go off to Washington with his father. But I’ll tell you, you think winter is bad here? You haven’t seen anything until you’ve lived through a Montana winter.” Elizabeth caught herself. “Excuse me for rambling on,” she said. “It’s just, you know, Billy and I had a bond.”

“Are you saying he didn’t get along with his father?”

Elizabeth regarded them, calculating. “You’re here to talk about Billy, aren’t you? I thought all that was settled.”

“It is settled,” Hulan lied. “But we do have a few loose ends.”

“If there’s any way I can help you…”

“Tell us about Billy and his father.”

“I guess you know by now that Billy got into trouble sometimes.” When David and Hulan nodded, Elizabeth went on. “There are a lot of ways a parent can look at things like that. In my opinion, Billy never did anything that harmed anyone. I always thought he did that stuff just to get his father’s attention. From that standpoint it worked. Big Bill would just freak. Whippings when Billy was little. Hour-long tirades when he got older. Big Bill threatened to disown Billy, cut him out of his will, turn his back on him forever if he didn’t shape up. The irony is that my husband was always putting pressure on Billy to take over the ranch. ‘In ten years it’ll all be yours.’ That sort of thing.”

“That must have reassured you,” David said.

“Hardly! The last thing I wanted was for my only child to end up on that damn ranch. Why on earth would I have wanted him to spend his life compiling breeding statistics, supervising the annual culling of the herd, agonizing over the fluctuations in the beef market? No, Billy was too smart for that life. He had his whole future ahead of him and he could have done anything he wanted.”

“How did Billy feel about all that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. He was in college, but I don’t think he cared about it much. During vacations, he’d pop in here for a few days, then fly back to the ranch with that friend of his.”

“What friend is that?”

“You know, the other boy who died, Guang Henglai.” When Elizabeth Watson saw the look that passed between David and Hulan, she asked, “What?”

“Your husband told us Billy didn’t know Henglai.”

“I don’t know why he’d say something like that. Big Bill was helping those two with their little business.”

“What business, Mrs. Watson?” Hulan asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. Something about hunting. I think it was some kind of guide service—take some city folk up to the ranch, give them a good time, take them out hunting.”