Chin - 11 - Ghost Hero by S. J. Rozan

Author:S. J. Rozan [Rozan, S. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9780312544508
Google: JQ60Md16HbIC
Amazon: 0312544502
Goodreads: 10866347
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2010-12-31T13:00:00+00:00

14

In the morning my mother’s cover was blown. I woke full of energy, pulled on my bathrobe, and headed into the kitchen. My mother wandered in fully dressed suspiciously soon thereafter and with wide-eyed artlessness said, “Oh, are you home? I didn’t hear you come in last night. I thought you were still out, working overnight on your new case.” She says stuff like that to remind me that she’s not interfering in my life, professional or personal. But when I peeked into the teapot I found about five times as much tea as my mother, alone in the apartment, would ever drink before lunch.

Being the big tea drinker in the family, I poured myself a cup, gave her a kiss, and said, “It’s an interesting case. It involves art.” I dumped granola in a bowl and sat down at the table.

“Oh, really?” She spoke offhandedly, puttering around the kitchen doing things that clearly absorbed her attention way more than anything I was saying. “Do you know many things about art, Ling Wan-ju?”

“No, Ma. But I’m learning. I went to a gallery yesterday and saw little red boxes chasing each other around.”

My mother turned to look at me, waiting for the part about the art.

“It was sort of a sculpture. By a Chinese artist, in fact.”

That the home team was responsible for this incomprehensible item didn’t impress her. “Your cousin Yong Xiao is an artist. He painted a beautiful scarf for me.”

My third cousin twice removed, Yong Xiao, is a twenty-year-old fashionista wannabe working for pennies at the atelier of a hot designer barely older than he is. In his off hours he paints chrysanthemums on cheap silk scarves to sell to tourists so he can pay his rent.

Casually, because of course she takes so little interest in that which is not her business, my mother asked, “Are you working alone on your new case?”

“Or, you mean, is Bill working with me?”

She gave me the wide-eyed innocent look again. Her brow has permanent grooves from that look. “Oh, yes,” she said, as though she hadn’t given that possibility a thought. “I suppose you might be getting help from the white baboon.” She hasn’t said Bill’s name in years. She refers to him in other ways that would be endearing if she actually liked him.

“Bill’s on the case, yes.” I poked around for raisins in my granola bowl.

“I see.” She sounded relieved, which surprised me. One of the things she dislikes about my profession is that she thinks it’s dangerous. Almost as high on her dislike list, though, is the people I’m forced by the job to associate with, and on the top of that list is Bill. That he’s big and strong and bodyguardish and could help with the “dangerous” problem has never cut any ice with her. So what was the relief about?

“But this case is not urgent? It allows you time for yourself? Perhaps to see your friends?” She spoke coyly and I had no idea what she was talking about.

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