Mei’s qualms tripled when Catherine, lacking her normal smile, rose from her desk and shut the door. Lately, everyone had sensed a greater-than-usual tension in their chief. Since Catherine made such a point of closing the door, Mei assumed this call was personal and, therefore, serious.
More uncertain than she’d ever been around the woman she considered friend and mentor, Mei hovered at the entrance. Rather than take a seat automatically, she blurted, “Has someone lodged a complaint against my promotion already?”
“What? No. Nothing of the sort.” The chief returned to her desk and motioned Mei into a chair opposite. The diamond chips in Catherine’s wedding band sparkled in the morning sun streaming through a side window. Although she’d been widowed for almost a year, the ring was one of Chief Tanner’s few feminine accessories. She was broad-shouldered but slender and her six-foot height in regulation pumps intimidated many people. Although not as a rule Mei Lu…
Mei sank into the straight-backed chair, only slightly reassured by the denial.
“I called you here to discuss a new case that’s come to my attention,” Catherine said. She picked up a yellow legal pad and thumbed back two or three pages.
“Ah. Another pillar in our community suspected of corporate crime?” Mei finally smiled. She loved digging into puzzles that, when all was said and done, amounted to fraud, embezzlement or elaborate con games. A degree in Business Administration, plus having served three years in her father’s Hong Kong office, gave her an advantage over others in her department. Mei’s background allowed her to navigate elite cocktail parties where careful listening sometimes exposed corporate wrongdoing. Many of her male colleagues stood out like sore thumbs at such events.
“This case is unusual,” Catherine continued. “It appears we have a new ring of smugglers here. Asian artifacts,” she said. “Rare pieces, I’m told.”
Mei’s stomach tightened. Her father, Michael Ling, and her brother, Stephen, bought and sold high-end Asian art. Ling Limited dealt in expensive, often one-of-a-kind, authentic Chinese works, many of them antique. Surely Catherine didn’t suspect Mei’s family of anything unethical?
“I received a call from a Brett Davis at Interpol. Cullen Archer, a patron in the Houston art world, is their local contact. Actually Archer is a notable private insurance investigator. I’m told he’s scrupulous and has a history of producing results for our foreign counterparts when it comes to tracking stolen paintings and such.”
“I’m happy to serve in any way I can,” Mei said, bowing her head. “But if Mr. Archer is so effective, how can I possibly augment his work?”
“I’m assigning you for several reasons, not the least of which is your dedication to the investigative process. I trust you implicitly and this case is classified, Mei Lu. The missing pieces are from Beijing museums. High-ranking officials stand to lose their jobs if the items aren’t located.” Catherine tore off a sheet of paper and wrote in bold, broad strokes. “This is Mr. Archer’s home address. He’s expecting you within the hour.”
“Is this more than a one-time consultation?” Rising, Mei Lu accepted the address. She felt marginally better for having heard the chief’s glowing words of praise.
“All I really know is that Archer needs a note deciphered. It’s written in Chinese. I’ll let your captain know I have you on special assignment. We’ll leave the length of time open-ended until I hear back from you or Archer.”
With her composure restored, Mei pocketed the paper and strode briskly from the office. Her last stop before leaving the station was to sign out one of the new stun guns she’d qualified on last week.
In her car, she consulted a map. The address lay within what locals called the Memorial area—elegant, older estates that screamed inherited wealth. Mei didn’t know why that surprised her. Private insurance investigators were well paid—usually ten percent of the insured value. On an item insured for a million, his cut would be a hundred grand so it stood to reason that he’d be an art patron. She hadn’t expected Mr. Archer to live this close to where she’d grown up, though. Her parents’ home was in a newer gated community. Mei Lu envisioned having to jump through all manner of security hoops to gain entry to Archer’s house.
When she found the proper coordinates and turned down a tree-lined drive, she discovered the majority of estates boasted perimeter wrought-iron fences equipped with electronic surveillance devices that allowed visitors to address someone inside via a speakerphone.
Mei pulled up to Archer’s gate and pressed the bell. A woman identifying herself as Freda answered. “Is this the home of Mr. Cullen Archer? If so, he’s expecting Lieutenant Ling.”
The woman’s response was raspy and garbled. What she repeated sounded like Lieutenant Lu. Mei assumed the woman had confused her middle and surnames which was common enough. Rather than correct her, Mei shouted, “Yes.” Like magic, the big gates swung inward on well-oiled hinges.
The house, partially hidden from the street, came into view as Mei rounded a gentle curve. She liked it immediately. It was a two-story rambling structure, the upper floors supported by stucco arches—not pillars, but wide arches forming a covered walkway that in a few months would offer shelter from the hot summer sun. The arches were repeated on a building connected to the main home by a breezeway dripping with vines. As Mei drove past a colorful bed of spring annuals, she saw a six-car garage. A similar extension directly opposite the garage was probably quarters for a housekeeper, or house manager, as many were now called.
The parklike grounds were immaculate, she noticed, worrying what the owners would think if they glanced out the tall windows and saw the wreck driven by one of Houston’s finest. Her Toyota clearly needed washing—as well as some body work, courtesy of a recent hit-and-run on her street.
Mei didn’t know if it was the opulence facing her, but something made her flip down her sunshade and check her makeup in the mirror. She wore only a smudge of shadow to accent her dark eyes, but now extracted a tube of peach gloss and swept it lightly across her lips before gathering her notebook and small square purse, which thankfully matched her tan pumps. Mei loved suits and had been happy to leave uniforms behind after her rotation on street patrol. The March weather was still pleasant enough for suits.
Vowing not to let the Archers intimidate her, no matter how old their money, Mei slid from her car. Even at that, she dragged in a deep breath as she approached the imposing nine-foot-tall, carved wooden doors.
The bell she pressed sounded muffled by distance. No surprise there. What she didn’t expect was to have the door yanked open by a freckle-faced, red-haired woman probably in her mid-fifties. Racing back and forth behind the harried-looking woman was a gap-toothed boy in bathing trunks, dripping water all over the marble entry. A second child, this one a pigtailed girl, also in swim wear, screeched in a high-pitched voice, “Freda, shut the door! Mopsy’s gonna escape!”
The woman grabbed Mei’s elbow and jerked her inside just as the boy chortled triumphantly and dropped a brightly colored bathing towel over a huge white rabbit. The girl fell to her knees and scooped up the squirming bundle, forcing Mei to leap aside once again. The children looked almost alike, except that the boy had