Golden Lies Page 8

  "I found Jasmine Chen. She lives two blocks from where your father was attacked. I want to talk to her. Don't you?"

  Her mind whirled with the information. Did she want to talk to Jasmine? Did she want to face the woman who might be her father's lover? Oh, God. She couldn't do this, not on no sleep, not with her brain in a fog. "I can't leave right now," she said hastily.

  "All right. I'll go on my own."

  "No. This is family business. I want you to stay out of it."

  "Until I get my grandmother's dragon back, your family's business is my business. I'm going to see Jasmine Chen with or without you. If your father went there yesterday, he might have had the dragon with him. She might be the last person who spoke to him. I'm sure the police won't be far behind me, but I figure she might rather talk to me than a uniform, especially if her relationship with your father—"

  "Stop." She couldn't let Riley, then the police, then God knows who talk to Jasmine without her there. What if Jasmine said something to compromise her father, his reputation, his name? "I'll go with you. I don't want you to talk to her without me there."

  "Do you need a ride?"

  "I'll take a cab." She made a mental note of the address he gave her, then closed her phone and stood up. Her grandfather and Martin were with her dad, and her mother would be back soon. She might as well take care of this now. She hoped Jasmine Chen had nothing to do with her father, that all they'd had was a business relationship. Just because the woman lived in Chinatown near the scene of her father's assault didn't mean anything. Her bracelet could have fallen off at any time. It didn't have to be connected to her father. It didn't have to be from him. The rationalizations made her feel better. With any luck, this whole misunderstanding would be cleared up within the hour, and they'd never have to talk about Jasmine Chen again.

  * * *

  Riley walked down one of the many alleys that ran behind the main streets of Chinatown. David Hathaway had been attacked some thirty yards into the alley, and apparently no one had seen or heard anything, not an unusual occurrence in a neighborhood where it was better for your health not to be too observant. Even now, a young man sweeping the brick in front of his store hurried quickly inside and shut the door, obviously not wanting to engage in conversation.

  Riley stopped at the spot where remnants of yellow tape lay on the ground and wondered again what the hell a rich man like David Hathaway had been doing down here. A glance around the alley showed nothing out of the ordinary. The bottom floors of the buildings housed various businesses, a trading company, a photography studio, an accounting office, certainly nothing that would appear to have anything to do with a dragon statue. There were, however, several unmarked doors opening off the alley that could have led anywhere, to anyone.

  He looked up, noting the apartments on the second, third, and fourth floors. There were clothes drying off fire escapes, open windows with tattered curtains blowing in and out in the breeze, and a halfhearted attempt at a window garden in the dark alley. Everything he saw spoke of people struggling to survive in a densely populated city. He imagined that the apartments above were cramped, the plumbing and electrical antiquated, too many people living in too small a space. Was it any surprise that David Hathaway had been robbed in a place like this? He should have had more sense than to come here alone at night.

  Bringing his gaze back down to the ground, Riley checked to see if anything else had been missed by the police, but found nothing. A few feet away was a doorway set back from the street, an overhang offering shelter, perhaps a hiding spot as well. He walked over to the door and saw women and sewing machines through the metal grille that protected the shop from burglary. He rang the bell. A moment later, a short young Chinese woman approached the door. She looked through the upper glass portion of the door, then tentatively opened it, leaving the metal grille between them.

  "Hello," he said, offering her a friendly smile. "I wonder if I could talk to you for a minute."

  She said something to him in Cantonese and started to shut the door.

  "Wait, I wanted to ask you about a man who was attacked here last night."

  "No English," she said in a heavy accent. Another woman came up behind her and grabbed her by the arm, forcing her away from the door.

  "Police?" the other woman asked him.

  "No. I'm a friend of the man who was assaulted in the alley last night. Were you here when it happened?"

  She shook her head, then shut the door firmly in his face. He had no idea if they were protecting someone else, or just themselves.

  Checking his watch, he realized he had only a few minutes to meet Paige. He walked down the alley toward the main street, passing a temple on the corner. Gold dragons were wrapped around two columns in front of the doorway that boasted a sign with Chinese writing. Below, in English, those seeking blessings were invited to enter. He wondered if David Hathaway had stopped at this temple, seeking a blessing on the dragon. Apparently, dragons were quite a symbol in Chinatown. He saw them virtually everywhere, promising protection, long life, and good fortune. But he hadn't experienced any good fortune since his grandmother discovered the dragon, and David Hathaway certainly hadn't, either.

  Leaving the alley, Riley traversed two short blocks, leading him away from the commercial area to a neighborhood of apartment buildings that shared common walls. He wondered again if he shouldn't have gone ahead and talked to Jasmine on his own. While he wanted to believe Paige knew nothing about the dragon's disappearance, another part of him, the part that reminded him that women could lie and cheat with smiles on their faces, told him to be wary and not to take anything at face value. Paige Hathaway had grown up in a different world with different rules.

  David Hathaway had already broken one rule by taking the dragon from the store. Who knew what else he'd had in mind? Riley needed to do more research on the art world, find out what scams were running. He was concerned that someone might try to copy the dragon, return the counterfeit version to his grandmother, insisting it was a fake, and sell the real thing on the black market. He would not allow that to happen to his grandmother.

  A taxi pulled up alongside the curb, and Paige stepped out, still dressed in the navy blue leggings she'd worn the night before. She'd brushed her hair, put on some pink lipstick, but her eyes were tired, her face drawn. She was scared. He could see it in every tiny, tense line.

  "You look like hell," he told her. "Why don't you go home and let me handle this? I can call you and tell you what I find out."

  "You'll tell me what you want me to know," she said tersely. "Which one is her apartment building?"

  "It's at the far corner."

  "She probably doesn't have anything to do with my father," Paige said as they began to walk in that direction. "It's just a coincidence that her bracelet was found in the alley. It didn't have my father's name on it. Any man could have given it to her. Or it could have been there for days. Maybe she goes through that alley all the time."

  The explanations tumbled out of her mouth one after the other. Paige was already deep in denial. That meant she had doubts about her father's fidelity, suspicions that had probably been hidden away with the family jewels all these years. "Relax," he said, halting in front of the building. "Let's take it one step at a time. No one is accusing your father of anything."

  "You are. You've been accusing him of all kinds of things. And me, too."

  "I'm simply opening my mind to the possibilities. The truth will come out in the end."

  "And then you'll owe me an and my family an apology."

  "We'll see." He tipped his head toward the back stairs. "Second floor, 2C."

  She paused. "Let me do the talking."

  "I don't think so."

  "It's my father who's lying in a hospital bed in critical condition. I have the most at stake here. Don't forget that."

  She had a point. He waved her forward. "After you."

  * * *

  Paige took a deep breath. Now that she ha
d the control, she wasn't quite sure what to do with it. Despite her best efforts to take charge, she was trembling. She kept thinking about the fact that her father might have taken this same route the day before, climbed these stairs, raised his hand to knock on this door. But why?

  "Aren't you going to knock?" Riley asked when her hesitation lengthened.

  "Just give me a second."

  "To do what? It's a door. Knock."

  She flung him an irritated glare, then rapped her knuckles against the wood. For a split second she thought no one might be home. Then she heard footsteps, a rustling, the jangle of a chain. The door opened slightly, the chain still in place. An Asian woman peered out suspiciously, her eyes as black as her hair.

  "Yes?"

  "Are you Jasmine Chen?" Paige asked.

  "I don't have any money to give."

  "Wait," Paige said, but the door shut in her face. She looked at Riley.

  He simply reached over and rapped again. "Ms. Chen," he said loudly. "We need to speak to you, please. We're not leaving until we do."

  The door cracked open again. "What do you want?"

  "Tell her, Paige. Tell her who you are," Riley instructed.

  She hesitated, knowing this might be her last chance to forget the whole thing.

  "Paige?" the woman questioned, her gaze narrowing. "Paige Hathaway?"

  Her stomach turned over. This woman knew her. Okay, don't panic, she told herself. Jasmine did business with the House of Hathaway. She'd probably seen her in the store. There was nothing mysterious about that. "Yes. I'm Paige Hathaway. I think you might know my father, David." She drew in a deep breath. "He was hurt last night. He was mugged in an alley not far from here."

  The woman put a hand to her heart, her eyes widening in shock. "No, not David."

  "We need to talk to you."

  Jasmine unhooked the chain and opened the door to allow them to enter. The living room was small and sparsely furnished, with a simple black couch and matching chair, a coffee table with candles on it, a sewing machine on an old desk, piles of fabrics stacked on the floor, and a few photographs of a young woman on a side table. But while the room was simple, the walls were cluttered. Paintings filled every available space, conveying a frenzy of emotions that were not reflected in Jasmine's now unreadable expression as she stood in the center of the room waiting for them to speak.

  Now that they were here—now that the questions could be asked—Paige couldn't bring herself to speak. How could she ask a woman, a stranger, if she was sleeping with her father? She'd told Riley she wanted to take charge of this meeting, but now she looked to him for help.

  "Did David Hathaway come to see you yesterday?" Riley asked Jasmine.

  Paige let out a small breath of relief at the fairly innocuous question. It was certainly an improvement on the question she'd been considering.

  "Yes," Jasmine said.

  "Why?" Riley asked.

  "He came to speak about a painting."

  Maybe that was all it was, a simple business meeting, Paige thought desperately. Then she saw Jasmine's gaze stray toward the wall, toward one of the paintings, and she saw something she didn't want to see, something that appeared very familiar.

  "Oh, my God," she whispered, as she walked over to the wall to take a closer look. "Riley, look. It's your dragon."

  Chapter Seven

  Riley met Paige's gaze in shocked awareness. He turned to Jasmine. "How did you come to paint that dragon?"

  "I have seen it many times in my dreams."

  "In your dreams? What does that mean?" he asked.

  "What I said."

  "Why don't we get more specific, Ms. Chen," Riley continued. "Did you see a dragon yesterday that looked like the one in your painting? Did David Hathaway show you just such a dragon?"

  Jasmine hesitated again, then nodded. "Yes. David came by yesterday with a dragon statue that looked like that one." "

  Why?" Riley asked sharply.

  "He thought I might like to see it."

  "Because you'd seen it before?"

  "In my dreams, as I told you. I didn't know it actually existed until yesterday."

  Riley paced back and forth in front of the painting, his gaze darting around the rest of the room as if he were memorizing all the details. Paige thought she should probably get into the conversation, but for the life of her she couldn't think of a thing to say. Why had her father brought the dragon to Jasmine? How had Jasmine known to paint something that looked so similar? And what the heck did she mean by saying she saw it in a dream?

  "What time was Mr. Hathaway here?" Riley asked.

  "I think it was around five o'clock."

  "Is that when he left or when he arrived?"

  "When he left."

  "Did he leave with the dragon?" Riley asked.

  "Yes."

  Jasmine was nothing if not brief. "Ms. Chen," Paige said slowly, "When my father was found last night, he didn't have the dragon with him. Do you know where he was going when he left you yesterday?"

  "I didn't ask."

  "Do you think he was taking it to an appraiser, someone here in Chinatown that I might not be aware of?"

  "I don't know. You must go now. I have an appointment." Jasmine walked across the room and opened the door.

  Short of being rude, Paige didn't see any alternative but to leave the apartment. Riley followed her out to the landing.

  "Your father," Jasmine said, her expression softening, "Will he be all right?"

  "They don't know. He's unconscious."

  There was a tiny flicker of what looked like pain in Jasmine's eyes. "I will burn some incense for him, ask for blessings."

  "Thank you. I'm sure he would appreciate that."

  "What hospital is he in?" Jasmine asked.

  "St. Mary's."

  "And your mother—she is with him?"

  Paige stared into Jasmine's dark eyes. "Yes, my mother is with him."

  Jasmine nodded, then gently shut the door in her face, leaving Paige feeling sick to her stomach. There was something between this woman and her father; she knew it. Jasmine hadn't called him Mr. Hathaway as most of their customers did. She'd called him David. And there had been more than a little familiarity in her voice.

  "You could have asked her," Riley said, reading her mind.

  Yes, she could have asked, but Paige couldn't bear the thought of an answer that would destroy her family. "It's not the issue. It's not important right now." She looked into Riley's eyes and saw understanding, compassion, pity. She stiffened. She didn't want this man feeling sorry for her. She was a Hathaway. No one should feel sorry for a Hathaway. "It's all speculation, anyway. You heard Ms. Chen. She and my father met to discuss a painting. End of story."

  "That's not the end, and you know it. He brought the dragon to show her."

  "You think my father was attacked because of the dragon, don't you?"

  "I believe the dragon is involved in some way. He had it with him when he left this apartment yesterday. Now it's gone."

  "But hours passed between the time he was here and when he was found in the alley."

  "Exactly. Where did he go in between? What did he do with the dragon? Did he leave it somewhere else? That's what we need to find out."

  She hated his even, cool tone. "Yes, that's what we need to find out. Because this isn't just about your dragon. My father could die, and I will not let whoever did this to him get away with it."

  "Then we're both extremely motivated," he said, meeting her gaze.

  "But you don't trust me."

  "No, I don't."

  She stopped at the bottom of the stairs. "My father almost died last night. How can you possibly think I'm involved in something underhanded?"

  "Sometimes events get out of control. Things happen that aren't meant to happen. People considered friends, family, associates turn out to be enemies. And money, greed, desire can turn a man's head; or a woman's for that matter."

  His eyes hardened down
to cold, blue steel. She sensed he spoke from experience, that there was pain behind the harsh words, but she doubted he would admit that. A less vulnerable man she had yet to meet. But at the moment his vulnerability was the least of her worries. His stubborn pursuit of the truth might take her to a place she didn't want to go. Not that her father was guilty of anything. He must have had a good reason for taking the statue to Jasmine. He just needed to wake up so he could tell her that reason.

  "I have to get back to the hospital," she said abruptly.

  "Do you want a ride?"

  She hesitated, part of her wanting to get as far away from Riley as possible, but it would certainly be more convenient to accept his offer. "Yes, thank you. Actually, if you could take me back to Fast Willy's, so I could get my car, I'd appreciate that. I'd like to go home and change my clothes before returning to the hospital."

  "No problem. I'm parked in the Portsmouth Square garage just down the street."

  She had to walk quickly to keep up with his long-legged strides. When they reached the square, she moved closer to him. The area was crowded with Chinese men, mostly older men, she realized as they headed toward the elevator leading to the parking garage under the square. Their voices were pitched high and loud, the unknown words of their language producing an odd kind of music. She felt suddenly and self-consciously blond, aware of the looks she and Riley were generating. This was not her world. She didn't belong here.

  "Relax. At this time of day, we're fine," he said.

  "I'm not worried."

  "Sure you are."

  "Well, it makes good sense to be cautious." She stepped into the elevator, the walls of which were covered with Chinese graffiti. It was probably a good thing she couldn't read the characters.

  "Too bad your father didn't think the same way."

  "My father gets wrapped up in what he's doing. He loses track of everything and everyone around him."

  "Which would make him an easy target."

  "Yes," she agreed, as they stepped off the elevator and entered the garage. It was dark and quiet down here, and her uneasiness increased. She was grateful to see Riley's black Jeep Cherokee parked in a nearby spot. The car was sporty, rugged, and unpretentious, very much like its owner. She got in, fastened her seat belt, and pushed down the automatic door lock.