"I think that's Rikki Wu," Susan said.

"Why?"

Susan smiled.

"You'll like this," she said.

"I was at dinner one night with Veronica Blosser and Naomi Selkirk and Rikki. Probably eight months ago. At Naomi's house. We were planning a fund-raiser for the theater."

"Sorry I missed it."

"Oh, you'd have gone crazy," Susan said.

"And we were all through with the fund-raiser part and the conversation was flagging, and Naomi, who can't stand a moment's silence, said to Rikki, "Oh darling you look so fabulous, what do you do? How do you keep looking so fabulous?" And Rikki tells us what she does."

Susan smiled again as she thought about it.

"For Rikki, looking fabulous is a full-time career: creams, unguents, potions, lotions, jellies and jams, personal trainers, massage therapists, vitamins, blah blah blah. I won't bore you with it all, but, for example, she does a series of contraction exercises to strengthen the vaginal canal."

"How strong does it have to be?" I said.

"Strong enough to keep your husband."

"Great idea," I said.

"Just tighten up on him and he's yours till you relax."

"Fabulous," Susan said.

"Now, here's the part that matters. She said to us, "Girls, any man who tells you he likes hair on a woman's body is lying to you." And Veronica says, "Really? Do you mean any hair?" And Rikki says, "Any hair." And Naomi looks kind of uncomfortable, which makes me think something about Naomi's situation, hirsute wise but that's not germane. So I said to her, "So what do you do, Rikki?" and she said, "Electrolysis." And we all say, "Electrolysis? Everywhere?" and Rikki nods like a doctor confirming a diagnosis and says, "Everywhere. My flower is like a polished pearl."

" "Flower?"

"Flower."

"Funny, I thought I was the only one that called it that."

"I've heard what you call it," Susan said.

"The electrolysis took her two years."

"She doesn't need that exercise," I said.

"Two years of electrolysis would tighten up anybody's vaginal canal."

Susan carefully cut a small wedge of cheese, popped it in her mouth and chewed and swallowed.

"Yes," Susan said.

"Fabulously."

"So you figure this woman with a flower like a polished pearl has got to be Rikki Wu."

"Be one hell of a coincidence," Susan said.

"Assuming it's a coincidence is not generative," I said.

"Generative," she said.

I nodded. Susan smiled.

"It's also not plausible," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"Therefore, we'll assume that Craig was messing with Lonnie Wu's wife. The same Lonnie Wu who told me to get out of Port City. And tried twice to back it up."

Susan took a small bite from the upper joint of a chicken wing and put the rest of it down, and broke off a small piece of bread, and popped it in after the bite of chicken.

"Is this a clue?" Susan said, when she got through chewing.

"I think so. It's been so long since I saw one, I can't be sure."

I drank some champagne and ate some chicken and cut a wedge of apple and ate it with some cheese. Now I had a motive for Sampson's death, and the motive pointed at Lonnie Wu. It was also a perfect reason for him to want me out of town. It didn't prove anything yet, but it was, in fact, a dandy clue.

"Do you wish my flower were like a polished pearl?" Susan said.

"I'm an old-fashioned guy," I said.

"I prefer the original, so to speak, unprocessed model."

"Rikki says that a man is lying if he tells you that," Susan said.

"My word is my bond," I said.

"I'll be happy to back it up."

"In front of the baby?"

"She could wait in the next room," I said.

"She'll cry and scratch on the door," Susan said.

"I know the feeling," I said.

"On the other hand, if we don't put her out, she'll jump on the bed and bark."

"I know that feeling too."

We were quiet, looking at the movement of the fire against the old fire brick.

"We could abandon all hopes for ardor," Susan said.

"Un huh."

"Or you could put her in the car. She likes the car."

"Especially if I made her a chicken sandwich to take with her."

"Be sure there's no bones," Susan said.

"Then she'll feel secure and won't yowl," I said.

"Can you say as much?"

Susan smiled her Adam-why-don't-you-try-this-nice-apple smile.

"I'll feel secure," she said.

CHAPTER 30

We were heading back to Port City, four of us this time. I was driving the Mustang. Beside me was a young woman named Mei Ling, who was fluent in English, French, German, Mandarin, Cantonese, Japanese, Korean, and, for all I knew, Martian. Hawk and Vinnie were right behind us in Hawk's Jaguar.

"My father fled to Taiwan," Mei Ling was explaining to me, "ahead of the Communists. When Americans began relationships with the Communists in the early 1970s, my father feared Taiwan would fall. So he came here. My father had money. He was able to bring us all."

"You weren't born here," I said.

In preparation for Port City, Mei Ling had on a red plastic raincoat and a white kerchief over her hair. She was small-boned, with large, black eyes, and an air of precise delicacy about her.

"I was born in Taipei she said.

"But I can't really remember it. My first clear memories are of growing up here. In Los Angeles, California."

"In Chinatown?"

"At first, yes, sir. Then my father bought us a house in Northridge, California."

"And now you're at Harvard."

"Yes, I'm a doctoral candidate in Asian Studies."

"Where Dr. Silverman found you."

"Yes, sir, through the student placement service. I am paying my own tuition."

"And she talked with you about this job."

"Yes, sir. She told me you are a detective who is investigating a case involving Chinese people. She said you would need a translator."

"Did she tell you that there might be some danger?"

"Yes, sir. But she said you were very good at such things and would protect me."

"I will, so will they," I said and gestured back of us at the Jaguar.

"I thought that was probably what they did, sir."

I grinned.

"And you're not scared?"

"I need the money, sir."

"Your father can't help you out?"

"He has a good business, sir. But he has six other children, and he is also the oldest son in his family and his parents are alive and he has many brothers and sisters. Besides, first he has to educate my brothers."

We turned off the highway, and started down Cabot Hill toward Chinatown. The Port City drizzle was falling randomly, and the sky was gray. There was a hard wind off the water. I could feel it push at the car.

"You know about tongs?"

She smiled at me kindly.

"All Chinese people know about tongs, sir."

"Of course, and there's no need to call me sir."

"I am comfortable calling you so," she said.

"It is the way I was brought up."