More Deaths Than One by Pat Bertram

up the knife and slowly finished
chopping the vegetables. “I didn’t realize. Wu Shih-kai always
found my efforts to be hilariously clumsy.”
    Kerry watched him a moment. “Is there
anything I can do?”
    “Set the table. The food is ready.” He gave a
theatrical shudder. “Minute rice. Shih-kai would be horrified, but
that’s all I could find in the cupboard.”
    “This is fabulous,” Kerry said after they
filled their plates and took their first bites. “What’s it
called?”
    “No name. It’s just a stir-fry.”
    She took another bite and sighed in
contentment. “You can cook for me whenever you want.”
    “Maybe next time I’ll make whole pigeon or
whole fish soup.” He gave her a sly smile. “Those are delicacies
you will never forget.”
    “Were they on the menu at The Lotus
Room?”
    “In the beginning, until I told Hsiang-li
that westerners were squeamish and didn’t like to see eyeballs and
feet in their food.”
    “Eyeballs and feet? Oh, ick.”
    ***
    After they ate and cleared away the dishes,
Kerry drove Bob to City Park so he could peek at the boardinghouse.
Each time he’d checked, he’d seen either a new blue Buick or a late
model white Ford parked on the street where the occupants had a
view of both the front door of the boarding house and the French
doors at the side. Today it was the blue Buick.
    They strolled around the park.
    “Why don’t you call the cops?” Kerry
asked.
    “They are more of a problem than a solution,”
Bob said.
    “I take it you don’t like cops.”
    “My father was a cop.”
    Bob hunched his shoulders, remembering how
his father had swaggered about town in his uniform. The people
Edward had dealt with on the job were “low lifes,” as he called
them, and this added to his belief in his superiority. Since he
assumed no one obeyed the law, he treated everyone, from the most
harmless witness to the most vicious criminal, with the same
unmerciful arrogance. Bob had met many like Edward, people who
became puffed with the weight of a uniform’s authority.
    “I can’t go to the cops with a story about
far away jungles and gold Buddhas,” he said, “but you’ve given me
an idea. First, I’ll need to get some dark clothes.”
    “I have a warm-up suit I bought Pete’s
Porches for his birthday next week. It will probably be too big for
you, but the pants have an elastic waistband, and you can roll up
the cuffs. Will that do?”
    “Perfect.”
    Her eyes sparkled. “What’s the plan?”
    ***
    At ten o’clock that night, Bob hid in the
dark shadows of a honeysuckle bush, key in hand. He’d left Kerry at
a phone booth on Colfax Avenue. If she followed the plan, she had
called the local police station, claimed to be Ella Barnes
frightened of the suspicious characters parked in front of her
house, and immediately hung up.
    As soon as Bob saw the police car stop behind
the Buick and two cops get out and approach the vehicle, he stole
across the yard. With one fluid motion, he put the key in the lock,
turned it, opened the door, and slipped through. Crouching in front
of the heavy drapes, he yanked out the thread he’d used to tack the
hem, and removed his passport and traveler’s checks. He glided from
the room and strolled to the end of the alley where Kerry
waited.
    “How did it go?” she asked.
    “Fine. I got what I needed.”
    “It’s a shame you had to leave your paintings
behind.”
    He shrugged. “Can’t be helped.”
    “How did you know your things would still be
where you hid them? And why did you hide them in the first place?
Oh, right. Your nosy landlady.”
    “I didn’t know my things would still be
there,” Bob said. “I had a hunch. They called me a nothing.”
    Kerry looked at him out of the corner of her
eyes. “Do you know why I needled you that first day?”
    “You didn’t needle, you challenged, and yes,
I do know why. You were upset with your boyfriend and wanted to get
back at the whole male gender. You picked me