Bitter Spirits
Page 28
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“I’d like to retain your services on an ongoing basis. Whatever you think is fair pay, let me know.”
“Uh . . .”
“If you aren’t working at Velma’s, I want you to be available to me in case I need you.”
“For business,” she said, thinking of the kiss.
He hesitated. “Yes. As a medium. Or an exorcist.” He was being very stern and serious, and she felt quite sure this was how he spoke to his own men—as if he wouldn’t take no for answer. And if it were anyone else throwing out this kind of gruff demand, she’d likely tell him to go to hell. But he’d just kissed the bejesus out of her and broke the sensible part of her brain, so she said yes.
In fact, she said, “I’m all yours,” but it was lost under the sound of a loud truck rolling by.
• • •
At noon the next day, Aida headed down to Golden Lotus to have a quick lunch of tea and dumplings and collect her mail. “Why so anxious?” Mrs. Lin asked behind the counter as she stuck a pencil into the knotted bun of black hair at the nape of her neck.
“Excuse me?”
“Anxious. Jumpy.”
“Oh, I don’t know, my mind is elsewhere. Listen, you wouldn’t happen to have heard of any superstitious practice in the Chinese community having to do with old coins?”
She considered this. “Don’t think so. Why?”
“I’m trying to figure out why someone would use four old Chinese coins to attract a ghost.”
“A ghost?” She looked around. “Not here, I hope.”
“No, no—at that séance last night.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Lin rubbed the Buddha’s belly and mumbled something in Cantonese. “I don’t know about ghosts, but four of anything is unlucky for business. Four is a curse. Very bad. Everyone knows that. No specific curse associated with coins, though. Is someone cursing you?”
“No. Cursing . . . a client.” She tapped her nails on the counter. “I need to find someone in Chinatown who knows more about ghosts and superstitions and curses. Maybe someone who appreciates my special abilities?”
Mrs. Lin brightened. “I know just the man. My acupuncturist, Doctor Yip.”
“A doctor?”
“He owns an herbal apothecary shop off Sacramento. It’s located in a small alley. I will draw a map.” She lifted spectacles that dangled from the chain around her neck next to the key that unlocked the red lacquered mail cabinet and began drawing a map on the back of a blank ordering slip.
Aida’s pulse increased as a cautious hopefulness sprung up. She waited, watching Mrs. Lin silently until she began sketching what looked to be parts of Chinatown that weren’t exactly tourist-friendly. “Is it dangerous, that area?”
“You will get some looks, and you should avoid the opium den. If you smell sweet smoke, you’ve gone too far. It’s best to take a man with you. Too dangerous for a young woman alone. But do not be afraid to go to Doctor Yip. He came here from Hong Kong a few years ago. Very educated and kind. You will like him.”
“Wonderful. Thanks so much.”
“Anytime. Hope he can help.”
It might be a long shot, but Aida hoped so, too. Maybe Bo had already talked to this herbalist. Best to just contact Winter and find out. She could send him a note through Mrs. Lin’s courier, but that seemed like a silly waste of time when she had Winter’s business card propped against a lamp on her nightstand. That was what it was there for. She worked for him now, after all. He’d probably forgotten all about the kiss.
She’d certainly tried.
Retreating to her room, she bolstered herself and tried his private number, feeling butterflies in her stomach when the operator made the connection and his big voice crackled over the wire.
“Magnusson.”
“It’s me,” she said, suddenly forgetting her manners and good sense.
“Hello, you.” His voice sounded low and friendly in the telephone’s earpiece.
Her stomach fluttered while the line popped and hissed. “I can’t talk long and people might pick up—the telephones in our rooms are connected to the restaurant’s line. Mrs. Lin doesn’t like us to make calls during lunch rush, so if you hear swearing in Cantonese, hang up,” she said, trying to sound casual and breezy.
“Duly noted,” he replied before adding, “I hear it from Bo all the time.”
“How’s your shoulder today?”
“Sore. Greta forced some pills down my throat, so it feels better at the moment.”
“Good, good. Well . . . ah, the reason I rang is because I have the address of an herbalist in Chinatown who might help with information on the coins. My landlady gave me his name.”
“Oh?”
“Don’t get too excited. It might not pan out, but it could be worth investigating. I have a map to show us how to get there.”
“That’s damned resourceful,” he said, sounding impressed.
“You hired me to help you.”
“Indeed I did. Bo should be back from an errand any minute. As soon as he arrives, we’ll head over there. Shall I meet you in an hour, say?”
Bo was coming, too? A pang of disappointment tightened her chest. “Sure. But I have to be at Gris-Gris around five. I’m doing an early show tonight for happy hour.”
“That’s fine. I’ll get you there in time.”
“Uh . . .”
“If you aren’t working at Velma’s, I want you to be available to me in case I need you.”
“For business,” she said, thinking of the kiss.
He hesitated. “Yes. As a medium. Or an exorcist.” He was being very stern and serious, and she felt quite sure this was how he spoke to his own men—as if he wouldn’t take no for answer. And if it were anyone else throwing out this kind of gruff demand, she’d likely tell him to go to hell. But he’d just kissed the bejesus out of her and broke the sensible part of her brain, so she said yes.
In fact, she said, “I’m all yours,” but it was lost under the sound of a loud truck rolling by.
• • •
At noon the next day, Aida headed down to Golden Lotus to have a quick lunch of tea and dumplings and collect her mail. “Why so anxious?” Mrs. Lin asked behind the counter as she stuck a pencil into the knotted bun of black hair at the nape of her neck.
“Excuse me?”
“Anxious. Jumpy.”
“Oh, I don’t know, my mind is elsewhere. Listen, you wouldn’t happen to have heard of any superstitious practice in the Chinese community having to do with old coins?”
She considered this. “Don’t think so. Why?”
“I’m trying to figure out why someone would use four old Chinese coins to attract a ghost.”
“A ghost?” She looked around. “Not here, I hope.”
“No, no—at that séance last night.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Lin rubbed the Buddha’s belly and mumbled something in Cantonese. “I don’t know about ghosts, but four of anything is unlucky for business. Four is a curse. Very bad. Everyone knows that. No specific curse associated with coins, though. Is someone cursing you?”
“No. Cursing . . . a client.” She tapped her nails on the counter. “I need to find someone in Chinatown who knows more about ghosts and superstitions and curses. Maybe someone who appreciates my special abilities?”
Mrs. Lin brightened. “I know just the man. My acupuncturist, Doctor Yip.”
“A doctor?”
“He owns an herbal apothecary shop off Sacramento. It’s located in a small alley. I will draw a map.” She lifted spectacles that dangled from the chain around her neck next to the key that unlocked the red lacquered mail cabinet and began drawing a map on the back of a blank ordering slip.
Aida’s pulse increased as a cautious hopefulness sprung up. She waited, watching Mrs. Lin silently until she began sketching what looked to be parts of Chinatown that weren’t exactly tourist-friendly. “Is it dangerous, that area?”
“You will get some looks, and you should avoid the opium den. If you smell sweet smoke, you’ve gone too far. It’s best to take a man with you. Too dangerous for a young woman alone. But do not be afraid to go to Doctor Yip. He came here from Hong Kong a few years ago. Very educated and kind. You will like him.”
“Wonderful. Thanks so much.”
“Anytime. Hope he can help.”
It might be a long shot, but Aida hoped so, too. Maybe Bo had already talked to this herbalist. Best to just contact Winter and find out. She could send him a note through Mrs. Lin’s courier, but that seemed like a silly waste of time when she had Winter’s business card propped against a lamp on her nightstand. That was what it was there for. She worked for him now, after all. He’d probably forgotten all about the kiss.
She’d certainly tried.
Retreating to her room, she bolstered herself and tried his private number, feeling butterflies in her stomach when the operator made the connection and his big voice crackled over the wire.
“Magnusson.”
“It’s me,” she said, suddenly forgetting her manners and good sense.
“Hello, you.” His voice sounded low and friendly in the telephone’s earpiece.
Her stomach fluttered while the line popped and hissed. “I can’t talk long and people might pick up—the telephones in our rooms are connected to the restaurant’s line. Mrs. Lin doesn’t like us to make calls during lunch rush, so if you hear swearing in Cantonese, hang up,” she said, trying to sound casual and breezy.
“Duly noted,” he replied before adding, “I hear it from Bo all the time.”
“How’s your shoulder today?”
“Sore. Greta forced some pills down my throat, so it feels better at the moment.”
“Good, good. Well . . . ah, the reason I rang is because I have the address of an herbalist in Chinatown who might help with information on the coins. My landlady gave me his name.”
“Oh?”
“Don’t get too excited. It might not pan out, but it could be worth investigating. I have a map to show us how to get there.”
“That’s damned resourceful,” he said, sounding impressed.
“You hired me to help you.”
“Indeed I did. Bo should be back from an errand any minute. As soon as he arrives, we’ll head over there. Shall I meet you in an hour, say?”
Bo was coming, too? A pang of disappointment tightened her chest. “Sure. But I have to be at Gris-Gris around five. I’m doing an early show tonight for happy hour.”
“That’s fine. I’ll get you there in time.”
