15th Affair (Women's Murder Club #15)(36)

“I believe she actually loved Joe when I knew them. I thought he must be the luckiest man in our galaxy. But here’s the thing. If she’s got her hooks into Joe again, I advise you to call your lawyer and get ready to dissolve your marriage.

“Or hope for the best. See how that works out for you.”

“Thanks. For your time,” I said. If I’d had my gun with me, I might have shot him through the heart.

Just like he’d done to me.





CHAPTER 55


I HAD MY carry-on bag slung over my shoulder and was outside the hotel with a loosely connected group of people who, like me, were waiting for the shuttle bus to the airport.

I was thinking, There’s the evil you know, and then there’s this place.

I couldn’t wait to get home.

A limo pulled up to the bus stop and the window buzzed down. A voice called out to me. A beautifully manicured hand waved through the open window.

“June?”

I walked over to the limo.

“Lindsay, I called and the desk said you’d just checked out. I’m glad I caught you.”

June Freundorfer opened the door, said, “Get in,” and slid along the backseat, making room for me.

“I have to catch the bus,” I said. “My flight…”

“We’ll give you a lift. Virgin America?”

How’d she know?

I got into the car and closed the heavy door behind me. June pressed the com button and gave the driver instructions. Then she leaned back.

“What’s going on?” I asked her.

“Lindsay, completely off the record, maybe we can help each other. I hope you don’t mind, but I did a little poking around on your Four Seasons Hotel case.”

“Really? Why?”

“We were tracking Michael Chan.”

My blood was beating against my eardrums. I was still in shock from my meeting an hour ago with John Carroll, that prick. And I wished more than anything that I could turn back time to—when was it? A week ago, when I’d had lunch with the girls and I was so high on my life. Now I was in a long black car with June Freundorfer, who wanted to be my friend. Crap. I was starting to like her.

“The reason we were keeping tabs on Michael Chan,” June said, “was because we were interested in his wife.”

June definitely had my attention.

“Shirley Chan has been on the CIA watch list for years. Ours, too. She was working for MSS, China’s intelligence agency. The Ministry of State Security. MSS recruits heavily from the academic sector. This is a big talent pool for industrial and military spies, and they also plug into the universities to keep informed about our trends and advances.”

I remembered Shirley Chan crying in the backseat of our squad car after learning that her husband was dead. She had been an emotional wreck. She was a Chinese spy? Now I pictured the woman with the “striped hair,” taking her out with three well-placed shots from across the kitchen table.

June was saying, “We were thinking that maybe Michael Chan was also MSS. That could explain Muller’s interest in him. Or maybe Chan was just a way to get information about his wife. You met her, didn’t you?”

I gathered my scattered wits. I had no top secret information on Shirley Chan. Her murder was on the record in Palo Alto and, to a lesser extent, my very minor report for our files. We’d informed her that her husband was dead. We’d hoped she could tell us why Michael Chan had been killed. That was all.

I said to June, “My partner and I interviewed her after her husband was murdered. We went back out to her house again three days later.”

I told June that I’d found Shirley Chan dead and that her daughter’s description was vague. It seemed possible that it had been Alison Muller who had pulled the trigger.

“Three shots,” I told June. “No misses. Very professional. The shooter left no prints and no trace.”

June said, “Yeah, well, that’s Alison’s style all the way.”

When the limo stopped at Virgin’s curbside check-in, June reached over and hugged me. Out of reflex, I hugged her back. It felt OK. I got out of the car and moved through the airport like a zombie on Xanax.

Once on the plane, I collapsed into my window seat and buckled in. The flight didn’t scare me at all.

This was the fastest way home.





CHAPTER 56


I HIT THE ground running and was home within an hour. I was spending some cuddle time with my daughter and gab time with my little sister and darling Brigid and Meredith when Cindy called, saying, “We’re meeting at the clubhouse in thirty minutes. Your excellent presence is requested.”

I checked it out with Cat, who said, “Go. Please go ahead. We’ll be fine.”

Twenty minutes later, with my stomach growling and my bruises throbbing, I breezed through the entrance to a little joint on Jackson Street called Susie’s Café.

The four of us thought of this place as our clubhouse and tried to meet within these ocher-colored, sponge-painted walls every week.

With the catchy beat of steel drums coming from the front room and the aroma of Caribbean-style cuisine fanning out from the kitchen, we had shared years of laughter in “our” booth at the back of the house. And we’d solved a few knotty crimes while we were at it.