Last Violent Call (Secret Shanghai, #3.5)(22)
“Welcome!” she crowed, opening her arms when Celia entered the kitchen.
“Hello to you too,” her cousin returned, meeting the embrace. She drew away with her nose wrinkled. “Did you kick your husband onto the sofa?”
“That’s ridiculous—I would never kick him onto the sofa,” Juliette replied. “If he ever angers me, a better punishment would be for him to continue sleeping next to me, feeling the power of my wrath.”
Celia shook her head. “You two stress me out. Why are the trip wires at the door pulled?”
“The answer is a long story that would stress you further, frankly.” Juliette pulled her cousin closer to the counter. “We have young guests taking the bedroom, hence Roma on the sofa. Now come help me with the jiǎozi so we can feed them.”
“Shrimp and garlic chives,” Celia observed of the ingredients already laid out. She looked around. “Are you putting eggs in too? I will whisk.”
Already prepared, Juliette reached into the cabinet below the sink and offered a big bowl before turning back to the shrimp. The sunrise was creeping higher, which helped her see what she was doing tremendously more than the half-painted dawn did. Though she could have turned on a light, she didn’t want to disturb Roma’s sleep, because chances were that he would stir at the bulbs flaring on and come help her no matter how tired he actually was.
“What brings you over today?” Juliette asked while Celia rummaged through the shelves. “Missed me?”
If her cousin was going to drop in, it was always during these early hours. It reduced the chances of her being seen, and it lessened the amount of questions she got from her operation teams. In these recent few months, Celia had been posted nearby, right in Taicang, which was north of Shanghai and a reasonable drive away. Though she came by more often because of the proximity, she always had to be careful that her mission partner didn’t get suspicious. Her greater operation team swapped around, but Oliver Hong did not, because the Communists had paired them up as a permanent two-person unit. On days when Celia tried to visit but Oliver decided to accompany her, she had to play it off as wanting to see Zhouzhuang’s markets, and Juliette would hover nearby giving a cheerful nod.
“I figured it had been some time since I last saw you,” Celia answered. “I also wanted to ask if you have been reading about what’s happening in Shanghai.”
“Recently?”
Juliette nudged the shrimp pieces to the side of the cutting board. Usually, she tended to avoid the papers reporting on Shanghai. It wasn’t that she wanted to keep ignorant; it was only that it felt strange to be uninvolved in the city’s affairs when overseeing them was all she had known at one point in her life. As happy as she was out here, sometimes she would stumble upon an article that mentioned her parents, and then there would be a sour taste on her tongue that she wouldn’t be rid of for days afterward.
“Rosalind has been investigating a series of civilian murders,” Celia said, taking Juliette’s nonanswer for a no. “They’re close to pinning down a Japanese company for being responsible, but I think there might be something shifty going on among the Nationalists, too. You may want to be careful with your trade for a while.”
Juliette made a noise under her breath, signaling her understanding. Though Juliette didn’t like reading the papers, she and Roma were still very well informed as to what was going on in Shanghai. They employed plants who would report information where it was relevant. In fact, according to a recent letter, they had someone inside the very company where Rosalind was currently undercover.
“We will be careful,” Juliette assured. “There’s enough trouble around here to keep us busy.”
Celia set the chopsticks beside the bowl. “I did see more vehicles than usual on my way in.”
Juliette’s knife paused on the cutting board. “Oh?”
“I passed a group who didn’t seem like residents either. They were holding a map between them discussing where to go. Russian-speaking. Maybe five or six.”
“What!” Juliette dropped the knife entirely. “Where? By the township edge?”
Celia blinked widely, clearly confused about why Juliette cared so much. “Nearer the incoming main road, away from the canals. Do you know them? I heard one call another by the name of Ilya.”
Juliette hurried into the living room, diving for the coffee table, where they had left the sheet ripped out from Happy Inn’s guest book. The motion stirred Roma awake. While he propped himself up on his elbow in sleep-addled confusion, she squinted to read the messy handwriting, turning the paper for the morning light. There—the third one was an Ilya.
“They’ve found her.”
“Who?” Celia demanded. “Juliette, what’s going on?”
“Seconding that,” Roma croaked, pushing his hair out of his face. “Hello, biǎojiě.”
Celia waved amiably. Meanwhile, Juliette kicked her slippers off and stomped into a pair of shoes—flat ones, suited for running. “Please stay here. Shoot anyone who comes in through the door.”
“Excuse me?” Celia spluttered. “I didn’t bring a gun!”
Juliette adjusted her left shoe. “There’s one under the coffee table!”
“I—” Celia ducked to look under the table, plucking the weapon out. “I need to get back, Juliette!”