Last Violent Call (Secret Shanghai, #3.5)(7)
Juliette leaned in close, putting her ear on the other side of the receiver in an attempt to listen in. They heard a few seconds more of sniffles, before:
“Please,” Yulun sobbed. “She’s going to be next. They’re all dead.”
3
Juliette closed her car door, surveying their surroundings. They had driven one township up, rumbling along the rural gravel to get to Yulun’s location. Unlike Zhouzhuang, which was situated beside the tendrils of a colossal lake, this township lay deeper inland. There were no water passages, but it was still built in the older traditional style, albeit with thin cobblestoned paths weaving through the buildings in place of canals. Wide roads were reserved for proper towns and cities; here, Roma was forced to park by the township gate, blocked from proceeding any farther on a motor vehicle.
A cold breeze blew into their faces. Overhead, a clump of gray storm clouds had gathered densely, sending down a faint rumble of thunder.
“We need to talk about your driving,” Juliette remarked. She circled around the front of the vehicle, her heels stepping awkwardly on the rough stone ground. “I thought we were about to crash multiple times.”
“I’m sorry,” Roma replied dryly. He lifted his arm, and Juliette ducked under, pressing close while they walked. “Personally, I think I drive quite well for someone who had chauffeurs all his life.”
“Oooh, he had chauffeurs.”
“Dorogaya, I know you are not making fun of me right now.”
Juliette bit back her snort as the two of them entered the township. They had set off immediately after Yulun’s alarming phone call. He had barely been coherent in his attempt to explain what he meant, so Juliette had taken over the receiver to tell him to take a deep breath, give them his address, and put the phone down…. They were on their way to see what on earth was going on.
It was fortunately not too suspicious for Roma and Juliette to be visiting these neighboring townships. They had plenty of business here and plenty of contacts who would play along if a local resident asked who they were here to see. When Juliette peered around, however, the narrow streets were near empty. Not even an elderly shop owner out on the perch, hands behind their back and taking in the fresh air. There was always an elderly shop owner taking in the fresh air.
“Something doesn’t seem right,” Juliette muttered to Roma.
His arm, already over her shoulder, tightened around her. “Hear anything?”
“Not yet.” They exchanged a glance. Silently, with only a nod passed between them, they agreed to be wary.
The address that Yulun had provided was deep in the township, number 280 on Liyi Street. They had already found Liyi Street—which was actually a long, squiggly pathway rather than a street per se—but they were only passing number 34. Juliette observed the mailboxes as they walked, the little green containers propped up on the exterior walls. Each door was closed firmly. Each shop front had pulled their gate down, shuttered and padlocked.
She didn’t like this one bit. As quiet as Zhouzhuang was, the sense of solitude she treasured there came from its unhurried deliberateness: one boat bobbing down the canal, one tree overgrowing for years without pruning.
Yulun’s township, on the other hand, felt haunted. It was an unnatural quiet instead of a peaceful quiet, as if every chattering neighbor had turned their backs on one another.
Somewhere around number 90, Juliette stopped to glance upward. A teahouse sat to her left, because if there was one thing that rural townships could be entrusted to have in abundance, it was teahouses. Its second level had an open structure, a balcony protruding from its main building to offer patrons their choice of seating in fresh air. A flash of movement receded from the balcony. All the tables were empty, but Juliette was pretty sure the owner was watching the street from above, hurrying back into the shadows as soon as Juliette looked.
“Anyone there?” she called up.
No response.
Roma pulled her hand to continue along Liyi Street. Another clap of low thunder rumbled from afar.
They passed bicycles chained outside residences, shopping baskets that had been stacked neatly on front stoops, discarded bags of roasted chestnut shells. At number 200, Juliette crouched beside a large ceramic pot, where a plant that resembled a miniature tree was growing. She pressed her finger to the soil. It was damp.
It wasn’t that this township had cleared out. There were certainly people here, or at least someone who continued watering their plants out front.
“I see someone,” Roma said suddenly.
Juliette immediately pulled her attention away from the plant. Some distance ahead, with the pathway curving downhill, a man stood in front of one of the doors, sifting through envelopes in his hand—the postman, gauging by his uniform and the bulging bag hanging from his shoulder.
“Let’s go ask him where everyone is,” Juliette suggested, already hurrying forward. Under usual circumstances, people who lived in these parts had no filter. They would tell state secrets if asked nicely enough.
She slowed her pace as she got nearer, feigning nonchalance. Close on her tail, Roma put his hands in his pockets, mimicking her casual air. The postman in front of number 213 didn’t look familiar, so his work territory probably didn’t extend over to Zhouzhuang. Still, Juliette greeted him as if he were an old friend, and the postman turned to her happily, tipping his hat.