“Oh yeah, the seat belt thing. I guess you’ve never had that done for you before,” Nick said nonchalantly.

“Jesus, for a split second I thought she was trying to make a pass at me—I was so shocked! I said, ‘Laarni, do you do this for Eddie and Fiona too?’ She said, ‘Yes ma’am, we do it for the whole family.’ Your cousins are so pampered they can’t even put their own seat belts on!” Rachel said in mock outrage.

“Welcome to Hong Kong,” Nick quipped.

Rachel’s cell phone rang, and she picked it up. “Oh! Hello, Father…Yes, yes, thank you—I feel a million times better…You’ll be in Hong Kong today?…Oh, definitely. Around five? Yes, we’re free…Okay then. Safe travels.”

Rachel put down the phone and looked at Nick. “My dad’s coming to Hong Kong today, and he’s wondering if we can meet him.”

“How do you feel about that?” Nick asked. Over the past few days, Carlton had shared with them everything that had happened when he had rushed back to Shanghai to confront his parents, and there had been nothing but silence from the Baos since then.

“I would like to see him, but it’s going to be rather awkward, isn’t it?” Rachel said, her face clouding over a bit.

“Well, I’m sure he feels even more awkward than you do. I mean, his wife is one of the prime suspects in your poisoning. But at least he’s making an overture to come and see you.”

Rachel shook her head sadly. “God, this is all so fucked up. Why do things always get fucked up when we come to Asia? Don’t answer that.”

“Would it make you feel more comfortable if he just came over here? I’m sure Eddie would relish the opportunity to show off his Biedermeier furniture or his humidity-controlled shoe closet.”

“Sweet Jesus, that shoe closet! Did you notice that all his shoes were arranged alphabetically according to brand?”

“I sure did. And you think I’m obsessive with my shoes.”

“I will never say anything about your weird OCD habits again, not after meeting Edison Cheng.”

• • •

At four forty-five, Eddie was rushing around his apartment like a madman, yelling at his maids. “Laarni, that’s the wrong one! I said Bebel Gilberto, not Astrud Gilberto!” Eddie screamed at the top of his lungs. “I don’t want the Girl from fucking Ipanema to be playing when Bao Gaoliang arrives—he’s one of my most important clients! I want track two of Tanto Tempo!”

“Sorry, sir,” Laarni called from the other room as she nervously tried to find the song on the Linn music system. She scarcely knew how the damn thing worked, and it was even harder to use the remote with the cotton gloves that Mr. Cheng made her wear whenever she came near his precious stereo, which he kept harping was worth more than her entire village in Maguindanao.

Eddie stormed into the kitchen, where the two Chinese maids were sitting by the small television watching Fei Cheng Wu Rao.* They jumped up from their barstools when he entered. “Li Jing, is the caviar ready?” he asked in Mandarin.