Murder In Chinatown Read Free

landing, they found Frank’s mother standing in the doorway, waiting for them.
    A small woman with a face like a dried-up potato, she was wiping her hands on her apron and looking like she’d just sucked on a lemon. It was her usual expression.
    “’Evening, Ma,” Frank said.
    “I suppose you’ll be wanting something to eat,” she replied sourly.
    He knew better than to refuse. She didn’t want him to say he’d already eaten to spare her the work. She wanted to pretend to be put upon that she had to prepare his supper. “First tell me what he’s saying,” he said, pointing to Brian, who was still signing frantically.
    “Simple enough,” she said, barely sparing the boy a glance to interpret his rapid motions. “Says he learned to write his name today.”
    Frank felt the impact of her words like a blow to his chest. “Write his name?” he echoed in amazement. He could hardly breathe.
    “Much as you’re paying that school, he should be writing whole books by now,” the old woman huffed, pretending she wasn’t as excited as Frank and about to burst with pride. She signed something back to the boy, and he darted by her, through the doorway and back into their flat.
    “I guess you’ll be teaching at that school pretty soon,” Frank observed.
    She quickly tucked her hands beneath her apron, as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t. “It ain’t that hard to learn. Somebody’s got to be able to understand what the boy says.” She’d made the argument often, and it was true enough, but Frank knew there was much more to it than that.
    At first she’d insisted on going with Brian to the school because he was so young and she didn’t trust them to look after him properly. Somehow she’d been recruited to assist with the students, though, and now she was learning sign language right along with Brian. It was quite an accomplishment for a woman her age, but he knew better than to compliment her outright. He wasn’t sure if it had something to do with pride going before a fall or being afraid of drawing attention to something good for fear the devil would snatch it away. Whatever it was, his mother didn’t appreciate flattery and wouldn’t tolerate it.
    “Well, don’t stand out here all night. Come on inside so the boy can show you,” she snapped.
    Later, after Frank had eaten and Brian had laboriously drawn the letters of his name on every inch of the paper he’d brought home from school, over and over again, before finally being carried off to bed, exhausted, Frank studied the paper in wonder. The boy was only four. How he wished Kathleen could see her son, the child she’d died giving life to. Maybe, if there really was a heaven, she would know somehow.
    “Are you gonna sit up half the night again, looking at them papers?” his mother asked when she came out of the kitchen.
    Frank glanced over at the stack of folders sitting on a table in the corner. Reading them again would do no good. He knew them almost by heart. “No, I’m too tired tonight.”
    “I don’t see why you’ve got to leave them here. They’re always in my way.”
    Frank doubted this very much, but he wasn’t going to argue. “I told you, it’s a special case I’m working on. I don’t want the files to get lost down at Headquarters.”
    “Special case,” she scoffed. “It’s that woman what makes it special. You’re always working on some special case for her.”
    “Her name is Mrs. Brandt, as you know perfectly well,” he reminded her irritably. “You also know it’s her husband’s murder, and yes, I’m working on it for her. We owe her, Ma, for what she did for Brian.”
    He saw it then, the briefest flash of fear flickering across her face. He’d never been able to understand why she was afraid of Sarah Brandt, who’d only ever shown her kindness.
    “She’ll only bring you trouble, Francis,” his mother warned. “She’s not like us.”
    Frank considered that a recommendation in