“We could go back to the hotel,” I suggested. “Maybe Hervé and I missed something last night. And then... it’s not too far from Fisherman’s Wharf. Probably if you’re with me, Aidan will be civil.”
“That’s your plan?”
“It’s not like there’s a handbook, you know. I’m open to suggestions.”
She let out a long-suffering sigh, whipped her scarf around her shoulders, and said: “I’ll say one thing for you, princess—you’ve got a cool car. I’ll drive.”
“When pigs fly.”
Chapter 15
There were three cop cars parked outside the Hotel Marais, so we rolled right on by, continuing down Bush Street. I pulled over in front of Café de la Presse, across from the Chinatown gates.
“You have a sudden need for an espresso?” Patience asked. “A copy ofLe Mondeto catch up on all the latest French news, perhaps?”
“Just taking a moment to rejigger the plan.”
“Is ‘rejigger’ a word?”
“It is where I come from.”
I was half hoping Patience would come up with some bright idea, but she just gazed out the window, arms crossed over her chest.
“You know, last night the hotel’s clerk, Shawn, told me Tristan hadn’t been feeling well and directed him to an apothecary in Chinatown. The same one Maya saw ‘Sailor’ in once.”
She arched an eyebrow at me. “And you haven’t checked it out yet?”
“It’s been an eventful day.”
“So what are we waiting for?”
I navigated the clogged Chinatown streets to the Lucky Moon herbal shop, and then started the search for parking, never an easy feat in this part of town. The sidewalks were crowded: Fishmongers touted today’s catch; produce stands were heaped with a vast assortment of vegetables; golden roast ducks hung in display windows; bakeries featured sesame balls,char siu bau, and cabbage rolls; tourist shops hawked silk robes, postcards, refrigerator magnets, and windup cable cars. Gaggles of women and men pawed through the merchandise, bright pink plastic bags hanging from their arms. Double-parked delivery trucks snarled traffic, and small clutches of tourists lingered on corners, consulting their phones and maps, further slowing down the flow of cars.
We wound up circling the block a few times, rolling past the Lucky Moon apothecary repeatedly. I kept pondering Sailor and Sailor’s double. Self-doubt clutched my heart. What in the world was going on? How could I prove Sailor’s innocence?
I was on the verge of using my parking charm to free up a space when a small hatchback pulled out near the corner of Grant and Sacramento. I parallel parked, smoothly backing my Mustang into the tight space.
“Not bad,” said Patience.
I smiled. I was proud of my parallel-parking prowess—I’d had plenty of practice since moving to San Francisco. And in comparison with parking the bulky shop van, the nimble Mustang was a breeze.
The Lucky Moon was a typical Chinatown herb shop in many ways: An innocuous sign outside displayed the name in Chinese characters, repeated below in smaller English letters. I had been inside a couple of times withSailor; there were a long counter, and an entire wall full of hundreds of wooden drawers, and shelves lined with dozens of huge jars. Behind the counter stood an old man who served as clerk, diagnostician, and pharmacist. He wasn’t an acupuncturist and was careful to explain that he wasn’t a medical doctor, either. But he filled scripts, mixing ingredients with a mortar and pestle, filling tiny Baggies with herbs and powders, and vials with pressed pellets.
“I love that smell,” said Patience, breathing deeply.
I nodded in agreement. Even with my stuffed-up nose I could sense a bit of the spicy aroma of exotic spices and herbs.
Before we could say anything, the old man called to someone in the back of the store. A boy about thirteen or fourteen, thin and gangly, all elbows and knees, wearing basketball gear, came in to translate for us.
I tried to describe Tristan Dupree, but realized I didn’t have a photo or anything to show.
“Sorry,” said the boy, shaking his head. “We get a lot of tourists in here. Lot of people from out of town, all the time.”
“He was complaining of stomach problems,” I said, putting my hand on my belly to demonstrate.
The old man spoke and placed a small plastic bag full of herbs on the counter.
The boy translated: “He says this tea is good for digestion. Brew five minutes, take after meals.”
