A Clean Kill

Twenty-eight

One small thing April missed in Westchester was the wide-open sky and the view looking west to the Manhattan skyline from Mike's twenty-second-floor apartment in Forest Hills, Queens, where they used to live. On the rare occasions when they were around to see it, she and Mike used to watch the sun go down over the city. Both felt a deep connection to it.

The loss of city view in Hastings-on-Hudson, however, was more than compensated for by the mighty oak tree that stood guard outside their bedroom window. The tree brought them closer to nature than they'd ever been. Before she'd had the tree to watch, April had followed the weather only because of the impact it had on the city's infrastructure—the subways and trains, the streets and highways. And on crime. Rain, fog, snow, and hail were bad for traffic, but had the silver lining of keeping criminals indoors.

The tree, however, gave April a reason to pay attention to the seasons. It was an ever-changing art show. In winter, snow piled up on its bare branches, beautiful and white. The snow melted and froze again, forming long spiky icicles. In

spring the tree took the abuse of the rain that lashed it and the wind that whisked the new leaves' into dance. Every day the tree was a little different. Something was always going on, and it had a way of telling her when to get up.

The day after Maddy Wilson's murder April was deep in a dream when the birds started stirring in the tree. It was an old nightmare she didn't have much anymore. Her teeth were being extracted from her mouth by a great wad of caramel. It was a scary dream because her father had a story of torture long ago in China to account for the two solid gold teeth placed in the front of his mouth where no one could fail to see them. As the sun announced morning, she rolled into a fetal position to protect herself against his ancient injury.

Mike was already awake, nestling closer. "Everything is okay. You're okay." It was his job as a husband to say these things and her job as a wife to believe him. Today she had trouble.

From deep inside the dream, she heard the scraping of one branch against another. She heard the birds chatter, felt Mike's reassuring touch, and willed herself awake. She wanted to go on her honeymoon, and instantly she smelled something funny. "What's going on?"

He made a small laugh and whispered, "Your mother's cooking. Don't worry about it."

Then his hands began to travel the curves of her body with the light touch that always aroused her. Mike had his own plan. His fingers skimmed her bottom and the hollow between her buttocks, then reversed direction. He nuzzled her neck, kissing her softly as he always did in the morning—their" one quiet time together. After a few moments, he began to explore more intimate places. April sighed. Today, she was torn between pleasure and duty. Should she get up and find out what her mother was up to? Should she call Sergeant Gelo and find out what last night's little foray into the Spirit world had accomplished? Should she forget them for just a little while? Outside, birds carried on in their different voices. A finch warbled; doves and morning called. She pulled away, listening.

"What?" Mike murmured. He was ready for love, nudging her with a fine erection.

She debated for all of two seconds and decided not to waste a good thing. "Nothing," she murmured.

Some time later, feeling sated and drowsy again, April suddenly realized much was wrong in her house. For one thing, the "TV was blaring. World news in Chinese was trying to blast through the closed door of the bedroom. Furthermore, the house no longer smelled like vanilla candles and potpourri. The odor that emanated from downstairs was highly reminiscent of the Chinatown tenement apartment of her childhood. Mike was definitely right. Her mother had commandeered the kitchen.

April quickly ducked into the shower. When she came out, the first thing she saw was the black luggage and brightly colored summer clothes she'd bought for her cruise. It was Tuesday. Only three days of work left. The clothes were piled on a chair and hanging from a hook on the closet door. She put them out of her mind, dressed, and hurried downstairs with her hair still wet. There was no sign of her father, but Skinny was busy at the stove.

"Hi, Ma. How are you?" April wanted her mother gone, but she had to step carefully because she didn't want any dire repercussions from hurt feelings complicating her life right now.

"Didn't sleep at all," Skinny replied. She turned around to peer at April through dime-store reading glasses she claimed she didn't need. Then she approached her daughter, not to kiss her, but to smell her like Chinese doctors did to diagnose their patients.

It was her way of saying "Hello, how are you?" She sniffed April to see if she'd been near a dead person, or had sex, or otherwise been doing something Skinny Dragon didn't want her doing. April dodged the encounter, even though she was married and now had a state-sanctioned right to sex anytime she wanted it. "You didn't sleep because you're happier in your own bed," April murmured.

"Worm daughter's health more important than happiness."

April had never enjoyed being called a worm, and right then the reference to her health was ominous. "My health is great," she countered.

Skinny grunted. She was a- small woman with a shrewd expression, no excess flesh anywhere on her body. Her short hair was dyed jet-black and permed into a curly frizz that looked as fake as it was. It was impossible to tell how old she was. This morning she was dressed in loose black Chinese pants and a multicolored knockoff blouse probably made in Taiwan that was supposed to look like an expensive designer silk but didn't come close. Over the blouse was a buttoned-up knitted vest of multicolored yarn that didn't match a single color in the blouse. She could look pretty good when she wanted to, but clearly this wasn't one of those occasions.

"Your happiness is - number one to me, Ma," April said soothingly.

Skinny shook her head. "Worm's health more important than my comfort." That was the theme of the, day.

Oh, God, don't rise to the dig, April told herself. Her mother was an uninvited guest. She'd wheedled a ride. from their tenant, Gao Wan, all the way up here to Hastings, and then he'd left her parents there. They had no way of getting home, so that must have been part of her plan. Now she was insulting the lovely guest room that had two windows, its own bathroom, good feng shui, and brand-new twin beds that didn't sag or squeak like Skinny's terrible old ones at home. But the accommodation wasn't the point. The point was Skinny was meddling again, and April had to put a stop to it.

"What's all this?" she asked, wrinkling her nose at the unusual breakfast. Her mother certainly had been busy. On the counter were bowls of steamed sweet potatoes, golden-fried bean curd, and some kind of hot cereal that looked as gluey as sludge. There vyas also a steaming mug of some milky potion.

"Yin food," Skinny said proudly.

"Yin food?" April was alarmed. If she got any more yin, she wouldn't be able to get out of bed.

"Good for fluid in womb."

April was horrified. It made her weak and queasy just hearing the words, and after all her admonitions to herself to keep calm, she erupted. "You have to stop this. I can take care of myself. I told you that last night. When I'm pregnant, I'll let you know."

"Let me see your tongue," Skinny demanded.

"No, you can't see my tongue. You have to go home."

Skinny ticked off on her fingers the number of months April and Mike had been married,. then moved closer to punch her daughter in the arm.

"Ow." April particularly hated it when she did that.

"No go home. You have too much yang, ni. Too much bossy. Too much get-up-and-go. Never get pregnant like that."

Since April had just not gotten up and gone, and now was late because of it, she vibrated with fury. She couldn't believe her mother had come over to help her get pregnant. "I can't take this," she said in Chinese. She wanted her privacy.

She and Mike weren't exactly working on having a baby, but they weren't trying to avoid it, either. They just didn't want to make a big thing about it, have everyone get in their faces. No wonder she had nightmares. She heard her husband's happy, post-sex feet skip down the stairs.

"Mamita, how did you sleep?" Mike, too, had the good sense not to try to kiss her.

"Bu hao. Here—" She slapped the mug with the milky potion in his hand. "Drink this."

He looked at it blankly. "This isn't coffee."

"Good for you," she said. In Chinese she added, "No more premature ejaculation."

"Ma!" April's eyes popped in horror. She'd never heard her mother talk sex like this. Womb fluid! Premature ejaculation! Was she nuts?

Skinny Dragon ignored her. She shook her finger at Mike. "Just soy milk, good for strength. You need it for honeymoon."

Dutifully, Mike took a sip. "No me gusta,"' he murmured to April. He didn't like it.

"He loves it, Ma," April translated.

Skinny nodded triumphantly and explained that slow sticky sweet potato and sludgy unpolished wheat-bran cereal would lubricate April, while the bean curd and soy milk would energize Mike. Yin and yang foods necessary to fix their problem. Mike got a funny look on his face. He was Spanish, after all, mucho macho in his own gentle way.

"Gotta go, Ma," April said quickly.

"Murder?" Skinny asked cheerfully.

"Big murder. A young mother was killed. Gao will come and get you. Thank you for the wonderful visit. I'm sure it will help."

"Not going home. Have work to do." Skinny put her hands on her hips.

"Ma, you have to go." April copied her. "If Dad were up, I'd take you home myself."

"We're not going, ni. He retired so we could take care of you and the baby," she said. "We're staying."

"Oh, jeez," Mike muttered. His phone rang and he walked away to answer it.

April took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. "Tell me Dad did not retire."

"It's true," Skinny insisted.

"Are you sure?" It didn't sound like him.

"Well, maybe retire in a week or so." Skinny

paused, and April could see her forming another sentence. Suddenly the food on the counter didn't look that terrible. So what if it was an unbalanced diet? She was ravenous from all that sex. She took a bite of the sweet potato. It didn't taste like bacon and two fried eggs on toast, but ... it wasn't too bad, either. She tried the bean curd while her mother watched her eat.

Mike returned to the kitchen. Now his heavy footsteps didn't sound so sex-happy. "Get - your purse, querida. Alison Perkins is dead."

April forgot her mother and started moving.