Primitive Secrets by Deborah Turrell Atkinson Page B

you.”
    â€œThanks.” Storm set her mug down on her desk and squared her shoulders. “Mr. Wang, my house was broken into last night and Hamasaki’s files were stolen. I—I’m sorry.”
    A look of what might have been fright on Wang’s face turned to concern. “Were you home? Was anything else stolen?”
    â€œSome money.”
    â€œAny idea who did it?” he asked.
    â€œThe police think it was addicts.”
    Wang nodded. “Probably. You should get your locks changed. Get dead bolts, too.” He turned to go, then stopped. “The Hamasaki family is meeting in forty-five minutes for the reading of the will.”
    Storm gave him a few seconds to get down the hall, then sagged in her chair with relief. She’d given him the bad news without even setting his tic off.
    The phone dislodged her thoughts and a voice with a businesslike tone identified himself as Roy Tam. The name sounded familiar. Oh yeah, Tam was the head of a local labor union. Storm sat up straighter.
    â€œMs. Kayama, I wanted to let you know how sorry we are about Miles Hamasaki’s death. We’re sending a donation in his memory to a foundation Bitsy…er, Mrs. Hamasaki named.”
    â€œThanks for your concern, Mr. Tam. It’s been quite a shock.”
    â€œOf course,” Tam said. Storm could hear him rattling papers. “Hamasaki was working with us on a bid for a highway renovation out by the airport. I’d like you to take over the job, if you feel up to it.”
    Storm set her coffee cup down, sloshing some onto her desk. She knew the case; Hamasaki had shown her some of the proposals. “Are you sure you don’t want a lawyer with more experience?”
    â€œThis is straightforward. You’ve got to start somewhere.”
    â€œThanks, Mr. Tam. Sure, yes. I’ll give it my full attention.”
    Storm hung up the phone very carefully, got up, closed her door, and did a dance around the desk. Then she did the Hallelujah Chorus under her breath. Either Uncle Miles or Aunt Bitsy had pointed some heavies in her direction. A second later, Storm stopped and gazed across the small room.
    Tam must know that she passed the bar. The coconut wireless was operating at full tilt and the speed of it was making her dizzy. Uncle Miles had taught her that information was power. Even Hamlin had known about the theft of the file minutes after she’d discovered it. She needed to pay more attention to what the people around her were doing.
    She had a half-hour before the reading of the will. With a pencil, she first doodled a comical picture of Fang, then wrote down the subjects of the papers in Hamasaki’s file: seawall, nursing homes, Dr. O’Toole’s phone numbers. None of these notes seemed significant. What had she missed in that file folder?
    Storm sketched leafy vines between the three topics. Whom could she trust to keep her confidence, yet share information? Storm squinted into the distance; a gray head passed by her partially open door. Lorraine looked a little better than she had at Wednesday’s memorial service, though she had aged a decade in the last five days. But Lorraine would help, if not for Storm’s sake alone, then out of loyalty to Hamasaki.
    Someone tapped on the frame of Storm’s door. Meredith Wo peeked around the corner. “I need to ask you some questions,” she said.
    â€œSure.”
    Wo perched on the edge of the seat facing Storm’s desk and held out a little tin of imported candies. “Mint?”
    â€œSure, thanks.” Storm popped the hard sphere into her mouth and regarded Meredith. The woman seemed fidgety. Her hair was limp and she had a pimple on her shiny nose. She looked like she was working too hard. Not that Storm felt cocky; Meredith earned a few hundred grand a year and didn’t have two black eyes.
    Wo crunched one of the candies between her teeth. “You’re going to the