note. Cassie wished she knew if that meant May Lee. “Well, I guess Daddy must have had his reasons for keeping the photo. It doesn't really matter anymore, though.” She made a show of tossing the torn pictures into the waste basket.
"You're right, of course,” May Lee replied, her eyes on the photos that fell from Cassie's hand. “I made some iced tea if you want some."
"I'll have some later. Right now, I need to get these things out to my car.” She picked up the boxes and left the maid in the study, sweeping up the shards of glass.
By the time Cassie returned, May Lee had filled the trash can with the debris left by the burglars and was already busy scrubbing the sticky black fingerprint dust away.
"Why don't you just use paper towels?” she asked.
"Because it is wasteful,” May Lee replied, not turning from her work. “In Hong Kong, we value our trees above almost all else, because they help fight the smog that covers the island. These old rags can be washed and used again."
Cassie nodded. She had forgotten the choking smog that often blanketed the mountainous island. “Well, I guess I'll take the trash out and empty it,” she said. “Then, I need to get busy sorting through Daddy's other stuff."
The maid grunted her acknowledgment as she vigorously wiped at a particularly resistant smudge on the bottom file drawer.
As soon as Cassie was out of May Lee's sight, she set the trash can on the table and riffled through its contents. The Firethorne photo was still there. Satisfied that the housekeeper was trustworthy or, at least, disinterested in the photograph, Cassie breathed a little easier. The discovery of the torn picture had piqued her curiosity, and she was eager to sift more carefully through the debris. Emptying the trash into a brown paper bag, Cassie carried it upstairs. May Lee might be trustworthy, disinterested or both, but Cassie didn't want to arouse her curiosity by revealing her own intense interest.
She passed the door of her parents’ bedroom and felt tempted to pursue her task amid the comforting memories that room offered. But, no, she would need privacy. May Lee would be less likely to disturb her if she were in her own bedroom with the door closed. She'd probably think she had just decided to take a nap-or have a good cry beyond the prying eyes of others.
Cassie closed the door and set the bag onto the floor at the foot of her bed. The room smelled of disuse, but it was otherwise the same as when she'd moved to her own apartment. Her doll collection still waited patiently in the mahogany curio cabinet. The double bed, covered with the hand-made quilt Mother won in a church raffle, was rumpled from her tossing and turning during the night. As a teenager, she had decided it was dumb to make the bed when in a few hours it would get messed up again. She frowned a little at herself and took a moment to straighten the coverlet.
There was an old oil cloth in the closet, and Cassie pulled it from the shelf. Laying it on the floor, she dumped the contents of the bag onto it. She didn't want to leave any trace of her activity on the blue-green carpet. Neither did she want to accidentally leave any of the broken glass on the floor where she might step on it in her bare feet.
With the debris in a heap before her, Cassie sat down cross-legged and began her search. Until a few minutes ago, she had forgotten that, when they were forced to leave Hong Kong, Mother and Daddy hid important documents behind innocent looking photographs. Even the suspicious Communist authorities hadn't bothered to check the framed pictures that filled the big, black steamer trunk.
Piece by piece, Cassie sorted meticulously, careful not to cut herself on the sharp glass that peppered the pile of torn faces and bodies. She found nothing but broken bits of memory. Discouraged, she poured the trash back into the paper bag, stashed the old oil cloth back onto the closet shelf, and looked around the room for a safe
"You're right, of course,” May Lee replied, her eyes on the photos that fell from Cassie's hand. “I made some iced tea if you want some."
"I'll have some later. Right now, I need to get these things out to my car.” She picked up the boxes and left the maid in the study, sweeping up the shards of glass.
By the time Cassie returned, May Lee had filled the trash can with the debris left by the burglars and was already busy scrubbing the sticky black fingerprint dust away.
"Why don't you just use paper towels?” she asked.
"Because it is wasteful,” May Lee replied, not turning from her work. “In Hong Kong, we value our trees above almost all else, because they help fight the smog that covers the island. These old rags can be washed and used again."
Cassie nodded. She had forgotten the choking smog that often blanketed the mountainous island. “Well, I guess I'll take the trash out and empty it,” she said. “Then, I need to get busy sorting through Daddy's other stuff."
The maid grunted her acknowledgment as she vigorously wiped at a particularly resistant smudge on the bottom file drawer.
As soon as Cassie was out of May Lee's sight, she set the trash can on the table and riffled through its contents. The Firethorne photo was still there. Satisfied that the housekeeper was trustworthy or, at least, disinterested in the photograph, Cassie breathed a little easier. The discovery of the torn picture had piqued her curiosity, and she was eager to sift more carefully through the debris. Emptying the trash into a brown paper bag, Cassie carried it upstairs. May Lee might be trustworthy, disinterested or both, but Cassie didn't want to arouse her curiosity by revealing her own intense interest.
She passed the door of her parents’ bedroom and felt tempted to pursue her task amid the comforting memories that room offered. But, no, she would need privacy. May Lee would be less likely to disturb her if she were in her own bedroom with the door closed. She'd probably think she had just decided to take a nap-or have a good cry beyond the prying eyes of others.
Cassie closed the door and set the bag onto the floor at the foot of her bed. The room smelled of disuse, but it was otherwise the same as when she'd moved to her own apartment. Her doll collection still waited patiently in the mahogany curio cabinet. The double bed, covered with the hand-made quilt Mother won in a church raffle, was rumpled from her tossing and turning during the night. As a teenager, she had decided it was dumb to make the bed when in a few hours it would get messed up again. She frowned a little at herself and took a moment to straighten the coverlet.
There was an old oil cloth in the closet, and Cassie pulled it from the shelf. Laying it on the floor, she dumped the contents of the bag onto it. She didn't want to leave any trace of her activity on the blue-green carpet. Neither did she want to accidentally leave any of the broken glass on the floor where she might step on it in her bare feet.
With the debris in a heap before her, Cassie sat down cross-legged and began her search. Until a few minutes ago, she had forgotten that, when they were forced to leave Hong Kong, Mother and Daddy hid important documents behind innocent looking photographs. Even the suspicious Communist authorities hadn't bothered to check the framed pictures that filled the big, black steamer trunk.
Piece by piece, Cassie sorted meticulously, careful not to cut herself on the sharp glass that peppered the pile of torn faces and bodies. She found nothing but broken bits of memory. Discouraged, she poured the trash back into the paper bag, stashed the old oil cloth back onto the closet shelf, and looked around the room for a safe
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