Chapter 11
All Alice saw, as the plane broke through the clouds and approached the Akron airport, was snow. And lots of it.
Everywhere.
Then she looked down at her shoes. Nice black ones, to match her outfit and the somber meeting she expected to have with Liam’s family. Once she found them.
She had not expected snow.
Not an auspicious beginning to an already difficult trip.
The only thing she knew about Akron was that it was the home of LeBron James.
It was also the home of Liam Palmer. Liam. Her Liam. Dead Liam. Murdered Liam. Mysterious Liam.
She had come here hoping to find the real Liam. And the only lead she had was the name of his company.
Throwing her overnight bag in the back seat of her rental car, Alice plugged Garnett Foods into her phone and set off. She was relieved to see the roads were clear. But still, she was careful. She’d heard about a thing called black ice. The invisible menace.
It felt to Alice, her knuckles white on the steering wheel, that she’d been on black ice since those alarms had sounded just twenty-four hours ago. At the mercy of some unseen force.
At a stoplight, she drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. Impatient now. She’d sent an email to company headquarters asking to meet someone who worked with Liam. Word had obviously gotten out about his death.
She also asked if they had a home address for his family.
They did not. But they did give her the name and contact information of a colleague who’d become a friend.
Before the light turned green, she heard a ping. The colleague had replied to her message. She’d meet Alice. And yes, she knew Liam’s mother. She’d sent a message to the Palmers telling them Alice was coming.
The address was attached.
Alice changed the GPS instructions and headed to the new address.
The home was a big colonial revival, with the signature clapboard in a muted gray, black shutters, and a gabled roof. Hedgerows, topped with snow, lined the entryway to the door.
She slipped and slid her way to the front door. It opened before she could press the bell.
A tall woman with a short gray bob greeted Alice. She looked tired but managed a smile. Which only accentuated the lines of exhaustion down her face.
“It’s Alice, right? I’m Mary, Liam’s mother.”
Liam’s mother. That was how this woman thought of herself. Always had, always would. Death could never change that. It was a powerful thing. To be a mother.
Or could be.
She doubted Vivien ever introduced herself as “Alice’s mother,” though she herself had spent her life as Vivien Li’s daughter.
Alice stepped back from that bottomless pit. This was about Liam. And his family. And what his mother could tell her about her son.
“Thank you for seeing me. I’m so sorry…”
“It’s kind of you to come all this way.” Mary dropped her eyes to Alice’s sodden shoes. “I have some slippers you can put on. Your feet must be freezing.”
It was, Alice recognized, a tactic. Talking about anything else besides the awful thing. Holding it off as long as possible.
“Come sit by the fire.” Mary led her into a large sunken living room with a big open fireplace. “Make yourself comfortable. Is tea okay, or would you prefer something else?”
“Tea would be great, thank you. Let me help.”
“No!” said Liam’s mother, more sharply than she meant. Then, more softly, “No, thank you. I can manage.”
A small respite, a buffer before having to talk about …
When Mary went into the kitchen, Alice walked over to the mantelpiece. It was crowded with pictures.
Liam as a baby in young Mary’s arms. Liam as a toddler, under a Christmas tree. Liam with a Chinese girl on a swing set. Alice looked more closely. A friend from middle school?
Liam at what looked like his high school graduation, flanked by Mary and the Asian girl. A childhood friend turned high school girlfriend? Alice felt her face flush with an emotion she knew all too well. She was ashamed of it, and yet there it was.
Jealousy.
She heard crockery breaking and headed into the kitchen.
Mary’s back was bent over the counter. Her hands gripping the edges. Her head lowered. No sound escaped Liam’s mother, which somehow made it all the more heartbreaking. On the floor was a shattered teacup.
Alice stepped quietly back, overwhelmed by the shards of grief.
Then Liam’s mother bent down and started picking up the pieces. “I’m sorry. Clumsy. Liam gets that from me.”
Alice stooped to help, their fingers touching. The blood from the nicks on Liam’s mother’s fingers smearing onto Alice’s. Alice reached out and clutched the hand, then both women stood, and Alice held Liam’s sobbing mother.
When they parted, Mary Palmer went to pour the boiling water into the teapot, but her hands were shaking too badly.
“Here, let me.”
Tea steeping, the two women sat on opposite ends of the big sofa in the living room. Alice felt the warmth from the fire, from the home. From the photographs, and scent of tea. So this was what home felt like. What family felt like.
“I’m sorry,” she said, not sure how to start.
“Thank you.”
“We had a little wake for him, our group from Columbia…” she began. “Liam was…” Unexpectedly, Alice felt herself welling up. “It’s all so unbelievable … I’m so sorry.”
Mary moved over to sit beside Alice and took her hand.
There was a sound on the stairs. Mary turned and spoke. “Méi qīn’ài de, zhè shì lì yǎ mǔ de péngyǒu àilì sī.”
Mae, honey, this is Liam’s friend Alice.
Alice’s mouth dropped open. “Mandarin?” she said. “You speak Mandarin?”
“Yes, we all do.”
And with that, an Asian girl, a young woman really, appeared at the living room door. Alice remembered Liam talking about a younger sister in Akron, but again, she never asked him about her. What an idiot, she scolded her younger self. How self-absorbed were you?
And then it dawned on her. This was the girl on the mantel. The girl with Liam in all those pictures. His sister. And then it all fell into place. Liam spoke Mandarin, traveled frequently to China on business. No wonder the CIA had recruited him.
Alice stood up. “Nǐ hǎo.” Hello.
Mae looked at Alice without the warmth her mother had. In fact, she looked, if not outright hostile, at least suspicious.
“I’m so sorry about your brother. He was a special man.”
“In what way?”
“Mae,” said her mother.
“I just want to be sure.”
“Sure of what?” asked Alice.
“That you really are a friend.”
“Mae,” her mother warned her.
“Mom, we all know the truth, even if the American embassy says otherwise.”
“Truth?” asked Alice. Then she decided to take the plunge. “You mean that what happened wasn’t an accident.”
She heard Liam’s mother inhale. “We don’t know that.”
She does know that, thought Alice.
“Why would it be more than that?” she asked Mae.
“Because Liam warned us.”
“About what?”
“That strangers might come and start asking questions. He told us to say nothing.”
“And you think I’m one of them?”
“You’re Chinese. And you’re a stranger. So yes.” Mae glared at her. “I think you’re one of the people he warned us about.”
Alice’s mind raced. How to prove she wasn’t some spy for the MSS? Or the CIA, for that matter? How to prove she was his friend, their friend, and had nothing to do with Liam’s death, his murder? The Palmer family had good reason to be suspicious. Liam had good reason to warn them.
“I’m trying to help,” she said, knowing how lame that sounded. “I agree. I think what happened was no accident. That’s one of the reasons I’m here.” She turned to Mrs. Palmer. “To find out more. Before he died, he sent me an email with a photograph. Here, let me show you.”
Liam’s mother took several deep breaths, steadying herself. Then she looked at the picture of her son.
“He’s on the Star Ferry,” said Mae, studying it. “We’ve been on it lots of times.”
Mary reached out and touched the screen. Touched his face. And the image immediately grew larger. Then she tilted her head.
“This doesn’t make sense,” she said.
Alice grew quiet. Tense. “What doesn’t?”
“If you’re Liam’s friend,” said Mae, “you’d know.”
“The coconut bun in his hand. He was allergic to coconut, right?”
Mae seemed almost disappointed that she’d passed the test.
“Deathly allergic.” Mary was still staring at the photograph. “Why would he be holding one?”
“This proves nothing,” said Mae. “You could still be one of them.”
“Mae, please,” her mother said, her voice slightly more insistent now.
“No, she has reason to be suspicious,” said Alice. “Let me show you his email. Does it tell you anything?” asked Alice.
They shook their heads, though Mae continued to stare at it.
“What can you tell me about his work?”
“We’re not going to tell you anything. I still don’t know who you really are.”
Despite herself, Alice was growing annoyed. Perhaps because it was obvious what she had to do to prove she was not a spy for the Chinese government.
She tapped her phone, waited a moment, then turned the screen so they could see it.
“Who are these people?” demanded the woman on her phone. “Why are you interrupting me?”
“Let me introduce my mother, Vivien Li. Vivien, this is Liam Palmer’s mother, Mary, and his sister, Mae.”
She looked from the screen, to the two women in the living room, their eyes wide, their mouths slightly open.
“Madame Li,” said Mary.
“Ahhh,” said Vivien. “Yes. I’m so sorry about what happened to your son. Alice tells me he was a special man. We are both a little worried about the circumstances of his death. I’m hoping you can answer any questions Alice might have.”
“Yes,” said Mae. “Of course. Thank you for helping.”
Alice turned the face of the phone around, to thank her mother, but Vivien had already hung up.
“Thank you, Mom,” she said anyway. “Love you too.”
Mae had sat down next to Mary and put her arm around her mother.
“When did you last hear from him?” Alice asked.
“He came by a few days before he left. He didn’t tell us he was going to Asia,” said Mae. “Why wouldn’t he tell us?”
“I don’t know.”
Mae got up and left the room.
“She’s so upset,” said her mother. “It’s like we’re living in a nightmare and can’t wake up. And these suspicions only make it worse. At first, I thought Mae was just being dramatic, because she can be. But then I started listening. Mae’s right, isn’t she? Liam’s death was no accident.”
Before she could answer, Mae reappeared. She had a box in her hand.
“This arrived yesterday by courier.”
It was postmarked from Hong Kong.