“I saw someone I thought I recognized,” Nancy said.
“Do you always chase people you think you recognize?” Mr. Mai inquired.
“No,” Nancy answered, feeling her face flush with embarrassment. “Was the boy someone you know?”
“Jimmy is my nephew,” Mr. Mai replied. “He lives with me above the gallery. I am his legal guardian.”
Nancy sat down on one of the gallery’s leather sofas and tried to take the news in. “I’m sorry,” she said. “He saw me and ran. I assumed it was because he was trying to steal something.”
“That is a very unkind assumption,” Mr. Mai noted.
Nancy wished that the couch would open up and swallow her. She wished she’d never returned to the gallery. “I’d—I’d like to apologize to him,” she said.
“He won’t talk to you,” Mr. Mai said. “My nephew lacks certain social graces. He’s an orphan, you see. His parents were killed in Vietnam shortly after his seventh birthday.”
“In the war?”
“I suppose you could say that, although technically the war was over. His parents drove over a land mine. The mine was probably waiting there for years. As you can imagine, Jimmy found his parents deaths rather upsetting.”
Nancy noticed that whenever Mr. Mai spoke of Jimmy, his voice took on a tone of cool distaste, as if he were discussing a piece of inferior art.
“The boy has been extremely rebellious ever since,” the gallery owner went on. “It seems my nephew’s greatest talent is getting into trouble. So far I’m the fourth relative to take him in. He’s not an easy child.”
He’s not a wanted child, Nancy thought, feeling an unexpected surge of sympathy for the boy. She was glad she’d never had to live with a guardian who discussed her with such contempt.
Mr. Mai looked impatiently at his watch. “I’ve already given you more time than I planned, Ms. Drew. I’m afraid I have other commitments.”
“Of course,” Nancy said, getting up to go. But inside she knew she had to return to the gallery. Now that she knew that Jimmy was Mr. Mai’s nephew, she was more sure than ever that there was a connection between Mr. Mai and the stolen trunk. “Would it be possible to come back later this week?” she asked. “I just have a few more questions on the temple carvings.”
Mr. Mai gave her a look of annoyance but said grudgingly, “Very well.” He held out his hand, and the woman sitting at the desk handed him a large black leather appointment book. “The day after tomorrow, ten A.M. sharp,” he told Nancy.
“Thank you. I appreciate it,” Nancy said. “I’ll see you then.”
• • •
Nancy had arranged to meet Bess and George at Joanne’s after her appointment with Mr. Mai. She entered Joanne’s house to find every table and counter in sight covered with trays, pans, and casserole dishes. Bess, George, and Joanne sat in the living room, checking off items from a list on the coffee table.
“We did it!” Joanne announced proudly as she reached the end of the list. “We have food for three hundred people.”
“This looks fantastic,” Nancy said. “You guys should open a restaurant.”
Bess took a cracker from a tray. “That’s not a bad idea,” she said, munching thoughtfully.
“Don’t even think about it,” George said.
Joanne took off her apron. “I’m with George,” she said heartily. “After this week Keith and I eat out.”
“Where’s your family?” Nancy asked Joanne. “I was looking forward to seeing them again.”
“You’ll see them at the wedding,” Joanne promised. “Today I sent them to the Exploratorium in the city. They were driving me up the wall. My mother kept asking why I couldn’t get married in a nice little catering hall like everyone else.”
“She hasn’t changed,” Nancy observed. When Joanne was in junior high, Mrs. Koslow was always asking why her daughter couldn’t dress like everyone else.
“My mom never changes,” Joanne said, laughing. “Here, I’ll show you a picture.”
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen any of Joanne’s photographs,” Nancy said as Joanne went to find the picture.
“They’re great,” George said. “Bess and I looked through her portfolio yesterday. Wait till you see the ones of the whales.”
Joanne appeared a few minutes later carrying a large brown envelope. “Here,” she said, settling down on the couch and handing Nancy a stack of photographs. “I took these while my mom and sisters were out here last summer. And the ones at the end are from that kimono exhibit I went to with Keith.” She pointed to a picture of a mannequin dressed in a luxurious green-and-gold silk kimono. “That’s the one I really wanted to get married in. Unfortunately, it’s worth about thirty thousand dollars and belongs to a museum in Japan.”
Nancy stared at the photograph of the kimono, an idea forming in her mind. “Where was this photograph taken?” she asked.
“It’s a small gallery in Berkeley,” Joanne answered. “The minute I saw those kimonos, I knew I wanted photographs as inspiration for my wedding kimono. So I went back with my tiny pocket camera and just snapped away.”
“I thought galleries didn’t like that,” Bess said. “Didn’t anyone notice you?”
Joanne grinned. “I made Keith come with me and distract the curator with art-student questions.”
Nancy stared at the photograph, noting how sharp and perfect it was. I’d love to get photographs like this of the carvings in Mr. Mai’s gallery, she thought. “Joanne,” she said, “I know you’re caught up in wedding preparations, but do you think you could go on an hour’s photo shoot with me the day after tomorrow?”
“That’s Thursday,” Joanne said, “the day I’m baking the cake.”
“You’re baking your own wedding cake?” Nancy asked in disbelief.
“And we’re helping,” Bess said. “All three of us. The cake is going to look like a medieval castle. You’ll see. It will be great.”
“I’d be happy to help with the cake on Thursday,” Nancy said, “but I’ve got to go see Mr. Mai at ten in the morning. Is there any chance you could bring your little camera and come with me?”
