Golden Lies - Barbara Freethy [111]
"From a very old book I have on Chinese art. Is this the piece you are seeking?"
She glanced at Riley. He was staring at the picture with an intense frown. "What do you think?"
"I think that's my grandmother's dragon on the left, with the head going to the right, don't you?"
"I don't really remember."
"It looks a lot like the dragon in my mother's painting," Alyssa commented.
"If it was in the museum, what happened to it?" Paige asked.
"The National Palace Museum was taken apart piece by piece during World War Two," Mr. Fong replied. "Almost thirty thousand crates filled with artifacts were sent all over China for protection against the invading enemies. After the war it took sixteen years to put the museum back together. Some items were lost during that time, the dragon set among them."
"Do you know what happened next?" Riley asked. "Is there any record of these pieces reappearing at auctions or in private collections?"
"Some believe the box and the dragons came to the United States along with other pieces of art that were sold discreetly and privately."
"But there are no records, no proof that these pieces, this set, still exists?" Paige asked.
"Not until Mr. McAllister's grandmother found a dragon in her attic," Mr. Fong replied. "Ben told me what happened. I wonder how it got there—in your grandmother's attic."
"I wonder the same thing," Riley said, his expression grim. "Do you mind if I keep this photo?"
"Please do."
"Thank you for your time," Paige said as they all stood up and walked toward the door. "Just out of curiosity, Mr. Fong—if someone were looking for that dragon or its match here in San Francisco's Chinatown, where do you think they would go?"
"They would follow the pattern. The dragons and box connect. I suspect the owners do as well. If Mr. McAllister's grandfather had one dragon, then who do you think would have the other?"
Wallace Hathaway or Lee Chen. Those were the connections, Paige realized. But both of those men denied having knowledge of the dragons. Someone was lying.
* * *
Victoria raised her hand to knock on the door of David's bedroom late Sunday afternoon, knowing she'd put off this visit as long as she could. She'd managed to avoid her husband since she'd brought him home in a limousine just before lunchtime. She'd rationalized that she was letting him rest, but in truth she was avoiding him. His near brush with death had scared her more than she wanted to admit. Although she and David had grown apart in recent years, she didn't want him to die. In fact, faced with that possibility, she'd been shocked at how much she wanted him to live. She'd prayed for another chance, but now that she had it, she didn't know what to do with it.
They could no longer pretend that Jasmine and Alyssa did not exist. Jasmine might be willing to stay hidden, and Paige might be willing to let Jasmine stay that way, but not Alyssa. Paige wouldn't take kindly to sweeping Alyssa under the carpet. Victoria would have to deal with Alyssa herself, make it clear to her that she wasn't going to be a part of anything Hathaway. Victoria couldn't bear the thought of her husband's lover's daughter getting anything that she, Victoria, had worked so hard to achieve for herself and her own child.
One of the maids walked down the hallway. Unwilling to be caught waffling in front of her husband's door, she knocked and entered without waiting for a reply. David was still dressed in the casual clothes he'd worn home from the hospital. He was lying on the middle of his bed surrounded by art and antique books.
"What are you doing? You're supposed to be resting."
He looked at her with bemusement in his eyes, as if he wasn't quite sure why