Time of Fog and Fire: A Molly Murphy Mystery (Molly Murphy Mysteries) (21 page)

And on the back of the picture someone had written,
Douglas and Lizzy Hatcher, Texas 1889
.

Hurriedly I stuffed it into my skirt pocket and searched the case for more such pictures, but found nothing. I replaced the suitcase, realizing that I should not give any hint that I was anything other than the grieving widow. I was about to creep back up from the cellar when I caught another whiff of that obnoxious perfume. What could Señor Garcia have been doing down here?

I started to poke around, my nose trying to pick up where the smell was most potent. There were trunks and valises stacked against the far wall. My nose wrinkled as the smell was at its strongest here. Most unpleasant, in fact. Cautiously I opened one of the trunks and let out a small gasp of surprise. It was full of money. Hundreds and hundreds of bills of various denominations. Hurriedly I closed it again. Then I opened the trunk beside it and found myself staring down at Señor Garcia’s lifeless body.

Twenty-one

I put my hand to my mouth to stifle my gasp. Señor Garcia had been stuffed into the trunk like a rag doll. His eyes were wide and bulging. His mouth was open in surprise. The scent of his pomade was sickly sweet and overpowering. I closed the trunk again with a shudder. I had to get out of here immediately. I tiptoed up the stairs, listened for a long moment, then turned off the electric light switch and opened the door, an inch at a time. Nothing moved. There was no sound except for the heavy ticktock of the grandfather clock across the hall beside the drawing room. I retrieved my brandy glass, came out of the cellar, and shut the door carefully behind me, trying to make no sound as I lowered the latch into place. I had only gone a few steps across the hall when I heard the slap of Chinese slippers and there was Francis coming up behind me.

“Missy Sullivan? You need something? We hear you walking around,” he said, his face expressionless as always.

I smiled. “No, thank you, Francis. I just went to help myself to a little brandy to settle my stomach. The food at that party was rather rich. I think I’ll take it up to my room and read up there.”

“Very good,” he said and watched me walk up the stairs.

Did he know I’d been down to the cellar? In which case was I liable to end up like Señor Garcia? I must let Daniel know immediately. He would know what to do and could decide whether to go to the police. But Daniel was at the opera with the rest of San Francisco. I could not send a message to him until morning. In the meantime I would play the innocent and watch my back. Since I had no idea why Bella or anyone in her household might want Señor Garcia dead I had no way of judging whether I might be in mortal danger. Just in case I locked my door.

I undressed and curled up in my bed. After the initial shock had worn off I started to see the complicated nature of our predicament. How could Daniel go to the police, when he was supposed to be dead and buried? And if he did reveal that he had survived, who exactly might not be pleased to learn that news? For all we knew he might become a convenient suspect in Garcia’s murder. In the morning I’d tell Bella that we had decided to return home immediately. I’d pack up our things and take Liam across to Oakland, where I’d send Daniel a message to join us as soon as he could. Then we’d be safely on the next train heading East and Daniel could choose whether to tip off the police about Señor Garcia’s murder or not.

I drifted off to sleep and half awoke at the sound of a carriage coming to a halt outside, then Bella’s animated voice floating up to my French windows. I had left them unlocked, just in case Daniel chose that way to visit again. Bella was laughing merrily as I heard the front door slam, the footsteps coming up the stairs, past my door. They did not pause but went on down the hallway.

I lay there, holding my breath until I heard a door close behind her. Bella had seemed so carefree and gay. Was she privy to the fact that a body lay in her basement? She had clearly been upset when Señor Garcia arrived, but had she ordered his murder? Even taken part in his murder? She seemed like such a warm and generous person. I could envision both Francis and Tiny killing someone if necessary, but surely not Bella. Had Tiny killed Garcia to somehow protect Bella? Or had I got it wrong and was Tiny under the control of Bella somehow? And what about the trunk full of money in the cellar? I’d often found that money and murder go together. Had Bella decided to keep her life savings here, rather than in a bank? And had Señor Garcia learned of the money and tried to steal it? In any case it appeared that Francis had not had a chance to tell her that I had been down to the basement tonight. I was safe until morning and then I’d make my escape.

*   *   *

I was awoken by being thrown violently across the bed. Someone was shaking me awake with considerable force. I opened my eyes in terror. My first thought was that Tiny or Francis had come up to my room to finish me off.

“Holy Mother of God!” I heard myself exclaim as I looked around me in panic. It was still quite dark outside. From what I could see I was alone in the room, but I was still being pitched around like a rag doll. From deep below came a rumbling sound as if a freight train was passing close by. But there was no train line in this part of the city. Then I heard other sounds: creaking and clattering, wood splintering, glass breaking, heavy thuds. I clung on to the bed frame as the bed skittered and danced across the room as if it was possessed. I had no idea what was happening or how to stop it. In truth I wondered if I was in a nightmare and might awaken at any moment. Then a picture crashed down from the wall. Plaster fell from the ceiling in large chunks. The light from a streetlamp outside allowed me to see only a hint of flying shapes. I glanced around the room in time to see the wardrobe against the wall teetering. I managed to scramble out of bed as it crashed where I had been lying.

Liam!
I thought.
Have to get Liam out of this.

I tried to reach my dress, which I had left lying over the back of a chair, but it was now covered in plaster and the chair had tipped over. I retrieved the dress, brushed it off, and tried to put it on, but it was impossible to stand. It was like being on the back of a bucking horse. And now the sound of screams and wails rose up from the city below. I didn’t bother to do up the buttons, just slipped my feet into shoes and managed to pick my way over broken glass and plaster to my door. I turned the key in the lock but the door wouldn’t open. I yanked at it. I kicked at it. Then in frustration and panic I staggered across the room, picked up the wrought iron lamp that now lay on the floor, and used it as a battering ram. A panel in the door splintered. I hammered some more and finally shattered the lock.

And all the while the shaking continued. A light had been left on in the stairwell. Now it flickered and jiggled around, sending crazy shadows dancing over the stairs. As I came out onto the landing someone was running down the stairs ahead of me. It was Li Na, with Liam in her arms. Thank heavens that sensible girl was carrying him outside to safety.

“Li Na. Wait. I’ll take him now,” I called.

But she didn’t stop. She wrenched open the front door and ran down the front steps.

“Li Na. Wait for me!” I shouted after her and ran down the stairs as fast as I could, clinging to the shaking banister. The grandfather clock fell into the hall with a great clang and crash. Statues were toppling onto the marble floor, which was springing up in chunks as if with a life of its own.

“Earth Dragon. Got to stop Earth Dragon!” Li Na shrieked as she ran out of the house.

Liam spotted me. “Mama!” he cried, struggling in her arms. But she didn’t stop. She was already out of the front door, down the steps, and running at a great rate up California Street.

“Wait!” I shrieked, but she was striding out ahead of me, her cotton trousers not hampering her movements in the way that my dress over my nightgown did. What was she doing? Where was she taking my son? The world had stopped shaking but from the city below came the wail of sirens, cries for help. Electrical wires lay across the street, hissing and writhing like snakes as they sparked in the darkness. Some of the streetlamps had gone out. It was horribly eerie. The mansions I passed seemed unscathed, with people in night attire standing outside them, but bricks had been flung across the sidewalk from the almost-finished Fairmont Hotel. The first streaks of light appeared in the eastern sky.

Li Na had reached the crest of the hill where California Street drops down sharply toward the Bay but still she didn’t stop. She jumped over piles of bricks with the ease of a gazelle and kept running down California Street. I followed, stumbling and tripping over the debris that littered the sidewalk, unable to see more than a foot or two in front of me. A pall of dust rose up around us, getting into my nose and throat. I read the street names as I passed them. Past Powell Street. Past Stockton. A sharp pain shot through my side and I gasped for breath. It was hard to run in my dainty shoes while she wore flat cotton slippers. The buildings on this side of the hill had clearly suffered more. Cornices had been shaken down and chunks of decorative stonework lay across the street and sidewalk. On some houses whole fronts had fallen, oil lamps had tipped over, starting small fires that revealed rooms with furniture hurled around, as if by a giant hand. Paving stones had popped up from the street and the rail for the cable car had buckled like a switchback. Until now I had not had to encounter people but ahead of me the street was full of them, standing dazed, in nightclothes, with bleeding heads and damaged limbs. One building had collapsed completely and a man had been buried up to his neck in fallen bricks. “Help me,” he implored as I ran past.

Crowds were now coming up the hill toward us. And among those crowds now were Chinese people—men in baggy trousers, with skullcaps on their heads and long pigtails down their backs. They carried bundles of possessions or cages with small birds in them. Behind them women hobbled pitifully, trying to keep up on bound feet. We reached Grant Avenue and the beginning of Chinatown. I caught a glimpse of Li Na’s white tunic, far ahead of me. She turned left at Grant Avenue and vanished. I followed. I was thoroughly winded and finding it hard to breathe now in the dust and smoke that hung in the air.

We were now in the midst of utter destruction. The pall of dust gave everything an indistinct and unreal quality in the half-light. Flimsy buildings had slid off foundations and were lying at drunken angles. Shops had spewed out contents, with vegetables and fruit rolling under our feet. What had been streets were now littered with fallen bricks and debris. From around me came the sounds of constant moaning, and in the distance the ringing of fire truck bells, as small fires had broken out, creating pockets of hazy glow in the darkness. One of them was on my right—some kind of temple building had collapsed, its green and gold pagoda-style roof now lying pancaked a few feet from the ground with smoke curling up around the edges. Further away black smoke was rising all around.

Grant Avenue was crowded with Chinese people. Some were trying to flee, dragging small carts of children and possessions. But others were kneeling on the ground, digging away furiously. Some were holding up pieces of paper to which they had set fire, then dropping them into holes in the ground. It would have been fascinating had I not been so terrified. I stepped gingerly past the burning papers and ran on. How would I ever find my son in this chaos?

“Li Na!” I shouted over the wails and sirens. It was impossible.

Then I spotted a policeman. I ran up to him. “Help me. My nursemaid has run off with my son. She wouldn’t stop.”

He was a young man and he had that look of utter bewilderment in his eyes. “Ma’am, I’d get out if I were you. This place is going to go up in flames.”

“What are they doing, lighting all those papers?” I asked.

“Appeasing the Earth Dragon, I gather. That’s what they do when there’s an earthquake.”

Earthquake. Of course. The word took shape in my mind. It was the first time it really sunk in that I had just experienced a massive earthquake. And that’s what Li Na had shouted. Earth Dragon. That meant she would be digging and burning paper somewhere close by. And I remembered Portsmouth Square. A big, newly planted garden with plenty of room to dig in the soil. I turned down a side street, pushing past fleeing Chinese and heaps of bricks and stone. Another fire was crackling away in what had been a restaurant to my left.
Sam Woo’s Chop House,
said the drunken sign on the collapsed awning. The park was ahead of me now and I could see hundreds of Chinese scrabbling in the dirt. Then without warning the rumbling came again. Cobblestones started popping up like popcorn; buildings around me creaked and groaned. People screamed and ran in panic, pushing past me to get to the open space of Portsmouth Square. I ran with them, swept along in the tide. Out of the corner of my eyes I saw the wall to my left start to fall. I tried to put on a spurt but I was hampered by the crowd ahead of me. As if in slow motion it came. Bricks floating toward me. All around me. Then something hit me on the back of the head and I knew no more.

Twenty-two

I came to consciousness slowly to see a face peering down at me.

“This one’s not dead,” said a male voice.

I blinked. The light hurt my eyes, even though it was muted. From around me came sounds: low moans, groans, an occasional scream.

“Where am I?” I asked.

“Mechanics’ Pavilion, my dear,” the male voice said. The words meant nothing to me. I had never heard of a Mechanics’ Pavilion. I stared up at him. I could just make out a drooping mustache and a round face. “The hospital was too badly damaged so we’ve been bringing patients here. You’re lucky they found you. You were under a collapsed wall and everyone around you was dead. It was in the middle of Chinatown so as you can imagine there weren’t that many volunteers wanting to help with rescues there. The Chinese were all fleeing as fast as they could. And the whole area is going up in flames.”