Chapter One

October 1998

Genevieve Sullivan stepped out of the sleek limousine as the Chinese chauffeur, black cap and all, opened her door, then retrieved her well-worn leather suitcases from the trunk and, per her request, after a generous tip, set them down next to her before slipping back into the driver's seat of the luxurious automobile and swiftly merging into the river of traffic. It had been a long trip from Tanzania to Hong Kong and it had seemed even longer from the airport to this humble looking door, behind which, hopefully, were her accommodations for the eight days she would be staying in Hong Kong.

A bit of apprehension filled her as she took in the appearance of her temporary dwelling. The outside was so, well-- undesirable looking. And small. The large wooden door had only inches on either side of it before the shops on both sides began. Hoping that her father was right that she should stay here, she hoisted her bags, opened the heavy door of the Victoria Inn and stepped inside the foyer as she checked her wrist watch. It read 1:00 p.m., Tanzania time.

I need to get on Hong Kong time, she thought, stifling a yawn.

Just then an older Asian woman stepped into the lobby and spotted Genevieve.

"May I help you?"

Not having expected perfect English from this oriental lady, Genevieve stumbled through her reply. "Uh, I, um, I'm here for, to-- that is-- "I wonder what she thinks of my english!"

The lady smiled kindly. "Do you have a reservation?"

Relieved that she could rest her apparent jet-lagged tongue, Genevieve smiled and simply nodded her head.

With that, the lady led her through the dimly lit foyer, which was only as wide as the front let on, but then after about twenty feet, opened into a comfortable lobby, and to a small front desk. The inside was so drastically unlike the outside that it took Genevieve much longer to get to the desk as her gaze swept over her new surroundings.

Everything was in its place and perfect. From the deep colored Persian rugs of a burgundy hue covering the dark hard wood floors to the soft linen love seats and glass topped wrought iron coffee tables clustered together in the lobby. Striking black and white photographs of Hong Kong were hung in tasteful groupings. Neutral colors covered the walls making the mahogany of the furniture and picture frames stand out beautifully.

If this lobby, and dining room, which she caught a glimpse of as she passed by on her way to the desk, was a precursor to her room, she looked forward indeed to seeing it.

Turning back towards the desk, she found the small lady staring at her. It didn't make Genevieve uncomfortable to be looked at. Since she had arrived, she had found that she was being stared at quite a bit by the locals. She had read in a guide book to just smile back or pay no attention, for they are just looking. But she realized that this lady was not just staring. She was studying Genevieve.

"You're John's daughter, Genevieve, aren't you?"

This lady had surprised Genevieve now for the second time in less than two minutes. "Yes. How did you know?"

"The way you hold yourself," she went on scrutinizing Genevieve as she spoke. "And you have that same smirk that seems to say, 'I know a whole lot more than I'm letting on'."

Unable to keep the surprise from showing on her face, she replied, "You have just described my father perfectly."

"And there is a lot of him in you." The woman studied her closer now. "Except for the color of your eyes. Your father has the bluest eyes I have ever seen. And yours are such a lovely shade of hazel brown.” The woman laughed softly, "But listen to me now, going on about how much you look like John and I haven't even introduced myself. My name is Suzy, and this," she gestured with her hands, "is my home. Welcome."

"Thank-you, Suzy. It's a pleasure to meet you at last. I've heard so much about you and Charlie."

"All good, I hope," Suzy's eyes sparkled.

"Every bit," Genevieve assured her.

Suzy giggled. "Well, how about we get you settled into your room, Genevieve?"

"That would be lovely."

As they took care of the business end of the room letting, Genevieve decided that she liked Suzy. Barely coming up to Genevieve's shoulder, even with heels on, Suzy, whom Genevieve knew to be in her early sixties and of Japanese descent, was still very attractive with her short black hair curled perfectly into place and what must have been meticulously applied make-up to her lips, and her eyes, which held a light of merriment that endeared Genevieve to her even more. And anyone who could describe her father so well and then say he was seen in Genevieve was definitely a friend of hers.

Within a couple of minutes Suzy was leading Genevieve up the winding staircase to her room. Once Suzy gave a quick tour of the room, pointing out all of the amenities, she left Genevieve to get settled before dinner.

Closing the door behind Suzy, Genevieve turned letting her eyes sweep the room, taking in everything. She wondered how her room at home would look if she decorated it like this room was. The light beige walls were accented with rice paper paintings of the regions foliage. Over to her left, the bed, which was against the bathroom wall, was covered in a linen colored bedspread embroidered with some of the same flora and fauna found in the pictures. A small, dark wooden night stand was next to the bed complete with a digital alarm clock and telephone. To her right opposite the bed stood an armoire and along the inside wall just next to her was a chest of drawers and a full length mirror.

There was only one window, albeit a very large window, and it was directly in line with the door. But in point of fact the "window" was actually French doors that when opened looked out over the street below. There was no real balcony, but over the bottom half of the doors, on the outside, was fastened a wrought iron rail, so that when the doors were opened, it was as if there were a balcony. A make-shift balcony at least. The door's bamboo shades were drawn up and the linen curtains were held back on either side by wooden rings. In front of the doors was a small round table and a dark wicker chair with a colorful floral cushion on it.

Genevieve let out a contented sigh and smiled. Dad was right. It is a beautiful place.

As she took a deep breath, she decided that it was also a stuffy place. The afternoon sun pouring in through her window was heating the small room up quite nicely. And even though the ceiling fan was going full tilt, it seemed it just wasn't enough air to suit her. Opening the door though produced more than just fresh air. It produced a bit of noise from the street below.

Resting against the railing, she leaned out the door and looked up and down the street observing the hustle and bustle of everyday life in Hong Kong. Tired as she was, a bubble of excitement raced through her and she could hardly wait to be out and about tomorrow.

Hoisting her suitcase onto the bed, she quickly distributed everything into its rightful place, noting the cleanliness of the room as she went. With this task out of the way, she sat on the edge of the bed closest the night stand and called her father.

"Sullivan's Safari's."

Genevieve smiled at the sound of her father's voice. "Hello, Dad."

"Evie!"

Hearing the special little name that only he called her warmed her heart.

"How was the flight?"

"Uneventful."

"That is always good. Are you at the airport now?"

"No, I'm at Suzy's. By the by, thank you for the surprise."

"What surprise was that?" he did his best to sound innocent and clueless.

"The chauffeur at the airport holding a sign with my name on it, waiting to whisk me into the city via a beautiful, black limousine. Does that ring any bells?"

"Oh, that surprise."

"That's the one," Genevieve laughed.

"I wanted you to arrive in style."

"Well, I did and then some, I believe. Thank you very much. It was quite fun."

"You are welcome, my love. Now tell me, what do you think of the place?"

"Oh, Dad, it's just lovely. I may have some redecorating to do when I get home," she teased.

"Hmmm, that may be just what this drab old hut of ours needs."

Genevieve made a face into the phone. "You know, you're no fun when you just go along with whatever I say!"

"Oh, but it is fun! I could almost see the face you made at me."

At this Genevieve laughed out right. "So, how did the safari go?" she asked having felt more than a little guilty that he would have to do the three day safari alone as she had had to pack and leave for Hong Kong.

"It went well enough."

"Well enough?"

"I'm not used to doing the driving and the animal spotting."

"I think I've spoiled you."

"I know you have. Anyway, I just missed my spotter."

"I missed my driver."

"It's nice to be missed."

"Yes, it is."

"Hullo!" her father suddenly exclaimed. "I do believe I see Stephen coming up the drive."

"Coming to borrow a cup of sugar?"

"That's not what he usually wants to borrow."

Stephen Kincaid was the game warden for quite a large area, and when he came calling it was most times to ask her father to help track and kill an animal that was a danger to the area's villages and game. Her father, at sixty-one, was an excellent shot, so Stephen could always count on him to help out.

"If you do go with him, Dad, be safe."

"I will be. And you be safe, too. Don't do anything I'd want you to do," he said, obviously distracted by the arrival of his unexpected guest who was still trying to carry on a conversation with him while he was on the phone.

Genevieve laughed at his slip. "Would you care to revise that request, Pops?"

A low chuckle was heard on the other end of the line. "You know, I think I would like to do just that. Don't do anything I wouldn't want you to do!"

"I won't."

Suddenly her father grew serious. "I am serious about this, Evie. Be alert. Use the good sense God gave you and stay away from trouble. Hong Kong can be quite-- eventful."

"I will, Dad. I promise."

"I have to go now, " she heard her father hold the phone away from his mouth and tell Stephen to wait a moment. There was some mumbling and then she could hear her father. "I'm talking to Evie."

Mumbling.

"She's in Hong Kong."

Mumble.

"Evie, Stephen says 'hi'."

"Tell Stephen I said 'hi'."

"I will. I'll talk to you later. I love you."

"I love you too, Dad."

"Oh, and, Evie love. Have fun."

"Thank you," she grinned. "I will. Bye now."

"Bye."

As she hung up the phone, Genevieve realized how difficult it had to have been for her father to let her go on this trip alone. This was the first time that there was a major distance between them. Always before they had done nearly everything together. He was her sworn protector, so she knew it was a bit rough on him to let her go. It was a bit rough on her, too. It wasn't that she hadn't wanted him to come with her-- she did. But at the same time she desperately wanted to do something on her own, and her father knew it. That's why he had surprised her with this trip just for her. To have an adventure all her own. On her own. Even if it was just to take some pictures. Just to say that she had done this. To be able to tell her father some stories for a change.

Laying down on the bed, Genevieve offered up a prayer for safety for her and her father as she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

An hour later, Genevieve was awakened by the sounds of sirens going by in the streets below.

"That's always a great way to wake up," she grumbled as she rolled off of the bed, willing her pulse to slow back down to its normal rate.

Noting the time on the bedside clock she saw that she had a half hour till dinner. That would give her enough time to fix her airplane seat/nap hair and dress for dinner. One look in the mirror, however, told her that her sleepy-eyed face needed an awakening as well and she knew a splash of cold water would get her blood racing.

"Whew! That's refreshing!"

Eyes closed, she patted at the air a few times before her hands finally found the towel rod and retrieved a soft hand towel. As she gently blotted her face dry, she looked in the mirror to see if she had achieved the desired effect.

At least now I don't look like I've been sitting in a plane all day. I only feel like it.

And that, she figured, was because there hadn't been one decent thing to eat on the plane. She had tried to fill up, as much as one can, on water and juices, but the flight attendants had been rather stingy with the refreshments. Genevieve thought that all she needed was a decent meal and a good nights rest and she would be ready and raring to go come morning.

After she repaired her travel weary, dark auburn waves, she dressed quickly in a khaki cargo skirt and a sleeveless white turtleneck sweater and slipped into a pair of beaded flip-flops. Giving herself the once over in the full length mirror, she tucked the sides of her nape-of-the-neck length layered bob behind her ears, Genevieve gave a nod of approval and left her room.

As she walked down the hallway she could faintly hear soft music drifting up towards her from the lobby. Making her way down the staircase, she suddenly became aware of the reality that she was on her own-- in another country-- going down to eat supper-- alone.

For a moment she paused on the small landing as a yellow streak flashed through her like a bolt of lightning. She was alone. She had never been alone-alone before.

The fear started to rise as did the thought of turning around, heading back to her room, and catching the first flight home. Was she really old enough to be doing something like this? Alone?! At that moment she felt more like seven rather than twenty-seven.

But what if something happened? What if she got lost or her money was stolen along with her passport? What if something went wrong?! All because she's all alone!!

These "what ifs" and fears went racing through her mind at an alarming rate as she felt a tidal wave of panic start to wash over her.

And that signal was all she needed.

Genevieve blinked as she came to herself and a smile crept onto her face. She was quickly reminded of her training and just as quickly resisted the attacker.

"I refuse to fear," she said only loud enough to hear herself.

With that, the fear and panic that had been on the rise had run for cover as she stood her ground, refusing to fear. Thank You Lord for the reminder.

Straightening herself up, she took a deep breath and put on a smile, hoping to heaven that she hadn't been standing there for as long as it seemed, as she resumed descending the stairs. Well, Genevieve, you wanted an adventure. Now you've got one. So, let's have fun with it.

As she reached the softly lit lobby and headed for the dining room, Genevieve couldn't help but feel as if she had been invited to a friends house for dinner. This lovely inn felt like a real home. A home away from home so to speak.

Before she reached the dining room Suzy appeared at her side.

"Did you find your room satisfactory, Genevieve?"

"Oh, yes! It's absolutely lovely."

Suzy seemed to be studying her again, but then caught herself and quickly moved on. "After such a long flight, I would think that you would be a bit hungry. I know that they don't always serve the most edible things on airliners."

"Aye, it is quite like hospital food, and I am very hungry!"

Suzy laughed which made Genevieve smile. She had such a gentle, musical laugh. It fit this petite Japanese lady perfectly.

"Well, you can have your choice of tables," she said as she looked about the dining room. "There are more than a couple to choose from yet." Turning back to Genevieve, she smiled. "I hope you enjoy the meal."

"I'm sure I will. Thank you."

Picking a small table in a corner of the cozy dining area, Genevieve sat in a chair facing out to the rest of the room. There was only about a dozen tables of varying sizes with small dark blue glass vases full of the sweetest smelling white flowers on each table. Large potted palm-like plants that almost reached the ten foot ceiling were placed in the four corners of the room with painted paper tri-fold screens set in front of the plants exactly like the one set up behind Genevieve. The lighting, as in the lobby, was soft, complimenting the classical music coming from the ornate crank record cabinet that was beside the doorway that went into the lobby.

Just then a young Chinese boy came to her table and handed her a laminated card that had the dinner menu on it. "My name Lao. I will be server for you."

Genevieve smiled at the lad. His English, though a bit broken, was not bad at all. And he spoke to her with such sincerity of duty that she could not help but like him right off.

"May I get something to drink for you?"

"Yes, some ice water."

"With lemon?"

"No, thank you."

"Maybe lime? Lime much better in water, anyway."

Laughing softly she replied, "You sold me. I'll take the lime."

Lao graced Genevieve with a big grin. "I will be soon back."

As he left to get Genevieve's water with lime, she looked the menu over. By the time Lao returned with her water she had decided on the chicken chow mein, and fried rice with sweet and sour sauce.

While waiting for her dinner, Genevieve observed the other patrons.

Two older American couples, Texans she gathered from the ten gallon hats on the men and the big hair on the women, as well as their pronounced southern drawls, sat together at one of the larger tables next to the Chinese mural that adorned the wall. Obviously, friends traveling together, as they were deep in conversation which was broken every now and then with a round of rip-roaring laughter.

There was a young oriental couple shyly talking to each other. A first date, maybe, Genevieve smiled to herself. A few tables over from the Texans were two businessmen in suits who sat looking over documents as they ate their meal. The largest table closest to the door held an Asian family of seven. Grandma and Grandpa, Mom and Dad, Junior, Princess and Baby. Genevieve saw that they knew the wait staff by name. A nice dinner out for the family. What a wonderful place to come for a night out every once in a while.

Her gaze travelled to the opposite corner where a man sat. That's pretty much all she could tell for he was deeply engrossed in reading a newspaper. The only things she could tell by looking at what was visible was that he was nicely dressed for dinner, and, seeing just a glimpse, had black hair with a tendency to wave. He was reading an English paper, so she figured he was American, possibly British. She also noticed that he had really nice hands. Not huge hands. And not girly hands. Just--nice. Really nice. Most times, Genevieve didn't pay altogether too much attention to peoples hands. But then again she could usually see more of them than just their hands.

As she tried sending subliminal messages to the man to lower his newspaper, Genevieve caught a quick movement out of the corner of her eye and turned her attention towards the lobby where a man had just come in waving a newspaper. What's with the newspapers? She watched as the man hurried towards Suzy, who had been straightening the magazines on one of the coffee tables in the lobby, and began speaking in excited hushed tones and gesturing wildly.

One of the waitresses who had also witnessed the exchange went out to the lobby to see what was going on. Soon she was walking back through the dining area, wide-eyed from the news, making her way back to the kitchen to inform her co-workers of the happenings, no doubt. Within a few short minutes the entire dining room was buzzing with the news.

Whatever the "news" is, Genevieve thought as she tried to patiently wait for Lao to come back to her table so she could ask him what was going on. But when Lao brought her chow mein and fried rice out to her she didn't get the chance to ask because the young waiter volunteered the information before she could open her mouth to speak.

"Did you hear about the robbery, Miss?" he excitedly asked Genevieve as he set the large plate of chow mein and steaming bowl of rice down in front of her.

"Robbery?"

"Yes! The University Museum and Art Gallery was robbed this afternoon. That's what sirens were for we heard go by. Did you hear sirens?"

He spoke so fast that it took a second for her understanding to catch up with her hearing. She did remember how she was awakened from her post flight nap. "I did hear the sirens. No one was hurt, were they?"

"No. No one even knew it was missing until they went to close for day."

"What was stolen?"

"'The Lion’s Paw’.”

"'The Lion’s Paw’? What is that?"

"'The Lion’s Paw’ is a jewel," he explained in reverent tones, "A topaz, the size of my fist." Lao clenched his small fist and shook it for emphasis.

Before she could ask any other questions Lao was called to the kitchen.

"I must go now. Enjoy your dinner, Miss." With that, he turned and left Genevieve to her supper.

Barely getting her mealtime prayers said, Genevieve started wondering about the theft. Maybe I'll go to the museum and check out the scene of the crime. Genevieve had been intrigued by mysteries since she was a little girl. Her father had always been an enthusiast of great mysteries. Subsequently, she had grown up reading a vast assortment of older mystery novels by varied authors. Along the way, there had been some stories that she had enjoyed immensely, and some that she would rather that she had never read at all. Still, a mystery was a mystery, and oh, so much fun if it could be figured out correctly before the story’s end.

She remembered her and her father reading books to each other and, more than once, putting their heads together and solving the crimes before the great minds in the books could. And now, here she was, in another country with a fresh mystery brewing. Perhaps I will visit the museum tomorrow on my way back from the harbour.

Her father's words suddenly came to mind---"Use the good sense God gave you and stay away from trouble".

Blast! I did promise him. Wrinkling her nose, she stabbed at a mushroom with her fork and shoved it in her mouth. She sighed, Oh, well. I can at least read about it in the papers. And I was planning on going to the museums anyway. I just won't go to that one right off.

As she finished her meal, she happened to look up in time to see the man that had been sitting in the corner opposite her with his face covered by a newspaper disappear around the corner into the lobby. With all the excitement that had rippled through the small establishment, she had forgotten about the newspaper man.

Downing her water in a most unladylike fashion, she rifled through her handbag and left money for her dinner along with a tip, and quickly left to see if "Newsie" was a guest there and going up to his room or just there for his dinner. By the time she reached the lobby, though, there was no sign of him going up the stairs or walking out the door. It was of no consequence. Genevieve had just wanted to see if he had a face to match his nice hands.

Accepting the defeat with a mere shrug of her eyebrows, Genevieve caught sight of Suzy behind the front desk watching her.

"Is there something I can help you with, Genevieve?"

Genevieve acknowledged the question with a shake of her head as she walked towards the desk.

"No, thank you." Then on second thought she quickly added, "Actually, yes. Could you tell me where I could get an evening paper?"

"I have some right here," she said as she reached under the desk. "My husband brings them in each morning and evening for the guests."

"How much are they?"

"They are free to the guests," she replied as she handed a folded paper to Genevieve.

"Thank you." She took the newspaper from Suzy and looked at the headline. "Quite an exciting thing to be happening on my first visit here, isn't it?" Genevieve looked up as she finished speaking to find Suzy studying her once again.

Startled that she had been caught looking again, Suzy smiled quickly and said even quicker, "Oh, yes! It is!"

Lowering the paper completely, Genevieve smiled at the flustered woman.

"I'm sorry, Genevieve, I don't mean to stare. But almost everything I've seen you do since you arrived reminds me of John. The way you walk. The way you take in everything at a glance. Even the way you eat."

At this, Genevieve laughed. "The way I eat?"

Suzy laughed along with her now. "Even that."

Genevieve reached out and took Suzy's hand. "I'm glad to know it. Thank you."

Once in her room, Genevieve kicked off her flip-flops, went over and sunk down into the cushioned wicker chair and read the paper. According to the paper, the police didn't know much yet so the press didn't have a whole lot of anything except the obvious to write about. The headline, “Lion’s Paw Stolen", pretty much said it all.

Even though it was still early, Genevieve was feeling the jet-lag and decided an early bedtime was what she needed if she wanted to be up with the sun.

"Time to hit the showers," she said through a yawn.

As she showered, her mind wandered to how Suzy thought she looked so much like her father. It was actually very nice to hear, but Suzy was not the first to tell her or her father that Genevieve looked like John Sullivan. Genevieve supposed she could see it. It wasn't so much that she looked like him, as it was that she had a lot of the same habits, gestures, and actions as he. But it never stopped her from being surprised (albeit, pleasantly so) to hear it, seeing how her father, a self-confirmed old bachelor, had adopted Genevieve when she was just a baby. Ten months old, to be exact.

He had known her parents and when they died, he decided to take her and raise her as his own. He had even renamed her, changing her name to Genevieve, after an old song his mother used to sing. The question that he had never been married and yet he was her father had never even entered Genevieve's mind until she was about nine years old. Her dad had become both father and mother to her so completely, that when he had answered her question telling Genevieve that she had been adopted, she cried. Not because he hadn't told her before, nor was it for feeling a loss for people she never really knew. But it was because Genevieve was not John Sullivan's own child. His flesh and blood.

Fear had tried to seize her young heart telling her that because she was not his flesh and blood child he could very easily dismiss her from his care for there were no blood ties to keep him from doing so. And when she had told him as much, he had taken her in his arms and told her that she was his covenant child and she was just as much his daughter as if she were his flesh and blood, that he couldn't love her more if she were, and nothing would ever change that.

Genevieve remembered how she had looked into his eyes and saw nothing but complete love for her, and how she had showered him with little girl kisses until he started laughing and kissing back. From that moment on, Genevieve never doubted that she was completely John Sullivan's daughter.

As she finished her shower, dressing in her pajamas, and brushing her teeth, Genevieve thought how remarkably her father had done being both father and mother. The "father" part came easily to him, but he certainly worked hard at the "mother" part. Grinning around her toothbrush and a mouth full of toothpaste, she remembered two different times that her father had gone above and beyond the call of duty in the mothering department.

The first one she remembered was when she was seven years old and her dad had gone to town to a beauty salon and had paid one of the hairdressers to teach him how to braid hair so he could surprise Genevieve. That day, she had come home from school to find her father waiting for her on the veranda with a proud-as-a-peacock grin on his face, a hair brush in one hand and a fistful of scarlet ribbons in the other. An hour and a half later, a weary, yet victorious papa tied a ribbon on the end of the second braid excusing the long-suffering and ecstatic daughter to go and play till suppertime. The braids had been a bit crooked, but Genevieve had thought that no one could have done a better job. Over the years, her father had gotten quite good at braiding and fixing up her hair, teaching her the how-to's when she was old enough to learn. The second thing was when she was thirteen and her father had actually shaved his own legs just so he would know how to show Genevieve how to shave her legs.

Sliding between the sheets of the bed, Genevieve chuckled as she remembered the itchy misery her father endured as his leg hair began growing out. Placing both arms behind her head, she wondered why so many memories were swirling about in her head. Not that she minded one bit. They were good memories.

All at once, she realized why. This was the furthest they had ever been from each other. It was odd. Him not being there to say "goodnight" to.

Genevieve looked up towards the ceiling and smiled. "You sure did bless me with a winner, Lord. Thank You."

End of sample.

On A Slow Boat To China

Copyright © 2003 Jae Blessing