"You ask me, Fu Manchu there did it," one elderly local piped up from his place by the stove. "They were having a big set-to just before he died."
"Fu Manchu?" Jeb repeated.
"Ayah," the old man said, and buried his nose back in his coffee.
"Ayah," Michael murmured to me. "They really do say that, then?"
"Only to amuse the tourists," I whispered back. "Fu Manchu?"
Michael shrugged. Jeb didn't seem very impressed with the revelation that Sax Rohmer's sinister pulp villain was alive and well and plotting on Monhegan. Could dacoits and Thugs be far behind? And then I saw someone passing outside the store windows, and enlightenment struck.
"Well, if I were you, I'd think about finding those doctors," I said. "Meanwhile, we'd better run along," I added, tugging at Michael's sleeve. After one plaintive glance at his coffee mug, he sighed and followed me outside.
"What's up?" he asked.
"We're going to interrogate Fu Manchu," I said.
Chapter 18
East of Puffins
"Interrogate Fu Manchu?" Michael said. "You're not serious."
"I think the old guy meant the Asian man we saw quarreling with Resnick yesterday," I said.
"The one too well dressed for a birder?"
"Exactly. And if I'm not mistaken, that's him right now."
I pointed across the street to the front porch of the Island Inn, where the Asian man was stamping his feet and shaking himself. He had a brightly colored bag with the name of the other, upscale grocery on it. With a bottle of wine inside, from the shape of it.
"You could be right," Michael said:
"I'm positive," I said. "If we had to find a middle-aged Caucasian woman with binoculars, we wouldn't have a chance in the world of figuring out which birder it was. But Monhegan in flyover season isn't exactly a hotbed of ethnic diversity."
The Asian man had disappeared by the time we entered the hotel lobby, but the desk clerk looked up.
"Good grief, he's fast," I said. "Sorry, but you know the man who just came back into the lobby?"
"Mr. Takahashi?" the owner said.
"Yes," I said. "He forgot to mention which room he's in, and we need to give him back something."
I pointed vaguely back at my knapsack.
"He's in room twenty-three," the clerk said. "You want me to call him?"
"We can just take it up, if that's all right," I said. "Won't be a minute."
Mr. Takahashi looked surprised when he opened his room door and saw Michael and me.
"Yes?" he said. I had to look up to see his face. He was young--thirty-five at most--and taller than I expected--he nearly matched Michael's six four.
"Mr. Takahashi, I hate to bother you, but it's very important," I said. "Yesterday, you were overheard in… well, in a rather heated discussion with--"
"Oh, good God," Takahashi said. "Just tell the bastard to lay off, will you? I won't harass him, I'll do my damnedest not to even see him, but I can't very well leave the island until this damned hurricane blows over."
I was surprised to notice that he had a faint southern accent. And obviously he had mistaken us for someone official. I decided not to enlighten him.
"I assume you're talking about Victor Resnick?" I asked.
"Well, who else?" Takahashi said. "You don't mean someone else has filed a complaint about me? If they have, I guarantee you Resnick's behind it."
"Just what is the nature of the relationship between you and Mr. Resnick?" I said.
"Relationship? We don't have a relationship; I came to see him on business."
"What's the nature of your business relationship, then?" I persisted.
Takahashi looked at me with exasperation. He glanced behind me at Michael, who tried to look stern and official while dripping audibly on the floor. Michael seemed to rattle him a little. Men Takahashi's size don't often ran into people taller than they are.
Takahashi sighed and turned to pick up something from the bedside table. A card case. He handed each of us a business card. Very nice cards, engraved on heavy off-white textured paper so thick, it was almost cardboard.
"Kenneth N. Takahashi," I read. "Vice President, Coastal Resorts, Ltd."
Takahashi nodded as if that explained everything. About the only thing it explained for me was his accent, since the firm was headquartered in Atlanta.
"What is Coastal Resorts, Ltd.?" I asked.
"What is it?" Takahashi's drawl got a little thicker when he got excited. "It's only the country's second-largest developer of luxury resort properties. Don't tell me you haven't heard about the hotel project?"