The Mao Case

accepted her without a single question. The work arrangements suited Peiqin too, since she wouldn’t
     even have to ask for a leave from the restaurant. As an accountant with flexible work hours, she could come over at her convenience.
     Some days she might be able to work her hours here during the lunch break.
    Taking an apron out of the canvas bag, she started moving around like a maid, while observing like a cop’s wife, looking out
     for anything out of the ordinary and for objects associated with Mao.
    It was a luxurious apartment. The layout appeared to be unusual, but she was not sure. The oblong-shaped living room was huge,
     with
paintings scattered here and there, finished and unfinished. Jiao might use it more like a studio. On one wall hung a long
     silk-decked scroll of Chinese calligraphy. It was difficult for Peiqin to read the flying-dragon-and-dancing-phoenix-like
     writing. It took her several minutes to recognize five or six characters in the scroll, and then it dawned on her that the
     scroll was of a poem by Mao entitled “Ode to the Plum Blossom,” which she had read in her middle school textbook.
    In classical Chinese poetry, beauties and flowers sometimes served as metaphors for each other. So the calligrapher could
     have copied the poem for Jiao as a compliment, but as far as Peiqin remembered, the plum blossom was not commonly symbolic
     of a young, fashionable girl.
    Perhaps she was reading too much into it. In today’s market, a scroll by a celebrated calligrapher could be invaluable regardless
     of its contents. It also served to show the refined taste of the owner, young or not. She took another look at the poem. There
     was a date in the Chinese lunar calendar, which she failed to decipher. She would have to check it in a reference book from
     the library.
    She moved into the bedroom, which, too, was exceptionally large, with a couple of walk-in closets and a master bathroom. The
     furniture, however, was a stark contrast to that of the living room. Simple, practically plain. What struck her as peculiar
     was the large wooden bed. It was larger than a king-size, and possibly custom-made. Now, why a young single girl needed such
     a bed, Peiqin couldn’t guess. There was also a custom-made bookshelf built into the plain wooden headboard. In fact, about
     a third of the bed was littered with books. Leaning to straighten the pillows, she touched the bed. No mattress, only a solid
     hard board — a wooden-board mattress under the sheets.
    Above the headboard hung a large picture of Mao, gazing down from above. It was an unusual bedroom decoration. The picture
     frame looked like it was solid gold, which it couldn’t be, but it was very heavy nonetheless. The picture faced a large mirror
     on the opposite wall, which was not that lucky in terms of feng shui, for the people in bed.
Standing beside the bed was a cabinetlike bookshelf, with pictures of Jiao on the top, almost level with the picture of Mao.
    There were two closets, one large, one small, facing the bed. She opened the doors. There were clothing and painting supplies
     in them. But Peiqin didn’t see anything surprising.
    She proceeded into the adjoining room, which looked like a study. On the large mahogany desk there was an album lying beside
     a miniature bronze statue of Mao. For a study, it was impressive: custom-made mahogany bookshelves stood tall and majestic
     against three walls. On the shelves were a considerable number of books about Mao, some of which Peiqin had never seen in
     bookstores. Jiao had done an incredible job collecting so many of them. There was also a section of history books, some of
     them thread-bound, cloth-covered editions, presumably meant to look impressive. At the bottom of one bookshelf there was a
     pile of fashion magazines, incongruous with the history books above.
    The kitchen, full of modern stainless appliances, was the only place Peiqin didn’t find anything associated with Mao. She
     stood on her tiptoes and looked into the cabinet. There was nothing there but a couple of recipe books, one of which she had
     at home too.
    She decided to go and do the shopping, so she took off the apron and folded it neatly on the kitchen table. On the first day,
     a maid’s responsibility came first. Later on, if she had time, she could check around again.
    So she set out with the shopping list. It was an intriguing one. Fat pork, Wuchang fish, bitter melon, green and red pepper,
     and some