Aunty Lee's Chilled Revenge (5 page)

Breakfast with Vallerie

By the time Vallerie came downstairs wearing a red hibiscus-patterned housedress of Aunty Lee's that Nina had unearthed, Aunty Lee was finishing her oatmeal porridge with fresh mango chunks.

“Ah, Vallerie. Good morning. How are you feeling? Do you think you can manage to eat some breakfast? Come and sit down.”

Aunty Lee indicated a chair and put a cushion over her stack of newspapers.

“Thank you, Mrs. Lee.” Vallerie sat down. “I don't know if I can eat anything. I know I should try, for Allison's sake. But it's so difficult.”

“Yah hor.”
The sound Aunty Lee made managed to convey agreement, sympathy, and encouragement to move on. “But you must try to eat something. Our mangoes are very sweet.
Just ripe this morning. Ripe on the tree is always more tasty than when they cut down green to transport here to sell in supermarket. And you mustn't call me Mrs. Lee. No need to be so formal. Every time you call me Mrs. Lee I am scared somebody is catching me for traffic offense. Everybody calls me Aunty Lee. Even my stepson and stepdaughter.”

“I can't call you ‘Aunty,'” Vallerie said after a pause. “What's your name?”

“Rosie.”

“I'll call you Rose,” Vallerie said.

Vallerie might have been a good-looking woman when not in the grip of sisterly bereavement. She had an ample bosom and an even more ample midsection and a lot of very black hair. Large, healthy people had a beauty that was all their own. Often they were happy, relaxed, and knew how to enjoy life and good food. They could be very good company too, radiating contented appreciation. Of course there were also some unhappy fat people who stuffed themselves with food they did not enjoy, and these gave off a very different vibe. To Aunty Lee's experienced eye, Vallerie Love looked like an unhappy eater. For Aunty Lee this covered people who ate when they were unhappy as well as people who were unhappy about what they ate.

Aunty Lee believed the right kind of food could comfort the mind as well as the body. And providing that food was Aunty Lee's territory.

I'm going to take care of her and feed her up and make her happy, that's all, Aunty Lee thought, starting with breakfast and then, perhaps, solving her sister's murder.

“Black coffee,” Vallerie told Nina without looking at her.

Watching happy people eat was always a pleasant distraction, but this cross and miserable-looking woman had all the allure of a reality show crisis. However, Aunty Lee was not one to approach a juicy crisis unprepared.

“Egg and bacon?” Aunty Lee suggested.

“All imported from goodness knows where I suppose.”

“My bacon comes from organic Australia, my eggs come from free range, so more delicious and more healthy than normal breakfast.”

Vallerie snorted but did not say no.

Nina headed to the kitchen.

“I'm not surprised my sister couldn't stand it here,” Vallerie said. “Singapore, I mean.”

For a moment Aunty Lee wondered whether Vallerie was deliberately trying to provoke a fight. Drunken tourists had a reputation for using insults in bars and taxis to start fights, which resulted in their getting thrown out without having to pay. But Vallerie was neither drunk nor expecting to pay. Looking at her, Aunty Lee realized Vallerie was barely aware of her audience and was literally speaking her mind—or rather her thoughts—unfiltered. Like water in a clogged sink filter, her anger and grievances and spite swirled round and round in her head, occasionally flooding over and spilling out in words.

Aunty Lee tried to open a new drainage channel. “What made your sister come back to Singapore?”

“She didn't want to, she had to. It was unfinished business,” Vallerie said.

Nina returned to set the table. She placed a
keropok
basket by Vallerie who took one, then another and another of the crispy prawn crackers. She had seemed to like them yesterday and Nina had obviously noticed and remembered.

“But why now, five years later?” Aunty Lee was like a persistent dog, refusing to be distracted by tidbits or games when she could sniff a rat trapped in a drainpipe.

“Why does it matter? She's dead now!”

Nina added a little dish of fragrantly crispy savory anchovies and peanuts. Vallerie Love was clearly very hungry, but Aunty Lee hoped she would not fill herself with fried snacks before a good, nourishing meal was put before her.

“But why now? Was it her idea or did somebody tell her to come? Did anybody else know when she was coming to Singapore?”

“You mean did someone get her to come over just to kill her?”

Aunty Lee nodded. “Who else knew she was coming here? Oh, and if you need to get in touch with anybody back home to tell them you are all right you can use the computer in my late husband's office. Nina can show you where it is and how to use it.”

Vallerie shook her head. “Nobody's going to bother. Nobody gives a shit. Do you have Wi-Fi?”

“Of course! Nina, what's the password again?”

Nina, reappearing with fried bacon, pork sausages, and eggs, only just managed not to look surprised and said, “Password is the house address, madame,” as she put the
food down in front of Vallerie, along with a small dish of cut mango which the guest ignored.

Aunty Lee returned to the subject that interested her more. “You will probably have to go to the hospital morgue to identify your sister's body.”

“That's crazy. Who else would it be? I don't want to go to some creepy morgue and look at poor Allison's body.” The aroma of crisp, fried bacon drew Vallerie's attention to her plate.

Aunty Lee did not like morgues any more than anyone else. But there was no reason for Vallerie Love to upset herself and her health until it was confirmed that the dead woman in the morgue was Allison Love.

“Anyway, until you identify the body as your sister there's no point in getting upset. It might all be a mistake.”

“You're mad! Who else would it be?” Vallerie flared up. “That's so bloody stupid.”

“Strangers are always getting hotel rooms mixed up,” Aunty Lee said vaguely. “Of course they can use DNA and all that to test, but it is faster and cheaper if a family member can ID.”

“There isn't any toast. Why isn't there any toast?” Vallerie turned to look around for Nina. “This is ridiculous. How am I supposed to eat this?”

“Do you know why your sister picked that hotel to stay in? Did she know somebody there or had she stayed there before?”

Vallerie shrugged
no idea
over a mouthful of bacon.

“The police said they need you to make a statement when you are feeling better. And I will be happy for you to go on staying here, but I'm sure you will want to collect your clothes and things from the hotel. You can look over the room at the same time to see whether anything is missing.”

“I suppose so.” Vallerie looked glum. She was probably thinking of her sister, dead in the hotel room, Aunty Lee thought.

“You mustn't think of it as the place where your sister got killed,” she said helpfully. “Just try to spot something that will help the police find out who killed her.”

This mention of her sister made Vallerie close her eyes and wrinkle up her face. Fortunately Nina arrived with hot buttered toast before she could break down.

“And after your poor sister's body is taken care of, what will you do then?”

“That's none of your business,” Vallerie snapped automatically. She seemed unfamiliar with letting people be nice to her. Then, as Aunty Lee continued to look on her with steady kindness, Vallerie seemed to accept the woman was only trying to help. “I really don't know. All Allison wanted was what was due to her. Those animal people started a vendetta against her. They hounded and harassed her, they went after her husband and kids . . . they drove her to a nervous breakdown and she ended up losing her husband and children and now she's dead. Actually what I want to do now is make sure they pay for what they did to her!”

There was a controlled, over-the-top note to her voice that suggested Vallerie was acting a part and made Aunty Lee
wonder whether she really believed this. Most people might have thought Vallerie was in shock, but Aunty Lee could tell the woman was afraid of something, hiding from something—or someone—in fact. But who could that be, given she had never been to Singapore before and knew no one on the island?

“And now they're all going to gang up against me—those animal people, the police, even you! You're going to believe whatever they tell you!”

“So tell me your version,” Aunty Lee suggested. She liked to hear all sides of a story. It was the same way she always approached a new dish. The more recipes you started with, the easier it was to get to the essence of a dish and put together a version that worked for you.

“That stupid, lying, loudmouth slut started everything—”

“Josephine DelaVega?”

“Yes, exactly. She put her lies about Allison online—all absurd, ridiculous slander—and it even got into the papers back home, and our ma was calling her and saying, ‘What have you done? Why are you killing people's pets again?'”

“Again?” Aunty Lee said involuntarily, though she had fully intended to let Vallerie run on unchecked, just to see how long it took her to start repeating herself. “Your sister killed animals before?” Her comment only stopped Vallerie for a moment.

“Our mother was always picking on Allison, blaming her for everything. It was very hard for her.”

Vallerie was very devoted to her sister, Aunty Lee thought. Most people were only really interested in talking about
themselves, but Vallerie Love only wanted to talk about her sister.

Vallerie leaned across the table and said confidentially, “You pretty much saved my life yesterday. I didn't think I'd find anyone here willing to show a little Christian decency. Thank you. And thank god your food's not like the rest of Singaporean food. Allison told me about the food here. It's already so bloody hot but all the people insist on eating so much spicy stuff on top of it!”

Aunty Lee waved off the thanks as well as the “Christian” decency. “You can stay here as long as you have to. We can cook you nonspicy food. We can cook anything. But you know, here with the weather like this, spicy food can give people better appetite. That's why most of the hot countries all have spicy foods. Not only Singapore—look at India and Mexico.”

Vallerie shuddered at the mention of India and Mexico.

“You were very fond of your sister. It must be so hard for you.”

“Oh yes, it is. Allison was always the leader, the one with the ideas and the energy. She was always going out and doing things. She was our parents' favorite, you know.”

“That can't have been easy for you.”

“It's just how it was. Allison was always the popular one. Guys were always falling for her, starting from when she was still in school. She could have done so much better for herself if she hadn't married Mike Fitzgerald with his sweet talk. She had a degree for chrissakes. And she followed him out here and ended up working as some low-down receptionist
and having to kowtow and say thank you to your tin-pot government here for allowing her to work. It was all a huge joke.”

Vallerie grabbed a piece of toast off the plate Nina had just put down beside her and smeared jam thickly and furiously on it. She paid no attention to Nina. “Thank you,” Aunty Lee mouthed. Nina acknowledged her with a token twitch of the lips, not quite a smile.

Nina and Aunty Lee might live in the same country in the same house, but as a foreign domestic worker Nina was exposed to a lot more of the hidden underside of people. Nina had observed people were generally worse than they appeared socially; if this was Vallerie's social side, Nina was not looking forward to encountering her dark side. And though as a “foreign worker” rather than a “foreign talent” Nina's experiences of Singapore were far worse than anything Vallerie or her sister could have encountered, Singapore had made it possible for her to keep her family alive, and Aunty Lee had become family to her. As far as Nina was concerned, this crazy woman could mouth off at Singapore all she liked, but Nina was going to keep a sharp eye on Aunty Lee and Aunty Lee's property while this unwelcome guest was around.

Sunday Morning Café

Cherril had been the first to arrive at Aunty Lee's Delights that morning. She had arrived just after nine and now, at almost ten, she was still the only one there. Sundays at the café didn't start till eleven, but Aunty Lee generally liked to get in early. Even after her fall, she would often have her breakfast at one of the café tables while watching Nina set up for the day. Of course she had that woman staying with her now—Cherril grimaced at the thought. Mechanically she checked the cordials and glasses and the rest of the drinks preparation. While she didn't feel at all like talking, she badly wanted to figure out what had happened—not just to Allison Love but to all of them.

Cherril was tired. Vallerie Love had gone home with Aunty Lee after talking to Salim and Panchal at the café, but she, Josephine, and Brian had been taken to the Bukit Tinggi
Police Hub to answer questions and give their statements. Vallerie was a bereaved relative but they were suspects, Cherril realized. Allison Love was dead and her sister had accused them of killing her. Cherril had thought they were being questioned to placate Vallerie Love, who had alternated sobbing with shouting hysterical accusations at them. But at the station they had printouts of some of the comments from the “Puppy Killer” forums of five years ago, and Cherril was shocked by how vicious their comments sounded now. “We were young and angry,” was all she could say. “We weren't the only ones angry with her.”

It had been late by the time she was finally allowed to leave the police station the night before, and that was only after Mycroft came to get her and pulled all the strings of influence he could reach. Apparently several other customers had heard Josephine say they should have killed Allison. Giving their statements had been a long, laborious procedure with much repetition and waiting in between sessions. As Brian had joked, it almost made you want to confess to something, just to get it over with. But Cherril often stayed back later than that at the café and had not thought to call home. She had been surprised when her husband showed up at the police station.

“Why didn't you call me? I would have come earlier.”

“How did you know we were here?”

“Josephine called.”

“Josephine? She didn't tell me she was calling you.”

“I think she probably called every lawyer contact she had in her phone. She probably forgot we're married.”

“And you came because Josephine needed a lawyer.”

“I came because she told me you were here at the station with her.”

“Did you get them to let her go too?” Cherril had not seen Josephine again after a desk sergeant had come to tell her that her husband was waiting for her outside.

“I don't know. They probably did.” Mycroft didn't seem interested in Josephine's fate.

It was unlike Mycroft, who was normally punctilious about seeing things through. But Cherril had to admit a nugget of satisfaction. She could not help wondering at Josephine calling Mycroft for help without mentioning it to her. Why hadn't she just asked Cherril to call her husband? Even as she wondered Cherril knew the answer: Josephine believed she had more insight and influence (especially with men).

Josephine had told the police she and Cherril had arrived at the café around the same time, with Brian joining them soon after.

“It's less complicated,” Josephine had explained in the ladies'. “The police aren't good at dealing with complicated things.”

When Mycroft asked her why she hadn't told him about the threatened lawsuit, Cherril could only say that Josephine had been so certain they would easily talk Allison out of it, that she was only trying to get money out of them. But going over the police printouts of their forum posts made her see that if any of the enraged commenters on the Animal ReHomers website had killed Allison Love, they were all responsible for inciting her death.

Her phone was flashing with updates. Aunty Lee (or more likely Nina) had sent a message telling Cherril they could manage without her if she didn't feel up to coming in. But that day Cherril far preferred being in the shop than back home where they were so sensible and reasonable. Right now Cherril needed someone to be irrational with, like Aunty Lee.

If Cherril had said, “If she hadn't come here just to make trouble for us, she would still be alive now, but I can't help thinking that if we hadn't made such a fuss over the dog years ago none of this would have happened, which means it's sort of our fault she's dead, not that we shouldn't have called her out for killing the dog, but maybe we shouldn't have let her have the dog in the first place,” Aunty Lee would have agreed without correcting her grammar (Anne) or logic (Mycroft).

And though Cherril dreaded the questions Aunty Lee was certain to ask (Aunty Lee had no qualms about being impolite), now she was feeling let down that Aunty Lee was not there to ask them. Instead, Cherril supposed she was looking after Allison's sister and felt a twinge of jealousy. Just as she was wondering whether she should call Aunty Lee to see when she was coming in, Nina arrived and said that Aunty Lee was still talking with Vallerie back at the house.

“Yesterday's two helpers coming in again today so it will be okay,” Nina assured her. “If you got to go and talk to the police some more I can stay here and supervise.”

“Thanks. I'll manage. You can go back to the house to help with Vallerie.”

Mark and Selina also turned up at the café right after church. They had been spending less time at the café since Mark handed over the drinks business to Cherril, but Aunty Lee's twisted ankle had brought them back. Selina considered it her Christian duty to help the weak and incapacitated—whether or not they wanted her help—especially when there might be profits involved.

“We read about the murder in the papers and saw your names and Aunty Lee's Delights mentioned, so we thought we better stop by just to make sure this place hasn't been closed down—again!” Selina said brightly. There was nothing Selina loved so much as poking (helpfully, of course) through other people's dirty laundry. This morning she was radiant in anticipation of a good gossip. “Where's Aunty Lee? They haven't arrested her, I hope! Ha ha! Isn't it terrible how dead bodies seem to show up in Aunty Lee's vicinity? Everybody was talking about it during post-service fellowship. They asked me, ‘Isn't that Mark's stepmum's place?' and I looked and couldn't believe it, so Mark insisted we rush over right away and find out what's happening, didn't you, Mark?”

Mark smiled at Cherril. “Are you okay, Cherry? You look tired.”

“Oh yes. I'm fine. Just a bit tired, thanks.”

“Look, sit down and I'll get you a coffee.”

Cherril felt certain it was Selina rather than Mark who had rushed over for news, just as it had probably been Selina who directed any lurid post-service discussion.

“She works here, why are you offering to get her coffee in her own kitchen? Anyway, tell us what happened! And
where's Aunty Lee? Is she at the police station? What did that woman die of? The newspapers didn't say. Was she poisoned? Here?”

“She wasn't poisoned here.” Cherril's previous airline training gave her an edge in dealing with difficult people, but she still found Selina Lee a challenge. “She never came anywhere near here.”

“Selina almost had the whole church taking bets on whether the woman was poisoned, stabbed, or pushed out the window,” Mark said genially, “with heavy odds on poisoning.”

It seemed to Cherril that since Mark had saved Aunty Lee's life last year he had become much nicer to everyone at the café. He seemed more comfortable in the role of generous benefactor than supplicant—and it suited him better too.

Selina ignored Mark's attempt at diversion. “According to the papers you were one of the people the dead woman was coming here to meet. So, tell all!”

But Cherril didn't have anything to tell, except that she, Josephine, and Brian had been at the police station answering questions till late.

“It's nothing to do with us and the café at all. We just happened to arrange the meeting here—in fact the meeting didn't even take place here, so really we're not involved at all.”

“But you were in the papers, Cherril,” Selina insisted. She looked at Cherril, who had moved to sit by the drinks counter while Mark warmed up a cup for her coffee. True, the café did not officially open for over an hour, but normally Nina would be rushing around and Cherril would be sorting
out fruits and vegetables and syrups for her drinks. Instead Cherril was sitting motionless, staring into space.

Selina continued. “I recognized you at once even though your hair was so funny in the photo. I told Mark there's a jinx on this place. Everybody who works here gets involved in all kinds of funny business. Luckily he got out in time, ha ha.” But her banter was wasted. Cherril did not seem upset. Indeed she barely seemed to be listening to Selina. Neither, it seemed, was Mark.

“Try my new health cocktail mix?” Mark broke into Cherril's thoughts. “I think it will do you more good than a coffee. Come on. Just try it. Don't worry, I made it according to your recipe. I just added a dash of vodka and Tabasco, like a Bloody Mary. And don't worry about what happened to that woman. Nobody thinks you people had anything to do with it. And I don't think anybody is really sorry she's dead.”

Mark would have made a good nanny, Cherril thought, or a good father. A cool, soothing swallow of the sweet, sharp blend of celery, carrot, and lemongrass made her feel better. Mark's innovation worked too—she made a note to try introducing mildly alcoholic cocktails at weekend brunch buffets. She was glad she had come in to work instead of staying at home. She was even glad Mark and Silly-Nah had shown up. Thinking of Aunty Lee's name for Selina made her smile and Mark took this as a good sign.

“You knew the dead woman years ago, didn't you? It must have been a shock for you.”

“Even if you weren't friends,” Selina put in. “Were you? If
you didn't know her then, why were you meeting her here? Why did the police have to question you for so long?”

“I only met Allison once, when I went with Josephine and Brian to find out where she had sent the puppy, and she called the police. Everything else was by phone and e-mail. I was handling most of the secretarial stuff so my name was on the mailers; I suppose that's why she wanted me here. The police interviews last night took so long because they didn't have enough staff on duty to take our statements and because they wanted to go over the online stuff. The sister kept saying we had threatened her sister so we must have killed her, and I think they can't ignore accusations, so every time she accused us they had to record what she said.”

“Anyway, it's over,” Mark said firmly. “And it's nothing to do with us or Selina's old friend Josephine.”

“You know Josephine DelaVega?” Cherril was surprised.

“We were in the same school,” Selina said primly. “I would say I knew
of
Josephine. But then everybody did. She was what people called ‘havoc.'”

No one would ever have called Selina Lee “havoc.”