Aunty Lee's Chilled Revenge (8 page)

“I asked Cherril, ‘Don't you find it irritating that he doesn't talk?' and the girl said, ‘Better he's not good at talking than he talks too much.'” Anne Peters smiled as they walked. “I told her that her mother had brought her up to be happily married.”

Aunty Lee knew her friend had been initially wary of her son's choice of wife. It was not Cherril being Chinese that she minded, but her having been an air stewardess. Some people, especially women, were prejudiced against air stewardesses, even though they were better equipped to deal with emergencies than most other women. Fortunately Anne seemed to have gotten over that after their marriage.

“After what happened to—what happened two years ago, it seems ridiculous to get upset at anything else. I wanted to die. Or to kill somebody. Just to see how it felt, just to show someone else how it felt to lose a child.” The wheelchair slowed to a stop.

Aunty Lee shook her head. “But you didn't.”

“No, because it wouldn't have brought my poor baby girl back. And it was destroying me. My husband and son, they keep things inside. It is their way of dealing with it.”

Aunty Lee's way of dealing with her own loss when ML died had been to work. She had cooked and cleaned and organized till she was too tired to miss her husband—and she had still missed him. Though years had passed, now that she couldn't walk freely, the memory of the miserable lethargy of those early days of loss returned.

Tammy broke the mood by giving a sharp, inquiring bark and the women laughed. “Sorry, Tammy,” Anne said, and started pushing the wheelchair again.

Tammy trotted purposefully ahead of them, reaching the end of her leash, then stopping to investigate something with her nose so the two women overtook her and she had to race to catch up, panting with satisfaction and giving
Aunty Lee a token lick before slobbering her affection on Anne.

“Has Cherril said anything to you about her parents? Parents can be so difficult,” Anne Peters said. “There's so much unspoken social prejudice. My parents were educated and enlightened, and it was still difficult for them when I married Mycroft's father. I don't think Cherril's family was happy about her marrying an Indian man. It's not just Chinese people. Even among Indians there's all this internal prejudice against people with darker or lighter skins.”

“You can't beat the Chinese. We have prejudices against different dialect groups, different accents, different times you left China, just against everybody who is different in any way. And then for people who are the same as ourselves we are prejudiced against people who are richer or poorer, who went to government schools or mission schools, who went to university abroad instead of locally . . . there is always some excuse to be prejudiced.”

They laughed. At some level prejudice was a survival instinct. What was different might be dangerous.

“I wonder if Cherril's parents told her not to have children in case her half-Indian babies come out black.”

“No way. Chinese mothers always want grandchildren no matter whether they come out black, white, blue, or green. And no matter what color they will love them and call them naughty to ward off bad luck. Don't worry.”

By this time they had made their way back to the café. There was an unfamiliar man in uniformed overalls hesitating in front of the shop.

“Hello!” Aunty Lee called out as soon as she noticed him, leaning forward in the wheelchair as though she could urge it forward. “Who are you looking for?”

“Cooking oil delivery for Mrs. Rosie Lee?” the man said. “More in the truck.” He was clearly not a regular supplier as his delivery truck was pulled up in front of the shop and all Aunty Lee's suppliers knew to use the back service lane, where they had direct access to the kitchen storeroom. Fortunately, Aunty Lee thought.

Anne Peters looked into the truck and saw more bottles, canisters, and even plastic buckets of viscous yellow fluid . . . and she also saw Aunty Lee looking guilty.

“You've been buying things online again?”

“I asked for samples only. I have to try out and taste before I can decide what to buy, right? I thought they would send one bottle each.”

“They may have.” Anne looked into the truck again. “Big bottles. Barrels, really.”

“Bring him back to the house,” Aunty Lee told Nina, who had appeared. “And tell him to put them with all the others. I will try them out at home, not in the shop.”

“Cherril doesn't want to try out cooking oil in the shop?” Anne asked innocently. She got along well enough with her daughter-in-law. But that just made Cherril's possible skirmishes with Aunty Lee all the more interesting.

“Cherril thinks we should buy the cheapest cooking oil we can get,” Aunty Lee explained. “She says my regular suppliers are overcharging me. She said there is no difference in taste whether I fry
keropok
in peanut oil or canola oil and I should
focus on the bottom line. The bottom line is how does it taste! I must try out the samples first before I can serve them to customers. I will be frying prawn crackers and
taupok
at home once I get back on feet. Do you want?” Generally Aunty Lee was faithful to her regular suppliers, but since being immobilized she had discovered the world of online shopping.

“Cherril wants to make big profits for you,” Anne said with a small smile. “And I think she wants to impress you. She looks up to you, you know.”

“Sometimes we must pay more for better quality. Sometimes these young people just look at price and forget quality!”

Aunty Lee had told her friend (with much relish and only a little exaggeration) about Vallerie and her intention of following through with the threatened lawsuit. Now Anne peered through the window to see if she could catch a glimpse of the woman.

“What is the sister like?”

“I think she is still in shock,” Aunty Lee said charitably. “She's full of guilt—keeps talking all the things she should have done for her sister but didn't do . . . and I think she's frightened.”

“Frightened? Of what?”

Aunty Lee started to ease herself out of the wheelchair as Nina came out with her stick. “Her sister just got murdered and she is alone in a strange country—of course she's frightened.” But she herself had also wondered.

But that could wait. Right now she had to sort out cooking oil by not only purity and quality but—sadly—price.

Monday Conversations

Lunchbox Live News & Interviews:

Interviewer:
I'm at Victoria Street today, outside the hotel where the recent shocking murder of British tourist Allison Love took place. And our question today is: How safe is Singapore? Excuse me, madame. Would you tell our listeners how safe you feel in Singapore? As a tourist?

Man:
Don't stop, Mom. Don't talk to her. She may have a gun.

Woman:
She's just a reporter, Dad. Look, she has a microphone. He's just worried because of all your murders here. He's been living off beer and Lays Cheese and Onion in case
of food poisoning, haven't you, Dad? What was that question again, miss?

Interviewer:
Thank you, that's very interesting. Have a good stay—hey!

Man:
Foreigners are being killed here all the time by the yakuza but people are too scared to talk. I watched
Japan Town
on the plane coming over and I know all about your professional killers and carotid arm locks and Tasers and—

Woman:
That was a movie, Dad, and not as good as the book. And I keep telling you we're not in Japan.

Man:
It's Asia. Japan, Singapore, it's the same thing.

Woman:
Give me that microphone. Here you are, dear. We're having a lovely time.

It was a typical Monday morning at Aunty Lee's Delights. Open over the weekend, the little café was officially closed on Mondays, which was when Aunty Lee and Cherril planned the week's meals and Nina ordered ingredients and scrubbed out everything to her satisfaction.

Aunty Lee popped a little red
ang ku kueh
into her mouth. She was not as passionate about sweet cake desserts as about fiery
sambal
fry-ups, but she definitely had nothing against them and she enjoyed pleasing customers who expected them. These little turtle-shaped cakes were especially popu
lar, given the Chinese significance of turtles and how easy it was to pack and bring home a little box of good luck and longevity. The little steamed cake's delicate yet chewy skin around grainy golden sweet potato filling proved Nina's
ang ku kuehs
were as good as Aunty Lee's own . . . or rather, that Nina had successfully followed Aunty Lee's instructions. Restaurant reviewers might joke about her special touch or secret recipe, but the fact was that there was always a system. As with making Western pancakes, the glutinous rice flour batter improved with overnight refrigeration—it was as simple as that. But then again the system was not everything. Cherril wanted to have their
kuehs
made by machines instead of by hand. There could be timers, she said, and thermometers to make sure the batter was left to stand long enough at the right temperature. But that was entirely too much system, Aunty Lee thought. Soon you would have a machine to taste your sweet potato filling for you and tell you if it was sweet enough or needed a bit more coconut milk. You would not need cooks to produce food anymore, and then who would take over all their other, undefined, nurturing functions?

“Try one?” Aunty Lee said to Vallerie, who shuddered and said, “Artificial coloring. Look at the red. It's probably going to give you all colon cancer!”

Aunty Lee looked at her partner, sitting silently at the table. Cherril was usually vehement on the subject of using only organic spices and natural coloring. They still had not sorted out the cooking oil issue, but this was probably not a good time given Cherril had a knife in her hand and a bowl heaped with washed fruit forgotten beside her.

Being involved in a murder had certainly distracted Cherril from her business expansion and automation plans. Even a cloud of murder had a silver lining, Aunty Lee thought. But she would not say that to Cherril of course—or to Vallerie.

Vallerie had come in to the shop with them. Though she was afraid of people as well as afraid to be left alone, she seemed to trust Aunty Lee. She did not, however, trust Inspector Salim, who came into the shop now.

“I've already answered all your questions over and over again. I don't know what else you want from me. Why aren't you out there going after whoever killed my sister?”

“Miss Vallerie, what I would like is for you to come and look around the hotel room you and your sister were staying in. If anything is missing or out of place or anything else looks wrong, you can tell me. My officers have already taken all the samples they need, so this is just one last informal look before everything is cleaned up. And then after that you can collect all your things.”

Vallerie looked hesitantly at Aunty Lee.

“You need to get your things anyway,” Aunty Lee said. “I'll come and help you to pack. Luckily we're not open today.” She was sure Inspector Salim had factored that in.

“Can't you just send your servant to pack up everything and bring it over?”

The “servant” bristled, but discreetly. The police officer looked openly startled. Aunty Lee stepped in: “Nina wouldn't know what you want. And you are the only one who can tell if there's something funny there that didn't belong to you or your sister.”

“It would really help us if you come and take a look around,” Salim said. “Then you can sign the release form.”

“More forms,” Vallerie grumbled, but she seemed reassured by the mention of paperwork. “My sister is dead and you just want to make sure you don't get the blame if anything's missing or damaged. I'll sign your stupid forms.”

“Good idea.” Aunty Lee thumped her stick. “Where are the forms? Inspector, why don't you drive us to the hotel with you now?”

“Actually now is not a good time. I am on my way to Holland Village and just stopped by to speak to you.”

“Why Holland Village?” Aunty Lee demanded. “Don't tell me it's another murder.”

She had not been serious, but Salim's silence told her she had hit the mark.

“Another murder?” Nina said at the same time as Aunty Lee said, “Who?” since Vallerie was clearly alive.

Salim noticed that though Cherril threw him a shocked glance at the mention of murder, she resolutely returned to her pile of beetroots and said nothing.

“Are you talking about the girl vet?” Nina asked. “The one in Holland V?”

Aunty Lee remembered Nina had read her something that morning about the death of the young veterinarian who, with other veterinary clinic staff members, had recently been lauded as a hero for risking her life and saving all the animals during a clinic fire. She had been found dead in the second-floor toilet of the Holland Village Shopping Centre.

“There's nothing online about how she died. Was she murdered?”

“Why would you think so?”

“It's obvious, right?” Aunty Lee was fond of the inspector but had no patience with his bureaucratic nonsense. “She is a strong, healthy young woman, no mental problems, no health problems. Why would she suddenly go and drop dead, true or not? That only happens to young people when you make National Servicemen run around in the sun.” Aunty Lee did not approve of people being made to run around in the sun. It was no use telling her it was necessary for national defense. These days nations were defended by brains behind computers controlling drones, not brawn in camouflage uniform.

“Unless she was murdered, what has that got to do with you? And even if it is your business, it is not our business.” Nina knew from experience that murders were bad for workflow and business. “Somebody got murdered you straightaway come here and look for us.
Siao
ah you!” Nina said. “Maybe she killed herself because of the trauma of the fire. All the animals screaming and everything.”

“But you said all the animals were saved, right?” Aunty Lee protested. “The papers called Dr. Kang a hero.”

Inspector Salim was watching Vallerie. “That was the vet clinic your sister brought the dog to. Samantha Kang was the vet your sister went to.”

“Was she?” Vallerie's face contorted, then she burst out at Inspector Salim. “That vet— Yes, she was the one. She was the vet that did the procedure. Samantha Kang, that's the
name. If euthanizing that damned dog was so wrong she as a vet should have said so. She should have warned Allison. It was her fault more than Allison's, but Allison got blamed for everything. And now those crazy animal activists killed her too!”

“You don't know that. Maybe she was traumatized by the fire at the clinic,” Nina repeated, keeping an eye on Vallerie. There were breakable things within reach of those arms should the woman decide to wail and flail again. “Like people getting traumatized after fighting in wars. Or you know what? Maybe she is the one that accidentally started the fire. Smoke cigarette, throw in dustbin . . . they said don't know what started the fire, right? Then maybe after that she got guilty nightmares and went and killed herself.”

Though Aunty Lee objected automatically she was watching Salim closely. “They saved all the animals, what. They were all so brave; didn't you see that photo of them in the newspapers holding the dog with three legs? Why would she have nightmares? I think somehow she must have hit her head during the animal rescue—what is that word—coconut-custard her head—”

“You mean concussed, madame.”

“Whatever. Anyway, like
kenah
hit on the head with coconut until brain like custard. And then got a dizzy spell at the bus stop and fell down in front of the bus.” Aunty Lee came to a stop, struck by a new idea. “She was working at that clinic where the fire happened, right? Maybe someone started the fire to try to kill her. But she escaped, so later that someone had to kill her somewhere else. Did somebody purposely set
the clinic on fire?” She looked hopefully at Salim. But Salim was used to Aunty Lee and his face showed nothing.

“Maybe there was a jealous husband or boyfriend,” Nina suggested, who had a tendency to blame things on men.

“No
lah
. Her kind no boyfriends. Look at the photo: so skinny, hair so short. Don't know why they are all like that. No BA at all,” Aunty Lee said decisively.

“You mean no SA. Or BO.”

“No
lah
. I mean BA.
Buaya
Action!”

Buaya
was Malay for “crocodile” but in Singlish it meant a woman chaser. Aunty Lee joined in the mild laughter but Vallerie did not find it funny.

“How can you laugh? Somebody killed that woman! Maybe the same somebody that killed my sister. You find that funny?”

“Maybe the same person that started the fire at the vet clinic,” Aunty Lee suggested. She realized Vallerie was really frightened.

Vallerie shook her head. “Forget the stupid fire. I'm sure that was just an accident,” she said firmly. “It's those damned animal activists. Can't any of you see? If only I had stayed in the hotel with poor Allison—”

“You might have been killed as well,” Aunty Lee said quietly.

This silenced Vallerie. Salim took the opportunity to say, “So can we set a time for you to show me around your room at the hotel? Just not today. I'm on my way over to Holland Village now.”

“I don't know how long they'll keep the room for me. I don't know whether they're going to make me pay for it. My
sister was supposed to be paying for this trip. We're only here because she wanted to come. I was only supposed to be here to give her sisterly support. And all my things are still there. I don't know what I'm going to do! How long are you going to make me stay here like this?”

“We would like you to stay here in Singapore for a while, but there's no reason you have to stay in the hotel where it happened.”

“I never want to stay in a hotel again!”

“You can stay with me as long as you want to,” Aunty Lee said to Vallerie. “But you must get your things from the hotel. If you are scared it is safer to go to collect your things with a police officer.”

“Somebody may be waiting there to kill me. Or somebody may follow me back from there and come and kill me here!”

“Miss, I'm sure nobody is trying to kill you—” Salim stopped, perhaps realizing he had no way of knowing if this was true.

“Allison was killed. Samantha Kang was killed. The animal people who were threatening Allison online threatened Samantha too. They're obviously the ones behind this.” The problem with dealing with these natives was they were so slow, Vallerie thought. “You pretend to be so clean and safe in Singapore, but it's still the Far East. It's still dangerous.”

“Maybe we should go to the hotel tomorrow?” Aunty Lee suggested into the silence that followed this.

“Tomorrow.” Salim was nodding even as Aunty Lee was speaking, but she had not finished.

“They may not have been killed by the same person.”

“Very likely she was.”

It was usually Salim who warned against jumping to rash connections and Aunty Lee looked at him curiously. He clearly knew something more about both deaths. “Samantha Kang was killed the same way as Allison Love, wasn't she?”

“That is not for me to say, madame.”

Aunty Lee knew how much Inspector Salim trusted her. If he would not tell her that meant he had been ordered not to, at least not in front of Vallerie. It was fortunate Aunty Lee was having dessert with one of the few people in Singapore Salim took orders from.

“Cable ties?”

Commissioner Raja's personal assistant, Lynn, had called to tell Aunty Lee the commissioner had been held up and she had no idea how late he would be. Would she like to make it another night? But Aunty Lee very much wanted to speak with him—and privately, away from the sister of a murder victim who was currently staying with her. So she was a little surprised, and very pleased, to see his familiar large figure in the doorway of Aunty Lee's Delights that evening only a little after eight, holding the door open to show he had parked less than legally and did not mean to leave his car there for long.