by Vivien Chien
Since I’d survived Ray’s wrath unscathed, three local papers asked for my personal account. With reluctance and the advisement of my sister, I gave them the full story so there would be no chance of speculation about what really happened. I’ve never enjoyed being the center of attention, so when the interest started to wane in the public eye because another ridiculous thing had happened in the political world, I was more than relieved.
Penny and I were slowly returning to normal, and she and Joel rekindled their lost friendship. He stopped by the plaza every day to visit, and was becoming quite the regular face among the Asia Village family.
Penny’s new cook was a natural, even adding a few interesting new appetizer dishes to her menu. To her extreme delight, business was status quo at the Bamboo Lounge once again.
Adam and I were doing better than good, and things finally felt like they were moving in the right direction. Call me an optimist, but I think he was getting used to the idea of me and my Nancy Drew habit. My only wish was that those days of sleuthing were now behind me for good. Being a restaurant manager was plenty to have on my plate. After everything we had been through so far, I imagined that we could withstand more than an ordinary couple.
Speaking of couples, somewhere during the chaos that had been going on around us, Mr. Zhang mustered up the courage to ask out my grandmother. And, when I say “ask out,” I mean hang out at the plaza together. It was a small step, but I found them spending a lot of time together at Wild Sage or down at the community center watching the Mahjong Matrons win game after game. They were a cute pair, and I think it somewhat relieved my mother that my grandmother was occupied for a few hours each day.
With my mother’s newfound free time, I thought she might try and reclaim her responsibilities at the restaurant. Turned out she was taking this retirement thing seriously, and the restaurant was mine to run indefinitely with no interference from her. I knew she must have pulled a mom trick or two without my realizing that she intended for me to take over the restaurant all along.
Kimmy grabbed my shoulder and gave me a hearty shake. “Hey, pay attention, Lee, I think they’re about to announce the winner.”
Megan leaned over Adam who was sitting on the opposite side of me, “Yeah, where are you anyway? Back in la-la land?”
I laughed. “Just thinking about how crazy it’s been lately. Hard to believe it’s all behind us now.”
“Yeah, shhhh,” Kimmy hissed in my ear. “Donna’s walking up to the microphone. This is it!”
Adam pinched my arm and we both laughed.
Donna, in her elegant manner, approached the microphone and flashed a ruby-painted smile at the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is with great pleasure that I announce the winner of this year’s contest … finally.”
A few people in the crowd chuckled and our little group of Ho-Lee Noodle House staff shared a glance. I turned my attention to Peter who was standing in front of me. He was tapping his foot impatiently, and I could imagine the anticipation was getting the best of him.
For the last entry in the contest, each chef was tasked with making what they considered to be their signature dish, and Peter’s was an egg-noodle recipe covered with Taiwanese meat sauce that consisted of ground pork simmered to perfection in seasoned stock. I didn’t know anyone who made a better version of it.
Donna slid a finger through the sealed envelope in her hand and pulled out a piece of paper. When she read it, a small smile spread over her lips and she looked up at the crowd with satisfaction. “It gives me great pleasure to announce this year’s winner as Peter Huang from Ho-Lee Noodle House! Congratulations to them and his winning dish!”
The crowd erupted in applause. Kimmy jumped up from her seat and attacked Peter in a massive hug. His mother, Nancy, was next to join in the hug, and I think I saw her shed a tear, her face the true vision of pride. We all surrounded Peter, congratulating him on his success as Donna came over with the trophy. It was a golden noodle bowl with a pair of chopsticks resting on the brim. Peter held the bowl in his shaky hands and beamed. Success was his and I couldn’t be happier.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that Jackie was approaching our huddled celebration. Her mouth was set in a frown and the flat stare she gave me as we made eye contact spoke of pure dissatisfaction.
Before she could approach Peter, I stepped in front of her, blocking any chance she had of talking to him. I didn’t imagine she had anything nice to say and I didn’t want his moment ruined.
She folded her arms across her chest, glaring at me. “I came over to say that you got lucky this year. That’s it. We’ll take that trophy back from you next year. You can mark my words, Lee.”
I’d like to say that I was a bigger person, but there was a part of me that reveled in the fact that she was clearly bothered. I remembered a few things she’d said to me in recent weeks and decided to give her a taste of her own medicine. With a large smile, I said, “Well, if you want someone to show you how to make real noodles so you stand a chance of winning next year, you know where to find us.” I patted her on the shoulder and gave her my best customer-service smile.
I turned my back to her as her jaw dropped.
Kimmy overheard the conversation and promptly gave me a high five. Thankfully, she’d been the only one to notice the exchange, and I returned to our happy little group as if nothing had happened.
After the crowd dispersed, everyone went back to Ho-Lee Noodle House to celebrate our victory and I decided to take a break from the chaos and walk around the Village before rejoining the party.
I took an extra minute to stand in front of the bookstore. I’d barely had any time to make my usual weekly trip and I reviewed the books Cindy placed so lovingly in the window displays.
There in the center of the right window stood a black hardcover book with red foil lettering. The Art of War was the spotlighted feature and copies of the book were selling faster than Cindy could shelve them.
It has always fascinated me how books of all styles and genres can have such an impact on a person. A book can shape someone; change their life, inspire or re-create them, entertain them, or influence them.
In Ray’s instance, one book completely devastated his life and led him through pain, success, and ultimately his downfall. But it’s not just the power of words at work; it’s what you as a person choose to do with them. Ray, who’d been so filled with hate and revenge, let everything be consumed by it.
I slipped into the store, and went over to the display, picking up Sun Tzu’s classic. As I fanned through the pages, my eyes skimmed over the words that had been created so long ago. I imagine if Sun Tzu were alive today, he never could have imagined his words would be used in such an odd way.
As I stood there staring at the book, I thought about how much change had occurred in a matter of months and how I’d gotten to this point.
Without intending to, I’d become the manager at our family business, started a new relationship, and could finally see brighter days ahead. And though most of what happened wasn’t part of my grand scheme, somehow it had all become okay with me. Life is never as you expect it, and things come your way that you hadn’t planned. That’s just the way it goes and I was no exception to the rule.
I set the book down and grinned. No matter what, in some way, shape, or form, books have always saved my life. And that was okay with me too.
Read on for a look ahead to
Wonton Terror
the next Number One Noodle Shop Mystery, coming soon from Vivien Chien and St. Martin’s Paperbacks!
CHAPTER
1
“The Poconos or Put-In-Bay?” I waved two travel brochures in front of my good friend and restaurant chef, Peter Huang. My boyfriend, Adam, was planning a weekend getaway for my upcoming birthday and he’d left me in charge of location selection. The only problem was that I couldn’t make up my mind.
Peter and I, along with many others from the surrounding community, were standing i
n a parking lot on a blocked off Rockwell Avenue in preparation for the first Asian Night Market of the summer. Rockwell, located in between the two intersecting streets of E. 21st and E. 24th, was barricaded from traffic to host the weekly outdoor event. Every Friday during the summer months, local businesses—some Asian and some not—set up a booth to display their merchandise or food. The event always started at sunset and went until eleven p.m.
And as restaurant manager of the Ho-Lee Noodle House, I, Lana Lee, was tasked with the duty—by my mother—to accompany Peter, to at least seventy-five percent of the events.
Not that I minded in the least. Would I take hanging around outside on beautiful summer nights over being cooped up in our family’s restaurant? That would be a yes.
The evening was just beginning and the market wasn’t yet opened to the public. Peter was busy prepping our rented grill and workstation. My job was to handle the cash flow and take the orders. He had given me specific instructions not to touch his grill, and without a fight, I complied. Instead, I busied myself with the travel brochures that Adam had passed on to me the other day. When it came to stuff like this, I was never good at making a decision.
“I don’t know, man, I’ve never been to either one before.” He leaned over the grill and the black baseball hat that he wore sat low, covering his eyes. “Flip a coin or something. That’s what I always do when I can’t decide.”
I grumbled at the color pamphlets in my hand. “I don’t know why he can’t pick where we’re going. It was his idea to begin with.”
Peter chuckled. “If you pick something lame, maybe he’ll pick something else.”
“Hmmm … not a bad idea…” I stuffed the brochures back in my purse underneath our workstation counter. As I stood up, a food truck pulled into the parking lot and maneuvered itself carefully near the fence adjacent to our location, next to two other trucks that had arrived earlier.
The truck nearest the stage sold bubble tea in every flavor known to man, and was sure to bring long lines, especially in this heat. The truck now located in the middle spot sold barbecued meat on sticks. Since what they sold was easy to carry while walking around the night market, they could also be counted on to pull in a lot of business.
The vehicle currently parking, Wonton on Wheels, was owned by Sandra and Ronnie Chow—friends of my parents since I could remember. Sandra and Ronnie were always getting into one business venture or another, but they were new to the food service industry.
A little over a year ago, they jumped on the food truck bandwagon and so far it seemed to be going pretty well for them. Even though the married couple had been friends with my parents since I was little, they’d grown apart over the years and we hardly saw them anymore. My mother used to drag me to their house to play with their son, Calvin, who was only a few years older than me. I remembered him being something of a bully. My dad would try to convince me that Calvin teased me because he liked me, but at that age I couldn’t have cared less. After all, boys were “yucky.”
Sandra, a rail-thin woman with sunken cheek bones and a sharp nose, hopped out of the passenger’s seat and inspected her husband’s parking job. After she made a loop around the vehicle, she stood near the driver’s side window and gave him a thumbs up.
“Good thing we didn’t bother bringing any wontons with us,” Peter said, watching as the couple worked to set up their truck. “They’re totally going to steal the show.”
As far as Asian food trucks go, Wonton on Wheels was a genius idea if I ever saw one. They prepared wontons in a variety of ways: on skewers, as salad cups, fried, steamed, and of course, as soup. I had sampled a couple varieties myself … you know, for research, and found that I was a fan of their steamed wontons in chili sauce.
Thinking about them made my mouth water. I decided to focus on our station instead. Maybe at some point, I’d get the chance to slip away and grab myself a couple of wontons.
After the register portion of the booth was set up just the way I wanted it, I checked the time and noted there were about ten minutes left before the general public would be allowed through the barricades.
Sandra had wandered off from the food truck and was now standing at a booth diagonal to both of our spots. She was chatting up a woman who appeared to be peddling handmade jewelry. The woman locked eyes on me and waved me over. Sandra turned around to see who the woman was waving at and smiled when she realized it was me.
I smiled in return and waved, letting Peter know that I would be right back.
When I approached the jewelry stand, the woman came around to the front of her table and grabbed both of my hands. She was a petite woman with chubby cheeks that reminded me of my mother. “Waaaa … Lana Lee!” She leaned back and gave me a once over, nodding in approval. “You are so grown up now!”
I kept the smile on my face, unsure of what to say. I didn’t recognize this woman at all.
“You do not remember me, but I was good friends with your mother when you were a little girl. My name is Ruby.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember. But it’s nice to meet you … again.”
“That’s okay.” Her eyes darted back to the Ho-Lee Noodle House booth. “Is Anna May here too? I bet she is a beautiful woman now.”
“No, she’s working at the restaurant tonight.”
Anna May is my older sister and she’s okay looking as far as I’m concerned.
Ruby pinched my cheek. “Your mother must be so proud of you.”
“I hope so…”
She stepped aside so Sandra and I could say hello.
“It is so nice to see you, Lana,” Sandra extended her hand. “It has been a very long time.”
Most of the older generation Asians are opposed to hugging, but I can’t help it, I’m a hugger. I blame my dad for that one. So forgetting my manners, I wrapped my arms around Sandra. “Nice to see you, too.”
Sandra winced.
I jumped back. “Oh, I’m sorry!”
“It’s okay,” she replied apologetically. “I hurt my back this week. It is nothing serious.”
Ruby tsked. “You hurt your back … again?”
The two women exchanged a look that was lost on me. “So…” I said, feeling slightly out of place. “Is this your first time at the night market?”
Both women nodded.
I inspected the table of jewelry Ruby had displayed. “These are gorgeous.”
Organized in velvet trays were cloisonné earrings, jade bracelets, rings and necklaces made with opals, mother of pearl, and turquoise. She even had a selection of Chinese hairpins and hair combs.
“Thank you,” Ruby admired her table of accessories. “I make everything by hand.”
“You should talk to Esther Chin about carrying some of these in her shop. I bet these would sell like crazy at the Village.”
“Perhaps I will talk with her,” Ruby replied.
“Speaking of crazy, be prepared for tonight,” I warned them. “It gets so jammed with people, they can barely get through. Last year we ran out of food within—”
“Sandy!” A gravelly voice shouted from behind us.
The three of us turned in the direction the voice was coming from and saw Ronnie Chow standing near the back of the food truck. He was short, chubby and sweating like he’d just run a marathon. He waved his arms frantically at his wife. “Get over here now!” Ronnie yelled. “Stop messing around and gossiping. We have work to do!”
“Okay, I’ll be right there,” Sandra said in a sheepish tone. When she turned to face us, I noticed that her cheeks were pink with embarrassment. “I will talk with you later.”
The two women exchanged another look before Sandra walked off.
When she was out of earshot, I turned to Ruby. “Is everything okay?”
Ruby shook her head, disappointment etched in the soft lines of her face. Her eyes stayed on Sandra as she approached her husband. “This is how Ronnie behaves. I don’t know how Sandra can handle him.” With a heavy sigh, she tu
rned away from the couple and walked back around her table.
I continued to watch the couple while Ruby busied herself making the final preparations to her jewelry stand. I gathered that Sandra and Ronnie were speaking harshly to one another by their jerky body language and strained expressions. Ronnie pointed at their food truck and then pointed at the food truck next to them. I saw her look around him, fold her arms across her chest and turn on her heel to head back in their truck. When she turned away from him, she mumbled something to herself before disappearing onto the other side of the vehicle.
I said my goodbye to Ruby and wished her luck with her first evening at the night market before making my way back to Peter.
“What the heck was all that about?” Peter asked.
“Oh, I guess that lady at the jewelry stand was a friend of my mother’s when I was a kid.”
“No, I didn’t mean that … I meant them.” He tilted his head toward Wonton on Wheels.
“I have no idea, but I was wondering that myself.”
CHAPTER
2
To be clear, the path that I ended up on isn’t exactly how I saw my late twenties going. Less than a year ago, I was determined to turn myself into some kind of corporate hotshot who wore stiletto heels and fancy suits. Never mind that I have yet to find a pair of stilettos I can wear longer than fifteen minutes without staggering in pain.
But an unforeseen turn of events that began with an ugly breakup and continued to spiral led me down a road I couldn’t have anticipated. That’s life, right?
Before I knew what happened, I was working at my parents’ Chinese restaurant, Ho-Lee Noodle House, as their day shift server, sporadically dyeing my hair unnatural colors—I’m currently purple, by the way. Now a handful of months later, I’m managing the family business while my mother enjoys an early semi-retirement, dating a detective with the Fairview Park police department, and wondering what color to dye my hair next.
