by Anne R. Tan
Her tailbone ached. The fall had finished off what the BART station incident had started. Was this the beginning of a bad luck streak?
Po Po and Uncle Martin were chatting away like the old friends they were. He kept throwing sideways glances at Raina as if she could read his mind. He wiggled his eyebrows, causing the shaggy hair to twitch like a dead centipede.
“Are your eyes okay?” Po Po finally asked.
Uncle Martin reddened. “No. Everything is fine.” He held out the teapot to Raina. “Why don’t you go get us more hot water?”
Po Po reached for the teapot. “I can do it. Rainy shouldn’t be moving yet.” She headed toward the kitchen, winking at Raina when she walked past Uncle Martin. “Distract him,” she mouthed. She pointed at herself and then jerked a thumb toward the hallway behind her.
Raina’s heart sank. Her grandma was planning to snoop.
Uncle Martin waited a heartbeat and whipped his head around to make sure Po Po cleared the room. He patted Raina’s hand. “Good job, dear. Now I need you to leave us alone for a few minutes so I can ask her out.”
“Do you want me to hide in the bathroom or something?” Raina asked.
Uncle Martin beamed as if she was a bright pupil. “Perfect. Make it a diarrhea attack so you can stay in there at least fifteen minutes.”
She cleared her throat. Here was the opening she needed. “So what happened with Ah Gong in China? What can you tell me about his mistress?”
“What mistress?”
“Didn’t Ah Gong get himself a mistress in nineteen sixty two?” Raina’s gaze darted to the hallway that led to the rest of the house. “I’m leaving with Po Po if you don’t uphold your end of the bargain.”
Uncle Martin gave her a look, half exasperated and half amused. “He was part of the Beijing contingent who visited my village to check on the yield after implementing their version of Western agricultural ideas. What did the paper pushers from the city know about farming? The elders made us transplant the rice seedlings from three nearby villages into this one field for the visit. The rest of the party left happy at the prospect of an excellent harvest, but he wasn't convinced.” He closed his eyes as a flash of terror crossed his face. “He stayed behind and learned to regret the decision.”
Raina’s mouth grew dry at his reaction. The almond cookie stuck to the back of her throat. Did she want to open this can of worms? As she slipped the hot tea, she she pondered the question. Not only was the can already opened, the squirming invertebrates were dumped into her underwear drawer.
Uncle Martin opened his eyes. “Since that winter, I can't sleep. I need my sleeping draught every night, no matter how exhausted I am.” He smiled. “But Bonnie helped your Ah Gong sleep all these years. I'm hoping she can work her magic on me.”
And just like that the spell was broken. Raina wanted to cover her ears and say la-la-la. Yuck!
“How’s the family business?” she asked, not with any real interest. As a well-known Feng Shui Master, Uncle Martin was much in demand in the Chinese community.
“Hudson is struggling with the nuances,” Uncle Martin said diplomatically. “I’m sure it’ll work out fine. And if not, I will be dead so I won’t see the business close its doors.”
Raina wasn’t sure if his attitude toward mortality aligned with her grandma’s zest for life. She had grown up with Uncle Martin as part of the family, but she had paid no more attention to him than she did the furniture. He was just there. “Do you like the thing between my mother and your nephew?”
“I wouldn’t call their relationship a ‘thing.’ Does it bother you?”
Raina didn’t want to talk about her relationship with her mother. “Why don’t you look for a new hobby? Trust me, it’s much easier than dating.”
“Bonnie is my new hobby.” Uncle Martin chuckled. His eyes disappeared into the loose skin around them.
Yuck.
Po Po returned to the living room without the teapot. Her face was pale, and she moved stiffly. “I need to go. Stomach problems.” Uncle Martin reached for her, and she jerked away from him.
Raina frowned, shifting her gaze between the two of them. What did her grandma find in the back of the house? A dead body?
Before she could react, someone used the front door knocker. The sound echoed in the silent living room. As Uncle Martin got up to answer the door, Po Po gathered her purse and jacket. She averted her gaze, so Raina couldn’t even whisper a reassuring comment to her grandma.
Hudson and Mom stepped into the room with take-out bags from a restaurant. There was a traffic jam at the doorway as Po Po and Raina tried to leave while the other three shuffled to make room for them.
“Leaving already? We got enough food for the five of us,” Mom said.
“Stay for a bit,” Hudson said. “We’ve got good egg rolls.”
Raina sneaked a sideways glance at Po Po. Her grandma's face had a pinched expression that worried her. “Sorry, I have to go. Stomach problems. I don't want to clog up Uncle Martin's toilet.” And with that they hustled outside.
* * *
Raina bolted off her bed and landed in a crouch. As she swiveled her head, her heart hammered in her chest. The rustling noise drifted in again from the other side of the guest bedroom door. A quick glance at the radio clock revealed it was six in the morning. She grabbed her robe and padded silently into the hall. The faint laughter drifting upstairs from the dining room suggested mischief-makers rather than cat burglars.
If Mom caught Win trying to sneak his girlfriend into his room again, it would be World War III. While Raina was young enough to remember the rush of hormones, it didn't make things any less awkward when she'd walked in on half-dressed teenagers on the sofa on her first day back to her childhood home.
She squinted at the two dark shapes at the far side of the dining table. The weak morning light filtered through the lace curtains from behind them, leaving their faces in shadows. The remnants on the table suggested that someone had the munchies— take-out containers, a bottle of wine, and several sauce packets.
The laughter stopped when they noticed Raina standing at the entryway. While she couldn't make out who was at the table, they could see her perfectly. Did they expect Raina to disappear if they stayed quiet? The silence stretched until a car backfired outside, startling the woman into knocking over the wineglass. The man grabbed a napkin and blotted at the woman's lap.
“It's okay.” Mom grabbed her boyfriend's hands and her voice sounded embarrassed. And why shouldn't she be? She would throw a fit if her son were in a similar situation. The apple didn't fall far from the tree.
“Good morning, Mom.” Raina turned to leave but paused for a heartbeat. “Or is it good night?” So she wasn't on the fast track to sainthood. It certainly was worth it. If only she could have seen her mother’s face. She couldn't believe Mom and Hudson were still up. Geez, even teenagers behaved better.
On the way back to the guest room, Raina stopped outside of Po Po’s bedroom. She pressed an ear on the door and heard faint snoring. Good. Her grandma was getting some much-needed rest.
During the ride home from Uncle Martin's townhouse last evening, Po Po had stared out the darkened passenger window. Raina hadn’t pressed her grandma at the time, but she intended to do so over breakfast. She yawned and stumbled back into bed. By the time Raina woke up at a proper hour, Po Po was long gone.
Raina tried calling her grandma's cell phone number, but it went straight to voicemail. She sipped her tasteless coffee, staring at the waffles on her plate.
Where would her grandma go at eight in the morning? Her two favorite senior centers didn't open before ten. Whatever had upset her grandma originated from Uncle Martin's house. Maybe a look-see in his house could give Raina a clue.
She grabbed the cordless phone again, dialing Uncle Martin's number. The phone rang and rang. Another dead end.
Or would this be a good time to snoop with Uncle Martin out of the way? She could call again once she got
to Richmond District. After all, Uncle Martin was an elderly man living alone. She got concerned when she couldn’t reach him, so she had to climb in through his side window to check up on him.
Raina parked five blocks away, just to ensure no one in the neighborhood could identify her car, especially that Mrs. Keane with the yipping Gigi.
Besides, Raina needed the exercise. She had fallen out of her regular running routine. After seeing the changes in Hudson Rice, she didn't want to end up like one of those stick figure cartoons with a circle for her stomach.
As she turned the corner, the noise volume increased. Several emergency vehicles clogged the narrow street. A handful of neighbors clustered together, talking and pointing at the official-looking people coming and going from Uncle Martin's townhouse.
Mrs. Keane spoke to a man with a face sharp as a hatchet on the landing outside her front door. As if on a stage, the pair stood one story above the crowd, but they ignored their audience. From the way he was taking notes, Raina assumed he must be a plainclothes cop.
She had to force herself to take slow measured steps toward the onlookers. A couple of them glanced at her, but they continued to whisper to each other. She kept her expression blank while she listened to the chatter.
“… died in his sleep…”
“… older than the hills.”
“… no kids…”
“…his niece…nice girl.”
“…haven't seen her in a year…just the brother.”
A lump formed in Raina’s throat. Uncle Martin was dead? She shook her head. No way. She spoke with him last night. She blinked, and the scene before her became whitewashed like the sun had leached out all the colors.
Mrs. Keane studied the crowd. Her arm rose, and she pointed at Raina. The hatchet-faced cop turned his head to follow her finger.
5
Twenty-One Hours
As gooseflesh peppered her arms, Raina shivered at the chill she saw behind the hatchet-faced cop’s steel gray eyes. The sun offered no warmth or shadow to hide beneath. As if on cue, the crowd parted until she was the only actor standing under a spotlight.
Raina swallowed the fear that rose in her throat. She had done nothing wrong. She wasn’t someone the police would be interested in.
The hatchet-faced cop slipped his notebook back into his jacket and headed straight toward Raina. By the time he stood in front of her, the crowd disappeared, as if they could be found guilty by association. Mrs. Keane trailed after him, holding Gigi, who yipped within sneezing distance from Raina.
Mrs. Keane looked her full sixty years. Her tears left streaks on her foundation. Her swollen red eyes made the wrinkles around her mouth appear deep enough to hide gravel.
Raina focused on the glint she saw behind the neighbor’s red eyes. This was no time for her to give in to tears of her own. She had seen those calculating eyes directed at her grandma when the neighbor thought she had a romantic rival.
The hatchet-faced cop studied Raina like he had already labeled her. Chinese girl. Size of a pygmy goat. No threat. He probably thought her naturally curly hair was a bad perm like everyone else did.
Like he won the lottery in the looks department. The cop was a pipsqueak of a man, maybe five four if she was generous. His clothes were tight as if he wanted to show off what little muscle he had.
“What’s going on? Why are these people at Uncle Martin’s house…” Raina swallowed, unable to finish.
Mrs. Keane let out a loud keening wail. Gigi leaped out of her arms and pressed her quivering body against Raina’s legs. Even she seemed cowed by the howl coming from her owner. An officer put an arm around Mrs. Keane and led her away. You would think she was the widow by the way she carried on.
The hatchet-faced cop guided Raina to the opened door of a marked vehicle and sat her on the seat. “Deep breaths. In and out.” His voice was routine and cold, like he was on autopilot.
Raina hunched over her knees, gulping air. In. Out. She swallowed and focused on the oil stain on the road. “I’m fine,” she repeated through numb lips.
A warm blanket enveloped her. She glanced up to find the hatchet-faced cop still studying her. No concern. No warmth. An automaton doing his duty. She shuddered, glad she hadn’t become jaded by death like the man who stood before her.
“Is Uncle Martin dead?” she asked.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. He was found dead this morning,” the hatchet-faced cop said. “Is he a relative?”
Raina blinked at the tears in her eyes. “A family friend. I’ve known him my entire life. I need to call my grandma.”
“Would she be Bonnie Wong?”
The hair on the back of Raina’s neck stiffened, warning her of impending danger. “And you are?”
He flashed a badge so fast, a person couldn’t tell the difference between it and a movie prop. “I’m Detective Smith. Mrs. Keane was telling me you visited your uncle last night.”
Raina didn't like the way he said “uncle” as if to imply there was more to the story than what she'd already told. “As did other people. What's your point?”
“There's no need to get defensive. I'm just making conversation.”
“I'm sorry, but now is not the time for a chat. A man I've known my entire life is...” Her voice cracked, and she snapped her mouth shut to prevent further display of her turbulent emotions. With Uncle Martin dead and the journal gone, how was she to find out how her grandfather ended up with a secret family? She immediately felt shame for thinking about herself.
“As much as it pains me, I need to ask you some questions,” Smith said. “What is your name and contact information?”
She stared at him with a mulish expression. What a jerk.
“Either you cooperate or I can take you to the station for questioning.”
Raina knew she had little choice, but he didn't have to sound so smug. “Can I see your badge again?” She held out her hand so he couldn't do the quick flash.
He seemed puzzled by her request but handed over his badge.
She whipped out her cell phone and took a photo.
“Hey! What are you doing?” Smith demanded.
Raina handed back his badge. “I have a bad memory. I want to make sure I got your badge number right when I write my letter to the police commissioner about the way you treat grieving family members. Now what are your questions?”
“Lady, I'm just doing my job.” He jammed the badge back into his jacket pocket. “What is your name and contact info?”
Raina's cell phone dinged at an incoming text message. She ignored it.
“I can wait if you need to check your phone,” Smith said.
Raina didn't trust he wouldn't try to look over her shoulder while she replied. “It can wait.” She answered his routine questions for the next thirty minutes.
Smith snapped his notebook shut. “See, it wasn't so bad, was it? I may have some follow-up questions later on. Thank you for your time, Miss Sun.”
Raina got up, leaving the blanket on the seat of the police vehicle. The crowd had thinned. One person with a white hoodie watched the officers finish up. When he turned, she saw the flash of a scar on his mouth—the mugger from the BART station.
“Hey! You in the white hoodie!” Raina called out, rushing toward him.
He glanced at her and took off.
Smith called out, “Don't let the white hoodie get away.” His longer legs carried him past her.
By the time she got to the corner, Scar Face was long gone. Smith straightened and shoved his hand into his jacket pocket. He glared at the cars and pedestrians clogging the intersection.
“Who was that guy?” Smith asked.
Raina bent over, resting her hands on her knees. She took a deep breath. Boy, she was out of shape. “I thought he was the guy who mugged me last night.”
“What? You made me chase a guy for three blocks over a petty crime?”
“I didn't ask you to. I can't help it if you gave chase like a dumb bonehead.” Sh
e grimaced mentally as the words left her mouth. Geez, she shouldn't have said that.
“I have a feeling we’re going to see a lot of each other.”
Her cell phone dinged again.
He glanced at her purse.
Her phone rang.
Without breaking eye contact, Raina grabbed her phone. “Hello?”
“Raina—”
“Mom, I can't talk right now.” She hung up. Another ding.
“Must be important if your mom is trying so hard to contact you. Need a police escort?” Smith asked.
“Am I free to go?”
“One more question—how can I get in touch with Bonnie Wong?”
“I don't know.”
“Tell her I'll be by the house tomorrow.”
“I—”
“You're too young to have the money to live on Pacific Heights. Must be a family home.”
Raina waited until he was heading back to Uncle Martin's house before pulling out her cell phone to check her messages.
The next-door neighbor posted Uncle Martin's death on Facebook. Hudson is beside himself. Help!
* * *
The drive to the Sunset District took ten minutes, but she took another five to find parking. She ended up eight blocks further than her last spot. She might have been better off just walking to Hudson’s apartment.
The change in weather was significant in those blocks. The thick fog hunkered in this low area like a squatter. Raina jammed her hands into her pockets and marched without seeing more than ten feet ahead of her. She passed cafes and shops with flashing “Open” signs and condensation on their windows. People were out and about, but she saw only one or two at a time before they disappeared from sight.
She felt numb, but wasn’t sure if it was from the chill or the news of Uncle Martin’s death. At the thought of finding her mom prostrate with grief at Hudson’s, Raina’s feet slowed even though her destination was the next building over. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she’d missed lunch.
