by Ovidia Yu
Dedication
Dedicated to Rajeev Doraswamy, Ram Doraswamy, and Aaron
Mali, with thanks for the amount of time and attention your
wonderful mothers devoted to the birthing of this book
Contents
Dedication
Prologue
1. Aunty Lee’s Delights
2. Puppy Killer
3. Death of a Puppy Killer
4. Questions
5. 88 Binjai Park
6. Breakfast with Vallerie
7. Sunday Morning Café
8. Back at the House
9. The Body in the Morgue
10. Mike in Singapore
11. Monday Conversations
12. Problems
13. Josephine
14. Young People These Days
15. Mike Fitzgerald
16. Usual Suspects
17. Hotel
18. Café
19. Hotel Coffeehouse
20. Routines
21. Lavender Casket Company
22. Different Realities
23. Josephine Poisoned
24. Changing Portraits and Perspectives
25. Mr. Ian Woon
26. Belinda Bao: Chill to Set
27. Dinner Climax
28. Wrap-Up
Acknowledgments
P.S. Insights, Interviews & More . . . * About the author
About the book
Read on
Also by Ovidia Yu
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
Prologue
They had opened the clinic doors at nine as usual. Dr. Samantha Kang had just escorted an obese corgi with breathing difficulties and its worried owner into the examining room when she heard the crash and Lisette, the receptionist, shrieking.
The corridor was full of black smoke and the smell of kerosene when she opened the door and saw a fireball blazing in the reception area. Lisette stumbled into her, coughing and tearing. “I don’t know what happened!”
“Get them out the back.” Dr. Kang pushed Lisette and the corgi and its owner through the animal holding area to the goods entrance. They had three dogs, two cats, and a rabbit in the back room. Gino, the veterinary assistant, was already putting the second cat into a carrier, and Samantha started leashing the dogs. There was no point rescuing terrified dogs from a fire only to be run over.
Somehow they got all the animals out. Coughing and dizzy from smoke, the vet stumbled around to the front of the clinic and sat on the grassy patch that separated it from the main road. Normally she avoided even walking here, given that it was where many of her canine patients relieved themselves. She held a shivering Chihuahua on her lap, and a brown “Singapore Special” mutt laid a grateful, moist snout on her leg. A curious crowd had gathered but the fire was already out. Within ten minutes of the alarm, two Singapore Civil Defense Force fire bike riders with compressed foam backpacks had arrived and extinguished the blaze. Now two red rhinos and a full-sized generic fire engine arrived from the SCDF to find only sodden, black-streaked walls and smoky dampness.
“Dr. Samantha Kang? I am Emergency Response Officer Sarah Hisham. How are you feeling?”
“Yes, I’m Samantha Kang,” Samantha said to the uniformed woman squatting in front of her. “I’m sorry.” The Chihuahua gave a halfhearted yap but subsided when she put a comforting hand on its head.
“Sorry?”
Samantha indicated the main road, where a traffic officer was directing cars around the stationary fire engine. The rhinos had driven off the road to park on the grass slope, their flashing lights giving the place a festive air.
“We got you all over here for nothing. It was just a small fire. I don’t know how it happened.”
“Calling us was the right thing to do,” Sarah Hisham said. “The best fire is no fire. Second best is small fire.” It sounded like a standard joke, but Samantha could not smile.
“There should be some way of saying it’s a small fire, just send one or two firemen. Don’t waste resources. You shouldn’t be wasting resources.”
“Better safe than sorry. Now come with me so we can take a look and make sure you are all right.” The emergency officer gestured to what looked like a white school bus with a red stripe, almost hidden by the fire engine. “That’s the ‘transformer’ vehicle. It functions as a mobile hospital.”
“I’m all right. I’ll just sit here awhile.”
“Can you walk?”
“Of course.” But she couldn’t seem to make herself stand up.
The uniformed woman gently lifted the dog off Samantha’s lap, holding it competently in the crook of one arm as she held the other out to Samantha.
“Come. Let’s get you to the trauma station and test you for smoke inhalation . . .”
But Samantha suddenly scrambled to her feet, squinting through smoke-stung eyes at someone among the curious bystanders who should not have been there.
1
Aunty Lee’s Delights
“We should get a ladder for the kitchen,” Aunty Lee said.
All the tables in Aunty Lee’s Delights, the famous little Peranakan café just inside Binjai Park, were already full for the weekend’s nasi lemak brunch to high tea buffet. It had the air of an extended family reunion as people offered to share table space with strangers who, though discerning enough to appreciate the best “homemade” Peranakan food in Singapore, had been impulsive enough to turn up on a weekend without reservations.
But Aunty Lee, who would normally be darting about supervising, seating, and recommending the fried prawns or spicy mutton with cheerful garrulousness, was sitting grumpily at a table by the entrance, barely smiling at the compliments or sympathy people stopped to give her.
Rosie “Aunty” Lee was seldom grumpy and even more seldom found sitting still. But she had twisted an ankle falling off a stool balanced on an upside-down pail placed on a coffee table, and Nina Balignasay, her Filipina domestic helper and loyal friend, was angry with her. Nina came hurrying now as Aunty Lee started to stand up.
“What do you want to get from the kitchen, madame? I will get it for you.”
Aunty Lee knew Nina was angry because she was calling her “madame” and making her obey doctor’s orders to rest her foot.
“I want to get a ladder. So next time I can get things for myself without everybody making such a fuss.”
“Next time you tell me what you want and I get for you. You don’t climb around like a monkey like that!” Nina put a little basket of prawn crackers on Aunty Lee’s table. “Madame,” she added before walking away. The light fragrant crackers were crispy and savory, but did not make Aunty Lee feel better. Neither did the fact that her partner, Cherril, seemed to be managing fine with Nina and two extra helpers in the kitchen. It was as though they didn’t need Aunty Lee at all. That hurt even more than her ankle.
At first glance Aunty Lee was a typical Singapore Peranakan tai-tai. She was fair skinned and plump cheeked enough to please the most demanding in-laws, and short enough not to embarrass the most average-sized man, and the traditional kerongsang (brooch) she wore sported intan, or rose-cut diamonds, set in handcrafted twenty-karat gold, enough to impress the most snobbish customers. And as her late husband had always said, she was kaypoh, kiasu, and em zai si. Kaypoh or busybody enough to stick her nose shamelessly into everyone’s business, kiasu or tenacious enough to follow through, and em zai si or “not scared to die” as she charged recklessly in search of answers—something which had led to her solving several murders.
Of course Aunty Lee had been famous throughout Singapore even before that—smiling from her jars of Aunty Lee’s Shiok Sambal and Aunty Lee’s
Amazing Achar.
But a closer look revealed a pink Converse T-shirt beneath her intricately embroidered kebaya blouse. And instead of a traditional batik sarong and seed pearl slippers, Aunty Lee was wearing Kaffir-lime-green yoga pants and one pink-and-green Nike Hyperdunk basketball shoe—men’s width, because her feet were small and wide like the rest of her—and one ankle immobilizer, which she was impatiently tapping against her walking stick.
As far as Aunty Lee was concerned, the worst side effect of her twisted ankle was that her stepson’s wife, Silly-Nah (as Aunty Lee called the unfortunate Selina), had been coming in daily since Aunty Lee’s fall, saying it was her duty to keep an eye on the family business. (It was not a family business, Aunty Lee thought sulkily, it was her business.) Nina’s disapproval should have been penance enough for climbing up on any number of shaky coffee tables without having to listen day in and day out to Silly’s orders and instructions. Selina seemed to think sampling dishes and criticizing “Too hot!” or “More salt!” was the way to run a café kitchen. Aunty Lee observed Selina had already taken on extra weight with her extra role.
This reminded her to hobble round to check the buffet. Aunty Lee liked buffets. The curious, content crowd of people roused memories of family feasts and celebrations, and the sheer abundance of food woke a purely animal joy that no written menu could equal. Three batu lesong or stone mortars containing homemade sambals—spicy sauces—held pride of place. As they ran down, Nina or one of her helpers added peanuts, chopped onions, chili peppers, and lemongrass to toasted belachan and pounded a fresh portion. As any Peranakan cook knew, it was the quality of your sambals that determined the quality of your kitchen. Aunty Lee was very proud of her sambals. Having no one to pass them on to was one of the few things that made her regret having no daughters of her own.
The rest of the buffet was equally impressive. The huge pot of coconut rice released a steamy fragrance of coconut and pandan—screw pine leaves grown in Aunty Lee’s own garden—every time it was opened. And then there was the parade of fried fish, fried chicken, otak-otak, omelets, cucumber slices, peanuts, sambal sotong, and, of course, the achar Aunty Lee was so famous for. Desserts were on a separate, chilled counter next to the drinks station Cherril had set up. But where was Cherril? Cherril Lim-Peters (Aunty Lee’s new business partner who was responsible for the drinks) had taken a half-day off and booked a table for herself and three other people, saying, “I have to meet them today. But this way I’ll be around if anything comes up.”
Aunty Lee looked through the crowd of eaters to the corner table where Cherril looked as out of sorts as Aunty Lee felt. For some reason this immediately made Aunty Lee feel better and she perked up and paid more attention. One of Cherril’s friends had just arrived . . .
Josephine DelaVega asked for a glass of water and pulled out a cigarette as she joined Cherril at the small corner table.
“You can’t smoke in here,” Cherril said automatically.
“I’m not smoking it. I’m just holding it.”
Josephine was wearing a silky olive-green blouse over white tailored pants, her long hair loosely pulled back with a green-and-purple bandanna. Cherril, though as tall and slim as her friend, knew she faded into the background when beside her. She felt suddenly dowdy in her beige-and-yellow knit dress. Why hadn’t she worn pants today?
Cherril looked tense and tired, Aunty Lee thought. So did her companion. To Aunty Lee’s eye, both women had the semi-starved look of Japanese Occupation survivors and she ate a few more prawn crackers to comfort herself. Aunty Lee wondered whether Cherril’s companion had also been an air stewardess. Cherril’s training with Singapore’s premier airline was as obvious to any Singaporean as any soldier’s military training. It was in her professional posture and grooming, her welcoming but impersonal smile, and her ability to pacify cranky children and angry drunks without smudging her mascara. No, Aunty Lee decided, seeing clearly from the way she talked how upset the strange woman was. Aunty Lee wished she was close enough to hear what she was saying.
“We should have killed the bloody woman like she killed that dog!”
Aunty Lee, along with most of the café, had no trouble hearing that. As curious heads snapped round to the corner table, Aunty Lee was already hobbling her way across. And as Cherril smiled gamely at staring customers, Aunty Lee pulled out the chair beside her and eased down into it.
“I hope you don’t mind. With my foot like that I cannot stand very long, must sit down.”
Selina, full of righteous indignation, had also started in that direction. But seeing Aunty Lee establishing herself, she stopped and turned away.
Cherril had not seen Josephine DelaVega and Brian Wong for years, not since she stopped volunteering with the Animal ReHomers. She had not taken this threatened lawsuit as seriously as Josephine seemed to. In fact she had looked forward to catching up with Josie and Brian and telling them about her new career at Aunty Lee’s Delights. She regretted that now. Josephine had been late, and Brian had texted twice saying he was almost there but there was still no sign of him. And there was no sign of Allison Fitzgerald—Allison Love, as she now called herself. Perhaps the woman wasn’t going to show up?
“Maybe she isn’t coming after all. Maybe she just wanted to scare us,” she had suggested.
That was what had made Josephine flare up.
“Sorry,” Cherril said to Aunty Lee.
Aunty Lee shook her head dismissively, beamed at Cherril’s companion to show it was no problem, and clearly conveyed that she wanted the story behind the woman’s outburst.
“Cherril, does your friend like my food? Have you tried my sambal quail eggs yet?”
“We’re fine. Thanks,” the Eurasian woman said with automatic, dismissive politeness.
But Cherril knew Aunty Lee would not be shaken off so easily. Still, hadn’t she known that when she booked herself a table in the café? And wasn’t part of her relieved to have her protective kaypoh friend around?
“Aunty Lee, you know Josephine DelaVega, don’t you? Josie, this is Rosie Lee—the famous Aunty Lee who’s also my new boss.”
Josephine switched modes smoothly, automatically half straightening her knees while leaning forward into a respectful half-bow. “Hello, Aunty Lee, you may not remember me. I’m Constance and Joseph DelaVega’s daughter. I used to visit you with my mum ages ago. I was so amazed when Cherril told me she’s working with you here.”
To young people two or three years could be “ages ago.” Not surprising, Aunty Lee thought, given the pace at which things changed in Singapore.
“Of course I know Josephine!” Aunty Lee bobbed her head enthusiastically though she had not recognized the young woman till Cherril’s introduction. “I’ve known Baby Josie since she was so small. That’s what your dad used to call you, right? She’s the famous one, our beautiful Miss Singapore! Josephine, I haven’t seen your mother for so many years! How are Connie and Jojo? The last time I saw your mum she said she had diabetes and your father had gout and maybe dementia. How are they now? You must tell them to come here and see me!”
“I will, Aunty Lee.” Josephine smiled. “My parents are doing okay. I must tell them I saw you today. I remember coming to see you at your house with my mum and you gave us curry puffs, hot out of the oven!”
“Out of the frying pan,” Aunty Lee corrected. “Oh, I must give you something to bring back for them! Wah lao, today got Singapore beauty queen come to my shop! I must tell Nina to quick quick make a shelfie out of you!”
Aunty Lee’s last remarks were addressed to the room at large as she hobbled at top speed toward the kitchen, clearing the way in front of her with her stick. People were staring curiously and whispering again. Josephine DelaVega, former Miss Singapore–Business Galaxy (“beauty, brains, and business”) gamely returned the tentative smiles sent in her direction and pretended not to notice people snapping mobile phone shots without asking permission.
Cherril winced. Whyever had she t
hought meeting here was a good idea?
“She’s telling someone to put me on the shelf? Who is Nina?”
“Nina’s her helper. I think Aunty Lee just wants a photo of you in the café. She puts them on the shelf behind the counter so she calls them shelfies.”
Josephine grimaced. “I look like shit.”
“No. You look great.” Cherril’s reply came automatically.
“Hi, gorgeous.” Brian Wong startled Cherril by kissing her on the cheek from behind. “Hi, Josie! My three favorite ladies in my favorite café!” Brian waved his fingers at Josephine across the table.
Three? Oh yes. Aunty Lee was back, with a grim-faced Selina at her heels.
“Hello, Aunty Lee, do you remember me? It’s Brian, Brian Wong.”
“Of course I remember you,” Aunty Lee said with genuine pleasure as she waved him to a seat. Some cooks hated Brian Wong, the former animal activist who had been instrumental in getting shark fin and bear gall bladder banned in Singapore, but Aunty Lee (who was open-minded enough to have vegetarian friends) liked the young man.
“Selina, go and get water for them—wait, wait—take photo for us first then go and get the water.”
Brian circled the table to put an arm around Aunty Lee for the photos and then gave her a quick hug before sitting down.
“How nice to see you again, Brian. It’s been so long. You’re looking good. Have you got a girlfriend yet?”
“Not too good I hope!” Brian neatly deflected her question. “Can you believe I just saw a man in the gents putting on lipstick?”
“In my toilet here?”
“No, in a hotel—anyway, how are you all?”
Brian Wong had been a journalist with the Straits Times when volunteering with the Animal ReHomers. Since then, Brian had been more in the news than behind it after developing the iGrow Organic app, which delivered personalized exercise, meal, and snack plans with hydration records and iPhone reminders and connected the user with any Organic Eats chill-vending machines in the vicinity. Time magazine had credited him with revolutionizing worldwide workplace health, and Singapore had given him an Innovation Excellence Award, but he still had the boyish, open smile Aunty Lee remembered.
