Aunty Lee's Chilled Revenge

by Ovidia Yu

  “Food. She says when people leave, sometimes there is biscuits and bread in the room. So we take back and share.”

  “And did the lady tourists leave any food?”

  The lady tourists had thrown out cakes, they agreed. Good cakes. Sometimes people threw away things they did not want to carry back while they were still good. They finally admitted to eating the cakes with hanging heads and shamed faces, expecting to be shouted at and fired. Instead Aunty Lee asked them how they felt. Had they eaten them all? What were they like? Yes, they had eaten them all. They were very good. Not fresh, not like at home, but good. No, they did not get sick.

  “They stole my food?” Vallerie burst out incredulously. “Did you hear that? They sneaked into my room and stole my food!” But none of them, not even the two cleaners, paid any attention to her.

  “Did you take a box of moon cakes?” Aunty Lee asked quietly. She held up the plastic lid liner. “Round brown cakes. Hard outside, soft inside.”

  It took a while for him to understand, but the male cleaner admitted they took and shared a box of two (originally four) moon cakes from the room after the police released the room and they were asked to pack up the sisters’ things.

  “I took the box,” the woman said. “It was very pretty. I was going to use it to keep things. I will give it back to you. I will buy you another one. Please not be angry. Please not take us to police.”

  “I don’t care about the stupid box,” Vallerie said. “What else did you take?” But it seemed as though Aunty Lee had suddenly grown deaf to her.

  “I will replace the moon cakes and anything else that was taken,” Jacky said. “I take responsibility for this. They were told to clear the room and dispose of perishables, so if they disposed of something you wanted the hotel is responsible.” But Aunty Lee was deaf to him too.

  Looking at the still weeping woman she said, “I just want to see the box. Can you show us the box?”

  “Is it still here?” Jacky clearly did not understand Aunty Lee’s moon cake fixation, but was willing to go along with it. The woman nodded.

  “Back room.”

  “Go and fetch it. Raju, go with her. Oh, come on.” He went with them. Aunty Lee suspected he was going to deliver a few reassuring words. But she had other things on her mind.

  It was a bonus for Aunty Lee that the old woman cleaner still had the box. The pretty box she had folded along its lines. She had planned to send it home to her young granddaughter. The girl liked bright, pretty things, the old woman said. Aunty Lee felt bad taking the carefully preserved box from her, but the woman clearly wanted it off her hands now.

  “Her sister, the dead one, wanted to post some things back home,” the man said. “She ask me where to post. I tell her where I go to send money and things back to my family. I don’t know whether she went or not.”

  “What did she want to post?”

  “Pineapple tarts, I think. Good ones, from Bengawan Solo.”

  “Nonsense,” said Vallerie.

  “Was Allison’s body tested for poison? Drugs? Did your people find anything?” Aunty Lee asked Salim after Jacky and the cleaners left.

  “It was quite obvious how she was killed. Besides there’s no point running tests unless you know what you are looking for.” Salim did not add that such tests were extensive, expensive, and up to the forensic pathologist rather than him.

  “Hiyah, what’s the point of looking when you know what you are looking for? You should try to find things that you don’t know are there! Sleeping medicine and things like that. But anyway—” She turned her attention back to Vallerie, who had fallen silent and was looking both miffed and confused.

  “Why don’t you go back to the lobby,” Aunty Lee suggested. “Pick out everything you want now and we’ll bring it back with us. The other things we’ll ask them to store until you can arrange to send them home.”

  “I want it all, of course. I’m not going to leave any of my things here with these people. We must bring everything back today.”

  Aunty Lee and her walking stick went to make arrangements with Jacky. She also tried to pass him ten dollars each for the cleaners. She knew how difficult it was for them to face talking to the police.

  Jacky refused the money. “I already took care of that. That lady was always complaining. When she was staying here she asked what can she eat here that is cheap and not too spicy, and my front desk girl recommended the cheese prata next door. You know the shop I mean, right? Same recipe as the old prata house his grandfather used to run in Pasir Panjang.”

  “Of course, it’s famous.”

  “Exactly! And you would think that as a tourist visiting she would want to try something local. I mean, of course it’s terrible that her sister got killed, but this was before that happened. She threatened to sue us for trying to give her food poisoning. As though looking at food can give you food poisoning!”

  Aunty Lee agreed. The Singaporean need to eat was not only an indulgence as many thought. It was a survival mechanism, the one need that everyone truly had in common, regardless of race, language, or religion. And having more money or more power did not necessarily mean you ate better. Often, in fact, too much money and power cut into the time you had for appreciating good food and left you at the mercy of those who put more money into music and mood lighting than quality ingredients.

  “But aiyoh, she was so offended that I suggested she eat prata. She said that she tried it once and it made her sick for more than a week. I don’t know what kind of prata she was eating. It is like saying, ‘I tried eating bread once and it made me sick for one week,’ right? Depends on the bread and what you put on it, right?”

  “That must have been the other sister, the one who got killed. She used to live in Singapore.”

  “No, it was the fat one, the one here today. The skinny one that got killed, she wanted to try new things. But that was only when they first arrived. After that I didn’t see her again.”

  Aunty Lee was thoughtful. She stopped to make a quick phone call before going back to collect Vallerie.

  20

  Routines

  Routine toxicology screenings even in Singapore’s most advanced morgues were sorely limited by the need to justify expenses. Even when activated, the normal screening checked only for the most common toxins, such as opiates and alcohol. Only if certain poisons were suspected could the specific analyses requested be individually conducted.

  “Routine testing can miss some poisons,” Commissioner Raja admitted.

  “So if I want to kill somebody I should use those poisons?” Aunty Lee had been suspected of an accidental poisoning just the year before, but she only brought this up as a last resort. “Instead of my buah keluak?”

  Commissioner Raja knew when he was beaten. “I’ll get additional tests done on Allison Love’s body. Everything they can think of. Even though death was clearly caused by asphyxiation by strangling with postmortem battering. Satisfied?”

  “Get the results first then say satisfied or not.” Aunty Lee did not tell him she had already brought up the issue with Salim. It never hurt to have the big boss on your side, but it was those on the ground level who got the job done.

  But as she put down the phone Aunty Lee was satisfied that she had done all she could—at least where Commissioner Raja was concerned.

  Indeed, everyone seemed satisfied. The Victoria Crest Hotel agreed to waive costs. Aunty Lee suspected Jacky was glad to get Vallerie officially off the premises, plus he seemed to think the future might bring unofficial tours for ghoulish-minded locals. And Aunty Lee was happy to have Vallerie continue staying in the guest room at 88 Binjai Park. After all, that was what guest rooms were for.

  Vallerie spent the rest of that day closeted in her bedroom with all her things. But the next morning she joined Aunty Lee and Nina at the café, apparently in high spirits and full of advice: “You really should upgrade your menu. These supposedly exotic dishes are all very well, but what people want is plain
good-quality food!”

  Aunty Lee, leaning pointedly on her stick, hobbled to a corner table to rub stains off menu covers, leaving Nina to listen to Vallerie’s advice.

  Nina was better than Aunty Lee at taking food advice. Almost every Singaporean was a self-pronounced expert on food, but Nina Balignasay considered herself an expert on taking advice, whether or not she followed it. This was a skill a foreign domestic worker in Singapore needed to survive. As Vallerie expounded on the merits of fried doughnuts, the entrance bell jangled. It was Anne Peters, looking through the half-open door. She gave Cherril at the other side of the room a quick wave, but it was Aunty Lee in her corner she addressed: “I won’t come in. I have Tammy with me. We’ve come for her food, but don’t bring it out yet. Do you have time for a quick chat?”

  “Always!”

  Dirty menus abandoned, Aunty Lee limped outside to join Anne Peters and Tammy, her large but still puppy-natured dog. Nina escaped from Vallerie to pack the takeaway bags for Anne Peters and Tammy. Like many other neighbors, Anne often stopped by to pick up something (almost home cooked) for lunch or dinner, but the meals for Tammy were a new innovation. Anne Peters had passed Aunty Lee some healthy dog recipes (no salt, no seasonings, no taste as far as Aunty Lee could see—but Tammy seemed to be thriving on them), and Aunty Lee preferred experimenting with dog food over factories.

  “You shouldn’t be allowed to cook dog food on the same premises as human food. That’s so unhygienic!” Aunty Lee heard Vallerie saying. She closed the front door firmly behind her. There were drawbacks to bringing your investigative work home.

  Anne was looking pleased with herself. “I have a surprise for you. Connie DelaVega is coming by to join us. We were talking about the Singapore Symphony Orchestra fund-raiser and I mentioned you’ve met her daughter’s fiancé and can probably tell her more about him. She said you already spoke to her, but that was before you met the man.”

  “I don’t know how much I can tell her,” Aunty Lee demurred, but she was very pleased. She had thought of calling Connie herself but had been unable to come up with an excuse to. In the old days, people just made a cake or harvested a papaya or a few branches of rambutans and dropped in. She had seen much more of her friends in those days before phones, tablets, and computers connected everybody all the time and kept them isolated. Aunty Lee missed those days. “How is Connie?”

  “Concerned, of course. But she sounds well.”

  They sat at one of the folding tables on the front walkway to wait for Constance DelaVega. Tammy was the most sweet tempered of dogs, a big light brown “Singapore Special” mutt mix with large paws and ears that suggested Labrador somewhere in her ancestry. But Singapore’s Environmental Public Health Act prohibited live animals from being taken into eateries, and after some uncomfortable encounters with the National Environment Agency the previous year and especially with Selina present, Aunty Lee was strictly obeying the rules.

  “I tried making some chicken and pork liver meatballs for Tammy this time,” Aunty Lee said. “No salt, no soy sauce like you said. Sure to be no taste. I don’t even know will she eat them.”

  “She’ll eat them all right.” Anne watched the interest with which Tammy nosed her friend. Tammy knew that a visit to Aunty Lee’s Delights usually resulted in food treats and would have been happy if they spent all their time there. But she jumped round and stiffened to alert pose with a warning bark as a taxi drew up. Constance DelaVega waved at them before turning back to pay the driver. Tammy gave another sharp bark. Then, at a soft word from Anne, sat down with her ears alert, a low growl rumbling in her throat till the slim older woman got out of the taxi and walked up the two steps from the road to join them on the walkway. It reminded Aunty Lee that Tammy’s approval could not be taken for granted. She was one of the few favored to receive it.

  Constance DelaVega looked considerably older than Aunty Lee remembered, although her hair was still black and her makeup still in place. Connie Fernandez had once been considered a belle and a beauty, even more celebrated in her time than her daughter was now.

  “This is a very nice place!” Connie said, once greetings had been exchanged.

  “This can’t be your first time here?”

  “I think it must be! Of course I’ve been to your house—that’s straight on up the road on the right side, right? And Anne’s place is up the road on the left—but that was years ago. Are there tables inside also or is it one of those takeaway places?”

  “Most of the tables are inside. We’re sitting outside because of Tammy,” Anne explained. Aunty Lee had noticed Connie draw back slightly from Tammy’s cautious sniff. Josephine had not gotten her love of animals from her mother.

  “I’m slightly allergic,” Connie explained. She sat on a folding chair that Nina materialized to place for her. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. When Anne told me you had actually met this Mike Fitzgerald, I told her I had to come and pick your brain!”

  Aunty Lee darted a quick look at Anne, who was looking politely detached. She was impressed by how quickly her friend had managed to set up this meeting—and to convince Connie she was doing her a favor.

  “I don’t know how much I can tell you,” she said. “I only met him once and he was on his best behavior. What has Josie told you about him?”

  “She doesn’t tell us anything!” Connie said.

  “Have you asked her what she sees in him?”

  “I know why already. I watched that girl grow up, always reading her fairy tales and then her romances. ‘Someday my prince will come,’ that kind of thing. In books like that, the princess is just growing hair or sleeping or whatever until the ang moh prince comes along and marries her. That was fine with us. We wanted Josie to marry somebody who would look after her. But in real life, instead of showing up with a sword on a white horse, the man shows up with a dead wife and two kids. Now I don’t know—does she think she is going to be Maria in The Sound of Music, running around on the mountains singing songs with children and ending up in America?”

  “You don’t think he’s right for Josie because of his dead wife and two children?”

  “I never said that. Rosie, you also married a man with a dead wife and two children, what.”

  “The best thing I ever did in my whole life,” Aunty Lee agreed. “The only thing I regret is not marrying him sooner.”

  Josephine’s mother nodded. “I want to believe that is what Josie will say one day. We are friends so I want you to help watch out for her, that’s all. She thinks that just because she is grown up she doesn’t need looking after, but that is not true.” Glancing into the shop window as she spoke, Connie jerked violently backward, almost upsetting her chair. Vallerie was standing just inside the window glaring at her. Aunty Lee steadied Connie’s chair and gestured to Vallerie to come out and join them.

  “Vallerie! Come and meet Josephine’s mother?”

  At Aunty Lee’s invitation Vallerie turned abruptly, bumping into Nina. Nina followed Vallerie as she headed toward the back of the café. She would have to give Nina a little bonus, Aunty Lee thought. Babysitting difficult adults was so much harder than babysitting difficult children.

  “Is that the dead wife’s sister? The one that is staying with you?”

  Aunty Lee nodded. “I put her in Mathilda’s old room. Vallerie was so upset and she didn’t want to stay alone in a hotel and doesn’t know anybody else here. The room is full of Mathilda’s old books. I can open up a secondhand bookshop with all the books she has in there!”

  “It’s so sad that bookshops don’t survive in Singapore,” Anne observed. She spoke artlessly, but Aunty Lee saw she was keeping an eye out for Vallerie’s return. “Mycroft was just saying that another of his favorite bookshops is turning into a nail spa. You know he was actually thinking about buying over that shop space at Holland Village so that the bookshop could stay there without increasing rent? I told him that if he bought over that shop space I would run a nail spa there myself!
”

  “I was telling Josie she should do something like that,” Connie said as Aunty Lee’s admiration for Anne Peters grew. “You know the problem with her flower business is you have to have all the flowers there and fresh all the time because they don’t last. So if nobody buys them they are all wasted, money down the drain. And she has to keep ordering and paying her suppliers or else they won’t give her the best flowers when she needs them. At least if she opens a nail spa, nail polish lasts for so much longer. And I could go down and help her. I don’t know anything about arranging flowers.”

  “I thought her business was doing so well? That article in the Life! Section a few months ago said some very nice things . . .”

  “Everybody says very nice things, but people just aren’t buying enough flowers. Here, the only way to make money selling flowers is if you sell them outside the temples for people to buy as offerings!”

  Aunty Lee reflected that she should have wondered earlier about how Josephine’s business was doing. She knew only too well how unpredictable small businesses could be . . . she would have to set Nina on that.

  “You’re not driving anymore?” Anne Peters was asking Constance. “Are your eyes giving you trouble?”

  “Driving is not a problem. I don’t like finding places to park and tearing those tiny coupons. I asked the taxi to come back and get me in one hour’s time.”

  So Constance had set a clear limit to the time she was spending with them. Anne Peters realized this at the same time as Aunty Lee; their friend had not come for a friendly catch-up. They were silent as Nina came out and served tea, delicately trimmed whole meal sandwiches, and a selection of little jellies. Aunty Lee sniffed—mango jellies, she thought in surprised pleasure. “But how—”