Aunty Lee's Chilled Revenge

by Ovidia Yu

  “Mrs. Cherril made,” Nina said. “She use konnyaku powder and your mangoes.”

  “They look so pretty, what a treat!” Anne said.

  “You should be careful of those funny Japanese powders, Rosie,” Constance DelaVega said reprovingly. “And if you don’t mind me saying, you shouldn’t have that dead woman’s sister staying with you. One sister was crazy and this one looks a bit funny in the head also. Now you are having trouble getting around. What if she comes and hits you on the head with a hammer in the middle of the night? The police should not have got you to host the dead woman’s sister with your broken leg.”

  “Nonsense, it’s only a sprain, not broken.” Aunty Lee tapped her brace with her stick. “Exercise gets the blood circulating, meeting new people gets the brain exercising, and the Ministry of Health is always saying we should exercise more, right?”

  Anne Peters suspected Aunty Lee’s doctors would recommend physiotherapy or gentle outdoor walking rather than limping with a cane in between chairs and tables filled with cold drinks and hot soups. But it would be no use saying so and she turned instead to Constance. “Did Josephine ask you to come and tell Rosie to throw the dead woman’s sister out on the street?”

  “Of course not. I didn’t even mention I was coming here. Josie would get angry if she thought I was here asking you about Mike Fitzgerald—” Constance looked suddenly apprehensive, and her friends quickly shook their heads to indicate that her daughter would not hear about it from them. “She mentioned she was here and saw Rosie and the sister who was staying with you. Rosie, I’m telling you it’s not a good idea getting yourself mixed up with people like that.”

  “People like what?” They had not noticed Vallerie come out. “What are you saying about me? I know you are talking about me. I saw the way you were staring at me.”

  Eyes down on the table, Constance DelaVega shook her head genteelly with a small, prim smile. She was ignoring Vallerie with the polite indifference she would have applied to a pavement dog turd, Aunty Lee thought. She suddenly felt sorry for Josephine.

  “You’re spying on me for that bitch Josephine that’s trying to get her claws into Mike aren’t you, old woman? Don’t think I’m so stupid! You Singaporeans may have killed my sister but you are not as smart as you think!”

  “Don’t get so worked up,” Anne Peters said before Constance could respond. “Besides, how do you know Allison was murdered by a Singaporean?”

  Vallerie looked surprised and then pressed her lips together. “She’s stalking and harassing me. You saw her watching me just now. I’m going to report this. You’ve all been threatening me ever since I got here. I am a British citizen. You can’t do anything to me here.”

  Anne Peters stood up and quietly said something into Vallerie’s ear that the younger woman clearly didn’t like. For a moment Aunty Lee thought Vallerie was going to hit the older woman and tightened her grip on her glass, ready to throw it at her. Then Vallerie turned and slammed back into the café, considerably more noisily than she had come out.

  “You better sit back down,” Anne said with a shaky laugh, and Aunty Lee realized she was also on her feet. She was torn between going after Vallerie and comforting Constance, who looked frozen in a paralysis of politeness.

  “You can’t have that creature in your house.” Constance was coldly precise. “I knew your late husband. ML would not approve.”

  For a moment Aunty Lee felt like a scolded schoolgirl. She also felt like sticking out her tongue. Fortunately Anne Peters was saying, “Her sister just got murdered. It’s probably the shock.”

  This seemed to remind Constance of where she was and whom she was talking to. Dropping some of her icy manner, she smiled and said, “We are all old and helpless now. All we can do is stand by and watch these young people make the same mistakes we made. Over and over again it happens. We didn’t listen to our parents and they don’t listen to us.” Her fingers, twisting the straps of her handbag, were white and liver-spotted but still lovely.

  “Connie and I will walk back to my house,” Anne Peters decided. “Rosie, come and join us?” But Aunty Lee could tell she was in Constance DelaVega’s bad books until she kicked Vallerie out as instructed. And she had no intention of doing that just because some woman dared suggest her late husband would disapprove. She was impressed by Anne Peters.

  “I’ll send her taxi up the road when it comes. What did you say to Vallerie just before she stormed off?”

  “I just said, ‘Don’t use your sister’s death as an excuse not to go on with your own life.’” Anne smiled. “That’s what I did for a long time. I wanted to make whoever hurt my daughter suffer. And then I realized there was no point.”

  “That woman staying with you is a troublemaker,” Constance said with absolute certainty in her thin voice. “Some people are just born troublemakers. You look at them and think they are harmless, and you don’t find out what they are really like until it is too late.”

  Aunty Lee watched the two old women walking slowly, arm in arm, away from the row of shops. All things considered, they were fortunate to live in Singapore, where safety and stability almost made up for the overcontrol that made them possible. At her age, Aunty Lee appreciated safety, stability, and clean tap water, but she could tell the next generation wanted more. Never having known chaos and instability, Josephine and Cherril did not know to fear it. And if they recklessly hurt themselves and others, weren’t their parents to blame for overprotecting them?

  Back in the café, Vallerie was lying in wait for Aunty Lee. “What are you scheming?”

  “I’m very fond of Constance DelaVega,” Aunty Lee said evenly. “I’ve known her daughter since she was a little girl. Josephine’s been hurt before, getting involved with the wrong kind of man. I don’t want her to be hurt by the wrong kind of man again.” She spoke calmly, ignoring the other woman’s question. Vallerie remained tense for a moment, watching for a response. Aunty Lee also waited.

  “Mike Fitzgerald is definitely the wrong kind of man,” Vallerie finally said. “For anybody.”

  She was clearly stressed, Aunty Lee saw, but not too stressed to have finished the plateful of little mango jellies.

  Much later, when Mark and Selina were getting ready to leave, Mark stopped and stood quietly beside Aunty Lee.

  “Is something wrong? Can I help?”

  “Help with what? I don’t have anything to do,” Aunty Lee said. Hearing herself, she realized with a frisson of horror how coldly miserable she sounded, almost like Constance in fact. How long before what was automatic became a habit and then part of her personality? Fortunately Mark was too sensitive or insensitive to remark on this. “You have to eat,” he pointed out.

  “No, I don’t,” Aunty Lee said. “The doctor’s always saying I should lose some weight. Maybe I should just stop eating and lose all my weight.” But she was sounding more cheerful and Mark smiled.

  “If you want to lose weight we can go out somewhere and get some fun exercise.”

  “How can I exercise? I have a twisted ankle!”

  “It’s not going to be in that thing forever. What would you most want to do if not for the leg?”

  “I want to find out who killed that Allison woman. Then people will stop suspecting Cherril and Josephine and Brian and they will stop fighting with each other. And that Vallerie can go home satisfied.”

  Mark, to do him credit, only blinked. “How would you do that? What would you do that you can’t do now?”

  Aunty Lee thought about it. There was nothing, really. Except she had always given Nina directions and now Nina was busy running the café and keeping an eye on their temporary assistants. But now, even if Nina had the time, Aunty Lee could not think of any instructions for her.

  “We all need routines and rituals to anchor us. You don’t have any right now,” Mark said. “I learned that in an online course. You need new rituals even if things change for a short period. That’s why people enjoy holiday cruises and vacati
on stays, because they can set up new patterns. At home people follow routines without thinking. But now why not use this time to take the path less traveled?”

  “In Singapore, finding a path with less people traveling means you are in the restricted army training area and somebody will shoot you!” Aunty Lee said with mock sulkiness. Mark laughed and planted a kiss on her forehead.

  The son of two intelligent parents, Mark was actually very smart. Aunty Lee suspected he allowed himself to be looked after by Selina because Selina needed someone to look after. Of course there were things that she had to do . . . or rather, things she wanted to get other people to do.

  “Hurry up!” Selina called. “I’m not feeling very well, my stomach’s still acting up. How long are you going to keep me waiting out here?”

  Mark grinned and left Aunty Lee feeling better.

  21

  Lavender Casket Company

  The Lavender Casket Company funeral director, Mr. Ping Chan, was on hand to welcome Aunty Lee and Vallerie personally. They were shown directly into his private office, past the tables of efficient assistants making arrangements for the dead that would make the living happiest.

  Aunty Lee liked catering funerals almost as much as she enjoyed catering weddings. Funerals were less happy as occasions, of course, but there was far less chance of someone getting cold feet and backing out.

  “In cases like this it can be difficult to avoid media attention completely. But we have very good relations with the press, given how much our clients spend on obituaries and memorial notes, so I am sure they will be reasonable. If you agree to let them take one or two tasteful shots of you with one of the wreaths with your sister’s photograph on it, I am sure they will agree not to bother you any further,” Ping Chan said earnestly, after Aunty Lee explained what they needed.

  “No wreaths,” Vallerie said. “I said so on the death announcement. No wreaths, no flowers, no big deal.”

  “But no matter what you put on the announcement people always send something. And it can be a comfort for the family.”

  “There’s no family other than me. And I said Allison would not have wanted any flowers. She never saw the point of having dead flowers around dead people. And anyway, she was allergic.”

  Mr. Ping Chan changed the subject deftly. He was good at his job, Aunty Lee saw. As Vallerie spoke, he coaxed them both into comfortable chairs facing his desk. Little china cups of hot Chinese tea appeared in front of them, standing on either side of a box of tissues graced by a quilted green satin cover.

  “This is a very nice photo but a bit old. Are you sure you don’t want to use something a little more recent? You look so much like your sister, Miss Vallerie. Were you twins? It is always hard to lose a sister, but to lose a twin sister must be much, much worse.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Vallerie snapped. “Use your eyes, man! We don’t look anything alike. Everyone always knew Allison was the slim, pretty one. Look at me. Do I look thin to you?”

  Aunty Lee was listening with great interest. Polite convention dictated that when a woman asked you whether she looked thin you said yes without stopping to think or look at her. Mr. Ping Chan started to be polite—“Of course you . . .”—but he stopped with a wince at Vallerie’s enraged “Bloody pisspot!” Especially as she picked up one of the wooden dolls lined up on his desk and thumped it hard on the surface. Now she stood breathing hard and staring at him as though daring him to say something that would give her an excuse to hit him with the doll. She jerked her arm away when Aunty Lee touched her lightly with two fingers (keeping an eye on the painted wooden doll/blunt instrument). Perhaps following her eyes the funeral director said, “That is a kokeshi doll. They were originally created to remember children lost before or during birth.”

  “What the hell do you want?” Again Vallerie thumped the dead baby memento on the desk. Ignoring her, Ping Chan’s eyes went to Aunty Lee. She was impressed and realized his experience of dealing with emotionally traumatized relatives probably far exceeded her own.

  “I was thinking I should plan my own funeral,” Aunty Lee said vaguely. “I suppose it’s silly. But if I plan everything first—flowers, no flowers, which photo to use—it would be easier for the people who have to make the arrangements, right?”

  “Oh, not silly at all!” The funeral director leaped with alacrity back into the familiar subject. “There are many good reasons to preplan a funeral and write a will. It puts you in control of the arrangement and ensures that your wishes will be known and carried out. It allows you to take care of the expenses so as to relieve your family of financial burden. And it means that you can relieve your family of the need to make difficult decisions at a time of deep emotional stress.”

  Aunty Lee wrinkled her nose to think. “But what if I pay you all the money for my funeral and then your company closes down before I die. Then who is going to bury me? And what happens to the money?”

  “You pay us for making the arrangements and recording your wishes. The payment is held by a third-party bank and comes to us only when our services become necessary.”

  “So even if inflation and price of wood for the coffin goes up, you still stick to the old price that we agreed on, yah?”

  “Absolutely, Mrs. Lee. That is a very good observation. Because we absorb all inflation, it is in your interest to buy into our package while you’re still young and then live as long as you can to make a profit!” He laughed, and with an eye on Vallerie, who had calmed down enough to drop the doll back on the desk, Aunty Lee laughed too.

  “Maybe you can work out a package for me to consider?”

  “It would be my pleasure.”

  However, Vallerie’s impatience boiled over.

  “That’s stupid. You’re already too old to make any kind of profit. He’s just trying to con you. Just shut up and show us how much you are charging us for my sister’s cremation at once!”

  “We can speak later,” Mr. Ping Chan said to Aunty Lee. “We must take care of our bereaved friends first.” He made Aunty Lee feel like a special part of the caring community. Even though she was aware it was just good PR at work, Aunty Lee could not help but feel flattered and honored. Could she apply this to food service? Somehow “we must take care of our desperately starving friends first” didn’t sound as classy and nurturing. Perhaps Cherril could come up with a better line.

  “Some people leave instructions in their last will and testament,” Ping Chan said. “I suppose you have already gone through everything your sister left?”

  “Of course!” Vallerie said. “She left me a note. But it was too personal to show anyone else and I destroyed it.”

  “Perhaps you would like to look at our basic package . . .”

  Later, sitting in the lift lobby with printouts of several options, Aunty Lee returned to the note Vallerie had mentioned. “I had a friend who made a new will every time she had to fly on a plane. Is that why Allison wrote you that note about what she wanted?”

  “Allison always had very strong intuition,” Vallerie said vaguely. “She always had to be prepared for anything because of the kids, you know? Because she knew she couldn’t trust that man to watch out for them. And she was right—he’s already taken up with that floozy.”

  Aunty Lee could tell the woman was deliberately provoking her, and part of her wanted to flare up hot and angry in defense of Josephine . . . but she decided she would whip up a really spicy curry once she got back home instead, something that would burn off her frustration.

  As though picking up on this, Vallerie said abruptly, “Is there anything to eat around here? I’m hungry.”

  “There is supposed to be very good laksa in the market food center up the road—or if you like there is an ice-cream and waffles place just opened.”

  “Ice cream,” Vallerie Love decided. “It’s so bloody hot. But I hope they have real ice cream, none of those sweet corn, red bean, and, God forbid, durian things! Why don’t you just close your eyes and pick on
e plan and be done with it. Just remember I’m not the one paying for it.”

  “Mike Fitzgerald will be paying for everything. In fact, he will be here in a while,” Aunty Lee said. “Since he’s paying he has to sign the contract.”

  Vallerie was already on her feet. “You set me up. Damn you, old fat bitch!”

  “It’s not a setup. That’s why I’m telling you first. Josephine says Mike wants to meet you. After all, he has agreed to pay for your sister’s funeral expenses. At least have a cup of tea with him to discuss the arrangements?”

  “No, I don’t want to see him.” Vallerie made for the lift and jabbed at the call button.

  “Is she going to walk out to the main road?” Mr. Ping Chan came up behind Aunty Lee. “Should we send someone after her? Or call a taxi?”

  “No,” said Aunty Lee. Vallerie had money to buy ice cream and would call for help if she needed it. And she wanted to talk to Mike Fitzgerald.

  “So this is where the service is going to be. The Lavender Casket Company,” Mike Fitzgerald said, looking around. He did not seem surprised to learn Vallerie had left on hearing he was coming. She had been avoiding him since learning he was on the island. Josephine, who arrived with Mike, looked relieved.

  “She’ll have to meet you at the funeral.”

  “If she turns up!”

  Mike did not have any suggestions of his own but agreed to everything that Aunty Lee and Mr. Ping Chan suggested between them. It was much easier dealing with a bereaved husband than with a bereaved sister, Aunty Lee decided. Nor did he balk at the sum mentioned. If he could be this generous toward an ex-wife who had given him so much trouble, Aunty Lee began to feel better about Josephine ending up with him . . . provided, of course, that the man was not in the habit of being generous only after killing his wives.

  “Thank you. It sounds nice. Allison liked things to be nice. She always wanted everything to be perfect. If anything wasn’t perfect she would throw it out. I remember she told me she had a tiff with a boyfriend she once had. It was just a misunderstanding. After they sorted it out he wanted to get back together with her, but Allison said no, she didn’t want to, because it had been a perfect relationship and after this breakup it wouldn’t be perfect anymore. She used to write poetry when we were in school, did you know that? Very deep and depressing things. But she wasn’t like that in person at all. She just thought that was how serious poetry was supposed to sound.” Mike’s eyes were vague, thinking of the young Allison.