The Misfortune Cookie: An Esther Diamond Novel

by Resnick, Laura

  I wondered if a touch of squeamishness was why he wasn’t going into the family business.

  “The doc needs to know everything,” Lucky said to him. “Any detail might be the key to the whole thing.”

  “Uncle Lucky, there isn’t any ‘whole thing,’” said John. “All that happened—”

  “I’m tellin’ it.”

  John let out his breath, nodded, and fell silent again.

  “A bloody head wound,” I said, digging into some spicy duck. “Was he attacked?”

  “Nope. The medical examiner figures Benny got up from his desk without taking a bite of the cookie after he cracked it open. Maybe heading for the door. Anyhow, almost as soon as he got up, he tripped and fell. On the way down, he hit his head so hard on the corner of his desk that it killed him.”

  “His secretary didn’t hear this?” I asked.

  “Oh, she probably did,” Lucky replied. “She remembers a thud coming from inside his office a couple of hours before she and the missus found him. But it wasn’t that loud, and he didn’t call for her. She thought he just dropped something. Or threw something—I guess Benny had a temper on him.”

  “He did,” said John.

  “Oh, that poor young woman,” said Max. “It must torment her to imagine Mr. Yee lying there dying, while she sat on the other side of the door, unaware that anything was wrong.”

  John shook his head as he said, “Benny died so fast, it wouldn’t have made a difference if she’d known and called for help.”

  “Lucky, I’m not really seeing the connection,” I said. “Benny opens the fortune cookie. He sets it down. He gets up, he trips, he dies.” I shook my head. “The homicidal nature of the cookie isn’t apparent to me.”

  John laughed at that. Lucky glared at him, then said impatiently to me, “The fortune cookie contained a death curse. Don’t you get it?”

  “Hmm,” said Max.

  I looked at John. “Do you think Benny was cursed with death?”

  “No,” he said. “I think Uncle Lucky has been cooped up in here for too long, with too little to do besides worry.”

  “That does sound plausible,” I said to Lucky.

  He glared at me, then said grumpily to John, “So tell them your theory, Mr. PhD Candidate.”

  “Okay.” John looked at me and Max. “Benny was the kind of guy you asked about when we were talking in the car, Esther. He was a bigshot in the Five Brothers tong and involved in plenty of stuff on the wrong side of the law. He had enemies.”

  “And one of them,” Lucky said, “cursed him with death!”

  “Hmm,” said Max.

  “It’s John’s turn to tell the story,” I pointed out.

  “Like a lot of older Chinese,” John continued, “Benny was superstitious. He was known for it, in fact. For example, he wouldn’t visit the fourth floor of any building, no matter how important a person or an appointment it might be.”

  “Um, why?” I asked.

  “Four is a bad-luck number,” John explained. “The Chinese word for it sounds like the word for ‘death.’ Sure, plenty of people think it’s inauspicious. But Benny had a real phobia about it. And that’s just one example.”

  Realizing where John was going with this, I said, “So this very superstitious man who has a lot of enemies receives a mysterious gift, and when he cracks open the cookie, he reads a fortune there that curses him with death. And he panics?”

  “Exactly. He drops the cookie and jumps out of his chair. Maybe he was just moved by agitation. Maybe he was headed for the door to tell his secretary they had to find out where the fortune cookie came from. Either way, he trips, falls, hits his head, and dies.” John shook his head. “I think it was a malicious prank, a practical joke that was intended to wind him up. To make Benny jumpy and skittish. But it had much worse consequences than the sender ever expected.”

  “Hmm,” said Max.

  “It might even have been sent by a friend or colleague,” said John.

  “Not a very nice one,” I noted.

  “I don’t think Benny hung out with nice people,” John replied. “Anyhow, there’s no trace of where the fortune cookie came from. And now that it has led to his death, no one will ever—”

  “So it was really a misfortune cookie,” I said, thinking of Benny’s superstitions.

  “You got it, kid. And ain’t nobody ever gonna admit to giving that misfortune cookie to Benny,” said Lucky. “That’s one thing John and I agree on, at least.”

  “How did you guys find out about this?” I asked. “Did Mrs. Yee just blurt out the whole story when she was making funeral arrangements?”

  “No, I heard it from Benny’s nephew,” said John. “He heard it from the widow.”

  “And I eavesdropped.” Lucky shrugged. “I was bored. I really don’t have anything to do besides worry.”

  “Why did the nephew tell you all this?” I asked John.

  “I know the family,” he replied. “Ted and I grew up together, and Susan and I were in some undergrad classes together in college.”

  “Who is Susan?”

  “Ted’s sister,” he said. “And, of course, I’m helping with Ted’s film, so we see each other a lot these days.”

  “Ted’s film?” I repeated.

  John replied, “Benny’s nephew, Ted, is shooting an indie film here in Chinatown. I’m doing the hair and makeup for it. I’ve had a lot of practice at that kind of thing.” Looking at me as if concerned about how I’d react, he added, “I do most of the hair and makeup on the customers here.”

  I realized he meant corpses, but something much more important had caught my attention.

  “Ted’s shooting this film now?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  Max said to John, “In order to review this matter thoroughly, I need to know what has become of the—”

  “Have all the parts been cast already?” I asked.

  “Well, when I say now,” John said, “I guess I’m wrong. Between Benny’s death and Mary breaking her leg, we haven’t filmed for the past few—”

  “Does anyone know,” Max asked, “what became of the—”

  “Who’s Mary?” I asked.

  “Mary Fox,” said John. “She’s one of the two female leads. Well, she was. Now that she’s laid up with a broken—”

  “Is she Chinese?” I asked urgently. I’m versatile, but there was no way I’d be cast as a Chinese character.

  “No, Mary’s white. The lead character in the movie is an ABC who’s trying to choose between two women. One of them is—”

  “ABC?” I repeated.

  He smiled. “American Born Chinese. Like me.”

  Max said, “About the fortune that was in this cookie . . .”

  “So Mary Fox was playing the white girl?” I said. “And now that she’s broken her leg, the role will have to be recast?”

  “Um, I don’t know. I would think so,” said John. “But that’s Ted’s call. And he’s got a lot on his mind right now, since—”

  “Yeah, Benny’s death,” I said. “Whatever. Look, John, I’m an actress.”

  “A professional,” Lucky added helpfully. “Esther’s been on TV.”

  “Oh?” said John with interest. Then: “Oh.”

  “Can you introduce me to Ted?” I asked.

  “Of course,” said John. “I’m sure he’s here tonight. The deceased is his uncle, after all.”

  “Oh. Right.” That sank in now. “Sorry. I should have . . . I mean, this might not be the best time for me to ask to read for his movie.”

  “Oh, it’s probably all right,” said John. “To be honest, Ted won’t miss Benny—just his money.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Benny was backing Ted’s film.”

  “Ted’s lost his backer?” I asked in dismay. />
  “Well, there’s still cash left from Benny’s initial investment,” said John. “And Ted is optimistic about getting more investment.”

  “Okay. Good. I’d like to meet him. Right away.” I stood up.

  So did John. “All right.”

  “Does anyone know,” Max asked loudly, “what happened to the fortune that may have cursed Benny Yee with death?”

  “Oh, sure,” said Lucky, looking surprised by Max’s volume. “I got John to ask Mrs. Yee for it today.”

  John said wearily, “He really did get me to do that.”

  “I figured you’d want to see it,” Lucky said to Max. “And since handling it after Benny’s death didn’t kill the missus, I didn’t think it would kill us, either.”

  “She kept it?” I asked curiously.

  “When she saw it, she wasn’t sure what to make of it,” said John. “She thought it must be something to do with the Five Brothers. So she took it home with her.”

  “In case it turned out to be evidence?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe just to keep it out of strangers’ hands. I’m not sure.”

  While John was speaking, Lucky was retrieving a sealed plastic bag from a drawer in one of the desks. Inside the transparent bag was a slip of black paper, barely an inch wide, maybe three inches long. Lucky didn’t open the bag when he showed it to us. The black paper had a single Chinese character on it, painted in delicate white calligraphy.

  “White,” murmured Max. “The color of death.”

  The symbol looked like expressionist art to me, like a few random brush strokes arranged in a pleasing shape. It was hard for me to see why it would have inspired fear in Benny Yee.

  “What exactly does this character mean?” I asked John.

  “It depends on context,” he said. “Which we don’t have here. But the meaning can be die, dead, death, condemned to die. Any of those.”

  “I’m going with ‘condemned to die,’” said Lucky. “It’s a curse!”

  “May I take this back to my laboratory to study it?” Max asked.

  “Yes. In fact, I’d prefer that,” said John. “I don’t consider myself superstitious, but I wish Uncle Lucky hadn’t insisted on having this thing here, and I’ll be glad to get rid of it. It was written with malice, and it led to someone’s death.”

  That much seemed certain. The question I knew Max was pondering, as he studied the item in the bag, was whether it had inflicted Benny’s death. If so, then we needed to figure out how and when the next victim would be chosen. Because if this was mystical murder, then there would certainly be another victim sooner or later—probably sooner. Max always said that Evil was voracious, and events had repeatedly proved he was right about that. So although I thought John’s interpretation of Benny’s death was reasonable, I knew that Max had to investigate, in case Lucky was right.

  “Before you take that home with you, though,” said Lucky, “you gotta check out the suspects.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Benny’s wake.” Lucky jerked his chin in the direction of the Chinese funeral parlor. “If you mingle, maybe you can spot the killer there. I’d bet fifty grand that he’s here tonight.”

  “Why?” I asked. “Attending your victim’s wake seems unnecessarily melodramatic.”

  “Not to mention being in questionable taste,” added Max.

  “People do it all the time,” Lucky insisted. Which made me realize he might have done it.

  John met Lucky’s eyes. “Uncle Lucky might be right. Whoever sent Benny that cookie must have known him. And everyone who knows Benny is bound to turn up for his send-off.”

  “Well, then.” Max slipped the death curse into his pocket. “Let’s go meet the visitors. Come, Nelli. The game is afoot!”

  “Um, Dr. Zadok,” said John. “I don’t think you can bring a dog to the visitation.”

  “Oh, I really think I should,” said Max. “It would be advantageous for Nelli to examine the corpse for remnants of mystical influence, in the unlikely event that any such residue lingers now that the deceased has been prepared for burial.”

  “Huh?”

  “And if there are demonic or mystical beings present, she may well be able to detect them.”

  “O . . . kay.” John looked to me and Lucky for help.

  “It’s best to go along with this,” said Lucky.

  I nodded my agreement, though I felt sorry for John, who’d have to explain to his father, his brother, and probably the Yee family why he had allowed an enormous dog (and not a particularly well-behaved one) to prowl around the wake.

  “You two go ahead,” said Lucky. “There’s something I need to discuss with Esther in private. She’ll catch up.”

  John nodded. “Dr. Zadok and I are the only two people at this wake who you know, Esther, so we should be pretty easy to spot when you come through the door.”

  I nodded and watched them exit the room, with Nelli stepping lively as she accompanied them out the door. Then I turned to Lucky. “What’s up?”

  “I got a little additional problem that I need your help with. I don’t like to drag you into this, but it’s important,” he said. “And most of my resources ain’t available for the time being.”

  “I’ll help you in any way I can, Lucky.” As long as he didn’t ask me to break the law, that was. “What is it?”

  He blew out his breath with his lower lip. “Well, your boyfr . . . I mean, Detective Lopez is poking around Chinatown.”

  “What?” I blurted in surprise. “Do you think he suspects you’re hiding here?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t been able to find out enough to be sure. It don’t seem like he’s looking in the right places, but I can’t think of why else he’d be in Chinatown right now.”

  “Oh, no.” I realized what this favor was. “You want me to find out why Lopez is here?”

  “And you need to do it without him knowing that’s what you’re asking. Because he’s the type who’ll figure out real quick why you’re asking, once he realizes what you’re asking.” Lucky asked, “Do you think you can do it?”

  “Oh, man,” I said grumpily. “This means I’ll have to talk to him, Lucky.”

  He frowned. “I know you had a big fight with him at Bella Stella, and he wound up arresting you. But maybe . . .” Lucky sighed and shook his head. “Wait a minute. Forget it. What was I even thinking? I’m sorry, kid. If I wasn’t climbing the walls here, I wouldn’t even have asked. I know better. I shouldn’t be sending you to talk to that guy after—”

  “No, no, it’s important,” I said quickly. “And I want to help you. And the Chens, too, who I’m sure you don’t want to put in danger.”

  “No way do I want them to get in trouble because of me.”

  “So I’ll just have to talk to Lopez,” I said firmly. “For your sake. And theirs.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked with concern.

  I lifted my chin. “I can do this. Don’t worry about me, Lucky.”

  God, you’re pathetic, Esther. And despicable.

  I had no idea how I was going to approach Lopez, let alone how I’d manage to sound casual while quizzing him about his activities in Chinatown and/or the hunt for Lucky Battistuzzi. But at least I’d get to talk to him. Once I could think of a suitable pretense for it, that was.

  You swore you’d stop thinking about him. You swore you’d move on!

  Especially after the god-awful events of New Year’s. When I tried to imagine how that night could have been any more humiliating, I came up blank.

  Yet here I was, volunteering—more or less—to get in touch with Lopez.

  I didn’t even know why I wanted to see him.

  To demand an apology from him? To get an explanation for his behavior? To say all the cutting things to him that I only thought of after the squad car had pulled away fr
om the curb that night?

  Or maybe I’d tear off his clothes, indulge in hours of steamy sex with him, and then just not call him—not even after promising to call.

  Okay, stop right there. There will be no removing of clothes and no indulging in sex. Are we agreed? If not, then you can’t get in touch with him. I absolutely forbid it.

  Well . . .

  Agreed or not?

  Oh, fine, then. Fine. No sex. Clothes stay on. Agreed!

  “Maybe I should just bring him a misfortune cookie,” I muttered.

  “Don’t even joke about that,” said Lucky. “I’m telling you, I got a real serious feeling about this. Benny Yee was cursed with death. And you know what that means.”

  I nodded. “I know.”

  “The killer ain’t gonna stop with Benny.” After a moment, he added, “You better go join them at the wake. Oh, and I forgot to tell Max—keep Nelli away from the food.”

  “They’ve got food?” I asked. “At a wake?”

  “Offerings to nourish the spirit of the departed. It’s a Chinese thing.” Lucky added, “We can’t have our favorite familiar stealing food from a corpse. It won’t make a good impression.”

  7

  Filial piety

  Respect and veneration for one’s parents and ancestors.

  Benny Yee’s wake was so crowded that I thought the odds were good that John and Lucky were right about the killer being here—simply because half of Chinatown seemed to be here.

  Well, “killer” if the misfortune cookie had inflicted Benny’s death; “malicious prankster” if his reaction to reading that menacing fortune had led to a fatal but mundane accident in a moment of distracted anxiety.

  The latter possibility was making me think about how uncertain life was. Anyone’s candle could be snuffed at any moment. Just by tripping and cracking open your head, for example. As I searched for John and Max in the crowded funeral hall, phrases like carpe diem and “live each day as if it were your last” kept running through my head.

  Since Chen’s Funeral Home was in a downtown Manhattan neighborhood, rather than in a sprawling modern suburb, it was too small for such a big send-off. But people here were accustomed to that, so everyone just crowded in without reserve, shoulder to shoulder, cheek by jowl. A lot of people had shown up this evening to pay their respects to Benny Yee. Traditional music was playing on the sound system, but with so many people here, I could hardly hear it, though most of the mingling visitors kept their voices respectfully muted as they chatted. As I squeezed my way through the throng, I felt glad I’d left my coat and belongings in the office with Lucky, since the collective body heat was making this hall rather warm.