by Vivien Chien
My eyes widened and I felt panic settle in my stomach like a greasy burger. “What? Why?”
I thought I caught a hint of humor in his eyes, but his expression remained flat. “I need to discuss something with you and I think it would be best if we talked about it there.”
“What is this about?” I started to make a beeline for the register, Trudeau on my heels.
“I think you know.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” I avoided eye contact, keeping my focus on the woman standing in front of me. “Besides, I’m working.”
“It’s about the case,” he said firmly.
“Well, I figured that much.”
“I already cleared it with your mother. She said it would be fine for you to leave.”
“Why do I have to go now? Can’t we do this later?”
“It’s about Thomas Feng’s murder,” he said, a little too loud.
The woman standing in front of me turned around and stared.
I could feel the heat rise in my cheeks. “And…?”
“Like I said, it’s best discussed at the station.”
“Fine.” I paid for the chopsticks and left the plaza in a daze.
CHAPTER
17
“Would you like anything to drink?” Detective Trudeau asked, as if we were out to lunch. “We have a pop machine in the break room.”
“I’d rather just get to the point, Detective.” I was back in the same interrogation room as before, only it felt stuffier this time. I was in no mood for a Coke. I looked behind him at the two-way mirror and wondered if anyone was looking back at me. I squirmed in my seat.
He shrugged, unaffected by my discomfort. “Suit yourself.”
This was the moment I had been dreading. The one that had been playing over and over in my head. My new montage where they had found some type of incriminating evidence that was misunderstood and somehow led to me. They were going to pin it on the wrong guy. And that “guy” was yours truly.
Trudeau straightened the stack of papers he had pulled out of a manila folder. He took care with straightening the corners of each page so they lined up exactly.
I could have smacked him. “Detective…”
He stopped shuffling the papers and looked me in the eye. “I finally had the chance to sit down and go through all the takeout receipts from the day of Thomas Feng’s death.”
Okay, not exactly what I had expected him to start with, but it was better than what I’d originally thought. “And…?”
He pushed himself back in his chair and stood up. He leaned against the two-way mirror and folded his arms over his broad chest, taking his time to answer me. “I think that Peter set you up.”
I stared at the table, trying to make sense of the words that were coming out of his mouth. “Why would you think that?”
“Because there were no other takeout orders around the time that you delivered Thomas Feng’s food. What Peter told you was a lie.”
My lower lip trembled and I kept my eyes plastered on the table. “I don’t believe it.”
He sat back down and leaned forward, folding his hands on the table right where I was staring. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to consider the possibility. I know this is tough…”
“Do you, Detective?” I asked, looking up at him. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve known Peter? And you’re just going to sit here like it’s any other day and tell me that my friend set me up for a murder he committed?”
He sighed. “Just because you’ve known someone for a long time doesn’t mean that you know everything about them.” He leaned back in his chair. “How well do you know Peter exactly?”
“Pretty well,” I spat.
“Have you ever been … in a relationship with him?”
My face scrunched up at the thought. “No, of course not, he’s a family friend.”
“Okay,” he said, sounding relieved. “Well, then why don’t you explain to me why he asked you to deliver the food that killed Thomas Feng?”
My mind started to race. Why would Peter ask me to deliver the food? I tried to remember how and when he asked me to take it. He said that he was swamped with a rush order and that he didn’t want to leave the food or it would burn. I was so preoccupied with hurrying to deliver the order before my own lunch, I hadn’t noticed whether he was preparing anything else.
I could see the bag in my mind, sitting up on the metal counter, the receipt stapled firmly in place. Normally, I would pack the bag, but I didn’t think anything of that either because Peter delivered the orders more than I did. If I had packed the bag myself, I might have noticed that the dumplings were wrong.
“Lana!”
I jumped. “Sorry…”
The rough lines around his mouth softened. “I was asking you … can you think of any reason why Peter would try to pin this on you?”
I shook my head. “No, we’ve always gotten along.”
“Your mother mentioned to me that he’s taken some time off.”
I nodded. “I haven’t seen him since the day he left with you and your partner.”
“Good,” Trudeau replied. “I’d like for you to stay away from him as much as possible until this whole thing has been straightened out.”
“Detective … there’s one thing I don’t understand.”
“What’s that?”
“Why would he implicate himself? I mean, if this is true, he made the food that killed Mr. Feng. Wouldn’t he think this would come back to him?”
Trudeau tilted his head. “You were the last one to touch the food, and you left the premises with it so that gives a lot of leeway for things to happen.”
I gulped. “So you still think I’m a suspect?”
He shifted in his seat. “Do I personally think so?” He shook his head. “No…”
“But…” I added for him.
“But it’s my job … like I said the other day. I have to look into every possibility.”
I nodded. “I understand.”
“I’m very good at reading people, and from what I can tell so far, you don’t seem like the type of person to poison someone and then go about your day.”
“That’s probably because I’m not.”
“The reason I brought you down here was to let you know what was going on and to tell you to be careful. Peter could be unstable.”
“So, can I go?”
He nodded. “Yes.” He started to rise from his chair. “Oh, and another thing, try not to air this information all over the place. If Peter thinks we’re still looking into other possibilities, he’s less likely to do something stupid.”
I got up from my chair, feeling heavy and suddenly exhausted. This was a lot to take in. I couldn’t imagine going back to work after this.
Trudeau opened the door and a cool breeze entered the room. “In the meantime, I’d like you to do me a favor.”
“What’s that?”
“Keep your eyes and ears open. I want you to call me if anything bizarre happens.”
* * *
In the car, on the way home from the station, I called my mom and let her know that I wouldn’t be coming back to work and that I’d see her tomorrow. She questioned me about my trip to the police station, but I maneuvered around the parts that included Peter potentially framing me for murder. She was going to find out about the takeout orders anyway, if she didn’t already realize it, and I didn’t know how to tell her without her completely freaking out. Keeping secrets from your family isn’t quite as amusing in your late twenties as it is when you’re a teenager. Especially when the secrets revolved around something as serious as murder and frame jobs.
When I got home, I found Megan lounging around before her shift, so we decided that I needed some retail therapy. We headed to Crocker Park and were walking around the Nordstrom outlet, half paying attention to the racks, and half contemplating my current situation.
“I don’t get it,” she said, eyeing a black cocktail
dress. “Why would Peter want to frame you? You’ve been friends for so long.”
I followed behind her, a midnight-blue Calvin Klein dress catching my attention. “I don’t get it either. I’ve been asking myself the same thing since I left the police station. I can’t see Peter doing something so malicious.”
She looked up from the black dress in her hands. “Besides, wouldn’t that implicate him too?” She shook her head. “I mean, he made the stupid dumplings to begin with.”
I checked the price tag on the dress and my eyes widened. “That’s what I said to Trudeau. But he insists that Peter might not have been looking at it that way.”
“Well, gee, if we could just get inside Peter’s head, all of our problems would be solved.” Megan moved over to the next rack of dresses, picking up a strapless red dress with a ruffled bottom and holding it up to herself. “What do you think about this?”
I shook my head. “Can’t wear red.”
She put the dress back down and moved on to the next rack. “You know what else I don’t get?”
“Hm?”
“This whole thing with Donna and the seating arrangements at the memorial.”
“I know!”
“She’s so adamant that Peter is guilty. But then she wants him and his mother to sit at the memorial with her? Like everyone is just one big happy family?”
I thought about it for a minute while I looked at a few more dresses on the rack. Megan had a point, and I couldn’t argue that Donna’s request wasn’t odd. What purpose did having Peter sit at the same table serve? “I didn’t understand that either. She said it was for business reasons—the plaza’s in upheaval—but wouldn’t she worry this would discredit her accusations?”
Megan snorted. “And does she really think that Peter is just going to go along with it? I mean, she’s accusing him of murdering her husband, not of being a bad chef or something petty like that. Does she honestly think he wants to sit and have dinner with his accuser?”
“I wonder if anyone’s told him anything yet.”
“He still hasn’t come back to work, huh?” Megan asked, holding up a purple spaghetti-strap dress.
“No,” I replied. “To both.” I nodded at the dress.
“I don’t know if that makes it look worse or not. He’s in hiding … that’s the way I see it. And I think it makes him look guiltier.”
“Maybe.” I was getting frustrated with the dress selection. Our conversation wasn’t helping.
“I wonder if there’s something about Peter and Donna’s relationship that we don’t know.”
“What do you mean?” I stopped and gawked at her. “A relationship?”
Megan pursed her lips. “Not that kind of relationship. I mean, if they have some kind of history where he made her mad or something like that.”
I sighed. “Maybe we should take a look at the relationships between all the people who’re on my list at home. If there are connections, it might explain some things.”
“Agreed. We can go over it when we leave here. I’ll go in to work late tonight. Robin’s there. They should be fine without me.”
Huffing, I backtracked to the original rack I had been looking at with the blue dress. “I’m going to try this one on, and if it fits we’re leaving. I can’t shop anymore.” Calvin Klein was winning the dress competition. As for the murder-suspect competition, there were too many people in the running.
CHAPTER
18
We left with the Calvin Klein and rushed home to go over the list in my notebook and add the new information about the takeout orders from the detective. Until Megan left for work, we talked over the things I knew about each person’s relationship with the other and came up nearly empty-handed. As far as I knew, none of the suspects on my list had a connection other than the plaza. But after the “people are oceans” speech from Mr. Zhang, I wondered if there was more to each of their connections than I knew.
The clock on the kitchen wall told me it was only six o’clock and Megan had only been gone for a half hour. I felt restless. And when I feel restless, I tend to get into trouble, which is actually what I was scolding myself about as I pulled up in front of Peter’s apartment thirty minutes later. This was probably not the best idea I’ve ever had.
I don’t know what made me do it. Maybe it was the detective’s warning to stay away, or maybe it was the sudden desire to look Peter in the eye and see if I knew him at all. Either way, here I was.
I looked up at the shabby brick building and read the address over again. I had only been here once in the past to pick up and drop Peter off for work when his car had broken down a few months ago. He hadn’t even invited me in.
When he answered the door, he looked taken aback. “Lana.” He studied my face. “What are you doing here?” He held open the door and stepped to the side to let me in.
I took a careful step into his apartment, looking around. It was an average apartment with the same brown carpet as mine. He’d kept the walls white but covered them with martial arts posters. A worn black leather couch sat in front of a giant flat-screen TV. The screen was paused on what looked like a war video game. The coffee table in front of the couch was littered with beer cans and snack wrappers.
He shut the door behind me, and folded his arms over his chest. He wore a white undershirt and black sweatpants. “Lana? Is everything okay?”
“I wanted to stop by and see how you’re doing.” It was harder to look him in the eye than I thought it’d be. “I haven’t seen you since the day you left with the police.”
“Oh.” His arms dropped to his sides and he returned to the couch, sitting in a spot that looked worn from the weight of his body. “Yeah, man, it’s been a rough time. I don’t really want to talk about it.”
I stepped farther into the apartment, not quite wanting to sit on the couch. There was no other furniture, so I just stood. Besides, he hadn’t offered me a seat anyway. “Have you talked to Mrs. Feng recently?” I asked.
He snorted. “Why would I?”
“She stopped by the restaurant the other day,” I told him. “She wants all of us to sit at the main table at the memorial…”
Peter laughed and it came out bitter and hard. The sound unnerved me.
“So, she hasn’t mentioned it to you then?”
He laughed again. “No, and there’s no way in hell I’ll sit at the same table as that woman.” His face dropped. “I’m not going to the memorial anyway.”
“What? Why not?”
His face was still, but I could see the tension rising in his shoulders as he straightened up. “I don’t want to deal with people looking at me like I did something wrong.” He glanced away. “I don’t do well at those things anyway.”
“Have you talked to your mother? She’s very worried about you.”
He snorted. “Yeah … so worried about me.”
“Peter, what’s going on with you?” I took a step closer. “This … whatever this is … it’s not like you. You don’t even sound like yourself.”
He glared at me. “Do you even know who I am?”
My heart skipped. “What do you mean?”
“You think I did it too, don’t you?” he spat.
“No, actually, I don’t.”
He turned away from me. “Look, I appreciate you stopping by, but I don’t need your pity or your concern … I’ll be fine once this whole thing is over with.”
I didn’t know what to say. I had never seen Peter act like this and I didn’t know how to deal with it. Maybe he was right, maybe I didn’t know him at all. Despite all that, I had a hard time giving up on people. “Is there a reason that Donna wouldn’t like you? That she would assume that you killed her husband?”
He stared at the paused TV screen. “I didn’t make those dumplings.”
“I know you didn’t. That’s not what I’m asking you.”
“Why don’t you ask her that question?”
“Because I want you to tell me.”
&
nbsp; He didn’t say anything. He just kept staring at the screen.
“Peter, I want to help, I’ve been looking into some things, and it would help me a lot if I could fill in some of the holes. But I can’t do that if you’re not honest with me.”
He finally looked at me, and for the first time since I walked in the door, I saw the old Peter that I knew. He seemed fragile somehow, like a little boy who’d just lost his first dog.
He started to speak, but before he could start, there was a knock at the door.
We both looked at each other in surprise.
“Expecting anybody?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder at the door.
“No, dude…” He got up from the couch and put his eye up to the peephole. He groaned and opened the door.
“I need to talk to you,” an agitated female voice barked.
“Now’s not a good time,” Peter replied.
I knew that voice. Who was it? I tried to peek around Peter to see who it was.
No need. Kimmy Tran came barreling through the door. She froze when she saw me. “Lana … what are you doing here?”
I gripped the handle of my purse. “I came to check on Peter. What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to Peter.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “In private.”
I looked at Peter and he shrugged.
“Okay, well, I guess I’ll let you guys talk then.” I started to move to the door. Peter stood in front of it awkwardly. He gave me a pointed look, but I didn’t understand why. “I hope that you change your mind about Saturday.”
Kimmy snorted.
After Peter shut the door behind me, I stood there for a few minutes trying to hear what they were talking about. I couldn’t make out anything except for Kimmy talking in an agitated tone. Almost as if she were scolding him. I didn’t know what business Kimmy Tran would have to come to Peter’s apartment and demand to speak to him. Or what she could possibly scold him about. But you better believe I’d find out one way or another.
* * *
I sat anxiously on a bar stool at the Zodiac, watching Megan work her way down the bar. Occasionally she’d stop to pop the top off a beer bottle or grab an empty glass and put it under the counter.
