Aunty Lee’s Deadly Specials

by Ovidia Yu

  “You’re getting a real investment,” Mark said. “There’s a bottle of Mouton Rothschild 1945 in there. When my ship comes in I’m going to buy it back from you. It is an amazing Bordeaux—you just look at its color.”

  “I know,” Cherril said quietly. “Why don’t you buy it now? Then we’ll have a bit more space here and you’ll have your wine.”

  “It’s only here on consignment, you know,” Mark said. “It’s not yours until it’s paid for. Until then it’s better not to move it more than we have to. When I’ve set up a space at home to store it properly, I’ll buy it directly from Grand Heds and take care of all the paperwork for you.”

  “You mean you’ll cut us out of the deal. You just want us to store it for you until you’re ready to bring it home,” Cherril said.

  “Of course you’re welcome to sell it if you can find anybody willing to pay fifteen thousand dollars for a bottle of wine.”

  “I’m thinking of selling it online,” Cherril said. “I’ve been following Wine Bots and Bids online and I think it won’t be a problem. In fact, if I run some kind of competition to generate interest, I’ll probably get even more for it.”

  “You can’t do that. That’s so . . . low.”

  “That’s why I can,” Cherril said. “I’ll need some way to authenticate it first, though. They say online that this is one of the most faked wines on the market. Are you checking the online market for it, Aunty Lee?”

  Cherril was only teasing Aunty Lee, who generally left digital research to younger eyes. But Aunty Lee’s absorption in her phone while business was being discussed was unusual. “Something wrong?” Cherril added when Aunty Lee did not answer immediately.

  It took Aunty Lee some effort to pull her thoughts back into the room. “No. I just got a message from somebody. Nothing urgent.”

  No, what Aunty Lee had just learned from Commissioner Raja’s text had no place in the middle of a petty business discussion. And all discussions of business profits suddenly felt petty to her.

  Benjamin Ng’s body had been found, caught up by bottom-fishing trawl nets in Indonesian waters just south of Singapore’s maritime border, still locked inside the trunk in which it had been thrown into the sea.

  28

  Party Revelations at Aun

  Aunty Lee’s Delights had been closed for less than a week but it was announcing its reopening with a party. This event had been spearheaded by Cherril because Aunty Lee, who loved parties and had never needed an excuse for throwing one, had been surprisingly subdued until it struck her that Henry and Sharon Sung must be invited.

  “Just to show no hard feelings, you know? And they will have to come, to show us there are no hard feelings on their side. Otherwise I can sue them for slander, all the terrible things they went and said about me and my cooking!”

  Though not fond of the Sungs, Cherril could see the PR sense in this. “‘The Grand Reopening,’ do you think? ‘Deadly Special Declared Not Deadly’ night.”

  Nina did not think it a good idea. “Why throw a party? One week we don’t earn money, now want to waste more money. And then you invite these no good people that try to sabo us!”

  “It’s like doing a warm-up,” Cherril said. “After being closed, this will give us a chance to start up again. And if anything doesn’t work we’ll find out now and they can’t complain because they’re not paying. Think of them as our guinea pigs.”

  “What for feed pigs,” Nina said.

  Cherril was right, of course. And Aunty Lee knew it was always easier to put things in order (whether in your kitchen or in yourself) when you had a party to look forward to. She had another more important reason for wanting to have the party, which she kept to herself.

  That other reason was why Aunty Lee was so preoccupied the evening of her reopening party. She had returned home to shower after cooking all morning and afternoon and was dressing with more care than usual. And it was good that she had her scheme to occupy her mind, because she could feel the malaise of uncertainty that had descended on her during the shop’s closure threatening to return.

  Nina was still busy with preparations in the shop kitchen, so Aunty Lee talked to the tiny photo portrait of ML (smartly casual in a green polo T-shirt) on her dressing table: “Even I don’t think it’s a good idea, so I don’t need you to tell me so. But I cannot just sit back and do nothing. I know what you will say: if everybody else is happy with how things turned out, why can’t I be happy? But I know inside me—inside here—” Aunty Lee thumped her chest. She was wearing one of her cooking outfits but she had added a few gold chains, which jangled most satisfyingly.

  ML’s portrait remained benign. Why wasn’t he around to tell her what to do or what not to do like he used to do? Even though she had never listened to him, hearing his thoughts always helped.

  “And that poor boy. I mean Timmy Pang’s brother. So handsome, so unhappy. Is not fair, right? I wanted Raja to bring him over to see me after they told him about finding his friend’s body. But he said nobody bothered to inform him. The police just sent an e-mail to their contacts in Malaysia to inform his family there and ask them to make arrangements. Can you imagine? If you died and nobody bothered to inform me?”

  Aunty Lee’s only comfort was that Timothy Pang might have broken the news to his brother before he heard on the news or read in the papers that his partner’s body had been found. And she knew Patrick Pang had expected the worst even as he could not help hoping for a miracle.

  Aunty Lee had invited Commissioner Raja and Inspector Salim to drop in. And she had asked Doreen Choo to bring Henry and Sharon Sung along, “Just to show there’s no hard feelings. Please tell them I particularly want them to come because I have something to say in Mabel’s memory that I know they will want to hear.

  “I just want to ask them a few questions, find out what really happened,” Aunty Lee said to the portrait on the wall. “No harm asking questions, right? And no harm finding out what really happened even if Raja Kumar can’t do anything about it. I just want to know.” ML looked genially noncommittal. What would he have said if he were alive? Aunty Lee knew he would have told her not to get involved.

  For a moment Aunty Lee felt totally alone in a totally pointless universe. Why bother cooking chicken curry and catching murderers and exercising to lose weight when at the end of it all you wound up dead and not caring about anything? If ML had been alive he would have said “low blood sugar” and made her fix a snack for herself (and for him too, since she was doing it anyway). A toasted-banana-and-peanut-butter sandwich had been one of ML’s favorite treatments for existential angst when they first met. And it had worked.

  “Eating doesn’t solve anything,” Aunty Lee had protested. But over the years she had come to see the wisdom in ML’s point of view. Eating might not solve anything except hunger and low blood sugar. But eating well put you in better shape to handle all the problems you encountered. Except loneliness, perhaps. Though she knew it didn’t make sense for her to be lonely with a party to host.

  “I’ll let you know how it goes later,” she said to the portrait. “I have to do this. Not for Mabel Sung and her son, not even for my reputation, but for that poor boy Benjamin Ng and all the others who got used and hurt.” The portrait was unresponsive but the certainty that it would be there when she returned was a small anchor in the uncertain evening ahead and Aunty Lee clung to it.

  Back at Aunty Lee’s Delights, Cherril was singing as she rimmed glasses in lemon juice and salt and Nina—

  “Eat this, madam,” Nina said, handing her a banana. “Today you did not eat proper lunch and when people come you will not eat proper dinner. Afterward you go fainting, Boss sure say my fault.”

  Aunty Lee ate the banana. “Thanks, boss,” she said to ML’s portrait.

  “Okay, I brought them,” Doreen Choo whispered to Aunty Lee as soon as she arrived. “What’s the big occasion? What are you planning?”

  Doreen Choo’s sleeveless gray silk blouse with
gold embroidery worn over dark maroon pants and bejeweled sandals showed off her slimness. As always, her hair was carefully arranged (and spray-fixed) into artful curls, her eyes mascaraed and drawn up at the corners with china-doll ticks, and the glossy sheen on her lips matched her shimmering pants. As always, she made Aunty Lee wish she had dressed up more. But then her T-shirt, yoga pants, and Hello Kitty apron with all its pockets was the perfect outfit for cooking in. Nina, in an identical apron, hurried past with a bag of ice and a carton of orange juice.

  “I’m not planning anything other than dinner,” Aunty Lee said vaguely. “What would you like to drink? Cherril has come up with some new health drinks. You said you brought Henry and Sharon? Where are they?”

  “Right behind me—” Doreen turned and looked vaguely around. “Oh, no, thank you, dear. Could you make me a martini?”

  “Of course,” Cherril said, and disappeared into the wine room.

  “It’s probably that girl that’s slowing them down,” Doreen said crossly. “She’s always standing around doing things on her phone. Even when we sit down to eat a nice dinner, she’s staring into that phone of hers. ‘Playing games?’ I asked her nicely once. I was just trying to make conversation. She almost bit my head off. ‘This is work!’ she said. I don’t know what work she can be doing. I thought Sung Law is supposed to be on shutdown now. Like the American government.

  “You see it more and more these days,” Doreen continued after getting her drink. “These young girls. Study so hard to become doctors and lawyers and become so intense and high-strung that they cannot live a normal life, cannot get married. What kind of life is that?”

  “What does Henry think?”

  “Oh, Henry is a typical man. He doesn’t think anything—ah, here they are now. Our guests of honor are here!” Doreen called, and waved like a schoolgirl. Henry Sung looked embarrassed but pleased. Doreen knew her men, Aunty Lee thought. Henry would probably have resisted if he had been ordered to come or begged to come to a party. But as a “guest of honor,” he turned up like royalty visiting his subjects. And he had brought Sharon with him. Sharon was clearly unhappy to be there. Cherril offered her cocktails, moctails, doctails, fresh-squeezed juice, and was turned down. Her father did not seem to notice. Sharon had probably sulked her way through adolescence and beyond till her family took sulking for her natural state. Doreen had commandeered a whiskey sour for Henry and they had sat down with Commissioner Raja, who had been sitting with an untouched glass of orange juice since arriving.

  “You must be glad you finally got hold of the PRC gang—read about it in the papers, good job!” Aunty Lee said to him as she came by to check the new arrivals were all provided with drinks.

  “Thanks.”

  Commissioner Raja had a feeling Aunty Lee was up to something. He also knew it was no use telling her to stop it when he did not know exactly what she was up to. “Stop cooking? Stop eating? Stop what?” he could imagine her saying. He had been invited to dinner as an old friend to celebrate the reopening of Aunty Lee’s Delights and the closing of the illegal organ trading, but he had turned up to keep an eye on things. He suspected Inspector Salim was there for the same reason. Neither of them was in uniform and the younger man had greeted him with a bland casual friendliness, which gave him away. Salim always had a touch of earnest formality about him. His casual manner indicated he considered himself undercover rather than off duty.

  Salim was torn between watching and worrying. Sitting at the table, he looked a little bored and as if he were thinking of nothing at all. The only thing that gave away his actual state of mind was that he was not eating. He accepted everything he was offered with thanks and pushed it around on his plate. He drank only water, straight out of the plastic bottle. If Aunty Lee hadn’t been feeling much the same way as he was, she would have felt offended.

  Mark and Selina arrived late, as usual, Selina explaining to the room at large how busy they were.

  “We should go,” Sharon Sung stood up and said. “Thanks for inviting us. Now we’ve all sat down together and agreed no hard feelings, we can all get on with our lives, right?”

  Doreen and Henry were still eating. Henry shoved another heaping spoonful into his mouth and started to stand up but Doreen put a hand on his arm. “We’re still eating, Sharon. You can let your father finish his dinner, can’t you?”

  “We can get something somewhere else. We’ve put in our appearance. Everybody’s said what they have to say, so let’s go.”

  “So rude, some people,” Selina remarked to the ceiling.

  “Actually I haven’t said what I invited you all here to say,” Aunty Lee said. Commissioner Raja caught her eye but said nothing. Stopping Aunty Lee was like trying to stop ice melting, he thought. It’s going to happen anyway, you just try to put the bucket in the right place.

  “I found out that Henry Sung and Sung Law are both on the verge of bankruptcy because Mabel mortgaged everything to get money for Leonard’s illegal organ transplant.”

  Henry issued a weak denial that was ignored. Sharon, still on her feet, listened in silence. Her expression said she was going to sue the pants off this meddling old woman once she got the chance.

  “Sharon tried to save the law firm by selling off parts of the living heart donor Mabel brought in but had not yet paid for. The man was being kept alive on the life-support system created for Edmond Yong by Benjamin Ng. Ben Ng thought he was creating a future life-support system for Leonard Sung. When he learned the truth, that one man was being murdered to save another’s life, he was upset. Edmond Yong told the PRC gang this and Ben disappeared.

  “Meanwhile,” Aunty Lee went on, “Sharon thought Mabel was finally giving her all the recognition she deserved when she was made partner. As a full partner in Sung Law, she believed she would effectively be running everything because Mabel was increasingly devoting all her energy and attention to her son and the prayer and healing group.

  “But Sharon found out that not only was Mabel not interested in the company anymore, she had destroyed it. Sharon, you found this out the night before your celebration party when you went through the company accounts and found out about the enormous amounts Mabel had been drawing out, didn’t you? That’s why you spent the night there going over the facts again and again.

  “You confronted your mother when you finally got home. What did she say? Did you tell your father what you found out? What did he say? If we can just clear up what really happened to your mother, then we can all move on.”

  If this had been part of an episode on a television murder series, this was the point at which Henry Sung or his daughter would break down and confess, right in time for the closing credits.

  Instead Henry sat staring at Aunty Lee with his mouth open, seemingly incapable of speech.

  “What are you taking about!” Doreen cried out. “Mabel was not that kind of woman at all. She was responsible. She knew how to make money and run companies and heal people! Mabel would never go bankrupt. Tell her, Henry!” In her excitement she thumped Henry on the arm.

  Henry Sung closed his mouth. He turned to Doreen and the cold venom in his eyes shut her up immediately.

  Aunty Lee felt a strong sense of anticlimax. Once Doreen started babbling, there would be no confessions. Commissioner Raja felt a strong sense of relief. The worst that could come of this was a libel suit, he thought. He picked up a chicken wing. In times of stress and times of relief, a spicy buffalo wing was a great comfort.

  “Are we supposed to fake outrage and storm out?” Sharon Sung said. Her voice was steady, controlled, and icily amused. “If you’ve finished, we’re leaving now. Come on, Dad. Doreen can stay if she wants.”

  Henry Sung rose, shaking off the hand Doreen had tentatively placed on his arm.

  “Thank you for coming,” Aunty Lee said. Her mind was spinning. She was sure she had guessed the facts but she had misjudged her criminals. If she could just try another approach—her hostess autopilot kicked in at this point.
“But you didn’t eat much. I pack up some food for you to take home with you.”

  “No thank you.”

  “There’s so much here, don’t waste. Can keep in the fridge for up to one week—”

  “Stop it!” Sharon snapped. “Nobody wants your stupid food!” People stopped talking and turned to stare. Aunty Lee also stared, feeling a twinge of delight that she had managed to provoke a genuine response from the young woman.

  Without another word Sharon Sung turned and walked out, followed by her father.

  “I’ll just take a quick look in the wine room if you’ve finished.” Mark seemed oblivious to any tension. Perhaps he had chosen the best path after all.

  29

  Post-Party Problem

  It was late by the time Aunty Lee stood on the walkway just outside her shop waving as the dark green Volvo drove off. After Henry and Sharon left with Doreen, the party had lightened up considerably.

  Commissioner Raja had stayed to see Aunty Lee’s last guests leave. Even though Aunty Lee had not shared her little plan with him (or even admitted she had a plan), he had been curious to see if anything came of it. But even if her gambit had failed, everyone had had a pleasant evening and left full of good food. There were far worse ways to end a day.

  Nina still had not appeared.

  “Nina, come, let’s go. We can come in and clean up tomorrow.”

  Nina did not answer.

  Aunty Lee decided Nina must have got tired of waiting for her and started cleaning up the kitchen. Once Nina got into her cleaning zone, she could lose all sense of time. Aunty Lee knew how that felt. It was like what people described in running marathons—you were in a zone beyond tired but you kept going. And then afterward, when you looked over your clean kitchen or clean house, it was all worth it. Because you had pushed your body beyond its comfort level and accomplished something.

  Either that or she would find Nina poring over one of the books Salim had given her. Despite everything Nina said to the contrary (“You are full of crazy dreams,” “Whoever heard of a Mat lawyer in Philippines or Pinoy lawyer in Singapore!”), all the signs showed Aunty Lee that the young woman was dreaming along the same lines—even if she didn’t realize it yet herself. Nina might mock Salim’s dreams but she kept the stack of books he had given her. That was another problem brewing, Aunty Lee thought as she went back into the café. She would do all she could to help Nina of course, but—