Wonton Terror

by Vivien Chien

  “Is that why you went after Winston? You were the one to cut his fuel lines, weren’t you?” I asked, trying to keep her occupied. I finally had the chair in place. Now all I needed to do was slide it under the door handle.

  “Yes, but he deserved it,” she said. “He tried to hurt his wife several times. She may have gotten away, but maybe the next woman would not have been so lucky.”

  “Just like your first husband hurt you?” I asked.

  She was quiet for a moment, and I took the opportunity to slide the chair into place. I didn’t know how long it would hold, so I hurried and raced for my purse. She started to respond as I was coming back to guard the door.

  “Yes, like my husband hurt me,” she said softly. “He is lucky that I let him go with his life. Winston is lucky too.”

  “I understand your pain, Ruby. I really do. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. But that is no excuse for what is happening now. No matter what you say, there are other ways.” I pulled out my phone and dialed 911.

  The dispatcher answered and asked my emergency.

  “I need someone to come here,” I said. “Right now.”

  “Where are you?”

  I rattled off the address as fast as I could.

  “Who are you talking to?” Ruby pounded on the door. “Let me out!”

  “I’m sending a car out now. Are you in immediate danger, ma’am?”

  “Yes! Please hurry!” I yelled into the phone.

  I hung up without saying anything else and continued to press my weight against the door. I didn’t trust the chair even though it seemed to be holding up pretty well so far.

  “You might as well give up,” I told her. “The police are on their way now.”

  She continued to bang on the door. “We’re on the same side,” she said. “You don’t have to do this. I only wanted to save Sandra from herself. Can’t you understand that?”

  I didn’t respond to her question because, in truth, I didn’t know if I was capable of understanding such a sensitive topic; I had never been in a similar situation myself. Yes, I had been in danger a few times, but they were isolated events and nothing that would cause me to feel pushed to the edge.

  However, what I did know was that I couldn’t allow her to roam free after murdering someone whether she felt he had it coming or not.

  The front door of the house started to open, and I assumed that it would be the police. But it wasn’t, it was Ruby’s husband, Don.

  “What the…” He gawked at me. “What are you doing here?”

  “Who’s there?” Ruby yelled through the door. “Don, is that you?”

  “Ruby?” He searched the room in confusion and rushed over once he realized where her voice was coming from. “Do you have my wife locked in the basement?”

  “She was trying to push me in there,” I explained to him. “Your wife is responsible for the food truck explosion and killing Ronnie Chow.”

  He scoffed at me. “Nonsense, get away from the door before I have you arrested.” He pushed me harshly to the side, right into the kitchen. I lost my balance, falling squarely on my butt. “I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in my life…”

  As he removed the chair, Ruby pushed with all her strength at the door, knocking him back. He lost his balance and fell backward, slamming into the wall behind him.

  Ruby’s eyes were wild with panic and she took one look at her husband, and then at me before running through the front room. I saw her grab for something quickly off the front table before she hurried out the door.

  “Ruby?” her husband yelled. “What are you doing? Where are you going?”

  “I told you, she’s guilty!” I said, trying to stand. I had fallen so hard my tailbone stung with pain and it was a struggle to get up.

  We heard the start of an engine outside and both of us raced to the front door just as Ruby was taking off down the street.

  However, she didn’t make it far. The police had almost arrived and in her hurry to make a quick escape she ran head-on into a police cruiser.

  * * *

  The Mayfield Heights Police Department was not entirely happy with my story of what happened. I tried to convince them the best course of action was to call Detective O’Neil, but they assured me they weren’t done with me just yet. Ruby’s husband had caused quite a scene and was attempting to paint me as the bad guy.

  I sat on the chair that I’d been holding the basement door closed with while the responding officer put in a call to the Cleveland Police Department to see if I was telling the truth.

  While I was sitting there, my sister called. I was still clutching my cell phone and I was unsupervised at the moment, so I answered.

  Before I could say hello, she started talking. “Lana, where the heck are you? You’re already thirty minutes late. Mom is not happy with you for keeping us waiting.”

  “Yeah.” I glanced at the police officer who was busy talking to someone I hoped was Detective O’Neil. “I’m probably not going to make it. Go ahead and eat without me.”

  “Why aren’t you coming? Where are you?”

  The officer turned around to face me. “Ma’am, I’m going to need you to get off your phone for the time being.”

  Anna May must have heard him because she said, “Lana Lee, you better have a damn good reason why you can’t make dinner tonight.”

  “Trust me, I do.”

  EPILOGUE

  When Ruby was transferred to the Cleveland Police Department, she finally broke down and fully confessed to what she’d done to Ronnie and Wonton on Wheels. She’d gotten the idea from one of the crime shows she was so fond of watching and decided that Ronnie needed to be taught a lesson. Though she had not tried to clarify the fact to me during our little hostage situation, she did tell the police that she hadn’t meant to kill him. But she wasn’t exactly upset that it had turned out the way it did either. Her original intent had only been to severely harm him so that he could never lay a hand on Sandra again. Because the research she’d done on homemade explosives had been spotty and hurried, she hadn’t realized the true impact her creation would have.

  She also admitted her guilt regarding the tampering of Winston’s food truck. As she’d mentioned in her confession to me, he reminded her very much of David Yang, and when she’d gotten wind that he had a domestic dispute on his record, she felt it was her job to dole out further punishment.

  Ruby did not take responsibility for the second explosion, which the police couldn’t understand. But since Calvin and I were the only ones who actually knew who the guilty party was, I had a feeling that crime would go unsolved. With everything their family had been through, I couldn’t bring myself to rat out Calvin’s uncle. A part of me felt guilty for holding on to the secret, but I reminded myself that despite its scaring the crap out of me, no one was actually physically hurt.

  Calvin and Sandra decided to open a food truck together. And though Calvin still planned to help his uncle out at the repair shop, he wanted to spend as much time with his mother as he possibly could. Wonton on Wheels would live again.

  As far as family matters went, my aunt and mother were able to make amends, and according to Anna May, the family dinner I missed out on was one of the best our family ever had. Of course, it would be the one I wasn’t there for.

  Once I relayed how I had been delayed at Ruby’s house, my family gave me a pass for missing dinner. To make up for it, I had breakfast with them on the way to the airport.

  I made sure to give my dad an extra big hug and thank him for being the patient man that he was and always had been. I was more than grateful to have a father like him instead of someone like Ronnie, and that feeling was even stronger now after everything I’d learned about the Chow family.

  During breakfast when no one was paying attention, I slipped my aunt the earrings I had purchased from Ruby. We shared a nice moment that was just ours, much like the chat we’d had in the restaurant the other day. I knew that my aunt and I wo
uld always have this special bond and for that I was grateful.

  When we dropped my aunt off at the airport for her flight, my mom wished her safe travels and told her to come back as soon as she could. And while I was happy to see the change in their relationship, I was still hoping a considerable amount of time would elapse before the next family reunion.

  The Plain Dealer contacted me for a comment on my ordeal, but I politely turned them down. The less my name showed up in the paper, the better. My cover was already blown with half the Asian community already, no sense in adding to my notoriety.

  Now, a week later, I stood at the edge of my bed with a suitcase open and filled to the brim with clothes that I probably wouldn’t need. Adam and I had jointly agreed on the Poconos after all, and I was excited to get away, especially after the events of the past two weeks.

  Just as I was zipping up my suitcase, Adam showed up in the doorway of my bedroom. He was dressed casually in a light linen dress shirt and cargo shorts.

  I tilted my head and gave him a once-over. “Are those your legs?” I asked with a smirk. “And do you actually have flip-flops on?”

  “Very funny, Lee,” he said, stepping into my room. “We’re going on vacation … shorts and flip-flops are vacation gear.”

  “Yes, but when is the last time your legs actually saw the light of day?” I joked.

  “All right, that’s enough.” He rushed me and scooped me up, throwing me over his shoulder into a fireman’s carry. “We’ll see how funny things are from the trunk of the car.”

  Giggling, I pounded on his back with my fists. “Put me down.”

  “Not a chance, missy,” he said, grabbing my suitcase with his free hand. “I’m getting you out of here without any more interruptions. And we’re going to have a fun and relaxing time … come hell or high water.”

  He carried me through the apartment, refusing to put me down. Kikko waddled after us and I waved good-bye to her and to Megan as we passed.

  A feeling of hope was beginning to come back to me, and I smiled as he whisked me out of the apartment and through the parking lot. Once again, it was good to be me.

  Read on for an excerpt of

  Egg Drop Dead

  Available in March 2020

  from St. Martin’s Paperbacks

  CHAPTER

  1

  “I am not going to wear a qi-pao to Donna Feng’s party, Mother!” I was standing in front of the mirror that hangs on my bedroom closet door while my mother, Betty Lee, held the Asian-style dress against my body, the plastic hanger pushing firmly into my neck.

  “Why not?” my mother returned in somewhat of a whine. “You look so cute.”

  I think most of us can agree that women in their late 20s do not want to be labeled as “cute.” And you could mark me on that list. Who am I? Lana Lee, nice to meet you. I’m your average—not so average—Asian American gal, recently turned twenty-eight, with not a clue about martial arts, math that goes beyond long division, or how to speak any dialect of Chinese. But, I can use chopsticks like a son of a gun. So that’s something, right?

  If you had to find me in a crowd, it wouldn’t be a problem because fifty percent of my hair is currently pink. I love hamburgers and pizza almost as much as I love noodles, and if you asked me to cook you a proper Chinese meal, we’d both starve that night. That’s why I manage my parent’s Chinese restaurant instead of cook there. No one wants me behind a wok.

  In recent weeks, we’d added a catering service to the family business to help bring in extra money. Summer months at the noodle shop could be slow, and we were dead smack in the middle of July.

  Our first catering job was for Donna Feng, the owner of Asia Village—the shopping plaza my family’s restaurant was part of. It was Donna’s birthday and she wanted to have a fancy dinner party at her house. When she first proposed the idea, I of course jumped at the opportunity thinking that it would include food for maybe ten to fifteen of her closest friends and family.

  However, that was not the case. It turned out she was thinking more along the lines of a small, intimate party of fifty. You know, because all of us have a close-knit group of fifty people. Regardless, I was up for the challenge and it was nothing Ho-Lee Noodle House couldn’t handle.

  I’d had a very specific dress in mind for the party, and it did not resemble this navy blue qi-pao covered in dragons and clouds that my mother had picked out. The black dress I had chosen with its high lace color and cap sleeves was feminine, sleek, and most of all, mature. It didn’t make me feel like a ten-year-old dressing up in a costume.

  My mother is a small Taiwanese woman with an extreme desire to keep me at the age of seven, and this dress was evidence of that. She released the hanger’s hold on my neck and waved the dress in front of me. “But this is so beautiful. If Mommy was younger, I would keep this for myself.”

  “Well Mother, as they say, age is just a number. It looks like it will fit you just fine.” I smiled sweetly at her.

  She scowled in return and laid the dress on my bed next to Kikkoman, my black pug, who had been watching our every move with intrigue. Kikko sniffed the silky material before letting out a groan that might be mistaken for human.

  When my mother turned around to face me, she planted her dainty hands on her hips—as was her customary stance when speaking to me—and jutted her head forward with determination set in her dark brown eyes. “Everyone else who is working will wear the same dress. This will show high class.”

  “So, Peter’s going to wear that dress?” I responded with a smirk.

  My mother did not find it amusing. “You are not funny, Lana Lee.”

  I glanced back at the dress on my bed. “Neither is making me wear that dress.”

  “Why?” My mother asked. “Your sister is okay wearing this dress. She did not give Mommy such a hard time.”

  “That’s because she’s a kiss—”

  “Hello!” A cheerful voice yelled from the living room.

  “We’re in here!” I shouted back.

  It was my best friend and roommate, Megan Riley. And hopefully she could talk some sense into my mother. Kikko hopped down onto the floor and wiggled her curly tail as she went to greet Megan who was on her way to join us in my bedroom.

  Her blonde hair was iron board straight, and she was dressed in a black t-shirt and skinny jeans, most likely coming home from a shift at the Zodiac, the bar where she works. Lately she had been working a mixture of random hours due to the short staff problems they were having. “Oh hey, Mama Lee,” she said, giving my mother a hug. “It’s nice to see you.”

  My mother looked up at her, squinting as she assessed her. “You look skinny.”

  “Ma, you always say that.” She squeezed my mom’s arm playfully, and turned to me. “What are you guys up to? Want to get some dinner or something?”

  “You came just in time,” I told her, grabbing the dress from my bed. “My mother wants me to wear this,” I shook it at her. “Isn’t it ridiculous?”

  Megan took the dress from me and looked it over. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “Don’t you think it’s a bit cliché?”

  “I think it’s cute.”

  I threw my hands in the air. “Exactly.”

  My mother groaned.

  Megan laughed and handed the dress back to me. “Stop being so stubborn, Lana. It’s just one night.”

  “I’m not being stubborn.”

  Okay, in truth, on the must-knows about Lana Lee … stubborn makes the list.

  * * *

  The next evening, after much going back and forth with the dress I had purchased for myself versus the dress my mother required me to wear, I decided not to create unnecessary waves and give in to her request. So I dutifully put on the qi-pao and a pair of black, patent leather stiletto heels to add some edge and went on my way to Donna Feng’s house in Westlake without another thought about it.

  The wealthy widow lived with her two teenage daughters in a house that was
big enough to host two full-size families. Without her husband, Thomas, around she found herself struggling to handle a lot of the affairs that come along with taking care of a house that size. Between raising two teens, the charity work she did within the Asian community, and her mild involvement with Asia Village she quickly found her hands full. So, instead of minimizing her responsibilities, she’d recently hired a maid, a live-in nanny, and a gardener to help with the various tasks around the house.

  I pulled onto Donna’s street and parked my car a few houses down behind my sister’s car. We’d been instructed to allow more room for the guests to have better parking options.

  It was approaching sunset and the humidity of the day had mostly dissipated. A light, refreshing breeze ruffled the leaves on trees ever so gently.

  The dress was a little tight—probably from all the doughnuts I’d been eating recently—and I shimmied myself out of the car, thankful for the respectable slit down the side. As I walked along the sidewalk listening to my heels click-clack, I immediately regretted my choice of footwear.

  My sister, Anna May and Peter Huang, our head chef, were in Donna’s driveway unloading the food trays and dining accessories that we needed for the evening. Peter had borrowed his cousin’s beat-up work van and it stuck out like a sore thumb in this ritzy neighborhood. I made a mental note that we might need a catering van if we were going to get serious about this side business.

  Peter noticed me approaching and gave me a casual head nod. His normally ballcap-covered head was bare and his shaggy black hair looked to have been trimmed and slicked back. Also missing from his typical apparel were his beat-up combat boots that he wore in the kitchen at Ho-Lee Noodle House every day. In their place were polished, square-toed dress shoes. He noticed my assessment and spoke before I could say anything. “My mom said I had to, so don’t give me a hard time, okay?”