Vera Wong's Guide to Snooping (on a Dead Man)

One

VERA

Vera Wong Zhuzhu should be having the time of her life. She is, in fact, having the most wonderful, lovely, delightful time. Today, like every day, she wakes up at four thirty in the morning and jettisons out of bed like an army general with a new troop of terrified soldiers to scream at. And today, like every day, she puts on her gear, protecting every inch of her skin from the sun, and bustles out of the house to go on her extremely aggressive morning walk. But today, unlike most other days, Vera does not open up her tea shop after her morning routine. No, today is Sunday, Vera's favorite day. After a freezing, character-building shower and a simple breakfast, Vera marches to the kitchen, where she gets to work.

She's planned the menu with the meticulous care of Ralph Fiennes's character from that strange movie The Menu, and she's rather excited to get going, because tonight's meal will include mud-baked chicken. Vera rarely makes this dish because, to be honest, the idea of cooking with mud seems like something a hippie would do, but she is making it tonight because she knows how much it would delight little Emma, and she would do anything for Emma. She lugs the bag of clay she's bought from the garden center for this occasion alone outside of her teahouse and mixes in some water.

"Aiya, why are you making such a mess so early in the morning?" someone calls out in Mandarin. Someone extremely irritating.

Vera scowls before she even turns around. "Mind your business, Winifred," she says.

"What?"

"I said, 'Mind your business, Winifred'!"

"Eh, don't shout so loud so early in the day!" Winifred shouts back. "People are trying to sleep."

Vera sucks in a deep breath and goes back to mixing the clay. Aiya, thanks to Winifred, she's poured in too much water. She grits her teeth and shakes out more clay from the bag.

"Playing with clay, are we?" Winifred says, walking out of her bakery while stretching her arms over her head. "I'm glad you're finding a hobby, Vera. I was starting to get worried about you."

Vera straightens up so fast that her back clicks. "Why would you be worried about me? I have a roaring social life. It is you who people should be worried about."

Winifred raises her eyebrows. "Oh? I have twin grandbabies. I barely have time to run my extremely successful patisserie-"

"Chinese bakery," Vera mutters. The mention of twin grandbabies stings. To make matters worse, against all rules of nature, Winifred's grandkids are actually cute. Considering their genes, Vera thinks sulkily, those two babies should have been born with fangs and a forked tongue, but no, they are so adorable they belong in the pages of parenting magazines. How unfair life can be sometimes.

"My extremely successful French bakery," Winifred continues. "And every day I get to see my little baobei-oh, they love me so much, you know! The other day, little Frieda actually said, 'Ah Ma!'"

"They're two months old, they're hardly going to be saying anything," Vera says flatly. "Maybe you hallucinated it because you're going senile."

Instead of looking scandalized, Winifred merely smirks. "Oh, you know my little grandbabies, they have such good genes. They are geniuses, of course. I expect any day now, they will be invited to join MENSA."

Vera wants so badly to say something snippy about MENSA lowering its standards, but when she thinks of Winifred's chubby little grandkids, all she wants to do is snuggle them and squish their round cheeks and tell them what precious treasures they are. Damn it, if she can't bring herself to be mean about them, she'll lose this round. Oh, who is she kidding? She was always going to lose their sparring matches. Those annoyingly cute little bundles are Winifred's trump cards.

"Well," Vera huffs, "if you'll excuse me, I am very busy cooking a feast for my weekly family dinner." She stirs the bucket of clay mix so aggressively that it squelches, and droplets of sticky clay splat onto Winifred's trousers.

"Aiya!" Winifred cries. "Look what you did! These are pure cotton, you know. My daughter-in-law bought them for me from that fancy organic shop down at Union Square. They cost three hundred dollars."

"For those pajama pants? What is this European nonsense?"

"They are not pajama pants, they are called lounging pants."

"They look like pajama pants to me. In fact, I have a pair just like them from Costco. Are you sure your daughter-in-law didn't get them from Costco?"

Winifred huffs. "My Kelly is a good girl, very filial. She likes to spoil me. I hope that if you ever get a daughter-in-law, she will be half as good as my Kelly."

"When I get a daughter-in-law, you mean," Vera says cunningly.

"Oh?"

"Tonight's dinner is so special," Vera says with a small smile.

Winifred falls for her bait. "And why is that?"

"Because it will be at Tilly's new place. Tilly and Selena's new place."

Winifred's eyebrows rise to her hairline. "Oh? They are moving in together, your Tilly and that police officer?"

"Yes!" When Vera thinks of this fact, she feels a joy so fierce it bubbles up inside and bursts into a huge grin. "And once that happens, you know it won't be any time at all before they get engaged."

"Hmm," Winifred grunts. "Maybe. But you know young people these days, they think nothing of moving in or breaking up. So I wouldn't count your chickens just yet, Vera."

And with that, Winifred saunters back to her accursed bakery, muttering about her expensive pants. Vera hopes they are forever stained. She looks down at the bucket of clay and takes a deep breath. She's being silly, she knows it. There is no need for her to be nervous. Tilly and Selena will settle nicely into their new place, and before she knows it, there will be a proposal, then a wedding, and then . . . twin grandbabies. Nay, triplets! When Vera closes her eyes, she can just see it-Vera sitting on an overstuffed sofa with one arm around Emma and the other arm around three fat babies. She is manifesting like the TikTok told her to. She can practically smell their milky baby smell.

Tonight is going to go perfectly. She can tell, it will be the beginning of an amazing chapter in her life.


Tilly and Selena’s new place is a sweet little duplex in the Mission District, just a short ten-minute drive from Vera’s house. Oliver arrives at two with Julia and Emma in tow to pick Vera up. They come out of the car to help Vera with the ungodly amount of food she’s prepared, even little Emma. She carries a thermos of cold winter melon drink that is nearly as tall as she is and totters down the driveway, and the sight of her makes Vera’s heart ache with affection.

"Vera, don't you think that you've made too much food?" Oliver says, grunting as he heaves a cooler stuffed to the gills with food into the trunk.

Julia elbows him viciously. "No, she didn't." She turns to Vera and says firmly, "No, you didn't, Vera."

"There's enough food here for twenty people," Oliver says.

"And I will happily take any leftovers home," Julia says. "Stop telling her to cook less, Ollie. You know Emma and I basically live off Vera's Sunday leftovers."

Oliver rolls his eyes. "Well, yes, so do I. I'm just saying, you should take it easy, Vera."

"Tch," Vera tuts. "I'll take it easy when you young people learn to take care of yourselves. But you are like children, I have to make sure you get fed." Ever since Vera solved the mystery of Marshall's death last year, she's remained close to the people who'd been involved in the case. Oliver, Marshall's twin brother; Julia, Marshall's ex-wife; and Emma, Marshall's daughter. Now, she steps inside the car and helps strap Emma into her car seat.

"You haven't kissed me yet," Emma says in her usual solemn voice.

"You supposed to kiss me, I'm your elder."

Emma considers this for a second, then nods and plants a kiss on Vera's papery cheek. Vera smiles and returns the kiss. They hold hands the entire way to Tilly and Selena's.

When they arrive at Tilly's, there are lots of hugs to be given and received, and everyone oohs and aahs over the amount of food that is being carried inside.

"Hi, Vera," Selena says.

It had taken Vera a while to stop thinking of her as Officer Gray and to start thinking of her as Selena, and now Vera has started thinking of Selena as her future daughter-in-law, and what she really wants is for Selena to stop calling her Vera and start calling her Ma. But Tilly has made Vera swear on Jinlong's soul not to ask Selena to call her Ma, so here she is, being referred to as Vera by her future daughter-in-law as though Vera were a stranger.

"Hi, Xifu," Vera says, enveloping Selena in a tight hug. "Xifu" means "daughter-in-law," and when Vera started calling Selena that a month ago, Selena asked what it meant, to which Tilly had screamed, "It means 'dear' in Chinese!"

They all pile into the house, and Vera nods with satisfaction when she sees how much unpacking Tilly and Selena have done in the past few days. There are only a couple of boxes left in the living room, marked POLICE FILES. Everything else seems to have been unpacked and sorted out, and though they only moved in less than a week ago, the place looks like a home, with houseplants adorning it here and there. Tilly and Selena make a good couple. Vera watches Tilly get onto his knees to speak to Emma at eye level, and her heart swells at the sight.

"Hey, Emms, there was a sale at the corner bookstore, so guess what I got?" Tilly says.

Emma regards him with reservation.

"Ta-da!" Tilly pulls out two picture books, and Emma smiles shyly. "Do you wanna read them with me?"

Emma nods. The two of them settle on the couch and Tilly starts reading out loud. Vera sneaks a glance at Selena, hoping her future xifu had witnessed this heartwarming sight, but Selena is too busy chatting with Julia and Oliver. Aiya! If only Selena would look over at Tilly, she'd know what a good father he would make. Vera coughs.

Julia looks over. "You okay, Vera?"

Now they're all looking over at her with concern.

"Yes, don't make such fuss," Vera says, her cheeks reddening. She shifts her attention to the food, lifting the mud-packed chicken from its container and going to the backyard with it. The grill has already been prepped beforehand, so all Vera has to do is slide the heavy load inside and close it. Three hours of baking, and it will be fall-off-the-bone tender when dinnertime rolls around.

The rest of the afternoon is spent chatting and playing various games. At four, Riki, his younger brother Adi, and Sana arrive, bearing homemade samosas and mint chutney, and the little house starts feeling too packed, so they spill out into the backyard. Riki and Sana had been Vera's other suspects in Marshall's death, and Vera is glad that none of them turned out to be the killer. Everyone is talking and laughing and snacking, and by the time dinner is ready, they're almost too full to eat. Vera, Adi, and Emma hammer away at the mud-packed chicken, and everyone cheers when the baked clay finally cracks apart. Vera unwraps the layers of aluminum foil and lotus leaves to reveal the perfectly baked chicken, and despite the ridiculous amount of snacks they've had throughout the afternoon, nobody can resist the food. Aside from the chicken, there's also braised pork belly, grilled carp with Szechuan chili sauce, and half a dozen side dishes.

"Oh my god, this chicken is so juicy," Sana says, her mouth full.

"Mmm. Worth the mess," Selena says.

"Oh yeah, totally," Oliver agrees.

Vera beams at them. Her little ragtag family. Sometimes, she can't believe how lucky she is, to have found this wonderful group of people. Sometimes, she wonders if she's dreamed them up, if she will one day wake up to find herself alone once more. The thought is so painful that she always shakes her head when she thinks of it, as though to shake it off.

Life couldn't be better. She is surrounded by a loving family, and her tea shop has a steady stream of customers. Vera should be content. And she is, really. But she's also kind of-dare she say it-bored.

Sometimes, all an old lady wants is a murder to solve. Is that too much to ask for?

Two

VERA

Vera should have known better than to wish for a murder to solve. Because of course the universe wasn't ever going to do what she asked it to. When has it ever? And anyway, she isn't the kind of awful person who would wish death upon a stranger just so she could solve it. Well, maybe she is, but only if said stranger was a horrible person like Marshall Chen, may he rest in peace.

But no, the universe did not grant her wish. What it did do was give her a knockoff, kind of like ordering something from Wish. Here's what actually did end up happening:

On Monday morning, Vera is just returning from her morning walk when she hears her phone ringing. To have someone call her so early in the morning must mean there's urgent news. Vera hurries back into the house, locates her cell phone, and answers the call with "Who is it? Who died?"

There is a slight pause, then the person on the other end of the line says, "Um, is this Miss Vera Wong?"

"Yes, who are you?"

"Miss Wong, I'm from the Bank of San Francisco. Can you please confirm your account number with us is 652-473-1736?"

Vera falters. She's too ashamed to admit that she does not actually know her bank account number by heart. "Wait," she says shortly to the caller before scuttling to her bedside table, where she takes out her checkbook. Tilly has repeatedly told her that nobody uses checks anymore and that she should opt to go paperless, but she's not quite sure how that would work exactly. She flips through it, squints at the numbers, and recites them into the phone.

"Thank you. I'm calling to confirm the charge of four thousand dollars made to your credit card this morning."

"WHAT?" Vera squawks. When she was young, Vera had tried for a bit to be the kind of girl that squeals instead of squawks. But now that she is in her sixties, she's given up trying to remove the squawk. The squawk is here to stay, she might as well embrace it. And she does. The one she emits now is particularly impressive, conveying shock, rage, and fear all at once.