Aunty Lee's Chilled Revenge (11 page)

“Didn't anybody from the hotel notice anything?”

“Hotels like this, guests are paying for them not to notice anything. But the girl on duty at reception did say that one call came through for room sixty-six after Vallerie left, and when she put it through it was answered,” Raja Kumar said. “We would have asked them anyway, you know. We've been doing this job for a long time.”

“That suggests whoever Allison let into her room knew she was staying at the hotel but not which room she was in,” Aunty Lee said. “I know Brian made a call to the hotel from the café. Was that it?”

“Oh no. The hotel took his call. They already knew by then.”

“How?”

“Someone else called it in. But they didn't leave their name. Some people don't like getting involved.”

Singapore police could be so earnest and naive, Aunty Lee thought. It was one of their greatest strengths, but could also be a great flaw. Aunty Lee was about to point that out when a buzz made Commissioner Raja check his phone.
Aunty Lee knew better than to ask about the text that put a gleam in her friend's eyes, but she sighed and massaged the knee above her poor damaged ankle to make him feel sorry for her and started absentmindedly on another of the jelly moon cakes. They were really very good: not too sweet, not too large, and leaving a slight aftertaste of honeyed lemon curd.

“Anything important?”

“You might like to know Allison Love was not the only member of her family to come back to Singapore,” Commissioner Raja said. “Apparently the ex-husband, Mike Fitzgerald, arrived a week ago.”

He looked pleased and almost cheerful, Aunty Lee thought. But yes, if the police could show that Allison Love's ex-husband had followed her to Singapore, it would tie up things very nicely.

“Mike Fitzgerald is already in Singapore?”

“Looks like it. Can't say anything more right now.”

“Can you say that he also killed that girl vet?”

“So, Rosie, what do you think of that place up in Kuala Lumpur that is advertising
nasi lemak
that is ‘better than Aunty Lee's'?” Commissioner Raja rose to his feet, switching back into policeman mode. He knew food—especially food from a rival cook—was the only thing that could distract Rosie Lee from trying to dig out confidential information.

“Sounds like they are giving me free advertising. What are you going to do?”

“One day I'm going to take you up to KL to eat the
nasi lemak
there that is supposed to be better than yours. When
all this is sorted out. We can drive there. Better still, fly up to Penang.”

Aunty Lee smiled, pleased. She did not make the mistake of underestimating Commissioner Raja. He might look like a genial old man on the verge of retirement, and he did his best to bolster that impression. But though his social Singlish made his children and grandchildren wince, Raja spoke Standard English as well as Hokkien, Malay, Japanese, and Mandarin, and could make himself understood in French, German, Korean, and Tagalog. He loved languages and traveling. And he loved food and gossip almost as much as Aunty Lee did . . . something his comments underlined. But while Aunty Lee loved solving crimes because she really loved untangling glitches in people, Raja Kumar preferred setting up systems to run smoothly without interruptions.

“We'll talk about KL
nasi lemak
another time. Now you tell me what are you going to do with the dead woman's husband!” Aunty Lee hurried to get between her guest and the front door.

“How can I talk about death first and then talk about life?
Nasi lemak
comes first. Life comes before death. And this is one of the rare times I discovered a stall you don't know. We should run away up-country to eat and give the kids a scare!”

In losing their life partners each had also lost a primary dining companion they had comfortably taken for granted for years. Though theirs was no more than a culinary flirtation, they were aware their offspring had vague apprehensions that Raja Kumar and Rosie Lee might decide to marry. They would be good company for each other and it was un
likely there would be children, but who would control the fairly substantial inheritances they had been counting on?

“We worried enough about them when they were growing up and going out with boyfriends and girlfriends. Now let them see how it feels!” Commissioner Raja had once said to Aunty Lee after deflecting a series of probing questions from Selina.

Actually they were both happy with how things were. The commissioner could talk to Aunty Lee about how Sumathi, his late wife, had first discovered kokeshi dolls (she had left an impressive collection) on their thirtieth anniversary trip to Japan and how, on the same trip, he had first tasted kelp-fed sea urchin sashimi. And Aunty Lee could tell him about how exasperating ML had been, giving up smoking “for good” every two years and donating all his pipes to the Salvation Army, and then buying them back (in their unopened donation box).

And they both enjoyed talking about food, of course.

“So where is this famous new
nasi lemak
stall?”

“It's not a new stall. It's an old one. Nasi Lemak Tanglin. In the Tanglin Food Court along Jalan Cendrasari, opposite the Poliklinik.”

“Old man, you don't know what you are talking about. What's so special about their
nasi lemak
there?”

“Quite a number of dishes are special—fried chicken, chicken
rendang,
beef liver, beef lung,
sambal sotong
. . . I think we need to go up-country soon.”

“Here I also got chicken
rendang, sambal sotong
. . .” Aunty Lee made a mental note to tell Nina to source beef liver and
beef lungs, but there was something else. “The seller's name is Zainal, right?” Aunty Lee remembered. “He was running the stall with his mother—what was her name, I can't remember. They used to have a stall along Jalan Tanglin. ML brought me once. We sat on stools by the roadside under a tree—”

“That's it!
Wah,
Rosie, you are as old as me if you can remember. You look so young I keep forgetting.” Raja Kumar roared with laughter. “That's it exactly. Zainal is still there. Old like us now. His daughter is helping him. Getting ready to take over. I want to go back up and eat one more time before she takes over. These young people always try to improve here, cut cost there. They say it is the same but it is never the same.”

Aunty Lee thought about Cherril's factory automation plans and sighed. There were different ways of taking over. She would have to think about it, but for the moment her attention was focused on Vallerie and her dead sister. It was almost a relief to have someone with more problems than yourself to think about.

Problems

After Commissioner Raja left, Aunty Lee felt something was not quite right with her insides. When food provoked such a feeling it usually meant an upset tummy and runny stools later. She hoped it was not something in the jelly moon cakes disagreeing with her. People often did not know what food allergies they had. They thought they had been born with ill health and went on eating dairy or nuts or mushrooms or whatever it was that made them sniff, scratch, or break out in spots and feel generally miserable. Aunty Lee was fortunate in not being allergic to anything other than falling off tables, but people were always engineering new foods and genetically modifying old ones, so she was always on guard.

The problem was, it could be difficult to tell which ingredient in a dish was making you sick. But that evening Aunty Lee suspected she knew what was wrong: nobody was asking
her what secret information Commissioner Raja might have shared with her. Aunty Lee could have resisted any amount of pressure and questioning, but with nothing to resist she felt the nugget of news (Cable ties! How bizarre was that?) swelling and threatening to leak out of her like gas out of swollen bowels. She wondered why Nina had not yet returned with Vallerie, and when Aunty Lee heard the gate opening she hurried to the front room. Even Vallerie would do. Vallerie would want to know what the policeman had said about her sister's death, and Aunty Lee would be sympathetic, but nobly refrain from saying what she had learned. But it was Cherril who knocked tentatively at the unlocked door and pushed it open.

“Nina took Vallerie to buy some rash powder,” Cherril explained. “There's something I've been wanting to talk to you about privately.”

Aunty Lee winced, fearing Cherril wanted to talk about her expansion plans, or perhaps ask about the mountain of mangoes or cache of cooking oil samples still untouched in the Binjai Park kitchen. Aunty Lee knew Cherril had already started looking for a factory; in fact she had wanted to bring Aunty Lee around to tour possible options. Fortunately her twisted ankle had gotten her out of that without offending Cherril, but how long could she go on using that as an excuse? She winced at Cherril's projections of how, once they got automated production in process, they could start negotiations to distribute “Aunty Lee's Frozen Microwave Meals” to supermarkets and school canteens. And Cherril had also been looking into leasing “Aunty Lee's” franchises to
kopitiam
stalls and kiosks. “There's a limit to how many people we can serve here. And as long as we are making
achar
and
sambal
by hand, production is limited,” Cherril had pointed out. “The only way for Aunty Lee's Delights to grow is to expand in other directions. And on that subject we should start looking out for larger premises.” It all sounded very businesslike and professional and had impressed Aunty Lee's stepson, Mark, and even his far harder to impress wife. But Aunty Lee knew that what made her Peranakan pickles and fried fish paste so special was precisely that it was made by hand in limited quantities!

And Aunty Lee had never wanted to make a lot of money from cooking. Indeed, for Aunty Lee the business side of things was more an excuse to cook than anything else. To live in a land where there was enough clean water and food for everyone to eat in peace side by side was already a blessing. Aunty Lee was fond of Cherril. But why did she want to change everything?

Aunty Lee was a firm believer in change when it came to sink filters and underwear, but she saw no point in changing something that worked well and didn't smell. And her little café with its kitchen and shop worked well for her. It was within walking distance of her house, friends and neighbors could drop in to chat, and the police post nearby kept everyone safe. Best of all, she could watch people enjoying the food she had prepared. Wasn't that the whole point of cooking good food? Not for Cherril, apparently. Cherril, who was definitely also one of the blessed if only she let herself realize it, only talked about profit margins and brand visibility.
In her role of business partner, it seemed to Aunty Lee that Cherril was focusing on the business side of things and forgetting it was really all about food.

Aunty Lee tried to change the subject before Cherril could bring it up. “I'm thinking of making savory jellies. What do you think of a seafood
tom yam
jelly? Our seafood
tom yam
is already quite thick. We can boil it up with gelatin then set it in the fridge. Cold and spicy instead of hot and spicy.”

Cherril said vaguely, “I'm not very hungry,” which made Aunty Lee stop and look at her with more attention. Cherril was never hungry, which Aunty Lee considered almost unnatural for someone in the food business. But she usually paid attention to what Aunty Lee was saying.

Cherril was a woman who seemed to look good naturally. Aunty Lee now knew this was not true, having seen for herself how much effort Cherril put into maintaining a perfect complexion through a workday. This had impressed Aunty Lee though she had no desire to emulate her. It was the same respect Aunty Lee felt for people who dedicated time, energy, and money to hybridizing orchids or restoring vintage cars. It was how she felt about her
sambals
and spiced sauces. They were artists, or perhaps acolytes. But that day Cherril was not looking good. Her makeup was still impeccable but she looked drawn, tired, and intensely worried about something.

“Is it Mycroft?” Aunty Lee asked, careful not to say too much.

Before her son's wedding, Anne Peters had told Aunty Lee (swearing her to secrecy) that the girl he was going to marry was not only a former air stewardess but had had an abor
tion. The fervently Catholic Anne had been shocked. “I got a private investigator to check up on his fiancée, this Cherril Lim. He can't marry that girl and I can't tell him about the private investigator—what am I going to do?”

“Why do you have to do anything?” Aunty Lee had asked. “Your son the lawyer can tell you that abortion is legal in Singapore
what
. As long as you can
tahan
all the check-ups and counseling and mandatory waiting period if your baby still not yet twenty-four weeks and you still don't change your mind, you can get abortion. Did she get abortion in Singapore?”

“I don't know. All the report says is that she suddenly left the airline after a routine medical check-up. After that she went to the Female Focus clinic twice. Their records are confidential, but no sign of any baby, so it must have been an abortion, right?”

Aunty Lee had kept to herself thoughts of several other things “it” might have been, and did her best to calm her friend down. It was at least partly thanks to Aunty Lee that Anne's private investigator and his information had not been allowed to stop the wedding. Aunty Lee had never regretted that. Anne might well have lost a son as well as a daughter.

Remembering how well she had kept information to herself made Aunty Lee feel pleased with herself and eager to tackle new problems. Cherril was always a good source of problems—young women these days were so bad at saying what they wanted, despite their multitude of communication devices. Life would be so much simpler if people said what
they thought. But then without that drama life would be so dull.

“Mycroft!” Cherril stared at Aunty Lee. “Why? What's wrong with Mycroft? Did Mother Peters say something to you?”

“No, no. Nothing,” Aunty Lee said quickly. Too quickly, she instantly realized.

“He's unhappy, isn't he?” Cherril said. “I've been going through his financial accounts and everything—no, of course he doesn't know—and everything looks all right. He's not a secret gambler and he hasn't been signing over half his income to some mistress or some church, so I know it's not that.”

Cherril knew only too well she was not getting any younger. And she did want children. She just did not know whether she wanted children enough to get herself checked out by a doctor who might find out all kinds of other things about her. Cherril could talk to Aunty Lee about almost anything. But she didn't think Aunty Lee (contentedly childless herself) could understand this. Or worse, if Aunty Lee did understand and had felt the same way, what right did Cherril have to bring it up? Almost superstitiously Cherril was afraid of ending up childless like Aunty Lee. She dealt with the fear the best way she knew how: by not thinking about it. She wasn't sorry that Allison was dead. It would distract everybody for a while, and at least it hadn't happened to a nicer person.

“Mycroft deals with facts,” Aunty Lee said. “And one of the facts is that he loves you. That is a very big fact, bigger than all the other facts in his head.”

“Facts don't come in different sizes,” Cherril said.

“Of course they do. Just like people. I am a bigger size than you, that is a fact, right? So my facts are bigger than your facts. What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Aunty Lee, I know you've helped people solve some . . . problems.”

That was true, Aunty Lee thought. However unfairly people might describe her as a bossy busybody, she had certainly managed to solve a couple of murders while satisfying her own curiosity.

“Please, will you help Josephine?” Cherril asked.

The sudden change of subject took Aunty Lee aback.

“Only Josephine?” As far as Aunty Lee could tell, Cherril and Brian were also suspects, though Aunty Lee did not for a moment think Cherril had killed Allison Love.

“I didn't kill that woman,” Cherril said carefully. “That's one thing I'm sure of right now. And I know that Brian couldn't have done it. I'm sure it was that woman's husband. I hope they prove it is, then it would just be their domestic problem and it just happened to blow up in Singapore but have nothing to do with us.”

“You sound like you are worried that Josephine had something to do with it.”

“I'm worried that people will think she did. I want you to somehow prove that she didn't.”

“But you were with Josephine the whole time the woman was getting killed,” Aunty Lee pointed out. “I heard you tell the police that she and Brian were here in the café with you.”

The problem with this old woman, Cherril thought, was
that it was impossible to tell whether she was really missing the point or just pretending to. Or could she really have forgotten how long Cherril had waited, alone, for the other two at Aunty Lee's Delights that day?

“They weren't.” Cherril was impatient with Aunty Lee's stupidity. “But I said they were. Look—I'm just trying to help Josie.”

For a moment Aunty Lee felt cross with Josephine. She felt certain the other woman was not half as concerned about Cherril as Cherril was about her. Unless—

“Did Josephine ask you to help her? Did she tell you to help her?”

Cherril's startled, slightly guilty look told Aunty Lee she was right. She continued, with the air of hazarding a guess: “Josephine knows about you and Brian Wong.” This was another nugget of information from Anne Peters's private investigator.

When Cherril did not deny this, Aunty Lee went on. “And she knows Mycroft doesn't know.” She did not try to hide her disapproval, but by now Cherril knew her boss well enough to tell whom her disapproval was directed at. “Mycroft is not going to be angry with you for anything that you did before you were married, you know. Nothing that you did last time can make trouble between the two of you as much as you not discussing it with him now. You two are married now. You should be able to tell him anything and not be scared of what other people threaten to tell him about you!”

“It's not what you're thinking. She's not blackmailing me.
It's more like—well, friends helping each other out, you know.”

Aunty Lee would have pursued this further, but just then—

“What's the big discussion?” Selina came in with Vallerie, followed by Mark. “Aunty Lee, I have to talk to you,” Selina said as Vallerie headed for the stairs without greeting her hostess.

American manners, Aunty Lee thought, then quickly quashed the criticism, remembering the many lovely Americans she knew. It was too easy to spread a bad smell over a whole nation after encountering one bad egg. Better just to call them “Vallerie Manners.”

“Aunty Lee and I were talking about a business expansion plan,” Cherril said quickly.

“More plans? You should listen to her, Aunty Lee,” Mark said. “This girl's on fire!”

Aunty Lee was prepared to listen to anything. But a quick glance at Selina's dark face reminded her that there was always more than one story to listen to. Cherril quickly said good night and disappeared.

Selina lowered her voice. “You should put her on leave so that if this blows up, people won't associate her with your shop.”

“I'm sure Cherril didn't have anything to do with it,” Mark said. Mark had always had a soft spot for Cherril, which didn't improve Selina's opinion of her.

“You don't know that. Even the police don't know anything yet. How can you know that?” Selina put a hand on Aunty
Lee's arm. This was a novelty for Aunty Lee. She was more used to Selina warning people against her than warning her against people. “I'm not saying Cherril had anything to do with that woman's death. But she's one of those animal activists so she's definitely involved. You don't want your business to be associated with that kind of thing. You should just put her on suspension or something during the investigation. Like secondary school teachers accused of supporting sex education or married government ministers suspected of having affairs. You don't need to have proof of anything. Just say that food preparation is a sensitive area and having her around will make your customers uncomfortable. Then if there's nothing wrong she can come back after it blows over. And you know she's a friend of Josephine's, which makes it worse.”

“There is no need to see Josephine as a pubic enemy, you know,” Aunty Lee said to Selina.