Aunty Lee's Chilled Revenge (21 page)

“I tried to stand by her, of course I did. The big mess in Singapore, I honestly didn't see what all the fuss was about. If it were up to me I would have kept Lola. But Allie had the dog humanely put down. If that was against the law in Singapore, well, then the vet should have explained it to her. I was getting flak from my boss, from the department head, saying clients were not happy to have me handling their cases . . . they told me, ‘You don't just barge into other countries and tell them they aren't running things the right way.' Allie always tried to help people do better. That's all she wanted to do, you know. But frankly I was glad to leave. But it didn't stop there.”

“Oh?”

“Tell Aunty Lee about the other animals,” Josephine prompted. “After you got back to England.”

“There's no proof Allie had anything to do with any of them.”

“Just tell her. So she knows what you were putting up with. Vallerie's been telling her horrible stories about you—hasn't she?”

Aunty Lee waited expectantly.

Apparently other animals had died inexplicably after the Fitzgeralds returned to England: A neighbor's dog that barked in the night was found dead. So was the cat Gemma brought home. And after Allison had a tiff with the chairman of their Actively Involved Parents group, both his dogs died.

Aunty Lee shook her head. “Poor woman.”

Mike looked surprised, then gratified.

Josephine looked peevishly at Aunty Lee. “You wouldn't say that if it was your dog she poisoned!”

“Look, there was no proof—” Mike started to say, but a manicured fingernail digging into his arm stopped him. Aunty Lee felt a stab of disquiet. But why? So many women controlled what their husbands were allowed to say.

“So do you know if the police have come up with anything new?” Josephine leaned forward to ask Aunty Lee. “How long can they afford to keep Mike under suspicion without any proof? Have you got any idea what the police are doing now?”

“I'm trying to get them to help me track down a moon cake box,” Aunty Lee said.

“A moon cake box?”

“Like the one that was in Allison's room, but Vallerie is sure neither she nor her sister bought it.”

“And you think that box of moon cakes had something to do with Allison's death? That's absurd! That's so freaking crazy!” Josephine laughed harshly.

Mike looked at Josephine in surprise, but Aunty Lee shook her head. “I'm just curious where it came from. The cleaners took the moon cake box because it was pretty and they thought it was going to be thrown away, and Vallerie got so angry with them. I thought if I can find out where it came from, I'll buy a box of moon cakes and give it to them. But also . . .”

“Also?”

“Selina hasn't been feeling very well. She has been having stomach trouble and thinks it's food poisoning. I know it's not from my food and I want to make sure it's not from the moon cakes people gave her. Nowadays so many places use ready-made lotus and red bean paste filling. If there is something wrong with one batch, it can affect so many places!”

“Unless someone's trying to poison her,” Mike joked. No one laughed.

Back at Aunty Lee's Delights, Aunty Lee filled Nina and Cherril in on everything that had happened at the Lavender Casket Company. Vallerie was at the kitchen counter arranging platters of sweet, colorful
kuehs
. Her spurt of independence, or perhaps finally having fixed a date for her sister's
funeral service, seemed to have done her good, and she was humming softly to herself.

“She took a taxi back and came in to ask me to pay the driver,” Cherril told Aunty Lee.

Aunty Lee watched Vallerie thoughtfully. “The problem is we all think we are writing our own recipes, but we are also ingredients in other people's recipes. We just have to find out who the dish is for.”

Cherril also looked at Vallerie. “There's something about her that gives me the creeps. If she doesn't want to see Mike or Josephine, why is she staying around? Why all the song and dance about getting Mike to take care of things and then refusing to see him?”

Aunty Lee thought she knew where Vallerie was coming from. “I think she wants Mike to take care of Allison's funeral so she can believe he still cares for her. And this way Mike can tell the children that in spite of the divorce he took care of their mother at the end. One day he may be glad of that. So Vallerie may be doing him a favor.”

Her young partner studied Aunty Lee. Seeing possible good outcomes was a choice, not hopeless naïveté, she realized.

“That's true,” Cherril said.

Whether or not they believed this, they both felt better for having said it.

Different Realities

The terrible nausea seemed to be easing up. Exhausted, he felt tightness in the muscles of his face and neck, and there was a raw, metallic taste in his painfully dry mouth. And someone shaking him—

“Damn you, wake up. What's your password?”

“It hurts—”

“Your computer. What's your password?”

“J-O-S-1-9-8-2.”

Brian kept his eyes closed as he answered. He knew he was lying on the dark green leather couch in his study, that there was someone there with him, that something very important was happening, but he couldn't focus on what it was. He felt his arms and legs stiffening and jerking, and flashes of light shot across the insides of his eyelids. He tried to open his eyes but it was too much effort.

Was he really at home? A strong smell of what seemed to be chemical cleaner distracted him. He knew there was something very important he had to do—he had to explain why they had to go to the police right away. They could go to the Bukit Tinggi Neighborhood Police Post where Inspector Salim would understand. They had no alternative now that Aunty Lee had told the police that he had been at Allison's hotel the day she died. If only Aunty Lee had talked to him first he could have given her the explanation they had prepared . . . though he could not remember what it was now. And he could not understand why Josephine had made things worse. She had also gone to the police and said, “We weren't together all of that day. I didn't think much of it until I heard Brian told the police that we had been together all morning till we got to the café. It's not a big deal, I just want to get it right.” He had thought Josephine liked him, but she had just gotten him deeper into trouble. Why? Had she been afraid of ending up as his alibi for murder? But Josephine had liked him, hadn't she? Hadn't Josephine spent so much time volunteering with the Animal ReHomers all those years ago because she had liked him?

But it had been all those years ago. Even if Josephine had liked him then, he hadn't been good enough for her. She deserved so much more than he could give her as a poor animal rights organizer. His throat hurt and he tried to swallow, but he could not remember how to. Brian had tried to become someone worthy of Josephine DelaVega. He had built up a business, made a name for himself, and years later when they
met again he had dared to hope he had a chance, that it had all been worthwhile. Had it all been worthwhile?

Brian tried to shake his head but the movement sent a painful shudder down his whole body. For some reason the puppy that had started the whole business came into his mind. Lola had been a gentle, playful, and good-natured little dog. The animal psychiatrist who screened her had described her as sociable and good with children. There had been no signs of the aggression Allison complained about.

“Your printer's out of ink,” an annoyed voice said. “Where are your printer cartridges? Don't you keep spares, dammit?”

Brian moaned softly. He felt as though he was sinking underwater. It was an effort to breathe and he could no longer feel his arms and legs. He heard drawers being pulled open and slammed shut, the sound of things falling. He tried to surface but sank back in.

He felt the puppy Lola nuzzling him and then she was there with her little wet snub nose and goofy, trusting grin. Sorry, Brian wanted to say to her, sorry. I really thought they would give you a good home. And Allison was there too, looking at him as though she blamed him, but Brian was not sorry she was dead. Then Josephine was leaning over him, looking at him. I love you, Brian tried to say. I did all this for you. But Josephine was not listening to him. He tried to reach out to her but it was no use. He was sinking and suffocating and could not remember how to breathe. Something had gone wrong, very wrong.

Josephine Poisoned

Not unusually for a weekday evening in the suburbs, Aunty Lee's Delights was empty of customers by nine thirty that night. Vallerie joined Aunty Lee and Nina, who had seated themselves at one of the larger tables with a stack of napkins to be folded.

“It's quite a nice place you have here when people aren't barging in and out,” Vallerie observed.

“People barging in and out and paying,” Nina said. But aware of Vallerie's nonpaying status, she said it to be heard only by Aunty Lee.

“The police asked again if I want to get in touch with anybody in America. Why would I? They don't have any idea what's been going on here. I can't go to them for support. Anyway, it won't make any difference to them that Allison's
dead or that that's what those evil animal activists wanted all along!”

“They didn't even want that dog to die, of course they wouldn't want your sister to die,” Aunty Lee pointed out.

“That blasted dog! That's what started everything! I hate dogs!”

“All dogs?”

Aunty Lee looked at Vallerie, who continued: “Can you believe back in England the stupid girl starts saying she wants a puppy again and that fool Mike says why not—my sister, Allison, said no way in hell. No way she was having another animal under her roof.”

“Can I get you some tea?” Aunty Lee offered. “I mean, would you like Nina to get you some tea?” She was not trying to stop Vallerie from talking—far from it. But when people got too angry it could be difficult to understand what they were saying. Aunty Lee appreciated the emotional impact, of course. But you needed to have facts, like protein, in a dish to make it worth savoring. And there was something in what Vallerie had just said that sounded slightly off to her, like a spot of soft rot on a cucumber. What was it? “My sister, Allison, said no way”? Why should that be strange? Aunty Lee was irritated when Cherril, who had been checking updates on her mobile, interrupted to ask if she could have a private word with her. Cherril's “private words” were usually about cost comparisons and outsourcing the soothingly repetitive kitchen tasks that Aunty Lee found so therapeutic.

“Here is private, what,” Aunty Lee said. “What do you want to tell me?” Cherril might not want to discuss her business
plans in front of Vallerie, which would put them off for a little while.

But then Cherril had been looking stressed and miserable for the last few days. There had been so much excitement going on that Aunty Lee had not tried to figure out what was wrong . . . surely all that, along with Vallerie's unhappy presence, was enough to make anyone with less stamina than Aunty Lee feel down!

However . . . “It's important,” Cherril insisted. And what Cherril told her made Aunty Lee decide the napkins could wait till tomorrow. She and Cherril would bring a tray—“Just cover with cling film”—of leftovers and
kuehs
to the police station immediately. Late as it was, there was a good chance Inspector Salim would still be there, studying in the privacy of his office. If they were less lucky there would be someone on duty who would be glad enough of their food offering to call him for them.

Salim was still working in his office but willing enough to see them, and the sergeant on duty let them in.

“Brian was waiting in the hotel lobby when he called me to say they would be late. Josephine had gone to the ladies'. Allison had called and asked them to pick her up from her hotel for the meeting. He was hoping Allison had changed her mind or realized how hopeless it was and wanted to yell at them so as not to lose face before withdrawing her suit. But when they went to the hotel she wasn't in the room, and the guy at the hotel said Allison had already left. He was certain because he had called the taxi for her himself.”

Salim stared at Cherril. “Why didn't he say something earlier? Why didn't you?”

“Smart men can still be stupid boys inside,” Aunty Lee said. “But if he is telling the truth now, that means both Brian and Josephine were at the hotel when Allison was killed. They might have seen something.”

“Or he might have killed her,” Salim said. “Brian Wong could have killed her while Josephine was in the ladies', then pretended to have been in the lobby all along. Women can take so long in the loo. Plenty of time to go up, commit a murder, and come back down.”

“You wonder why Brian didn't want to say anything sooner?” Cherril asked crossly. “He probably knew you would suspect him like this!”

“But you say he wants to say something now?”

“He said he talked to Josie and they agreed they wanted me to tell Aunty Lee and see what she suggests.”

Salim looked at Aunty Lee, who smiled sweetly at him though she seemed disturbed.

“You know I have to talk to Brian and Josephine about this. But first, has either of them said anything to you? On or off the record?”

“No. You know I would have told you. As soon as Cherril told me I straightaway told her she must come here and tell you.” Aunty Lee still did not believe that Brian and Josephine could have had anything to do with Allison Love's death—or the death of the young vet.

“When are you going to talk to them? Do you have to tell them that we told you? Will you tell us what they say?”

Inspector Salim touched his intercom and instructed, “Get me Josephine DelaVega on the phone.”

But Inspector Salim did not get to talk to Josephine that night.

Aunty Lee called him in great excitement. “Josephine's been poisoned! She's in observation at NUH and they think she is going to be all right. They wanted to pump out her stomach but she said no need. Connie—her mother—just told me. She said Mike told her it was the moon cake because it's the only thing she ate that he didn't. Luckily she stopped eating when it tasted funny. They sent the leftover cake for testing but no results yet.”

Josephine was under observation at the National University Hospital. Just before it was time to go to her parents' house for dinner, Mike had found her curled up on the bathroom floor moaning in pain. Josephine told him she had vomited and was all right, but Mike was not taking any risks. He called her parents and rushed her to the nearest hospital.

Commissioner Raja and Aunty Lee found Connie and Jojo DelaVega with Mike Fitzgerald in the corridor outside Josephine's hospital room.

“More questions?” Mike Fitzgerald said. The tension was clear in his voice and he looked as though he would have liked to be anywhere in the world other than Singapore. It was natural, Aunty Lee thought, given that Singapore had accused him of murdering his ex-wife and might yet accuse him of poisoning his current girlfriend. At least Josephine's parents looked as though they had decided to do their best
to accept him. Losing a daughter to an
ang moh
husband was nothing compared to the threat of losing her altogether. Mike looked as though he had not shaved in some time, though Aunty Lee knew that with Caucasian men it was difficult to tell. “Josie's all right, thank god. But I really don't think she's up to answering any more questions,” Mike said in response to the question Commissioner Raja was starting to ask. He added, “The hospital took the rest of that damn cake for testing.”

“We just want to make sure she is all right,” Aunty Lee said. “Raja is my dinner date. We were just getting ready to go out for dinner when we got the news. He drove me over here because I wanted to make sure she was all right.” She looked around them at the open door of the room. “Is Josephine awake?”

“I'm awake . . .” Josephine called weakly from inside the room. “Aunty Lee, is that you? Please come in. I just told my parents to go out and get some dinner. Tell them you'll stay with me while they go and eat.”

Aunty Lee made her way into the room without waiting for a second invitation. Josephine, propped up in the hospital bed with a saline drip in her arm, looked tired but not dangerously so.

“The doctor said it was lucky that I thought the cake tasted funny and didn't eat more of it. I probably already vomited most of it up before it could affect me. They pumped out my stomach just in case, just to be on the safe side.”

“Moon cakes?” Aunty Lee's attention was caught.

Josephine said the box of moon cakes had been left on a
table in her shop and she assumed a satisfied client or delivery person in a hurry had left it. There were many food gifts being sent out before the Mid-Autumn Festival, so she didn't think much of it. “I didn't have time for lunch, so I decided to taste it. It tasted a bit funny but I thought it was just some fancy flavoring. Then I started to feel sick. I told Mike to call my parents to cancel dinner but he told them he was bringing me to hospital.”

In Singapore in September moon cakes were everywhere. Most would say it was impossible to trace the supplier of a particular moon cake. But Aunty Lee remembered the box in the hotel room and wondered.

“At least that proves Josie didn't have anything to do with Allison's death!” Mike Fitzgerald said. “They're after her too. Are we just supposed to wait around while somebody picks us off one by one?”

Commissioner Raja started to say something, but as Aunty Lee held up an imperious hand he remembered he was there as a chaperone rather than as a police officer and held his tongue.

“You think this is linked to what happened to your wife, Allison,” Aunty Lee said. “And the vet.”

“Of course it is. What else could it be?”

“What exactly happened when you were in Singapore? Can you think of anybody else who was close to Allison and might have got involved?”

“My bosses laughed about it at first and told me to shut up and lie low. They said it would blow over. Boy, were they wrong. Allison couldn't shut up. She defended herself, which
only fanned the flames. She got very angry with me for not being more upset; in fact she accused me of being behind the attacks, of being in league with the web vigilantes. She wasn't well. That was all part of her breakdown; I can totally see that now. She thought everybody was against her. She even blew up at Nick for saying he had liked the dog. She slapped him so hard I was afraid she might have snapped his neck. And then she tried to . . . but luckily Mrs. Ameeta—she's a retiree who lives next door to us in the UK—she called me at work and I got back in time . . . But no, no one else was involved. She refused to talk to anyone else.

“But we hadn't talked for some time, just through the kids, you know what I mean? I don't even know how much she knew about me and Josephine.” He smiled and took Josephine's hand. “If Allison suspected that I cared about you she would have gone crazy. So I'm guessing she didn't know.”

It might have been someone out to hurt Mike Fitzgerald who had killed Allison and tried to poison Josephine, Aunty Lee thought. But why would that person have attacked the vet?

“What happened that day when your neighbor Mrs. Ameeta phoned you at work?” Aunty Lee already felt a kinship with the woman. Nosy old aunties from all over the world had to stick together and follow up on each other's stories.

“Good thing she called me. Allison had locked the children up in one of the bedrooms and was trying to set the house on fire. She had stacked up newspapers and started burning them outside the room but it didn't spread. It totally
destroyed the flooring and the walls in the corridor and it cost me a bundle to fix it up, but that's one thing about old brick houses: they're not so easy to burn down. And because she locked them in, the door blocked the fire from getting into the room, thank god. And Gemma had the sense to open the window for air and to stop Nick from jumping out. When I got back Allison was in the kitchen trying to start up a fire there as well. Luckily we're not on gas or she would have Sylvia Plath'ed them. I tell you, reading poetry doesn't do anybody any good. It just makes the crazy ones crazier. And Mrs. Ameeta called the cops after calling me, so they turned up around the same time as I did and they got the fire rescue people in and put out everything—another bloody mess. I swear the foam stuff made a greater mess of things than the fire did. The kids were okay, which was the main thing. I owe Mrs. Ameeta big time, I tell you. Big time. Allison couldn't start up a proper fire to save her life, but who knows what she would have tried next. The police wanted to take Allison in, of course. And she started screaming that the police were against her and were assaulting her in her own home . . . One of the policemen asked if she was on medication. Nick said, ‘Don't hurt Mom,' but Gemma wasn't having any of that. She said, straight out and in front of everybody, ‘You tried to kill us, I hate you.' After that is it any wonder I wouldn't give her time alone with the kids? Mrs. Ameeta watches the two of them after school when I'm at work. She gives them their tea and calls the police if Allison shows up and throws things at her house.” He turned to Josephine. “That's why I had to
keep us a secret. I didn't want her starting on you too. And the fastest way of making her do that would have been to let her know I cared about you.”

Josephine had been looking shocked, but that last sentence melted her. She put her hand on his arm and smiled at him.

To Aunty Lee's surprise she found herself liking Mike Fitzgerald. It was difficult to judge people who survived great natural disasters, and Allison certainly sounded like a great natural disaster.

“Why didn't she move on with her life? What was she living on?”

Josephine took Mike's hand in both of hers protectively. Allison might be dead, but her hatred still echoed. Josephine's parents, who had come in to stand on the other side of the bed, joined hands, and her father laid a gentle hand on the corner of his daughter's bed as though to cover it with his protection.

“I was still giving her an allowance. She hadn't been able to get a job since Singapore. She went for some interviews, but then every time they got to the subject of previous employment, Allison would go off on a rant and then it was ‘there's the door, don't call us, we'll call you.' It was like she didn't want to move on, you know? That puppy killer thing was the first time she had been in any kind of spotlight. The problem here was that everybody was looking at her. Then back in England she couldn't get used to nobody looking. Being notorious was the closest she'd come to being famous.
It was like a drug rush almost. I think that's why she kept harping on it.