Aunty Lee's Delights (6 page)

“But I want to know if they find out who the woman on Sentosa is!”

Aunty Lee seemed determined to talk about the body, as though by discussion she could ferret out more information than she had gotten off the radio and the afternoon paper. Selina ignored her.

The Cunninghams seemed more interested in learning about Sentosa than about the dead woman found on one of its beaches.

“We heard about the casino, of course. I thought it might be fun. But Frank wants to go take photographs at Universal Studios.”

“There are wild peacocks there,” Cherril Lim-Peters said vaguely. “I like peacocks.”

Prodded by Selina, Mark rose to his feet at his place at the head of the table. He reached over and picked up the silver slosh bucket closest to him. “Just to follow protocol,” he announced. “You won’t need these with my wines, but I must ask you not to use them for the food!” It was the same way he had introduced the previous wine-dine. People had laughed then and he was not about to change anything that worked.

Cherril giggled prettily. Then, thinking Selina looked puzzled, she started to explain to her what a slosh bucket was for . . .

“First course!” Aunty Lee announced as Nina entered from the back, bearing two platters of hot satay flanked by thinly sliced cucumbers and tomatoes and cubes of rice cake fragrantly steaming with the scent of
pandan
.

Mark took them through a white, a rosé, and three red dinner wines before dessert. Only Cherril was paying rapt attention and asking the occasional question, but it was enough for Mark . . . and enough for Selina too, who resolved to keep an eye on the woman. From Selina’s point of view, no one could be that interested in wine—therefore Cherril had to be interested in Mark. That Cherril already had a husband of her own made no difference to Selina except as evidence that Cherril knew how to trap men. Aunty Lee was watching Cherril too—ever since she saw the girl rinse out her mouth with water between mouthfuls of food as well as between mouthfuls of wine.

“Why you rinse and spit? That is not wine, what?” Aunty Lee asked. “You don’t like my gravy, is it?”

“Oh no! It’s very good!” Cherril said earnestly. “But this way I can start with a clean mouth for the next mouthful and I don’t confuse the taste. Your gravy is very good, Aunty Lee. Everything is very good. But I want to enjoy it as though every mouthful is the first mouthful!”

“Keep the bloom, eh?” Harry Sullivan said. “It’s like they say about marriage. The first three years are great, but you have to pay for them for the rest of your life!” He laughed loudly. “That’s why some guys keep getting married. Just keep going through those first three years over and over again!”

Perhaps this comment was directed at the married couples present? Selina wondered, watching Mark covertly. If he laughed, she would remember to be angry with him later. Selina did not like male-chauvinistic jokes and resented Mark for not putting them down more actively. Lucy Cunningham, meanwhile, smiled at her husband, who had joined in the laughter.

“That’s what I say too,” Frank said with gusto. “Keep starting over. We all should remember to keep starting over. Every day, every season. That’s the great thing about being able to travel like we do. We keep starting over. And we get to start over with the people we like best!” He had been playing around with his second napkin and had now produced a paper rose with a long twisted stem, which he presented to his wife with a flourish.

Cherril squeaked and applauded. “So romantic, you two!”

What an act, Selina thought. She was irritated with Cherril for all her fluttering as well as with the Cunninghams. Who did they think they were fooling? Traveling together was never easy, especially not with someone you had been married to for years, whose every word, said and unsaid, irritated you . . . and why wasn’t Mark keeping better order?

Aunty Lee watched everyone at the table with interest. “Nice to see married people still being romantic,” she said vaguely. “After so many years, you know what each other like, don’t like already. Can be very good or can be very bad.”

Nina, carrying in a tray of little orange-and-white ceramic bowls (Aunty Lee liked her food to look good) of
bubor cha cha
, thought that had certainly been the case with Aunty Lee and her husband. It had been very good while he was alive, no doubt. But once he was gone, wasn’t it worse than losing a husband you had not cared about? She saw Harry Sullivan lean over to whisper something to Selina, who laughed. They shared a common sense of humor, Nina thought. She was careful around Selina, not wanting to upset someone who was so easily upset. But she was not afraid of her. Aunty Lee had made it clear that Nina’s job depended on Aunty Lee alone, not any tales that anyone else might carry back to her.

“And now, as we prepare for the dessert, let me ask you to pick up glass number five.” Mark had drawn and numbered circles on the strips of white paper set at each place. Even without Laura Kwee or anyone else to assist him, he had managed to set things up remarkably fast. “Most people assume dessert wines are sweeter wines. No doubt if you’re planning to have nothing but wine for dessert, that would suit very well. But in my opinion, when we have a very sweet dessert as we are having tonight—
bubor cha cha
, right, Aunty Lee?—I believe a slightly fortified wine would accompany it better. See what you think of this. It’s a discovery of mine I’m quite pleased with. You’ll see it has something almost approaching the aura of an amontillado sherry . . .”

All at the table dutifully sipped as Aunty Lee found it necessary to interject in a loud whisper, “My
bubor cha cha
is not too sweet. Some people like to make it very sweet, but my one I make it not so sweet. You must have the contrast between the sweet potatoes and yam and the sweet soup . . .”

“Aunty Lee, we’re not here to talk about the food,” Selina said with an apologetic smile around the table as Frank Cunningham asked:

“What exactly goes into
bubor cha cha
?”

This was precisely the scenario Selina had been most dreading. The wine and Mark’s exposition were forgotten as Aunty Lee went into how important it was that the tapioca jelly should be properly chewy and starchy and how she deliberately used sweet potatoes in different colors—purple, orange, and yellow—as well as yam, not only for the way the dish looked but because when the coconut milk was not too sweet, a discerning eater could tell the differences among them by both taste and texture. “And of course I use my special secret ingredient for the coconut milk soup . . .”

The bell over the front door of the shop jangled just then. Selina rose to her feet even as Nina stopped distributing bowls and started over to look. They were all congregated in the long back portion of the shop, but the lights were still on and Nina thought someone had come in looking perhaps for a bottle of
achar
or a late-night snack. Selina was certain it was Laura Kwee, finally showing up with some stupid excuse for her lateness.

As it turned out, they were both wrong.

It was difficult to tell the ethnic makeup of the woman who suddenly pushed through the front entrance of the shop. From her body language Nina thought her probably American—but there was a distinctly Oriental cast to her features. Her hair was very black—far more black than any naturally black hair could be—and her skin was pale beneath the reddish spottiness that Caucasian flesh tended to develop after recent and unfamiliar exposure to the Singapore sun and damp.

“Sorry. We’re closed,” Selina said firmly. She could tell at a glance that this intruder was no potential customer. Most likely she was lost and wanting directions, free water, or worse—use of the toilet.

The woman did not pay any attention to her.

“I’m looking for Laura Kwee,” she said. “I heard she works here and I was told she would be here tonight.” Dismissing Selina after a quick examination, the woman looked around her toward the people sitting at the table in the back room. “I have to talk to her. It’s really urgent. Where’s Laura Kwee?”

It was obviously urgent to her. It also seemed obvious she was not familiar with the Laura Kwee she was looking for. She was tense, almost trembling with anxiety barely kept under control. She hardly glanced at Aunty Lee as the old woman approached, eyes gleaming with interest.

“Who are you?” Aunty Lee asked. “Why are you looking for Laura Kwee? Laura doesn’t work here. She is supposed to come tonight but she’s not here yet. Why don’t you come in and sit down to wait?”

“Laura Kwee’s not coming tonight,” Selina said firmly. The whole point of insisting that people register for the wine-and-dine special nights would be lost if the old woman was going to let in anybody who just decided to drop in. “She messaged me saying she can’t make it. And she said Marianne Peters asked her to say she’s not coming either.”

The stranger seemed to gasp for air. She stared at Selina with fierce intensity and repeated, “Marianne Peters said she’s not coming? When? When did she say that?”

“Who are you?” Aunty Lee asked. Suddenly she was by the woman’s side, exuding the calm authority animal handlers display when dealing with nervous, possibly dangerous dogs. “I’m Aunty Lee. This is my shop. What’s your name?”

“Carla Saito,” the stranger replied.

In the silence that followed this announcement, Nina heard Lucy Cunningham whisper to her husband, “Why did Laura Kwee ask us to meet her here tonight if she’s not coming?”

3

Where Is Laura Kwee?

“Come and sit down,” Aunty Lee invited Carla Saito. Without seeming to have moved, Nina had a place setting ready and crowned with a bowl of
bubor cha cha
. Aunty Lee steered the tall, thin woman toward it with a firm grip just above her elbow and got her seated.

“Carla Saito . . . Is your name Japanese? Where are you from? Why are you looking for Laura Kwee? Do you know Marianne Peters too?”

Carla Saito looked at the bowl in front of her. “What is it? I don’t eat meat.”

In response to a nod from Aunty Lee that no one else noticed, Nina brought a little pot of (calming and restorative) chrysanthemum tea that she now put with a matching cup in front of the unexpected guest. “No meat,” Aunty Lee said. The hot tea seemed to help and Carla Saito started to answer Aunty Lee’s questions. She was American (her surname came from her Japanese father) and she had arranged to meet up with her old friend Marianne Peters in Singapore—only Marianne seemed to have disappeared.

“I was just going to wait. I mean, I came in a few days earlier than planned, so I thought maybe she was busy or out of the country or something. I thought I would just wait. She has to surface sooner or later, right? But then Marianne just didn’t show up. I tried to ask her family but they said she’s away, out of the country. Then just this afternoon I heard about a woman’s body that was found—”

Aunty Lee nodded vigorously. “I also heard! A woman’s dead body found on Sentosa!”

“And I suppose I just panicked. I started imagining all kinds of horrible things—I know it sounds ridiculous but if—”

“Why did you come here to look for her?” Aunty Lee asked. Her face was kind and concerned, her complexion so beautifully fine that even the papery wrinkles that appeared as she smiled spoke of gentle affection rather than age. But then Aunty Lee sniffed and looked puzzled. She looked at Carla Saito, who was sipping from her glass of chrysanthemum tea, then leaned in slightly closer and sniffed again. For a moment Aunty Lee looked more like a sniffer dog than a human cook.

“What is it?” Carla Saito asked.

Aunty Lee looked delighted to be asked. “You smell healthy,” she said.

Carla Saito shook her head. “I’m far from healthy. It’s not just jet lag. I’ve been so stressed, I haven’t been sleeping. Even if I could I swear there are bedbugs in the sheets and—”

“You have healthy blood,” Aunty Lee interrupted. “Just now you said you don’t eat meat. Are you vegetarian?”

Carla Saito was surprised out of her problems. “Yes—well, actually I’m a vegan. But since coming here, I don’t know—food isn’t always labeled, at least not in English, and I can’t figure out how to explain to people, so I’ve been eating mostly apples and bananas—”

“You just have to go near the temples to eat,” Aunty Lee told her. “Near temples, sure to have hawker center or food court with vegetarian food. Do you eat onion and garlic?”

“Onion? Yes, sure . . .” Carla Saito glanced quickly round the room. No one else seemed surprised by this. Selina was rolling her eyes after giving up on trying to get Nina to stop Aunty Lee. Harry Sullivan was listening with detached interest—and helping himself to more wine. Carla could have used some of that wine or ideally something even stronger, but she went on sipping her tea. It was warming her faster than she thought possible and she realized how cold she had been. She hadn’t been eating enough, of course, and her blood sugar and circulation were probably down.

“I put some ginger in,” Aunty Lee said, sounding as proud of herself as if she had been actually mind reading. “That should warm you up. Then, after that, you can eat some vegetarian food.”