Fortune Cookie (Culinary Mystery) (12 page)

“That was amazing,” Sadie said after she finished the second cookie and drank from the carton again. It took another moment before she realized she’d interrupted their conversation. “Sorry, what were we talking about?”

“Ji was telling me about Wendy’s ex-husbands—I was asking him about one of them.”

“She had more than one ex-husband?”

“She had four,” Ji said.

Sadie lifted her eyebrows. “Four?”

Ji explained that Wendy had technically been married when she met Ji’s father, Kai, though she hadn’t seen her husband in a couple of years—Ji called it a “hippie thing.” Her divorce was final in time for Kai and Wendy to get married a month before Ji was born, but before Ji was even two, Wendy left Kai for someone named Dan or Darin or Darryl. Ji barely remembered Husband Number Three; they divorced when Ji was four.

“She had a few boyfriends over the next several years, but she left me with my dad in order to marry her fourth husband, Rodger.”

She left me,
Sadie repeated in her mind. She didn’t ask him to elaborate and simply nodded her understanding. Woven within his account were the other things Ji had told her about his childhood: living with friends, panhandling at the beach. What a sad childhood.

“The police talked to Rodger Penrose, the last husband, and cleared him as a suspect. They said that he and Wendy had remained on good terms, and that he had an alibi,” Pete said. “They haven’t located the other husbands yet.”

“My dad was sent back to Hong Kong a few years ago. His papers were fake, so when immigration laws started being more heavily enforced, he was found out,” Ji said without much emotion. “I think the first husband’s dead, and the guy whose name starts with a D could be anywhere. I told all this to the police.”

Pete nodded. “They said as much.”

“So, where are things with the investigation now that the forensics are back?” Sadie asked, worried that without solid leads to follow—which they didn’t seem to have—the police wouldn’t keep working the case.

“Well,” Pete began, “they did give it a solid week of investigation—interviews, timelines, crime scene, that kind of thing. Nothing led anywhere concrete, though, and they’re discouraged by the forensics report. I think the reason they’re willing to give me so much information is in hopes that we’ll find some new leads for them to follow. It’s hard for them to justify a lot of manpower when there’s been such little success. The department is kept really busy in this city, and there isn’t much extra time to spare.”

It was a good choice for Pete to take the police portions of this situation, Sadie thought to herself. He obviously knew how to talk to them for them to be so open with him about the case.

“Do you think they’ll find who did it?” Ji asked. He’d finished his cookies and was halfway through his bottle of Coke. Sadie didn’t know how he could stand the sweetness of the soda mixed with the richness of the cookie. It made her stomach hurt to even think about.

“A month is a long time, and a victim who seems to have secluded herself from other people gives them very little to work with.” He looked at Sadie. “Did you find anything interesting in the office? The police cleared out her nightstand drawers”—he nodded toward the boxes on the counter—“so we didn’t find much in the way of personal items.”

Sadie thought about the weird letter she’d found and glanced at Ji before deciding to tell them both about it; she’d promised to be honest with him and she would be. She fished the letter out of the file box where she’d put it earlier and handed it to Ji. She noticed his expression harden slightly before he handed it back to her. He might know his mother was flawed, but he still didn’t like to be reminded of it.

“Huh,” Pete said into the uncomfortable silence that followed after Sadie returned the letter to the envelope. “It makes sense to conclude it was from Wendy, but I’m not sure we can be sure about that.”

“She’s an artist, so she could do that fancy script,” Sadie said. “And she lived here alone, so I think it’s a safe assumption to say she wrote it. But it could have been done ten years ago.”

“Or two months ago,” Ji said. “She liked to . . . bother people; I don’t know how else to explain it. For example, for six months she would take our neighbor’s newspaper, then swear she hadn’t when he asked her about it. She didn’t read it, she just threw it away. I don’t even know why she did it in the first place—she probably got this weird power trip off of it. And then I had a teacher in the third grade that she just despised, so she would send anonymous complaints to the school, accusing him of hitting the kids and swearing at us—things like that.” Ji shook his head, then nodded toward the letter. “I would bet that letter is part of something like that. She was probably tormenting someone who had made her mad.”

“But she hadn’t sent it,” Sadie said.

“Or at least she hadn’t sent that one,” Ji pointed out.

Sadie put the envelope back in the box. “I hope it was from a long time ago. Or maybe she thought better about it after she wrote it.”

“Or maybe it was true,” Ji said, a challenge in his expression. “Maybe she was having an affair with someone’s husband and wanted to torment them with it.”

Sadie made a face. Did people have affairs when they were sixty-three years old? She was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation and decided to change the subject. “I thought I’d take the boxes from the police back to the hotel tonight and go through them there. Or I could ship them home if needs be. That way I can look through each file on its own and see if we can learn anything from it without taking time away from getting everything here packed up.”

“That’s a good idea,” Pete said.

Sadie opened the fridge to store the milk. The too-sweet smell of food made her aware of another task she needed to complete. “Right now, however, I need to get this fridge cleaned out.”

Pete crumpled up his napkin. “Let me know when you’re ready for me to take the garbage out for you.”

“And we’re almost done with the clothes and things,” Ji said, putting the cap back on his Coke and standing up from the bar stool. “I need to leave for the restaurant soon, but I can be back in the morning.”

“That’d be great,” Sadie said, glad that things seemed softer between them. Or maybe she was just misinterpreting simple politeness.

“Do you think we could get that bed taken apart before you go?” Pete asked Ji.

“Sure, I’ve got time for that.”

The men disappeared into the bedroom, and Sadie armed herself with a garbage sack and kitchen cleaner. There wasn’t much in the fridge—moldy takeout, withering fruit, a partial bottle of wine, and condiments. Just in case, she took pictures of everything. It probably wasn’t important, but you never could be too sure.

When she finished, Pete took the bag of stinky food downstairs to the Dumpster, leaving Sadie and Ji alone in the apartment, though they were in different rooms.

Sadie moved into the living room and opened the cabinet below the TV while Ji brought bag after bag of clothes and bedding from the bedroom and stacked them near the door of the apartment.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” said Ji.

She looked up to see him standing just outside the bedroom door and noted the regret in his expression.

“I understand why you didn’t find me. It wasn’t your responsibility.”

His words were soothing, in a way, but Sadie lowered her eyes as the guilt rushed back in. “I try to justify it, but it was a selfish choice. We should have found a way to see if you needed help.”

“She probably wouldn’t have let you, since she worked so hard to keep me away from you.”

“There’s no way to be sure she would have kept us out if we’d tried harder,” Sadie said. “After you were with your dad, we wouldn’t have needed her help anyway.”

“My father
certainly
wouldn’t have let you into my life. He was very suspicious of whites, and Wendy didn’t help his opinion.”

Chapter 11

It was somewhat of a relief to hear that Sadie’s family wouldn’t have been allowed into Ji’s life even if they had tried to be a part of it, but the realization did little to ease her regret. If nothing else—even if Ji’s father had refused contact—Sadie should have been able to tell Ji that she’d tried. But she hadn’t tried, and she hated the fact that she couldn’t go back and change it. Still, regret aside, she was grateful that Ji was reaching out to her even though he was completely justified in not doing anything of the sort. He’d put her firmly in her place earlier, and she wasn’t convinced that she didn’t belong there.

“Did your father take better care of you than Wendy did?” Sadie asked. Ji had said his father was a drunk, but maybe he was a functional alcoholic, someone who could hold a job and take care of his family, just not as well as he should.

“Not really.” Ji shrugged in a vain attempt to make the answer seem casual. “He lost apartments and jobs on a regular basis. It wasn’t that different than living with Wendy had been, except that in Chinatown I was part of the Chinese community, and they looked out for me when my father didn’t.”

“You said you lived with Lin Yang’s family?”

Ji nodded. “Her father hired me to work in the restaurant when I was thirteen. When he learned I was sleeping on the couch of my father’s new girlfriend, he let me stay in a room in the back of the restaurant. After a while, they invited me to live in their home.”

“They were good to you?”

“Very good. I was a part of a family for the first time, and it shaped what kind of man I wanted to be.”

“And then you and Lin Yang fell in love?” She smiled softly at the sentiment, but Ji didn’t.

He looked past Sadie’s head at the window behind her. “By the time I was nineteen, I was running the restaurant side by side with Lin Yang’s father. He’d worked the shipyards for years before opening the restaurant, and it had aged him. He wanted me to take over the business, but he wanted it to stay in the family, too. It’s not unusual in Chinese culture to make that type of arrangement. He passed away a few years ago, and the ownership of the restaurant moved to Lin Yang, her sister, and me equally. He was a very good man, and it’s an honor to continue his legacy.”

It took a few beats for Sadie to realize what Ji was saying. “An arranged marriage?” The idea made her sad. She was so grateful to have loved Neil, and so excited to share a life with Pete. She couldn’t imagine marrying for any reason
but
love. And yet, Ji had—to honor Lin Yang’s father and the trust he’d put in Ji, and perhaps to ensure Ji’s own security after so many years of having so little of it in his life.

That he had told Sadie at all said even more. Had he not fallen in love with Lin Yang in the years since their arrangement? If he had, Sadie expected that he’d have said as much—been a bit embarrassed by the circumstances of the start of their marriage. Instead, he’d chosen to communicate that this marriage had been, in a sense, a business decision, and Sadie felt that his motivation in pointing it out was because it still was a marriage of convenience.

“I have a good life,” Ji continued. “And I suppose I can thank my mother for that in a way. If she hadn’t brought me to my father, I wouldn’t have my family or my restaurant. My children are smart and hardworking. The restaurant is successful and supports not only my family, but almost a dozen employees, blessing their lives in much the same way it blesses mine. I reconnected with my heritage, which brings a great deal of peace and purpose into my life.”

“Did you start going by Ji instead of Eddie when you came to Chinatown?”

He nodded proudly. “My father had always called me by my Chinese name, which was his father’s name too. When I moved in with him, it was the only name anyone knew me by and, I suppose, it served as a reminder of the different person I was after that. It suits me, I think.”

“I agree,” Sadie said with a smile. That he’d risen above such difficult circumstances was remarkable. “How many children do you have?” She’d met Min, whom Lin Yang had pointed out to be the eldest.

“I have three daughters,” Ji said with a slight smile. His shoulders squared just enough for Sadie to notice, an outward reflection of the pride he felt for them. “And while I know many think that’s unlucky, I am quite pleased with all of them. Min—you met her today—starts her second year at San Francisco State soon. She’s in the engineering program there. Sonia is thirteen, and Pengma is eleven. They attend the Chinese-American International School.”

“Is that a private school?”

Ji nodded. “Not many restaurant owners can send their children to schools like that, but Lin Yang and I work hard for them to have the best education. We’re very proud of them.”

“There is nothing quite so fulfilling as children, is there?” Sadie said, thinking of her own children, who didn’t even know she’d come to San Francisco. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to tell them now or wait until it was all over. Wendy was a difficult subject for her to talk about, even to them, and they were both particularly busy right now—Breanna was recently married and living in England, and Shawn was finishing his last two college classes in Michigan.