Page 20 of Vera Wong's Unsolicited Advice for Murderers

“Thanks,” Oliver says, then almost apologetically, he adds, “We weren’t close.”

The three of them nod at one another, then stand there looking extremely awkward before Oliver raises his eyebrows at Vera. “Um, is there a reason why you asked me to bring my car here?”

“Oh yes. Are introductions over, then? Good, good. Let’s go. No dillydallying! Like I always tell my Tilly, you young people should move fast. Grab life by the you know what!” Like a mother goose, Vera herds her three suspects out of her shop. She locks up the door and catches sight of the top of Winifred’s head bobbing behind the door of her fake bakery. Vera smirks and waves at Winifred. Hah, she’d bet money that Winifred is writhing with curiosity to know what’s going on. Outside of Vera’s teahouse is a shinynew Benz. Impressive. She hadn’t pegged Oliver to be the type to drive a Benz, but, she supposes, this is why one should never judge a book by its cover. She strides to the Benz and pulls the passenger door open. Or tries to, anyway. It’s locked.

“Uh, that’s not my car,” Oliver mumbles. “That one is.” He jerks a thumb at a sad, clunky-looking Volvo parked behind the Benz.

Vera doesn’t allow herself to even turn her head in the direction of Winifred’s bakery. She can just imagine Winifred snickering to herself. Gah! She marches to the Volvo and yanks open the passenger door.

“Where are we going?” Sana says, standing on the curb and hugging the bag of food to her chest. Her eyes are wide with concern.

Vera sighs. “Are you wanting to investigate for your potcut or not? Get in. I told you already, we are going to see my fourth suspect.”

Sana and Riki exchange another glance—they probably think they’re being very subtle with their glances, but Vera’s counted seven already. It only reaffirms her belief that these two are meant for each other. Then they climb into the back seat. Vera climbs in as well, and sinks into the front passenger seat with a small sigh. She will never admit it to anyone, but she is rather tired. Four hours of nonstop cooking will do that to you. But it’ll all be worth it when she can finally gather all her suspects in a single place and do a Sherlock Holmesian reveal of who the killer is. Not that she knows right this very moment, but she will once they’re all in the same room, she’s sure of it.

As she settles in her seat, she spots a thick, bound stack of papers next to her feet. “What is this?”

Oliver stiffens. “Oh, that’s just—that’s my old manuscript. I’d forgotten it was there. Could you just put it back where you found it, please?”

Vera does so, making a mental note to take it with her when she gets out of the car. In her experience, it’s best to nod and agree with what people say before doing exactly what you wanted from the very beginning.

“So where to?” Oliver says.

Vera rummages in her handbag and locates a piece of paper on which she’d scribbled an address a few nights before. “Here.”

Oliver looks at the piece of paper, then his head jerks up. “What the hell?”

Sana and Riki lean forward. “What’s wrong?”

“This is—” Oliver sighs with open exasperation. “It’s Marshall’s home address. How did you even—”

“I use the Google, of course,” Vera says primly.

“You can’t just look up people’s home addresses online,” Oliver says, aghast.

“Oh yes, you can.” In truth, Vera had dug out Marshall’s wallet from his pants pocket and found his driver’s license and taken down his home address before tucking it back into his pants pocket. All this while wearing her thick yellow dishwashing gloves, of course, because Vera would never be so careless as to tamper with potential evidence. Somehow, she doesn’t think that these youngsters in the car with her would approve of her doing this, even if she had been wearing gloves.

“How?” Sana says from the back seat.

“It’s easy,” Vera says. “Now, drive.”

“What? No! I’m not just going to show up unannounced atMarshall’s house, my god, Vera. His wife and kid are probably home, they’d be grieving, and—”

“So they’d need company. And food, probably. This is why I cook all morning. Now, be a good boy and drive, don’t make me waste all this home-cooked food.”

“No, uh-uh.”

Vera sighs. “You are so dramatic. Fine, I will call Uber. It will be so expensive in the city, you know. Daylight robbery. But I have no choice.”

“Are you seriously going to do this?” Oliver cries. “It’s so—I don’t know—so inappropriate!”

“His poor wife is probably wondering what happen to Marshall.”

“Wha—but—wait—”

Vera gives him a withering look. “Oliver, don’t waste my time. Time is precious. Just because you young people have a lot of it, you think you can waste it? Is obvious he has wife. She come by to my teahouse yesterday with a toddler, but then she run away when I see her. Who else can it be but his wife and daughter? Now we have to check on them, make sure they are okay. His poor wife. Her husband suddenly turn up dead, you don’t think she needs company? Unless, of course, she is the one who kill him. Either way, I have to pay her a visit.” Vera takes out her phone and makes a big show of tapping on the Uber app. “Oh my, twenty-five dollars one way. Ridiculous! Still, I have no choice.” She gives Oliver a pointed look.

“Oh my god,” he groans. “Fine! Jesus.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Look, we can’t just show up there out of the blue, okay? Let me give her a call first, for god’s sake.”

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