Page 17 of Vera Wong's Guide to Snooping (on a Dead Man)

Vera taps on the business card. “My teahouse, of course. You come by on Wednesday at seven p.m. I cook dinner for you. Crispy roast duck.” And with that, Vera is gone, leaving behind a plastic container of delicious homemade soup, tea, and a giant crater in Aimes’s aesthetically pleasing life.

Seven

VERA

Vera is having so much fun she half wonders if she shouldn’t write a book about it. A self-help book titledThe Ancient Chinese Secret to Long Life: Solving Murders. Is that too long for a title? She knows, as everyone does, that titles should be snappy and memorable. But she does like the word “ancient” in there because it’s rather impressive and mysterious. MaybeThe Ancient Chinese Secret to Solving Murders. Ooooh, yes, that is a good one. As she sits on the bus on the way back home, Vera composes the book in her head.

Chapter One: Call Your Mother.

Every mother holds the answer to all of your life’s problems. If you do not have a mother, you may call me. My number is—

Hmm. Perhaps it wasn’t the wisest of ideas to share her personal number with the millions of strangers who would no doubt be buying her book.

If you do not have a mother, you may slip and slide into my DMs.

Yes. Yes! Not only does that show how approachable Vera is, itreminds everyone that she is very much up to date with young people these days. She is basically an honorary Gen Z. This whole writing-a-book thing is so easy, no wonder Sana’s mother writes four of the things every year. Vera is sure she can bang out at least six books a year if she wanted to.

By the time she alights from the bus back in Chinatown, she has composed two chapters in her mind (Chapter Two: Finding a Murder to Solve). She hums to herself as she unlocks the door to the teahouse and walks in. She checks the floor to make sure there are no dead bodies on it. One can never be sure. She spends some time updating her notebook, adding Millie, TJ, and Aimes as possible persons of interest. Vera likes the term “person of interest.” It’s more vague than “suspects,” so if it turns out she was wrong to suspect them, she can just say, “I never suspected them, I was just interested in them.”

The problem is, she likes these three youngsters. Just like the brood of lost chicks she gathered last year, she doesn’t want any of them to be guilty of Xander’s death. And they are so clearly guilty of something. Vera sniffs. Why don’t young people learn to lie better? She rearranges her facial expression into one of innocent surprise. “Huh? Xander dead? I have nothing to do with it.” See? That’s how you lie.

“Talking to yourself is a sign of senility, Vera,” someone calls out from the doorway.

Vera turns around, her face hot. Of course she recognizes that voice without even looking. “Winifred.” The name comes out practically in a hiss. “What brings you here?” Vera says, switching to Chinese.

“Oh, it’s a rare day I’m not so busy with customers, so I thought I’d drop by and keep you company. It can be so lonely for a lone,elderly woman with a forgotten tea shop,” Winifred says, slinking inside the tea shop. She plops a bag on the table. “I brought some of my bestselling breads. Brew some tea, Vera.”

The audacity of her! Winifred marching in like she owns the place and ordering Vera to brew tea? “I do not need company. I’m hardly alone. And, yes, even though I am your elder, which means you should speak to me with more respect, I am hardly elderly.”

“Oh, save it, Vera. I’ve heard you refer to yourself as a helpless old woman countless times.”

“That’s to remind young people to respect me.”

“Funny that,” Winifred sniffs. “I never have to remind them to respect me. I guess I just command it naturally.”

“The only thing you command naturally is body odor,” Vera mutters, but for some reason, she does as Winifred says and gets the kettle going.

Winifred settles on a chair and begins taking out the pastries. “I am considering changing the bakery name,” she says.

“Oh? People finally caught wind of your ruse, then? Realized it’s not a French bakery?”

“No. It’s just…Korean bakeries are the latest rage, haven’t you heard? I see it all over the TikTok. It’s K-pop this, K-drama that, everything K.”

“You’re not Korean, Winifred.”

“I am on my grandmother’s side.” Winifred says something in Korean.

It takes an awful lot of willpower for Vera to refrain from asking Winifred what she just said, but that’s exactly what Winifred wants, isn’t it? So Vera looks on blandly, until Winifred finally says, “It means ‘good afternoon’ in Korean.”

“Impressive,” Vera says in a monotone voice, measuring outingredients for the tea. It had taken her a moment to decide what to brew. Part of her was very tempted to brew something disgusting for Winifred, but she decided against it since she would likely have to drink it herself, and anyway, there isn’t anything disgusting in Vera’s tea shop, of course not. So ginseng it is. As Vera brews the tea, Winifred points to each pastry.

“Here we have kkwabaegi.”

“Looks like a mahua to me.”

Winifred narrows her eyes. “Well, yes, to the untrained eye, it is very similar to a Chinese twisted doughnut, but the Korean version is coated in sugar.”

“So is mahua. Sometimes.”

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