Page 3 of Vera Wong's Guide to Snooping (on a Dead Man)

“Oh yeah, totally,” Oliver agrees.

Vera beams at them. Her little ragtag family. Sometimes, she can’t believe how lucky she is, to have found this wonderful group of people. Sometimes, she wonders if she’s dreamed them up, if she will one day wake up to find herself alone once more. The thought is so painful that she always shakes her head when she thinks of it, as though to shake it off.

Life couldn’t be better. She is surrounded by a loving family, and her tea shop has a steady stream of customers. Vera should be content. And she is, really. But she’s also kind of—dare she say it—bored.

Sometimes, all an old lady wants is a murder to solve. Is that too much to ask for?

Two

VERA

Vera should have known better than to wish for a murder to solve. Because of course the universe wasn’t ever going to do what she asked it to. When has it ever? And anyway, she isn’t the kind of awful person who would wish death upon a stranger just so she could solve it. Well, maybe she is, but only if said stranger was a horrible person like Marshall Chen, may he rest in peace.

But no, the universe did not grant her wish. What it did do was give her a knockoff, kind of like ordering something from Wish. Here’s what actually did end up happening:

On Friday morning, Vera is just returning from her morning walk when she hears her phone ringing. To have someone call her so early in the morning must mean there’s urgent news. Vera hurries back into the house, locates her cell phone, and answers the call with “Who is it? Who died?”

There is a slight pause, then the person on the other end of the line says, “Um, is this Miss Vera Wong?”

“Yes, who are you?”

“Miss Wong, I’m from the Bank of San Francisco. Can you please confirm your credit card number with us is 4257-6329-6990-3467?”

Vera falters. She’s too ashamed to admit that she does not actually know her credit card account number by heart. “Wait,” she says shortly to the caller before scuttling to her bedside table, where she takes out her notebook, where she’s jotted down every important number, including her bank account and credit card details. Tilly has repeatedly told her that this is incredibly unsafe, but what else is Vera going to rely on if not her trusty notebook? She flips through it, squints at the numbers, and recites them into the phone.

“Thank you. I’m calling to confirm the charge of four thousand dollars made to your credit card this morning.”

“WHAT?” Vera squawks. When she was young, Vera had tried for a bit to be the kind of girl that squeals instead of squawks. But now that she is in her sixties, she’s given up trying to remove the squawk. The squawk is here to stay, she might as well embrace it. And she does. The one she emits now is particularly impressive, conveying shock, rage, and fear all at once.

To give the bank teller some credit, he doesn’t react to Vera’s squawk. Merely says, “Yes, ma’am, at five thirty-seven a.m. there was a charge made on Target.com for the amount of four thousand, two hundred, and fifty-eight dollars on your credit card. As part of our security, we like to double-check that you are aware of this transaction.”

“No!” Vera squawks again. She clears her throat. “No, it was not me. Not me! Block it. Cancel the card!”

Another short pause, then the teller says, “Ma’am, are you saying that your card was stolen?”

“No.” Well, was it? Vera rushes out into the living room, where she finds her handbag and rummages through it for her wallet. Sweat trickles down the small of her back. Her scalp itches, and she wishes she could scratch it, but she must find her credit card quickly. She feels sure there is something lodged in her throat, preventing her from breathing. Oh, right, it’s her heart. After what seems like ages, Vera finally locates her wallet. Her hands are trembling so badly that it takes a couple of tries before she gets it open. She slides out her credit card and breathes a huge sigh of relief, then feels silly for being relieved, because what does it matter if her credit card is physically here, given that someone’s managed to use it virtually anyway? “I have it with me,” she says.

“I see. Then I think what’s most likely happened is that someone managed to clone your card—”

“Clone?” Images of her poor little credit card floating in a tube in some nefarious lab alongside several other tubes filled with identical credit cards cross Vera’s mind. Is that how they clone things, including credit cards?

“It’s just a way of saying someone got hold of your credit card details. Ma’am, I will try to block this transaction, and in the meantime, I will connect you to the police to report this incident. Is that okay?”

Relief surges through Vera. She sags onto the couch. “So, you going to block it? I won’t lose four thousand dollars?” She blinks away the tears that have been threatening to fall without her realizing it.

“I should be able to block it. Don’t worry, ma’am. This happens a lot.”

“Does it?” Vera’s chest puffs out. Now that the immediate fear of losing so much money is past, indignation floods her. “Well, ifit happen a lot, then you people should fix it. Is a problem, you know! Oh, I just feel so unsafe, I better change bank.”

If the teller is taken aback by this sudden switch from helpless old lady to annoyed warrior, he doesn’t show it. “I apologize for the inconvenience, ma’am. I’ll transfer you right now. Please hold.”

Vera fumes quietly for the next few moments. By the time the line is picked up by a gruff voice saying, “Inspector Kevin Pan speaking,” she is ready with her tirade.

“I just get scam!” Vera crows into the phone. “You need to solve this, you catch the no-good bad guy who did it, and you tell him, ‘How dare you scam elderly folk?’ We are the most vulnerable people in society, we should be—”

“Uh…ma’am, can you—let’s start from the beginning. Please state your name and date of birth.” Vera tells him, and he says, “Sixty-one years old. That’s hardly elderly, ma’am.”

Vera sniffs. “Oh, is very old. Any day now I will die, which is why I always say to my family to treat me well.”

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