Page 9 of Vera Wong's Guide to Snooping (on a Dead Man)

VERA

So maybe it was a slight exaggeration when Vera told Millie that she has access to information that most people aren’t privy to. But what is life without a little exaggeration now and again? Or, as Vera likes to call it, a little razzle-dazzle.

The truth is, Vera has no idea where to even begin looking for Thomas. She looks down at her trusty notebook, in which she has jotted down everything Millie told her about Thomas. Apparently, his full name is Thomas Smith. Unfortunate, that, because when Vera did a search of “Thomas Smith” on the Google, it came up with about twelve million Thomas Smiths. His birth date is September 7, 2001. He is Chinese-Indonesian, but apparently his family has been in Indonesia for so many generations that he doesn’t speak Chinese. Not much to go on. Vera takes out her phone and enlarges the image of Thomas, zooming in on his face. He really is very good-looking. She tries googling “Thomas handsome San Francisco” and gets a whole lot of rubbish results. She scrolls through them, slowing down at the images of topless men, beforeher sensibilities get the better of her, then she slams down the phone and mutters, “What a waste of time.” Though that last Thomas with the six-pack was maybe worth a second look…

As Vera pries one side of the phone up for another guilty look, it rings. “Aiya!” She jumps, flipping the phone up into the air. She makes a frantic grab for it before it can crash to the floor and catches it just in time. She taps Answer and presses the phone to her ear. “Yes, hello, this is Vera Wong speaking!”

“Ma? You okay? You sound kinda out of breath.”

“Tilly. Yes, I’m okay, what silly question to ask.” Vera flaps a hand at her face, trying to cool it down. Of course the universe would have her son call right now. “Why you call?”

“Selena told me about the phone scam, and I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Oh, that.” Somehow, even though it happened only earlier this morning, it feels like much more time has passed.That’s what getting involved in a proper case does for you, Vera thinks smugly. Modulating her voice so it comes out flippant and casual, she says, “Silly boy, no need to worry, it was very small issue only.”

“Okay…” Tilly doesn’t sound convinced.

“Anything else? I am very busy, you know,” Vera says quickly, to stop him from asking her more questions.

“Uh, well, if you’re sure you’re okay. Oh, I also wanted to ask if you’re still up for feeding Chichi this weekend? I could just ask Oliver—”

“Aiya, of course I am still up for that. Mothers do everything for their children, especially Chinese mothers.” If Vera were completely and ruthlessly honest with herself, she might have admitted to feeling a frisson of excitement at this point, because being alone in Tilly and Selena’s house means snooping will be achieved.

Unfortunately for Vera, the rest of the day whizzes by with a steady stream of customers wanting this tea and that tea—both the drinking kind and the gossiping kind—and so she doesn’t have much time to do another search for Thomas—both Millie’s kind and the kind with washboard abs. At some point, Riki messages her with a sheepish apology for not telling her about siomay Bandung and she huffs, making a mental note to surprise him with the dish next Sunday.

•••

The next evening, which is a Tuesday, Vera goes to Tilly and Selena’s place after closing up the tea shop. She lets herself in, then calls out for Chichi. The cat slinks past her leg, and Vera pats it lightly on the back. “Are you lonely, dear?” she says, bustling to the kitchen and finding the stack of cat food and a few short instructions written in Tilly’s handwriting. She pours out a can of food for Chichi, then straightens up and looks around the house.

They’ve done a satisfactory job with the house. Some might even say an “amazing” job, but Vera is not one for overt praise. She can tell which were Tilly’s touches—the bookcase filled to the gills with thrillers and fantasy novels, the coffee table that is lovingly made out of repurposed crates, and the black-and-white photos adorning one wall of the living room. And the rest, well, the rest must be Selena’s. Vera strolls around the house, admiring Selena’s effect on the living space. The kitchen cabinets, which have glass doors, are filled with rows of mismatched cups and bowls. Though not a single one comes from the same set, the riot of colors somehow comes together to paint a beautiful picture. Vera smiles at that. Tilly used to live in a gray apartment with all-white plates and bowls. She likes this for him. The sofa is lined with colorfulcushions, all of them mismatched and yet, like the cups, they somehow work together, transforming the space into something warm and inviting. Then there are the houseplants. Selena has a green thumb. Who would’ve thought? The plants are everywhere, their vines snaking across Tilly’s books and around lampshades. Ah, Selena. What a catch. Vera thanks the ancestors for bringing such a wonderful lady into Tilly’s life. Then she prays to the ancestors to watch over Tilly and make sure he doesn’t do anything to mess this up.

A loud thump from the bedroom makes Vera jump. She whirls around, her arms up. “I know kung fu!” she shouts. She doesn’t. Slowly, Vera creeps toward the bedroom, her hands still in the stance she reckons is martial arts–esque.

Vera slinks her arms through the crack in the doorway and flaps them a little just to show whomever’s inside that she means business. When there is no reply, she peeps around the door. Chichi looks at her guiltily from the dresser. Well, as guiltily as a cat can look, which isn’t very.

“Aiya, Chichi. You nearly give me heart attack. Bad cat. Bad.” Vera hurries over to retrieve the fallen object. Her heart, which was racing just moments ago, stops. Because what’s fallen from the dresser is a briefcase, and it isn’t Tilly’s. She picks it up and puts it upright on the dresser. Then she shoos Chichi out of the bedroom, closing the door tightly behind her. Outside of the bedroom, Vera smiles. She is proud of herself. A lesser person might get curious. A lesser person might give in to their curiosity. A lesser person might start snooping. But that’s not Vera, is it? No, Vera is a pillar of her community, a respectable woman with a thriving, busy life of her own to live. She does not need to snoop. She is fulfilled, content, totally and utterly—

The door to the bedroom swings open. Vera stands in the doorway, casting a long shadow across the bedroom, breathing hard. “Aiya, to hell with it,” she says, and strides in, then grabs the briefcase with a firm hand. It’s locked. Yet another sign that she shouldn’t pry. But there is no stopping Vera now. Like a shark that’s scented blood in the water, all of her senses have left her, and she is operating through primal instinct alone. Without hesitation, she reaches into her hair and pulls out a hairpin. These silly built-in briefcase locks are so flimsy. If Selena did not want anyone breaking into it, then she should’ve invested in a padlock. The lock practically springs open at the barest touch of Vera’s hairpin, so can Vera be blamed for opening it? Okay, yes, in truth it took Vera nearly fifteen minutes of fiddling with the hairpin before she managed to get the briefcase open.

And then it’s wide open, like a yawning mouth, and Vera stares at the treasure trove in front of her. Swallowing, she takes out the folders and places them with reverence on the coffee table. There are three folders in total. Three murder cases. Vera bites her lower lip to keep from squealing with childlike excitement. She allows herself a mental squeak.Eee! So exciting!Taking a deep breath, she opens the first one. Oh dear.

It’s a sadly not uncommon case: domestic violence that ended fatally. Vera winces at the photos and closes the folder with a heavy heart. She’s relieved to know that the abusive husband was apprehended at the scene of the crime, but sadness weighs on her narrow shoulders at the thought of the poor woman. And poor Selena, having to go through crime scenes like this one and study all the details to give to the prosecutor. No wonder she is often so tense. Vera makes a mental note to brew Selena some chrysanthemum tea to help her relax.

She opens the next folder. An armed robbery. Ooh. She reads the reports with wide eyes, the scene unfolding in her mind’s eye. Three armed robbers had burst into, of all places, a hedge fund. Vera doesn’t know why a fund that deals with hedges is worth robbing, but she soldiers on. In the ensuing chaos, one of the employees was shot. The police arrived soon after, and a shoot-out occurred, during which one of the robbers was killed and the other two apprehended.

“Wah,” Vera says, shaking her head. “Terrible stuff. Awful.” She opens the third and last file eagerly.

A dead body had been fished out of the water at Mile Rock Beach a day ago. Age approximately between twenty to thirty-five, Asian American male, five foot ten, 175 pounds. A John Doe. Suspected suicide.

How young to have taken his own life. The sadness weighing on Vera’s shoulders presses down harder. She thinks back to last year, when she came across Riki, Sana, Oliver, and Julia. Before meeting them, she’d assumed that young people nowadays were making up problems when there weren’t any to be had. What could possibly plague them? They’re so lucky, what with the Internet and smartphones basically opening up the world like a fat oyster, glistening with nothing but endless possibilities? But the more she learned from the four youngsters, the more she realized that though they are armed with new technology, their burdens are equally as deep as hers, if not worse. They live in a world full of unchecked capitalism that requires them to move at breakneck speed or threatens to leave them behind. So now, Vera is more attuned to the needs of the younger generation. She wishes she’d met this mysterious John Doe (what a name, she thinks, very spy-esque, like James Bond) so she could’ve stuffed him full of homemade food and well-meaning unsolicited advice.

Sighing, Vera turns the page. And freezes. Because there, in front of her, are photos of John. And he isn’t John at all but Millie’s missing friend Thomas.

•••

The next two days plod along with excruciating slowness. Having taken photos of Thomas’s file, Vera returns the folders to Selena’s briefcase, locks it, and places it back on the dresser. Selena really should think of a new hiding spot if she really doesn’t want people to find this stuff. Then, Vera walks home with a troubled mind, torn between wanting to update Millie on what she has found and also not wanting to be the bearer of bad news. Still, she assures herself, there is no one better to receive bad news from. Coming from Vera, there is also added reassurance that it will be accompanied by a hot meal to stave off the sharp edges of sorrow.

But then Vera remembers that Millie hadn’t actually given her a contact number or any other way to get in touch with her. “Aiya!” How could Vera have missed such an obvious detail? “I’ll be back,” Millie had said, and like a complete fool, Vera had nodded and waved goodbye. Some sort of detective she is.

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