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“You sound very healthy to me. Um, right, I will need to know a few more details, in addition to a photo of your ID, and you’ll be all set. The report will be filed and—”
“And you catch this bad guy?”
“We will catch whoever was behind this.”
Vera nods happily and rattles off the answers to Inspector Pan’s questions, including, strangely enough, her social security number. After they end the call, she takes a picture of her ID and sends it to the email address the inspector gave her, and he replies less than a minute later, confirming receipt and telling her he is on the case. Only after that does Vera let out a huge sigh. She glances at the clock. Oh my, not even seven in the morning, and alreadyshe’s had quite the adventure. Still, she supposes, she was the one who had asked the universe for some excitement.
“Not the kind of excitement I ask for,” she says out loud, in case the universe is still listening. “I ask for murder, not credit card scam. Murder is exciting, credit card scam is scary and very stressful. You trying to drive me early to my grave?”
After a while, Vera, who is not one to dwell, gets up and sets about making herself some breakfast. While slurping up her congee, she shoots off another email to Inspector Pan, asking if he’s made any leads yet, since it has been at least twenty minutes since she made her report, but to her surprise, she immediately gets a response: “This email address does not exist.”
Vera stares at her phone, then she tries sending another email. Again, she is told that Inspector Pan’s email address does not exist. Frustration bubbles inside her. Why is it that technology seems to always be fighting her? She tries so hard to keep abreast of all of modern tech; she’s even got the Threads app, for goodness’ sake. Huffing, Vera calls Selena instead.
“Morning, Vera,” Selena says in a tone of voice that can only be described as long-suffering but good-natured. Exactly how a xifu should sound. “How’s it going?”
“Hi, Selena, you have good sleep? Sometime Tilly snore, I know. All you need to do is poke him on the left side of his lower back, just a small poke, not to wake him, you know, but it work wonders.”
“Vera,” Selena sighs. Then she pauses and says, “Actually, I will try that, thank you.”
“You are welcome,” Vera says, pleased at her contribution.
“You didn’t call just to tell me that, did you?”
“No, of course not. I have important business. I need to knowthe email—or, better yet, I need to know phone number of your colleague, Inspector Pan.”
“Who?”
“Kevin Pan. Aiya, Selena, you really should socialize more, not just hole up in your office solving murder.”
“Solving murder’s my job. Hang on, let me look him up.” There is a series of clacking keys as Selena types, then she says, “Nope, he’s not on our roster. Are you sure he’s from this precinct?” Then she suddenly adds, “Wait, why do you need to speak to an officer? Whatever it is—god, I’m gonna regret this, aren’t I?—whatever it is, Vera, you can talk to me. I’m also an officer.”
“Yes, you a good girl, a good officer,” Vera says placatingly, “but you are not my case officer.”
“Uh-oh. What case would this be?”
And so Vera fills Selena in on the credit card fraud incident. But instead of applauding Vera for acting quickly and getting her report in with such efficiency, Selena draws in a breath in an unhappy hiss. “Vera,” she says, and now her voice has lost all traces of good humor and turned very serious. “Tell me you didn’t send this guy photos of your ID and your social security.”
“Well, I—” Vera falters. She’d been so calm, so confident, just moments ago, but now that fear is back, clutching at her chest, tightening her rib cage around her lungs and making it hard to breathe. “I did. He say I need to do that to make police report…”
“Oh, Vera,” Selena sighs. “The police would never ask you to make a report over the phone, never mind send your personal, private details over email.”
“Is it bad?” Vera says, and her voice comes out small and unsure, like Emma’s does sometimes.
“Yes, it’s—” Selena stops abruptly. When she speaks again, hervoice is more level. “How about you just drop by the precinct now, and I’ll help you file a proper report, okay? And Vera? Don’t be scared; it’s going to be okay. We’ll get this fixed.”
“I’m not scared,” Vera snaps, but the snap has very little snap to it. In fact, it comes out more like a whine than a snap.
“Okay, good. Nothing to be scared of. I’ll see you in a bit, Vera.” With that, Selena hangs up.
Vera looks at the phone and mutters, “Aiya.” She looks up at the universe—or rather, the ceiling. “Are you happy now?”
•••
No matter how frantic and stressed out and scared Vera might feel, she still can’t bring herself to drop by the precinct without bringing some food. What would people think? She’s visited Selena plenty of times to make sure her future xifu has a nutritious lunch to eat, and the other officers have taken to calling Vera “Auntie V,” which sounds rather badass, if Vera says so herself. And she always took care to bring extra food for everyone. Unfortunately, she has no time to rustle up a slow-cooked pork rib soup, so she whips up a quick fried noodle dish with an assortment of seafood, followed by three-cup chicken, and packs it up in large containers. It’s hardly a feast, so on her way to the station, Vera swallows her pride and steps inside Winifred’s bakery.
“Five egg tarts, five pork floss buns, and two youtiao,” she says curtly to Winifred.
“You mean Bâtonnets de pâte frits? Right away.”