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Is it just Sana’s imagination or is there a cunning glint in Vera’s eyes? She’s getting the sense that there’s something very much unsaid behind Vera’s words, but Sana isn’t quite sure what it is. Whatever it is, she needs to tread carefully. “I don’t... know one way or another,” she says, picking every word with care, “but I do think that there might be a story there.”
Vera leans back, her eyebrows arched at an alarming angle. “Mm,” she says, stroking her chin. It seems to Sana that Vera is greatly enjoying this, though she doesn’t quite understand why. “The boy that’s in here before you, he is from the Buzzfeed. He also thinks there is good story here.”
Buzzfeed? Why would Buzzfeed be interested in Marshall’s death? Do they have a true crime section? No, that’s so far off from their brand.
“I wonder why so many people are thinking this is good story,” Vera muses.
“Can you tell me everything you know about the man who died here?” Sana urges. The more Vera goes off track and starts musing out loud, the more on edge Sana becomes, convinced that the old woman knows something. Knows that Sana is hidingsomething. But she also senses that Vera herself is unwilling to part with some vital information.
“Well, I find him in the morning, on my way out.”
“How long had he been here by the time you found him? What time was it that you found him?”
“Before five a.m. I wake up early every morning. What time you wake up every morning?” Vera’s eyes narrow in anticipation of Sana’s answer.
“Um, early. So he came in here between... what time and five a.m.?”
“Well, I go up to my apartment early, maybe at four p.m. I am awake until eight p.m., maybe nine. He must have come in here sometime after that, otherwise I would have heard.”
Heat courses through Sana’s veins. Eight or nine p.m. That would be only a few short hours since she last saw him. The fear becomes so sickening that she nearly throws up then and there. She forces herself to take another sip of the hot tea. “And was he—what was the body like? Did you see his expression?”
Vera’s face turns somber. “Oh yes. Very unhappy. Very shock, so much horror in it.”
The fear becomes nearly overwhelming. He’d been in shock, horrified. Can she blame him? A huge tidal wave of self-hatred washes over Sana. Marshall had been a fucking asshole, there can be no denying that, but she hadn’t meant to—
“That is why,” Vera says, leaning forward conspiratorially, “I myself believe he is murdered.”
She says this so simply that it takes a while for the words to sink in. And when they do, Sana suddenly finds it hard to breathe. She knows. Vera knows.
Vera’s eyes travel from Sana’s face to Sana’s hands, and her expression morphs into a frown. “Oh my dear, your nails are so bad.”
“What?” Sana glances down and spots her nails, chewed down to the quick. Horrified, she balls her hands into fists, but why bother? It’s too late. Vera’s seen her nails. Is she putting two and two together, even now? Vera strikes Sana as someone who doesn’t miss much.
But then Vera suddenly says, “Who’s that?” and stands up so quickly that the wooden chair she’s been sitting in clatters to the floor, making them both jump in fright.
Heart halfway up her throat, Sana turns around and sees a Caucasian woman, carrying a small child, peering in through the cloudy shop windows. Vera is already striding toward the door, but before she gets there, the woman turns and walks swiftly away.
“Hey!” Vera calls out. “Come back! I see you!”
Sana runs to the doorway and looks at the woman’s hastily retreating back. Even with the toddler in her arms, the woman is surprisingly fast. Already she’s almost at the end of the block. Sana wants to run after her, but that would look suspicious, and she can’t afford to raise anyone’s suspicions. Not after what happened between her and Marshall.
Vera, who has no such compunctions, is already trotting after the woman.This is my chance, Sana thinks, and steps back inside the teahouse. She looks around, first at the gruesome outline of the dead body, then at the numerous drawers and cabinets. She’s not even sure what she’ll find here, not sure what in the world she’s even looking for, just that maybe Marshall might have left something that could vindicate her. She walks to the impressive wall of drawers behind the counter and takes a deep breath beforeopening one of them. A plume of dust puffs out, making her cough. Inside is some strange-looking root, all gray and shriveled.
“It’s cordyceps.”
Sana jumps and slams the drawer shut. Vera is back, slightly out of breath after chasing the woman. Her eyes are sharp, but her expression is one of open curiosity instead of disapproval, despite catching Sana snooping.
“Sorry!” Sana says. “I was just so curious.”
“Nothing wrong with a little curiosity,” Vera says. Then she adds, with that little glint in her eyes, “Although you know what they say about curiosity and cat.”
After that, Sana can’t leave quite fast enough. She hastily gives Vera her number in case Vera thinks of something, then hurries out of the shop, walking down the block and turning a corner before she bursts into tears.
SEVEN
VERA
No one can say that Vera is boastful. No, Vera is many things, but boastful is not one of them. And yet, even she has to admit that her first day of investigating has exceeded all expectations. And as a Chinese mother, Vera has had years of practice at harboring unrealistic expectations. Truly, even the police would be forced to admit that she’s very nearly solved their case for them. It’s not even time for her afternoon tea yet, and already she has three whole suspects.Superb work, Vera, simply marvelous, she tells herself, as she brews a pot of jujubes and goji berries tea.