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, if it 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.”
“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 already she’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 know the 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, her voice 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 Batonnets de pate frits? Right away.”
Lucky for that Winifred, Vera has no time to correct her faux French names. She practically snatches the bag of pastries from Winifred and marches out of the bakery with her chin up high. As usual, she places a quick curse on the Café as she walks past it. At this time of day, San Francisco has woken up, and the streets are filled with honking cars and the sidewalks with students and office workers rushing, coffee cup in one hand and phone in the other. Not a single one thinks to stop and ask if Vera needs any help. Young people nowadays. But maybe it’s not all their fault. Vera has excellent skin, after all, so maybe they are mistaking her for a spry forty-year-old. Or maybe , a small voice pipes up in the back of her mind, sixty just isn’t that old. Vera mentally swats that voice away. She enjoys being old. Many people across many Asian cultures do, because being seen as old is considered very respectful. Ever since Vera turned fifty, she has been telling Tilly that she is “ancient” and will “die any day now,” and it worked wonders getting him to do chores around the house. So, if she wants to be regarded as a venerable old lady, then she will be regarded as a venerable old lady, damn it.
Outside of the police station, a girl catches Vera’s attention, because unlike everyone else in the city, this girl doesn’t seem to be in a hurry. In fact, she seems to be rather at a loss, standing outside of the double doors and gazing up with wide, scared eyes at the sign that says, San Francisco Police Department . She chews on her thumbnail and hugs herself with her other arm. Vera’s maternal instinct picks her out right away as a vulnerable person (almost as vulnerable as Vera the old lady).
“Why you just standing there?” Vera says kindly to the girl. “You coming in or not?”
The girl’s head whips around and her fearful gaze locks on Vera. Her mouth drops open. “Uh, I—”
“I am about to see my daughter-in-law in there. She is police officer, you know,” Vera says with pride. “Come, you talk to her too, she will listen.”
“Oh, that’s not—it’s okay, thanks,” the girl cries, and hurries off.
She is very obviously not okay, but Vera is carrying way too many bags of food to hurry after her. Plus, she has resolved not to meddle so much this year. With one last look at the girl’s retreating back, Vera turns and walks into the police station.
Making the police report turns out to be a lot more painless than Vera had expected, though the expediency of the process might have to do with Selena’s help.
“Honestly, Selena,” Vera says, “you doing things so fast, people might think is because you don’t want me hanging around here.”
Selena laughs weakly as she types into her computer. “Now, why would anyone ever think that?”
“I don’t know, I am a treat.”
“Yes, you are,” Selena says dryly.
“Well, your food definitely is, Auntie V,” a burly police officer calls out, his mouth full of noodles.
Vera simpers, then turns to Selena and says, “You better take some food first before all these people eat them up.”
Selena sighs. “I just want to make sure that we take care of this ASAP.”
The seriousness in Selena’s voice makes Vera’s stomach curdle. “Is it bad, what happen to me? Will I lose all my saving?”
Selena’s mouth thins. “No, not if I can help it. We’ve checked with your bank to make sure there hasn’t actually been a charge made to your credit card, and we’ve blocked the card, so as far as we know, your money is safe. And now I’m putting it into the system that your identity has been compromised, and this will help safeguard you for the future.”
Vera scrambles to follow all of this. Ugh, if there is one thing she hates more than anything, it’s feeling small and helpless. She only likes acting like a helpless little old lady; she doesn’t actually like being one, for goodness’ sake.
“In short, everything will be okay,” Selena says, as though she’s realized that Vera is struggling to understand everything she just said. She reaches out and places a gentle hand on Vera’s arm. “You’ll be fine.”
Vera puts her hand over Selena’s. “You are such good xifu. If only Jinlong were here to see you. He will be so happy. He will say, ‘Wah, son, you get such a pretty girlfriend!’?”
Selena laughs. “Everything Tilly’s told me about his dad has been so sweet. I wish I could’ve met him. Speaking of Tilly, we’re taking a weekend trip to Tahoe, and—”
“You need me to come and feed Chichi,” Vera finishes. “Say no more. I will do it.”
Selena smiles. “Thanks, Vera. Tilly wanted to ask Oliver, but…”
“Oliver!” Vera cries. “What he knows about feeding cats?” To be fair, a small voice in her head whispers, It’s not exactly rocket science, but still. The thought of them asking someone else instead of her to do this is offensive. Vera needs to set a precedent to be the one they turn to when they need someone to take over, whether it be cat sitting or babysitting. “I will do this. I feed the heck out of Chichi.”
“Okay. Thank you.” Selena hits a key on her keyboard and leans back. “There you go. All done. And, Vera, take note, because of what happened, scammers will know you are vulnerable. Expect more scam calls to your number. They’ll come in various forms. They’ll pretend to be from your long-lost family or even from the police. They’ll tell you that you broke some traffic law or something and you’re overdue on your fines, and you must pay up or face prison time…”
“What?” Vera snaps. “This is…” She is about to wail about how awful all of this sounds when it hits her that, actually, it isn’t. Because, what could be better than picking up the phone and telling off a few scammers? Oho, she’ll give them a piece of her mind. First, she will tell them that their ancestors are very disappointed in them. Then she will launch into a tirade about young people nowadays. Finally, she will ask if they have eaten, and if not, she will impart some recipe and tell them to go cook themselves a nice meal and ponder their life choices. This is her chance to make a real difference in the world. “Okay,” she says finally. “I understand.”
Selena narrows her eyes. “Vera,” she says in a warning tone, “when you get another scam call, the right thing to do would be to put down the phone. Not give them life advice or offer them food. Okay?”
Aiya, how did Selena guess what Vera had been thinking? Ah, her police instincts. My word , Vera thinks, Selena is going to make an excellent mom. She’s almost as good as a Chinese mom at sniffing out the truth. “Of course I know that,” Vera says, then busies herself with getting up and calling out, “Eh, you all stop eating my food! I cook for my daughter-in—ah, for my Selena, and you all finishing it up!”
Guilty faces look up, most of them chewing, and then look away. Vera walks over to the food containers where, sure enough, there is none left for Selena. “Aiya!”
“Sorry, Auntie V,” someone says.
Vera harrumphs.
“It’s okay, Vera,” Selena says. “I’ve had breakfast anyway.”
Still, Vera shoots the other officers dirty looks as she packs up her containers. “Next time, I make sure to leave some aside for you,” she says to Selena.
“Okay. I’ll see you later, Vera.”
As Vera goes down the elevator, she realizes that her chest is no longer as tight as it was when she’d arrived. Thank goodness for Selena. Still, when Vera thinks of her credit card, she feels exposed, as though someone had found out her deep, dark secret. Not that she has any deep, dark secrets. She is a respectable Chinese mother, after all. No deep, dark secrets to be found here, no sir. She’s making a mental note to drop by her bank to have them issue her a new credit card when, while exiting the building, she nearly bumps into the same girl she’d noticed while walking in. The girl’s mouth drops open, but she doesn’t say anything. Anxiety is plainly written across her face.
I mustn’t meddle. I don’t do that anymore , Vera thinks. Whatever is bothering this girl, she’s clearly got the right idea, coming to the police station. She knows what she’s doing. I will mind my own business and walk away. She turns away and starts walking.
To give Vera some credit, she actually manages to walk three whole steps before she swings around, her face set in a determined expression. The girl shrinks back as Vera marches toward her. Vera’s expression softens when she gets to the girl. She pats the girl lightly on the shoulder and says, “Come. We will have tea.”