Aunty Lee's Delights (17 page)

“You triggered the search,” Aunty Lee said to Carla Saito. “That made all the difference.”

“No, it didn’t,” Carla said bitterly. “At least to Marianne it makes no difference at all.”

11

Meal Planning

“Ma’am. It is wrong.”

“What are you talking about, Nina?”

“She said the way they love each other, like husband and wife . . . That is wrong—right?” Nina said.

The problem with people, Aunty Lee thought, was that you never knew what was going to surface when you stirred a stick in the mud. Of course, some people thought the best solution was to leave aside the stick and enjoy a calm surface. Most of the time Aunty Lee agreed with this. Even the best stock left some questionable debris settled at the bottom of the pot. But then even the best stockpots needed a thorough scrubbing out regularly. The key, of course, was knowing when to let settle and when to scrub.

“What is wrong to you may not be wrong to them,” Aunty Lee pointed out.

“But if everybody thinks like them, then there will be no more babies, then what will happen?”

“I didn’t have babies. Do you think I’m wrong too?”

This was not the answer Nina had expected. But this issue was too grounded in her core beliefs to be surrendered so easily.

“Ma’am, that is different. You got married. So if it is God’s will, He will send you babies to bless you. People like them, they don’t even want to get married. That is wrong.”

Aunty Lee thought Carla Saito and Marianne Peters would very likely have married—and had a happy marriage—if they could have done so. Things were changing. They just had not changed fast enough for Marianne Peters. That, however, was not the issue inside Nina’s head. But what went on between Marianne and Carla was no more Nina’s business than Nina’s beliefs were Aunty Lee’s. She had heard Nina’s attitude before, though expressed by other people and directed at other targets. The “desperate decency of the respectable poor” held true at all levels.

“We are going to close the shop for a while. One week, at least. I want you to e-mail all the people on the mailing list and tell them. And phone everybody who left orders with us. Tell them we’re very sorry, but we’re going to be closed for—better say two weeks.”

“Ma’am! We cannot do that!” Nina forgot her philosophical problems with lesbians, given this practical dilemma. “Don’t close the shop! What will people say? If you don’t feel well, then I will prepare for them the orders—and I will look after you, of course, ma’am. But you cannot close the shop!” To Nina, who had been helping Aunty Lee since the establishment of Aunty Lee’s Delights and who knew how quickly a business could fail, this was madness.

“Nonsense. Nobody is going to starve to death if we close the shop for a few days. And we’re going to be very busy. First we are going to make two big yam cakes for the Peterses. Even if they don’t feel like it, they should eat, and they are going to be getting visitors over. And tell them that if they let us know when they are arranging the wake and service for Marianne, we will provide all the food. At such a time they shouldn’t have to think about food, but people still have got to eat.

“Then,” she continued, “we are going to get in touch with the people from the last wine dining and tell them that since they cannot leave Singapore yet, they can come to our place to eat . . . say between eleven a.m. and three p.m. every day. Then they can come for a late breakfast and lunch, and, if they want, take something away for tea and dinner.”

“But why, ma’am?” Nina had whipped out her iPad and was already entering notes to herself even as she objected. “It is sad but it is nothing to do with us. Better we just help Aunty and Uncle Peters at their house. I can make for them one big pot of curry; anytime they are hungry, they can eat with rice or bread or naan.”

Aunty Lee nodded at the food suggestion but said, “It is our business. Marianne and Laura had nothing to do with each other until the wine dining business. And that phone of Laura’s was left outside my shop. Whether or not these people had something to do with what happened, they are part of this business now and they have to eat!”

The Peters family accepted Aunty Lee’s offer and curry gratefully. Mycroft Peters brought over a note from his mother saying how touched she was.

“And she said we probably have enough plates and glasses and things. But if possible, you should bring your own helpers because the blasted maid has disappeared.”

“Komal?” Aunty Lee remembered the small dark girl who had been with the Peters family for several years. “Did you make a report?”

“No. Not yet. The same day we got the news about my sister, she just took off. Father said she might have been scared by the police or superstitious about Marianne. Anyway, he said no point doing anything about it now, she may turn up in a couple of days. Until then we can manage on our own. Cherril is helping Mother take care of things.”

“If we can be of any help . . . I could send Nina over. Here she has only got one old woman to look after.”

“Thank you. I will let Mother know. Anyway, I should be getting back. The police are at our place looking through Marianne’s things. They seem to think she may have been seeing somebody without us knowing. We told them it was impossible, but I suppose they have to follow procedure. I think Mother asked me to bring her note over to get me out of the house in case I lost my temper with them and got arrested.”

Aunty Lee looked thoughtful. “You used to have a temper. As a small boy.”

“I suspect my mother thinks nothing has changed.”

“And you?”

Mycroft paused. “I think Cherril has been good for me,” he said, surprising Aunty Lee. “When I flare up about something and she doesn’t understand why, she makes me explain it to her. In detail. Over and over until she understands why I’m angry. And by then I understand why I’m angry and somehow I’m not angry anymore.”

Aunty Lee smiled to herself. Cherril Lim-Peters was smarter than she looked.

After Mycroft left, she told Nina, “I wish we could find that girl somehow.”

“Do you think something happened to her too, ma’am?”

“I don’t know. But I would like to make sure she is all right. Too many people are disappearing.”

“Like her boss say maybe she is just scared by the police, so she run away? Where some people come from, the police are not like in Singapore.”

Aunty Lee knew that was true. Sadly, she suspected Singapore police were not like their HD-TV American crime-solving colleagues. They were human beings without any supernatural or extrasensory abilities and they got tired and made mistakes. It was a good thing for all concerned, then, that Aunty Lee, whose investigative skills were ultradeveloped from years of being
kaypoh
and who, being truly
kiasu
, never stopped just because she was tired, was coming into the game.

How Commissioner Raja had wished he was out of the game the day before. He and his wife had been friends with Professor Reginald and Mrs. Anne Peters for years. His children had been in school with theirs and he had known Marianne as a determined toddler, a Rollerblading tomboy, and the slightly chubby and sullen but still attractive young woman she had grown up into. Privately he had still thought her a child . . . and figured that once she found something or someone she was passionate about, she would surely shake off her malaise. But as it turned out, she had not lived long enough for that to happen.

Commissioner Raja knew there was nothing he could say to help her bereaved parents at this time. Even if they managed to find out who had brutally murdered their daughter, neither justice nor vengeance would bring Marianne back. But still, he had personally driven out to their house to deliver the news of her death. He felt it was the least he could do.

After the death of his wife, he and the Peters family had drifted apart somewhat, and seeing them again, he had been shocked by how much they had aged. When Professor Reginald Peters, chief and senior consultant of the department of cardiac, thoracic, and vascular surgery at the Yong Loo Lin School of Medicine, greeted him at the door, he looked at least twenty years older than when they last met two months back. He was gaunt, and tension from the self-control that kept him functioning had taken its toll. Suddenly he looked like an old man, slumped over and weak-looking, as though life had dealt him physical blows that left him barely able to stand. And his wife? Commissioner Raja had meant to build up to his news, but one look at his old friend told him he was wasting his time; the man already knew.

“No—” whispered Professor Peters.

“I’m sorry,” said Commissioner Raja.

Professor Peters wept like a child, standing frozen and wailing, “No . . . no . . . no,” out of a slack mouth without trying to wipe away his tears.

“Can you tell us anything more?” Anne Peters asked.

Commissioner Raja did not understand immediately what Mrs. Peters meant. Was she asking for an update on their investigation?

Anne Peters had been a beauty in her youth and had grown even more classically beautiful in her mature years. The shock and strain of Marianne’s disappearance had left her looking brittle and frail, but she was still clearly in charge of herself and her home. Usually Commissioner Raja saw more beauty in large women. His late wife had been such a woman: large body, large heart, full lips, and generous with love and laughter. Even so many years after her death, Commissioner Raja compared all the women he met to her, and found each and every one of them lacking. But here, in Anne Peters, was pure Indian beauty of a different kind—high cheekbones, big sorrowful eyes, and slender, willowy strength. She smelled of fresh flowers he could not identify. Cologne? Soap? If she wore makeup, it was too discreetly applied to be noticed. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. And at the moment she was watching Commissioner Raja as though his words were her only lifeline.

“Did my daughter suffer much?” she asked in a steady voice.

At this point in the investigation, Commissioner Raja had no idea. But he knew that however terrible Marianne Peters’s earthly sufferings might have been, they were over now. Those of her family were only just beginning.

“No,” he lied, trying to convince himself as much as her.

Anne Peters nodded. He saw she did not believe him. He also knew that he had given her the answer she wanted her husband to hear. It was for him that she had asked the question.

When Commissioner Raja phoned earlier to prepare them for his visit, his old friend had asked, “Is it Marianne?” Commissioner Raja said only that he would be there within half an hour. He was not trying to drag out the anguish, but in addition to the news of Marianne’s death, he had questions he wanted to ask. Chief among them: Why hadn’t they reported their daughter missing during the two weeks between her disappearance and the discovery of her body? Hadn’t they suspected something was wrong when they hadn’t heard from her for so long?

“Obviously somebody attacked her on the way to join her friends,” Professor Peters said. “That’s clearly what happened—she never managed to join them. I don’t know why you are here asking us questions. You should go and question her friends, find out where they were supposed to meet up, why they never called when she didn’t show up!”

“We had a bit of a disagreement just before Marianne left,” Anne Peters interjected in a voice that sounded gentle and cultivated even in despair. “We thought she was punishing us by not getting in touch. We thought the best thing to do was leave her alone to get over the fight.”

Commissioner Raja recognized Aunty Lee’s maid when she came in wheeling a wire shopping cart packed full of supplies. Of course, even if he didn’t recognize her, he might have identified her by the Aunty Lee’s Delights T-shirt she was wearing. The bulging
tingkats
and plastic bags she was toting obviously contained enough to keep the Peters family going for some time. He had not thought he could be hungry at such a time, but the smell of hot oily cumin and chicken suddenly reminded him that he had missed lunch.

“You know Rosie?” Anne Peters asked. “M.L.’s wife. She lives just up the road. She’s been such a great help to us.”

“Of course I know Aunty Lee—” Referring to her as “Aunty” was to show that he was familiar with her business rather than out of respect for her age. He and Aunty Lee were actually contemporaries; Commissioner Raja’s father had been a friend of the late M. L. Lee and had been one of those who’d initially been wary of him marrying this much younger woman. A fair man, he had later changed his mind. “She’s helped me a couple of times too. I must tell my father she’s still cooking.”

Commissioner Raja recalled the case of the Nigerian gang that had tried to pull a scam using Mainland Chinese girls for cover in the early days of the Integrated Resorts Casino. Aunty Lee had picked them out as con artists immediately—she said it was because of their eating habits. Their greed at the buffet, taking far more than anyone could possibly eat just because they could, marked the women as unfamiliar with the lifestyle they were assuming. She had mentioned it to her husband, who had mentioned it to Raja, who had then been head of the Casino Regulatory Authority.