Fortune Cookie (Culinary Mystery) (6 page)

“I get what baby dragons represent. What does the ball represent?”

Pete gave her a half smile and pulled open the door for her. “Because men rule the world, of course.”

Sadie gave him an unimpressed look as she walked past him through the doorway. “And apparently design all the dragon statues.”

Pete laughed and stepped in behind her. The fluorescent lighting buzzed overhead and made the inside of the restaurant brighter than the sky outside. Sadie had to blink a few times before her eyes adjusted. The white-walled restaurant was small—only ten tables sat close together, each with four chairs. Two Chinese men occupied one table, drinking coffee out of teacups and reading newspapers.

There was an artificial ficus tree in one corner that even from this distance Sadie could see was coated with dust, which was likely locked onto the plastic leaves by the cooking grease from the kitchen behind the red door on the far wall. Near the front door was a glass case upon which sat the cash register and what looked like a small Buddhist shrine—Sadie had seen a similar display at the nail salon where she got pedicures in Garrison.

Brightly colored Chinese lanterns hung from the ceiling but the strands weren’t spaced properly and therefore didn’t create the eye-pleasing pattern Sadie thought they should. The floor was faded black-and-white checkered linoleum and the chrome-legged Formica tables were likely original to whenever this establishment had been opened. Sadie hadn’t been expecting anything fancy, but this wasn’t anything like the restaurants she usually went to. However, it smelled wonderful and Sadie was suddenly hungry.

“Hole-in-the-wall places like this always have the best food,” Pete said, barely containing his excitement as he took everything in.

Sadie agreed but couldn’t come up with any good reason not to spruce things up a little. A restaurant didn’t
have
to look run down to be good, did it? She’d been to plenty of restaurants that had amazing food
and
nice décor.

“Two?”

Sadie saw a small Chinese woman dressed in black slacks and an oversized black T-shirt coming toward them. Sadie smiled politely, noting the woman’s porcelain skin, big brown eyes, and rosebud mouth. Her sleek black hair was pulled into a bun on the top of her head and shone beneath the too-bright lights. Sadie guessed she was in her early thirties, more from her commanding and confident attitude than from her actual looks that disguised her age. She was beautiful, and Sadie wondered if this were Ji’s wife. Maybe she ran the front portion of their restaurant.

“Yes,” Pete answered, since Sadie was so deeply entrenched in her study of this woman.

The woman nodded and waved them toward the table farthest away from the two men, who had yet to speak to one another. After they were seated, the woman set down two plastic-covered menus and then left without saying a word. Pete took his reading glasses out of the front pocket of his shirt and put them on to peruse the menu.

“Mmm, they have cheong fun.”

Sadie didn’t recognize many items on the menu. “Is cheong fun good?”

Pete looked up at her over his glasses. “Did Sadie Hoffmiller just ask me a question regarding culinary quality?”

Sadie gave him a bemused smile. “I’m afraid my experience with Chinese food is inferior to most of my culinary genius—I like beef and broccoli and fried rice, but I’ve never had anything this . . . authentic.” She left out that things like chicken feet and bird’s nest soup had encouraged her to keep a bit of a distance from traditional Chinese foods. Jack had gone to China once on business; he said most of the food he ate consisted of unidentifiable meat-stuffs dipped in gray broth. They didn’t even have much rice. Sadie had at that point checked China off of her list of places she wanted to visit since food was one of the most motivating factors when choosing a travel destination.

“Really,” Pete said, genuinely surprised. “Have you had dim sum before?”

“I’ve seen it in movies,” she said, thinking of the finger foods loaded onto carts that were navigated through the tables. Sadie didn’t see any carts here, though. “But I’ve never tried it myself.” She put her menu down. “Will you order for me? I don’t know what’s good but I trust your judgment.”

The front door opened and two more men came in and sat down without waiting for the waitress to seat them. Regulars, Sadie assumed. The door had no more than closed behind them before a group of four women pulled it open again. These ones had the stamp of tourist on them due to their numerous shopping bags and sensible shoes.

“Four?” the waitress said as she came in from the kitchen carrying a tray with two glasses of water, two teacups, and a teapot.

“Yep, just us,” one of the women said.

The waitress waved them toward the last corner table in the room, then continued to Pete and Sadie’s table, where she put a glass of water in front of each of them, set the metal teapot in the center of the table, and placed two handleless teacups beside it.

“Ready to order?” she said. Her words were sharp at the ends and her sentences succinct.

Pete started rattling off dishes Sadie had never heard of. The woman nodded after each item but didn’t write anything down. When he finished, she returned to the kitchen without comment.

Sadie scanned the room again and found her focus settling on the wall with the kitchen door. Upon entering, Sadie had noted the white walls but now she realized that this wall, though plain white, was textured and . . . more than that, the texture made a picture.

“Do you think that’s bamboo?” Sadie asked Pete, pointing toward the wall.

Pete turned in his chair and looked at it for a few seconds. “Wow, that’s remarkable.”

The longer Sadie stared at it, the more remarkable it was. The entire wall, a good thirty-foot expanse, looked as though it had been covered with thick white plaster, then sculpted—Sadie couldn’t think of a better way to describe it—to look like a bamboo forest. The stalks of bamboo were at different angles to one another, some from floor to ceiling, some shorter, but the texture of the plaster created the shadows that were necessary to show what was represented. “If the lighting weren’t so intense, I bet you could better see what it is,” Sadie commented.

Pete turned to face her. “I bet you’re right, but it’s beautiful.”

“It is,” Sadie said. The lack of small talk settled in between them. “When the waitress comes back should we ask her if Ji is here?”

“If we wait until after the meal we can compliment him on his food. Would you like some tea?”

“What kind is it?”

Pete lifted the pot, poured himself a cup, and took a sip. “I don’t know what it’s called, but it’s good—kind of . . . flowery.”

“Um, sure,” Sadie said, though she was a bit hesitant to drink tea that tasted like flowers. This place didn’t scream
clean
and that she was woefully ignorant of real Chinese food didn’t help her feel any less out of her element. She hoped that she didn’t end up with gastrointestinal distress from this meal, but maybe the tea would help calm her nerves
and
her stomach. She could only hope.

Chapter 5

A plate of translucent-skinned dumplings came out first, and Pete used his chopsticks to put one in his mouth. Sadie wasn’t as proficient with chopsticks but managed to get one in her own mouth—after offering a quick prayer that it wouldn’t make her sick. The dumpling was sticky on the outside and full of unknown flavors on the inside, but it wasn’t bad.

“Good?” Pete asked when she reached for another one.

Sadie nodded and then dropped the next dumpling twice before getting it into her mouth. They had nearly finished that plate when two more plates came out.

“This is cheong fun,” Pete said pointing to some kind of rolled up noodle. “And these are kind of like pot stickers—I’m sure you’ve had those before.”

Sadie nodded, her mouth full.

“Dim sum began as something the Cantonese did but has expanded into most types of Asian cuisine,” Pete said.

Sadie finished her bite and then took a sip of water. “In the movies, isn’t dim sum served on carts pushed between the tables and you choose one thing at a time?”

Pete nodded and reached for another piece of cheong fun. “Some restaurants do it that way, but others do it by the plate like this.” He paused and a soft smile came to his face. “Pat learned how to make gyoza—they’re like pot stickers but Japanese—from a friend of ours who lived in Japan for a while. She made it every New Year’s Eve.”

Pat again. It wasn’t as if Pete never talked about her—they’d been married for almost thirty years—but knowing he’d been to this city with her, and acknowledging that this city was likely spurring these memories, was different than the usual mentions. Stronger somehow.

Perhaps Sadie’s own emotional sensitivity was playing a bigger part than she wanted to admit. She dipped the pot sticker in the vinegary sauce it had been served with while mentally giving herself a strong talking-to for being so petty and unfair.

“Sorry,” Pete said, focusing on dipping his pot sticker into his own cup of sauce.

Sadie felt bad. Who was to say she and Pete wouldn’t go to Yellowstone one day, where she and Neil had honeymooned? Or Virginia Beach, where they’d gone for their five-year wedding anniversary? Their room had a private balcony overlooking the ocean, and she and Neil would stay up late looking at the stars, talking of the future, and reviewing all they’d done that day. One night the moon had been full and the scent of sea had been strong, creating such a romantic mood that . . . She felt herself blush at the memory. That was something she would never tell Pete about. But remembering it helped her realize that she didn’t want to take those kinds of memories away from Pete any more than she wanted to give up her own.

“Do you still have that gyoza recipe?” she asked by way of compromise.

Pete glanced at her warily. “I’m sure it’s in the house somewhere. You like it?”

“A lot,” Sadie said with a nod as she grabbed another one with her chopsticks, fumbled it, and tried again. Chopsticks were frustrating. Pete chuckled at her attempts and tried to help her hold the chopsticks more securely. “Hold the second stick with the base of your thumb. There you go.”

Another plate came out, and Pete warned her that Chinese barbecue ribs could be a little spicy. Sadie nodded, but after her second bite of the tender meat, she realized she’d been lulled into confidence by the other dishes. Her whole face and neck were on fire. She downed the rest of her water amid Pete’s chuckles.

Pete pushed his glass of water toward her, and she didn’t even ask if he was sure he didn’t mind. She drank most of it in a single gulp.

A few seconds later, the waitress put down a plate of what looked like doughnut holes covered in sesame seeds. Sadie threw one in her mouth before asking what it was. It was like bread but with a sweet filling. A little greasier than she’d have liked, but it did a good job of mellowing out the intense heat of the ribs.

“A
little
spicy?” she said when she finally caught her breath.

Pete leaned his elbows on the table while he finished up his third rib. “Well, I admit these are spicier than the ones I’m used to. But delicious. How did you like the jim dieu?” He nodded at the sesame seed doughnut holes.

“Not sure I really tasted it,” Sadie said, grabbing another one and savoring it this time. “It’s good,” she said once she’d swallowed. “Is it dessert?”

“Sort of. We’re still waiting on some pork buns.”

“Is that everything?” asked the waitress.

Sadie opened her mouth to ask for more water, but without waiting for an answer, the waitress put a ticket on their table. “Pay at the register.” She gave them a quick nod, then moved on to another table—six of the ten tables were full. Was she the only waitress working?

“I feel funny interrupting Ji when they’re so busy,” Sadie said after the woman disappeared into the kitchen a minute later.

“Yeah, I didn’t think of that beforehand, but it does seem like we’d be imposing now, doesn’t it?” Pete said.

The waitress hadn’t been gone more than thirty seconds before she returned with some plates for the four women tourists, then hurried back into the kitchen again.

Pete finished off the last of the ribs, and Sadie ate the last pot sticker—even cold, it was her favorite. In fact, she’d liked everything but the ribs that had left her mouth burning. A plate of pork buns was laid on their table, and Sadie looked up expecting to see the waitress. Instead, it was a teenage girl who began gathering their empty plates, not meeting Sadie’s eyes while she cleared the table. The waitress came out of the kitchen with a tray piled with more plates of food at the same time the girl headed into the back. A minute later, the girl reappeared and headed for the register.

While setting plates down for a young couple sitting in the center of the restaurant, the woman began yelling at the girl at the register in Chinese. At least it sounded like yelling, but then Sadie had always thought Asian languages sounded like yelling so she couldn’t be sure. The girl answered in a softer tone, which caused Sadie to look at the waitress who waved her hand through the air in some kind of gesture Sadie didn’t understand. The girl bent down behind the counter, then stood with a basket of fortune cookies she set near the register. That must have been what the waitress had wanted because she gave a short nod and then finished serving the plates to the guests.