Page 11 of Vera Wong's Unsolicited Advice for Murderers

Sana gives herself a little shake. She needs to focus. But focus on what, exactly? She’s not even sure why she’s here. Killers often come back to the scene of the crime. The thought is a toxic one, floating up and releasing poison all over. Sana winces.I’m not a killer. It’s not my fault he’s dead. He deserved it. Probably.She winces again. God, these are awful thoughts to have, aren’t they?

Thankfully, with a tinkle of bells, the door to Vera Wang’s World-Famous Teahouse swings open once more, jerking Sana from her mental spiral. An old woman peers up at her. The woman’s eyebrows are statement brows, and the statement is:I am fucking fabulous and don’t you forget it. “Yes?” the woman says. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, um, yes! I—is this Vera Wang’s World-Famous Teahouse?” The moment Sana says these words, she wants to kick herself. Because it literally saysVERA WANG’S WORLD-FAMOUS TEAHOUSEright there, above her head, in huge, bright red letters.Don’t be repetitive, dear, her mother’s voice echoes in her mind.It’s better to say too little than too much.Her mother should know; her books are notoriously short, leaving her legions of fans starving for more.

The old woman smiles proudly. “Yes, it is. Oh my, very busy day for me. So many new customers!” She ushers Sana in. There’s no one else inside the small, dark teahouse.

Sana stands there, uncertain. So many new customers? As in... her and that one guy she ran into? The thought fills her with sudden sadness as she takes in her surroundings. It’s obvious that Vera Wang’s World-Famous Teahouse is past its best years.

“Sit, sit! I make you some tea. What’s your name?” The old woman, presumably Vera Wang herself, waves at the tables before bustling behind the counter.

Sana goes to the nearest table and perches gingerly on one of the chairs. “Um, it’s Sana. Sana Singh. I’m here because—”

“Let me guess, because of dead man?”

That startles Sana a bit. “Yes. I—I read about it in the obituary, and—”

Vera nods and gestures at the floor. “He’s there.”

“What?” Sana jumps up. When she looks to where Vera is pointing, she realizes with a mixture of horror and relief that there’s an outline of a man’s body drawn on the floor. Okay, so he—as in the dead body itself—isn’t actually there. She wills her heart to stop thumping quite so hard. The outline seems to have been drawn using a Sharpie. “Did you—did the police do this? I would’ve thought that they’d use tape.”

“Ah, the police. Useless, the lot of them.” Vera snorts as she sprinkles some tea leaves into a teapot. “No, of course they didn’t. I do myself. Good job, eh? I stay very close to body. Sometimes the Sharpie touched the body a little.”

Sana gapes at her. “The cops were okay with you doing that?”

“Oh, I do it while waiting for them to arrive. I even make some tea for them, all before they arrive. But are they grateful?”

There’s a beat of silence, then Sana rushes to fill it. “No?”

“Very ungrateful.” Vera pours hot water into the teapot and carries it on a tray to the table. “Sit, we have some tea. This is Qimen Hongcha from Anhui Province in China. Try,” she orders, serving Sana the drink in a teacup so small it looks almost like a doll’s teacup.

Sana does so, and it’s nothing like she’s ever tasted before, but at the same time it’s also somehow familiar. It’s smoky and smells of spring flowers. “So soothing,” she murmurs, taking a longer sip. Before she knows it, the tiny teacup is empty and Vera plucks it from her hand and pours her another.

“Now, what can I do for you, Sana?”

“Oh, right.” It takes a second for Sana to gather her thoughts after the beautiful tea. “Um, I’m... I have a podcast,” she says finally.

Vera’s eyebrows wrinkle together. “Oh dear. I’m sure I have some cream for that.”

“Um, no, it’s a sort of... Internet radio show?”

“Ah.” Vera’s face brightens. “Wonderful, you’re radio host?”

“Sort of, but it’s not like a real radio station or anything. It’s just me talking into a mic.” Her mother’s voice whispers:Never minimize your work, dear. If you don’t take it seriously, no one will.But the last time Sana took herself seriously, it led to her dropping out of school, so maybe her mother doesn’t actually know shit. “About true crime,” she adds quickly.

“Ah, and you want to talk about the man who die here.” Vera nods and takes a sip of her tea. “But why?”

“Why do I want to do an episode on it? Because, I mean, a man died in a tea shop, that’s gotta be suspicious, right?” Is it? Sana has no idea aside from that if it’s Marshall, then it must be suspicious.

Vera shrugs. “The police don’t think so. They say they don’t think there is foul play.”

No foul play. Sana nods, careful to keep her face neutral. “Um, can I ask you what you know about the case?”

“There is no case, I telling you, the police, they say is open-and-shut. He probably overdose on drugs, stumble into my shop, and die.”

“Right.” Had Marshall been using drugs? Sana isn’t sure about this, though at this point, nothing about Marshall should surprise her. “Well, just humor me. I don’t often get the chance to interview the sole witness to something like this. I need content. I mean, uh, not to sound crass. Sorry, that sounded terrible.”

“So you think something suspicious about his death?”

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