Page 31 of Vera Wong's Unsolicited Advice for Murderers

An opportunity has been handed to her. She would be a fool not to take it. Sana places the clean paint palette down, her resolve strengthened. She goes back into the living room and locates her phone. She texts Vera, asking her for Julia’s number, and Vera sends it right away, accompanied by a message that says:

You better tell me why this all about!

Sana swallows and dials Julia’s number.

“Julia? It’s Sana, from earlier today with Vera Wong. I’m so sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if I could drop by at some point to ask you a few questions about Marshall? It’s for my podcast.”

She couldn’t possibly sink any lower. She thought that when she attacked Marshall that had been the lowest point of her life, but apparently there are levels even beyond that. Like tricking a grieving widow into letting her inside the house so she can steal her dead husband’s possessions.

SEVENTEEN

VERA

Vera has never been one to give up after just one setback. Oh no. So what if Marshall had very inconsiderately died from an allergic reaction instead of graciously dying from something more exciting and violent? It’s all mind over matter, and Vera has been so convinced from the very beginning that Marshall’s death was a murder that she is going to will it into reality, despite what everyone else believes. After all, there’s the flash drive to think about, and the scratch mark, and the bruise on his cheek, and the fact that he wasn’t a very nice person when he was alive.

So she takes a day to quietly seethe and give herself multiple pep talks about not giving up when the going gets tough. The only good thing about this is that she is able to tell Tilly that the man was killed by an allergic reaction, which seemed to relieve him greatly. On the second day, Vera decides she has had enough moping about and it is time to get cracking and chase down her destiny of solving Marshall’s murder. Destiny, Vera thinks, issomething to be hunted down and grabbed tightly with both hands and shaken until it gives her exactly what she wants.

After her daily walk, complete with the usual stink eye for the Café, Vera shoves her sleeves up and gets to work, chopping and steaming and frying and boiling. There are a lot of components to be julienned and pureed and turned into crispy, juicy things, and at the end of all that hard work, Vera gazes down with all the pride and love that a mother might have for her newborn baby. In front of her is a tower of four tiffin containers stacked neatly one on top of the other. It stands at almost two feet tall and looks very impressive. Vera harrumphs with satisfaction, takes off her apron, and carefully applies some makeup. She then jams her visor on her head and picks up the heavy tiffin tower and marches down the stairs and out of the teahouse.

The San Francisco Police Department Central Station is on Vallejo, only a few blocks away from Vera’s teahouse, a straight line down Stockton. Normally, the walk would be nothing to Vera, but the tiffin tower makes it somewhat more difficult, and Vera finds to her horror that by the time she arrives, she is out of breath. She takes a few minutes to recover and dab at her damp forehead before lifting her chin once more and straightening up.

Being an upstanding citizen and a pillar of her community, Vera has never had reason to walk into the police station. But she has a very good idea of what to expect, because she has educated herself withCSIandLaw & Order. She knows there will be Bad Guys probably shouting very exciting threats at anyone who dares look their way. There will also be Bad Cops who are doing very shady things and will look around very shadily once in a while. This is quite the adventure, and Vera wonders why she hasn’tthought of venturing into the police station for fun. Then she strides into the gray building, her eyes wide with expectation, and...

Like so much in life, the SFPD Central Station is a disappointment. No one is threatening her life. No one is shouting. No one is even looking her way. People are just typing into computers like this is a regular office instead of a police station. Vera sniffs. Honestly, what is the point of having a police station without some *~drama~*? She goes to the main reception desk, which is being manned by a young officer who looks like he’s barely out of high school, and says, “I need to see Officer Gray.”

“Which department?” the young officer says.

Vera considers this before saying regally, “Homicide.” She knows this is the most revered department of all the departments.

The officer narrows his eyes. He looks like a schoolboy struggling to see the blackboard. “Do you have an appointment?”

Technically no, but surely coming in here armed with a delicious feast would be enough to grant her an appointment. “Yes.”

“Name?”

“Vera Wong.”

He looks at his computer, then makes an apologetic face and says, “Hmm, sorry, I’m not seeing your name here.”

“Tch, is this police station or is this—” Fortunately for the young officer, Vera’s tirade is interrupted by the arrival of Officer Gray, who walks in carrying a takeaway latte from—unfortunately—the Café. Vera calls out in a friendly shout that can be heard all the way to the top floor, “Officer Gray! Eh, Officer Gray!”

Officer Gray glances up from her phone, and when she spots Vera, her face visibly falls. Vera doesn’t notice, or maybe she chooses not to notice. Either way, Vera heaves the tiffin towerfrom the reception desk and hurries over to Officer Gray, beaming. “Good morning, Officer.”

“It was,” Officer Gray says meaningfully. If her hands hadn’t been full with her latte and her phone, she would be pinching the bridge of her nose. “What brings you here, Vera?”

“Ah, I cook too much food for myself and I think, hmm, who can use a good meal? And I think, oh yes, of course, Officer Gray!” Vera’s smile widens. Then she sees the coffee cup with that hateful logo and those hateful two words, “The Café,” and her smile falters. “You shouldn’t drink such rubbish,” she scolds Officer Gray, plucking the cup from the officer’s hand. “Will give you liver cancer, everybody knows. Come, I show you what I cook.” She marches down the hallway, dumping the full cup of coffee in a nearby trash can as she does so.

“Wait, that’s my—” Officer Gray stares forlornly at the trash can, looking like she’s considering whether she should fish the cup out. With a sigh, she trudges after Vera. “That latte cost seven dollars and I only had the one sip,” she hisses at Vera.

“Seven dollars? Tomorrow I will bring you tea for free.”

“No, that’s okay,” Officer Gray says quickly. She follows Vera as she turns a corner and keeps marching. After a few minutes of this, Officer Gray clears her throat. “Um, just out of curiosity, where is it that you’re headed, Vera?”

Vera stops and turns around with a frown. “Your office, of course.”

“Right. Silly me. Except you seem to be leading the way?”

Vera sniffs. “I keep expecting you to catch up and lead, but you young people nowadays, always walking so slow. This is because you are always staring at your phone, all day, every day, just hunch over your phone, later you will have hunchback.”

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