Page 47 of Vera Wong's Unsolicited Advice for Murderers

“Is Vera a private detective, maybe?”

Riki raises a tentative hand. “I think she counts as an amateur sleuth?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Officer Gray turns her back on them for a second, taking in a deep, frustrated breath. Then she turns back around to face them. “Let me make this very clear. Vera does not have any authority to do or proclaim anything about Marshall Chen’s death, you hear me?”

Sana feels her head nodding mechanically.

“So when something like this happens,” Officer Gray continues, “I don’t want to hear about it from her neighbor.”

“Her neighbor?” Oliver says.

“Probably the owner of the bakery next door,” Riki says.

“Oof, Vera’s not going to be happy about that,” Sana mutters, recalling Vera’s vitriol about the French bakery next door.

“Are you three musketeers done? Yes, Winifred next door was the one who called us to let us know that it seems like everything inside Vera’s shop has been smashed up.”

“Winifred must’ve been peeping through the window,” Riki says.

“She would’ve had to press her face right up against it,” Sana says. “It was so grimy before I cleaned it, there was no way she would’ve been able to look inside unless she was, like, this close to the glass.” It’s starting to dawn on Sana why Vera might not like Winifred, even though Winifred’s French pastries are decent.

“Well, thank goodness she did,” Officer Gray says, “because otherwise, we wouldn’t have known about it. And now thanks to you three, it seems like all the evidence has been swept up and...”

“Thrown into the recycling bin,” Oliver says helpfully. “The bins are right outside. I can show them to you if you want.”

Officer Gray takes a breath through her teeth. “I’ll let the team know.” She looks around the shop and closes her eyes for a moment. “Did any of you see anything suspicious?”

“Aside from the whole shop being smashed up?” Sana feels like she’s being disrespectful somehow, but she swears she’s not trying to be. She’s honestly, sincerely—okay, maybe not sincerely—trying to be as truthful as she can. But she can’t deny that everything about this does seem a bit shady, and that’s when it hits her that it’s not just her acting shady. Oliver and Riki are obfuscating too, and why? She’s already guessed, deep down, that Riki is very much not a Buzzfeed reporter, or any reporter, really. But what about Oliver? What’s he hiding?

She can only watch quietly as Officer Gray walks around, inspecting the teahouse and grumbling to herself about having to call “the team” in and how much she hates “those nerds.” Finally, Officer Gray tells them to not touch anything else in the teahouse, then she’s off, leaving behind her a vacuum. Sana, Riki, and Oliver stand there, not quite knowing what to say. The air between them is thick with suspicion. Sana takes out her phone, coming up with an excuse to leave, when she sees that there’s a text from Vera. It says:

Meet me now. I know truth between you and M!!!

•••

By the time Sana gets to the meeting place Vera suggested, down one of the less popular piers at the wharf, she is so out of breath she thinks she might die. Or maybe she might diebecause she’s panicking, not because she’s out of shape? Either way, it’s not a great feeling. The old woman is already there, probably having chosen the most ideal position to look more mysterious and wise. A few paces away, Emma is drawing on the pavement with colored chalk.

“Vera—” Then her breath hitches, and to Sana’s horror, she finds herself bursting into tears. Oh no, no, this isn’t supposed to happen. The whole tram ride here, Sana has gone over what she will say to Vera. First of all, she will obviously tell Vera that she’s mistaken. Then Sana will take a page from all the gaslighting assholes she’s known in her life and insist that Vera imagined everything. Hey, if there’s ever a silver lining to dating college frat boys, it’s learning how to gaslight with the best of them. But then she sees Vera’s slight frame against the vast ocean, and the way Vera’s Asian perm blows in the sea breeze, and something about it cracks her apart. She can’t lie to Vera, not like this. Not ever.

As Sana weeps, hands envelope her. Vera hugs her tight. “Aiya, why you cry?” Vera mutters, patting Sana’s back. “So dramatic, you young people.”

“But you—your message—” She’s gasping too hard to form a coherent sentence.

Vera pulls away so she can look Sana in the eye. “Just tell me, you kill Marshall? Is it you? You give him pigeon?”

“What—no!” Sana cries. Thank god the pier is deserted at this hour, because that came out a lot louder than she intended. But even if there were people about, she wouldn’t care anyway, because it is imperative that she make Vera understand this. “No,” she says again, in a stronger, more level voice. “I did not kill Marshall. I wished him dead, so many times, but no.”

Eons pass as Vera regards Sana silently, her sharp eyes cuttingthrough Sana’s skin and flesh and bone, straight into the depths of her heart. Then Vera sniffs. “Okay. I believe you. For now.”

Sana sags with relief. Emma toddles over to them and Vera hugs her before taking out a bottle of warm milk from her bag. Emma accepts the offering with a solemn nod and goes back to drawing on the pavement.

Vera turns her attention back to Sana. “But now tell me, why Marshall has a folder with your name as title?”

Immediately, Sana’s entire body is abuzz with electricity. “A folder? What folder? Where did you find it?”

“In Marshall’s laptop, of course.”

“How did you have access to— You know what? Never mind. What’s inside?”

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