Vera Wong's Guide to Snooping (On a Dead Man) (Vera Wong, #2)
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Sometimes, all an old lady wants is a murder to solve. Is that too much to ask for?
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Strategy: OK, this is very complicate case, so I must be methodick menthos mentaldical.
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Hmm. Perhaps it wasn’t the wisest of ideas to share her personal number with the millions of strangers who would no doubt be buying her book. If you do not have a mother, you may slip and slide into my DMs.
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“The only thing you command naturally is body odor,” Vera mutters,
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“Now, Aimes,” Vera is saying to the blond girl. “You stay away from the chicken, is too spicy for white people.” “That’s—you can’t say that,” Robin says. “That’s playing on stereotypes.” “What is that? Stereo what?” “Stereotype. Like, making an assumption based on someone’s race.” Vera looks confused. “So, what I should be making assumption based on? Age?” “That would be ageist,” TJ says helpfully. “Okay,” Vera says. “So, base on sex?”
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“So, sexist is not same as sexy?” Vera muses
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“I always thought that when people tell me I am sexist, they mean I am very sexy.”
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“Aiya. And here I have been thinking: Oh, good job, Vera, over sixty years old and people still finding you sexy, like Michelle Yeoh.” TJ looks horrified at the combination of the words “Vera” and “sexy.” Qiang Wen can hardly blame him; Qiang Wen’s own cheeks are burning with embarrassment.
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You’re right, lady, you are a star.” Vera smirks and covers her mouth with one hand. “Oh, you young people really know how to make an old woman feel good about herself.”
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I am Chinese mother, all I do is create conflict. You think CIA know anything about destabilizing? They know nothing compare to me!”
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TJ gives her a weak smile. Vera needs to work on TJ’s facial expressions. Half the time, he looks like he’s about to burst into tears, and the rest of the time, he looks like he’s constipated.
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Hasn’t this been what she has dreamed about for years and years? To be able to go shopping with her grandkids. Oh, what happiness. Almost better than solving a murd—no. Nothing is better than the shot of serotonin that comes with solving a murder.
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“Do I really appear that pathetic?” “Yes.”
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“Well, I have post two viral videos already. Do you know what ‘viral’ mean? It is like virus, spreading very quick, from person to person. A Vera virus,” she says proudly.
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Vera shoots him a dirty look. “It sound like the best thing. Why anyone would not want to catch Vera virus?”
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Has over five hundred thousand views already! That’s half a million you know,” she adds unnecessarily.
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“are you saying you got an invitation to an influencer party?” “What is influencer party? You mean influenza party? I hope not. At my age, if I get influenza it will be very bad. You know, I got a touch of pneumonia last year because—”
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Some might even say she is downright scared. But that would be ludicrous, because Vera does not do fear. Fear is for toddlers and tiny dogs, not for wise older ladies like herself. But then again, Vera would be hard pressed to explain the dryness of her mouth and the pitter-patter of her heart and the way her forehead has gone quite moist. Hot flashes, she thinks. Postmenopausal hot flashes. Yes, that would be it.
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Remember, Vera reminds herself, your ass is bad. Very bad. And that is a good thing.
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“Okay, okay,” she calls out, “I will adopt you. Yes, and you also. You, no, I don’t like blue hair, you color back to normal, then I adopt you.”
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Then Xander dropped a bomb on her. “Oh dear,” Vera says, “that sound like abuse.” “No, not like that. A figurative bomb. Like, bad news.” “Ah, I see. I like this phrase, dropping bomb on head.
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“I explain to you some other time. But trust me, is very good luck. May you find dead man in your shop one day.” “Nope, that just does not sound right.”
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No, Aimes. I see you. I understand what you go through. We are exactly the same. Except my breasts are bigger than yours.”
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“Of course. I’m very good at listening. Okay, so you don’t kill Xander? Just making sure before I cross you off the list.” And somehow, Vera has whipped out a notebook and a pen and is watching Aimes expectantly. “There’s an actual list?” Vera looks affronted. “Yes, of course. I take my job as private investigator seriously.”
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People think drinking tea is healthy, therefore drinking boba is healthy. What rubbish! Terrible invention, I tell you.
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Well.” Vera sighs. “It really could be anyone. I went viral on the TikTok, you know.” “Ha!” Winifred slaps the table triumphantly. “I always knew one day you would bring back some virus that would kill us all, I knew it.” Vera narrows her eyes. “First of all, that’s not what ‘going viral’ means, and second of all, you thought I meant I have a deadly virus and you’re not worried, you’re happy? Really, Winifred, I expected more from you.”
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As you youngsters like to call it, the math ain’t messing.
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“Oh, you bitter old crone, you know I have the X factor and you can’t stand it. Now,
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“Yes, it is Korean. My grandfather was Korean,” Winifred says. “Hah!” Vera says. “I thought you say grandmother?” Winifred pauses, her cheeks growing red. “You must have remember wrong, Vera. Early onset dementia is very common among the old—” “Who are you calling old?” Vera snaps. “Um, you’ve mentioned quite a few times that you’re really old and are about to drop dead any day now?” Aimes says. Her voice falters when Vera shoots her a deadly glare. “Haven’t you heard?” Vera says. “Sixty is new forty. And my mind is as clear and sharp as a—a sniper rifle.”
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“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Vera says, even as she dumps her scrubbing brush into the pail of soapy water. “Okay, thank you, Aimes. My back is killing me.”
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You are young, there are million jobs out there, of course you don’t know what you want to do. Is okay.
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She’s not about to let a good vandalism go to waste.
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My god, I practically crapped my pants, Vera. I told them he may have embellished a little. I felt like complete shit. They looked like…like I was something sticky they’d accidentally stepped on.” “Ah, no, that is just cop being cop; they always look like they smell something bad.”
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This is actually a scenario that Vera has fantasized about, strangely enough. In her fantasies, a generic bad guy would storm into her teahouse, maybe to rob her or something or other, and through her wit and charm and motherly kindness, she would help him see the error of his ways.
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“I know. Trust me, I get the frustration of having to deal with my mother.” Vera’s smile turns into a frown. What did he just say?
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Thank you.” There are smacking noises that Vera realizes are kissing sounds. She makes a face and closes the door gently. It’s one thing telling those two to make grandbabies; it’s quite another having to actually hear them.
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Stop having sexy time, I have confession to make!” Tilly and Selena gape up at her. Between them there is a very elaborate-looking board game. “Oh, you are not having sexy time, never mind.” “My god, Ma, why would we have sexy—I mean, have sex out here in the dining room when you’re staying with us?” Tilly says.
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With a quick kiss (to Tilly, not Vera), Selena strides out of the house.
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By the time she is done, Vera is pleased at their horrified expressions. Good storytelling, she thinks, is a lot harder than it looks, but she has obviously accomplished it.
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So, you were actually assaulted?” Julia says. “That wasn’t just you embellishing as usual?” Vera looks sharply at Julia. “Embellish? I don’t even know what that is meaning, so how can I do it if I don’t know what it is?”
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“She got him the whip,” Vera whispers loudly to everyone. “She means to say Selena’s got me whipped, not that Selena gifted me a whip,” Tilly says quickly, his face turning red.
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“Thank you for coming to my mystery club.” “This is a mystery club now?” Julia says. “I will think of better name later,” Vera says. “Unless you have better idea now? Okay, I didn’t think you would. Right. We are all here to solve mystery.