Vera Wong's Guide to Snooping (On a Dead Man) (Vera Wong, #2)

by Jesse Q. Sutanto

Sometimes, all an old lady wants is a murder to solve. Is that too much to ask for?

But no, the universe did not grant her wish. What it did do was give her a knockoff, kind of like ordering something from Wish.

Vera scrambles to follow all of this. Ugh, if there is one thing she hates more than anything, it’s feeling small and helpless. She only likes acting like a helpless little old lady; she doesn’t actually like being one, for goodness’ sake.

She is about to wail about how awful all of this sounds when it hits her that, actually, it isn’t. Because, what could be better than picking up the phone and telling off a few scammers? Oho, she’ll give them a piece of her mind. First, she will tell them that their ancestors are very disappointed in them. Then she will launch into a tirade about young people nowadays. Finally, she will ask if they have eaten, and if not, she will impart some recipe and tell them to go cook themselves a nice meal and ponder their life choices. This is her chance to make a real difference in the world.

A soft tread, that’s what this needs. Aiya, she hates soft treads. She has always marched like an army general looking for a new recruit to bully, and now look at her, measuring her steps like a guilty child. Still, Vera prides herself as the odd old dog who can learn new tricks.

Or maybe she’s the FBI. He can see that. But then, wouldn’t she have flashed her badge at him? The FBI does that a lot. They’re like that proverbial Harvard grad—how can you find out if a guy went to Harvard? You don’t, he’ll tell you within five minutes of meeting you. The FBI’s like that, right? In all the movies, they talk to someone—anyone—and first thing they do is show their badge. TJ doesn’t blame them. If he were an FBI agent, he’d do the same.

“Perfect.” Of course, all of their Instagram post captions talk about how impossible it is to reach perfection, how we shouldn’t strive for it, how we should always strive for authenticity instead. But that’s the thing about captions. You want to convey perfection while at the same time appearing like you haven’t toiled away at achieving it. You want to be effortlessly perfect.

Vera is having so much fun she half wonders if she shouldn’t write a book about it. A self-help book titled The Ancient Chinese Secret to Long Life: Solving Murders. Is that too long for a title? She knows, as everyone does, that titles should be snappy and memorable. But she does like the word “ancient” in there because it’s rather impressive and mysterious.

And they are so clearly guilty of something. Vera sniffs. Why don’t young people learn to lie better?

But then he takes a bite of the tea-steeped eggs, and he wants to weep because he feels like a little boy again, running indoors after an afternoon spent climbing trees and biting into a tea egg. He can almost feel the comforting pat of his mother’s hand on his head as he chews. He’s forgotten what food made with love tastes like.

Why would anyone want that? Why does she still have it? Because. Because her followers love it. Because she is terrified that if she threw it away and she posts a photo from her bedroom and her followers see it is missing, they’d know. They’d know what a fake she is. And that is why Aimes’s apartment is filled to the gills with things she hates. Including herself.

Her entire life feels like this, a murky mess of memories she can only remember through the eye of her phone camera. Is that sad, or is that just the new normal for everybody?

Maybe, maybe. That was parenting: a never-ending series of maybes.

I am Chinese mother, all I do is create conflict. You think CIA know anything about destabilizing? They know nothing compare to me!”

TJ sits there with both hands on the steering wheel, not starting the car or anything. He looks slightly dazed. Vera rolls her eyes. Why are men always so dramatic?

She leans back, satisfied. Is there anything quite as invigorating as threatening people? When Vera was young, she used to read women’s magazines, all of which swore up and down that there is nothing more invigorating than exercise and/or sexual activity. But they really missed out on storming into someone else’s space and brandishing a good, solid threat in their faces. Vera makes a mental note to write a letter to the editors of women’s magazines, telling them to suggest making threats as a good pastime for young women.

If Vera were to be completely honest, she might say she is ever so slightly intimidated. 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.

Remember, Vera reminds herself, your ass is bad. Very bad. And that is a good thing.

She’s been scared plenty of times before, but she’s pretty sure she hasn’t felt fear like this ever. It’s a different kind of feeling, something shaved down to the bone, something to do with pure survival.

When she was little, she was a natural at everything she tried her hand at—piano, tennis, math. “She’s a natural,” her teachers would say, and she would beam with pride and chug along merrily. She only ever had to do the bare minimum to get good grades. Life was good. Life was easy. Then she went to Berkeley, and she found that she was surrounded by other naturals. But worse than that, the other students hadn’t gotten used to just coasting through life. Most of them weren’t just talented, they were hard workers.

I know that social media is a bit of a tricky thing to use. You want to be authentic, but you also want to save face. Is easier to save face without social media. Your generation is dealing with so much.

“We will figure out. One step at one time, TJ. You don’t have to take on the whole world at once. Just take one step.”

Something about being around Vera makes TJ feel so safe, which is ironic given he’s here tonight to make sure she is safe.

A platonic friendship, pure and sweet. This, she realizes. This is exactly what she needs.

The thing with being fine, though, is that when things change bit by bit, when life slides lemons to you in tiny little slices—like your mahjong buddies getting older and sicker one by one, so the mahjong sessions go from twice a week to once a week, then to every other week—it happens so slowly, so gently, that you don’t realize it’s happening until one day, there’s no one left to play mahjong with. But because of the slowness of the deterioration, you don’t realize that you’re no longer fine. You continue thinking, I’m fine, and you keep chugging along even though the small speck of sadness in your heart has grown quietly into a boulder, without you even noticing.

Gah, she hates her thoughts sometimes. Actually, she hates her thoughts all the time.

What is the point of becoming an influencer if she loses herself in the process? What is she going to influence people into doing when she doesn’t even know what she is doing?

Aimes feels a tiny stab of jealousy at how well Riki and Sana work together, then she feels stupid for feeling jealous. She really needs to learn to stop comparing herself with everyone else.