Vera Wong's Unsolicited Advice for Murderers (Vera Wong, #1)

by Jesse Q. Sutanto

She takes a quick moment to send a text to her son, reminding him that he’s sleeping his life away and should have been up and at it before her. He is, after all, a young man with a whole world to conquer. Late mornings, Vera believes, are only for toddlers and Europeans.

She’s very proud of her crime scene; it must surely be the most pleasant crime scene the cops have ever been to.

Okay, perhaps the fact that she’s taken something out of the dead man’s clenched fist has given her a bit of an unfair advantage. But no, it’s likely to be the tea.

Young people should be moving fast, take the world by its male genitalia, and so on.”

In her experience, it’s best to nod and agree with what people say before doing exactly what you wanted from the very beginning.

“I guess not even two-year-olds can say no to Vera,” he says under his breath.

Vera can’t remember the last time she had so much fun. People always say that your wedding day is the happiest day of your life, but honestly, people should try solving murders more often.

Destiny, Vera thinks, is something to be hunted down and grabbed tightly with both hands and shaken until it gives her exactly what she wants.

This is the problem with creative people; their self-image is divided into two parts—one thinks that they’re a genius who will one day create a masterpiece of such breathtaking brilliance that it will still be discussed with reverence hundreds of years later; the other part thinks they are trash raccoons rooting around in the dark and coming up with nothing but more trash. There is no in-between. It’s either “super genius” or “trash raccoon,” and somehow these parts coexist within the head of one very tortured artist.

Lipton, like many other Western brands of black tea, uses inferior tea leaves that are then roasted at a higher temperature, killing all traces of subtle flavoring. The result is a strong black tea that can stand up to aggressive boiling and generous amounts of sugar and milk.

“Unrealized dreams are one of saddest things in life,” Vera says. “Well, after serious illness and death and all that.”

“You don’t describe your job like that,” Vera scolds. “Is a ‘small job,’ hah! Can you see men saying that? No, men will talk it up with bullshit, that is why they get even bigger job next time. There is no such thing as ‘small job.’ And don’t say in that silly tone, oh so apologetic, I am just silly woman having a small job. No!” Her index finger shoots up and points at Julia’s face like a sword. “You go and do this job proudly.”

The anvil that has been on his shoulders is still there, but it’s as though Vera has taken up a position next to him and is helping him lift it, just a little. Just enough for him to take a full breath. He glances at Vera and feels, for the first time, immensely grateful for her unexpected presence in his life.

Riki gazes up at her with a tortured look that makes Vera roll her eyes. These young boys. Always with the drama.

Part of him is aching because he doesn’t want to leave the teahouse just yet, because leaving probably means him going in one direction and Julia and Emma going in the other.

And somehow, in teaching Emma that flaws can be turned into something unique and beautiful, Sana, too, begins to heal.

“I can’t believe how huge redwoods get.”

Redwood treee, its not hard to seeee

“You smell of farmer’s armpit but I love you,”

How funny that she used to long for her shop to be world-famous, when what she needed all along was a family like the one she now has.