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Vera Wong is a human woman, thank you very much,
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.
the last and perhaps most vital article of clothing—a visor so enormous that there is no way that a single ray of freckle-causing, wrinkle-making sunlight could
The one person who should be calling her at all times for advice—her son, Tilbert—never does.
Perhaps you should slip and slide into her DM.
Vera insists on keeping up to date with every trend. She doesn’t believe in getting left behind by the younger generations. Every time she comes across a nonsensical-sounding phrase, she looks it up on the Google and jots down its meaning in her little notebook.
Tilly should be proud that his mother is setting such a good example for their neighbors.
Vera’s mouth twists in a sneer as she walks past, and as she always does every morning, she places a silent curse on the café. Even its name irks her. The Café. She can just imagine the kind of confusion it has caused to its customers.
Vera’s tea cabinet is a thing of wonder. It has exactly 188 little drawers, each one filled with some high-quality ingredient shipped from the dewy hills of China.
it’s over the numerous ways that their sons have disappointed them that a true bond of friendship has been forged between Vera and Alex.
watching the first and last customer of the day walk away kills Vera just a little bit every day. She already knows what to expect from the rest of the morning. It will slowly melt into the afternoon, which will stretch on in unbearable silence until five p.m., when Vera will shuffle slowly from her stool to the front door and flip the OPEN sign to CLOSED, and for the dozenth time that day, she will ask herself, What is the point?
Vera is aware of her dwindling savings. Soon, no matter how frugally she runs it, Vera will no longer have enough funds to keep it going, and it will be the end of Vera Wang’s World-Famous Teahouse.
It’s not in her nature to be sad, but no matter how vigorous her morning walks, the loneliness catches up, always.
For there, lying in the middle of Vera Wang’s World-Famous Teahouse, is a dead man.
Over the years, she’s learned to love what Marshall loves because seeing him smile and tell her, This is delicious, babe, gave her so many endorphins that she decided she loved it too. Isn’t that what being married means? Loving what the other person loves?
Maybe life might even be better without Marshall? Nope, that’s impossible. He took care of them. He took care of everything.
Julia’s stomach knots painfully; those aren’t the kinds of smiles you give when you have good news to share. They’re the kinds of smiles that know they’re about to ruin someone’s life.
Julia is nothing if not helpful and pliant. Julia is nothing, Marshall’s voice whispers in her head. Marshall’s voice in Julia’s head is so much meaner than the real version.
Nobody knows Emma. They use words like “painfully shy” and “very quiet.” Julia can’t imagine leaving Emma alone in a room with anyone else. She would freak the hell out and then Officer Gray would probably panic and think something’s wrong with her child. She’s so sick of people thinking there’s something wrong with Emma.
And something about the way she says it reaches deep into the dark coils of Julia’s brain and tickles it. Julia does the worst thing she can possibly do in this moment. She laughs. It lasts less than a second, but she sees the officers’ eyes sharpening in that instant, and she wants to slap herself. God knows, Marshall wanted to on many occasions, and can anyone blame him? This is just the stupid crap that Julia does that he has to put up with every day. Had to put up with.
It’s not the thing to say to officers who are trying to talk to you about your spouse’s demise. Is
For the sixth time, she takes a deep, forceful breath and mentally demands that her brain shut down for the night.
She’s very proud of her crime scene; it must surely be the most pleasant crime scene the cops have ever been to.
Vera has the feeling Officer Gray doesn’t believe her. Why be a police officer when you can’t even count on your instincts? This is why these officers need her tea.
better job than they possibly could, because nobody sniffs out wrongdoing quite like a suspicious Chinese mother with time on her hands, and what does Vera have but time, now that Jinlong is gone and Tilly is off doing god knows what?
A decent person would think, Poor Marshall, he didn’t deserve to die here in this sad little teahouse, or at the very least, Poor Marshall’s wife and kid, even though I don’t know either of their names, but they must be really sad, so I am sad for them also. But Riki isn’t a decent person, is he? No, because his first thought is: Bastard deserved it. I’m glad he died here.
The woman’s eyes narrow with suspicion and move up and down, making his skin prickle. “Hmm, you don’t look young enough to be Gen Z. You need to take better care of your skin.” Back in Indonesia, Riki’s
“Aha, online! Yes, I follow many online news.” Vera waggles her index finger. “I always say, if you want stay young, you must think like youth. So youth follows news online, I follow news online. Which one you from?”
“Ah, Jin Xuan, one of the best type of tea. Is also called ‘milk tea’ because the taste is so creamy and sweet, almost like milk.”
He’s known Vera for all of ten minutes, but already he can tell she’s not to be messed around with. Her eyes are shrewd, her expression calculating. Does she know? Did she serve him this particular tea because she knows he’s trying to be someone else? Is she testing him with all of her statements about Marshall being murdered? And the last question, searing through his chest: Does she know of his ties to Marshall?
Sana winces. I’m not a killer. It’s not my fault he’s dead. He deserved it. Probably. She winces again. God, these are awful thoughts to have, aren’t they?
The more Vera goes off track and starts musing out loud, the more on edge Sana becomes, convinced that the old woman knows something. Knows that Sana is hiding something. But she also senses that Vera herself is unwilling to part with some vital information.
It’s not even time for her afternoon tea yet, and already she has three whole suspects.
“Oh, I just find a dead body in the teahouse yesterday, isn’t that curious?”
the man standing outside of Vera Wang’s World-Famous Teahouse is the very same man who turned up dead inside just one day ago.
But that’s always been Oliver’s problem, hasn’t it? Always a people pleaser, or as Marshall had called him back in high school, “suck-up” or “loser” or “pathetic embarrassment.”
He should tell her that Marshall’s death is a horrible loss for everyone who’s ever known him. The words are already forming in his mind, but when Oliver opens his mouth, what comes out is, “My brother was maybe the most charismatic person I’ve ever come across, but he was also the most cruel. He took pleasure in humiliating others, in making sure everyone knew he was better than they were. And his favorite target was me. He made sure that I knew, and everyone knew, that I was the bad twin. I hated him.” Oliver’s voice shakes. What the hell is he doing, telling her all this? He might as well
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“No, if you want to solve the mystery of your brother’s death, we must do it ourselves.”
narrows her eyes at him. Suspicion rolls out of her in thick waves. She’s not even bothering to hide that she thinks he’s one of the main suspects.
“You put your number in there, and I will call you once I find killer.”
You listen to me, you slimy piece of shit. Pay me, Marshall, or I will fucking kill you. The animal rage in his own voice is so palpable it turns the words almost physical. I will fucking kill you.
The thought of keeping Vera waiting is somehow terrifying, so against all his survival instincts, Riki gets up and takes a cold shower in the hope of sharpening his mind.
Young people should be moving fast, take the world by its male genitalia, and so on.”
“Ah,” she says, “just in time. Let me introduce you to my other suspect.”
She balls her hands into fists and puts them behind her back, wondering how long DNA lasts under one’s fingernails.
Inwardly, Vera shakes her head. Young people really need to learn how to lie better. All she needs to do is get them alone in a room with a bright light she can shine directly in their faces and the investigation would be over in five minutes, but where would the fun be in that?
In her experience, it’s best to nod and agree with what people say before doing exactly what you wanted from the very beginning.
And just for a fragile moment, as fleeting as a butterfly’s fluttering wings, Julia feels that maybe she’s not the world’s worst mother after all.
He watches helplessly as she clings tighter to Julia, cringing away from him. What had Marshall done to this little girl?
“Okay, so now we talk real business. Which one of you here kill Marshall?”
