Fatal Fried Rice

by Vivien Chien

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Well, at the beginning of the Mexican food course, she got a bouquet of flowers sent to her during class. They were a beautiful ordeal. Lots of roses … all different colors, and in the most beautiful crystal vase. But then she did the oddest thing.” Jan held out her hands, palms up and shrugged her shoulders. “She threw them in the garbage at the end of the class. Mostly everyone had cleared out, just a few of us hanging around. I’m never in a rush myself, so I’m usually the last to leave.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, can you believe it?” She shook her head in disappointment. “What a waste of money. You know they had to have cost a pretty penny. Delivered flowers ain’t cheap.”

  “Did you know who they were from, by chance?”

  “No, I didn’t want to put her on the spot. She was clearly upset at whomever they came from…” She paused. “And then there was that other thing with one of the students.”

  “Thing?” I asked. “What kind of thing?”

  Jan glanced over her shoulder as if worried someone would sneak up on our conversation. “There was this attractive man in that same Mexican class. Didn’t seem to have much between his ears, but he was nice enough. Well, I overheard him ask her out to dinner after class one night, and she flat out said no and wasn’t very nice about it either. Didn’t even give the poor sap an explanation. She could have at least lied to him and said she was involved with someone or something. The kid was so embarrassed he never came back to the class.”

  “Do you happen to know his name?”

  She gave me an apologetic shrug. “It started with an R, Randy or Rick … maybe Ron?”

  It was flimsy at best, and I contemplated the likelihood of someone getting turned down for a date as a cause for murder.

  Jan glanced at her watch and sighed. “Well, Lana, it was nice talking with you, but I’d better get going. The kids are going to be expecting dinner soon. You take care now. Maybe we’ll bump into each other again sometime.”

  I said goodbye and watched her head toward the exit. For whatever reason, it seemed as if Margo was shying away from relationships, and had a potential admirer to boot. I made a few mental notes before turning my attention back to the administration office.

  * * *

  When I walked into the narrow room, I found two people behind the main counter, one of them appeared to be super young and potentially an intern. She had a hopeful smile, and cheery hazel eyes that were both welcoming and kind. In a way, she reminded me of Yuna from Asian Accents.

  The older woman did not appear as welcoming or kind. The scowl on her face seemed to be a permanent fixture, and the beady eyes that scrutinized me spoke of annoyance with a dash of impatience.

  No one was in the office but me, so I had my pick of the two. Despite my better judgment, I chose to go with the older woman because she probably would have more intimate knowledge about the faculty and their interpersonal relationships.

  Unfortunately, the older woman did not look at all pleased that I was heading in her direction. She acknowledged me with a curt smile, lifting her chin as if to say, “What?”

  Despite the discouraging feeling I had in the pit of my stomach, I forced my customer-service smile into place, showing teeth and all, and stepped up to the counter. “Hi, my name is Lana Lee, and I was taking a cooking class here … the one with—”

  The woman held up a hand. “Yes, the ethnic cooking class with Margo Han. You should have received an e-mail with further instruction on your options.”

  I let out a fake, nervous laugh. “Oh, duh, I didn’t even think to check my e-mail. Probably could have saved myself a trip up here.”

  The woman pursed her lips. “Uh-huh.”

  “Such a tragedy, what happened and all that,” I said in a conversational tone. “I can’t even imagine how the rest of the staff feels.”

  The woman stared blankly at me. “I can help issue you a refund if that’s what you would prefer.”

  I will be the first to admit that my facial expressions often betray me. Poker face is something I continuously strive to achieve, but don’t always succeed with. At this current moment in time, I was trying my damnedest not to reveal the fact that I was severely disappointed in her response. I thought for sure my mention of the staff might warrant her to say something along the lines of “Yes, she had so many friends.” Or “I’m not surprised this happened to her. She just didn’t get along with people.” Something. But, perhaps, that was asking for too much.

  I must have been focusing on maintaining the positive expression on my face so intently that I’d completely forgotten to answer her, because she jutted out her chin and said, “Ma’am?”

  Ma’am. Who was she calling ma’am? I loathed the word.

  “Okay, let’s do a refund,” I said, through clenched teeth. “It’s probably safer that way.”

  She clucked her tongue. “The facility is safe—I can assure you of that. We’ve heightened security and plan to install additional cameras in the lobby, common area, and hallways.”

  The defensiveness in her tone showed me what route I needed to take in order to get her talking. “Well, that’s good,” I replied, not sounding the least bit convinced. “But I’d still feel safer not attending. No one has been caught yet, and who knows if it was another instructor or something crazy like that.”

  If smoke could have come out of her ears at that point, it totally would have happened. “I can assure you, young lady, that another teacher being guilty of this … is absolutely not the case. We carefully screen all of our faculty members before they’re hired. And you’ll do well to remember that. Now if you’ll just give me a moment, I’ll begin your refund. Do you have your identification card with you?”

  While “young lady” sounded much better than the dreaded “ma’am” that I despised so much, coming from her it still hit my ears as condescending and rude. I dug around in my purse for my wallet, pulled out the appropriate card, and handed it over.

  She snatched it off the counter and began aggressively typing on her keyboard.

  The intern and I exchanged a look. Her expression was a mixture of apologetic and shocked. Maybe I’d picked the wrong person after all.

  It took about five minutes for Grumpy Pants to complete my refund. She’d slid a processing form across the counter and slapped a pen on top of it. “Please fill this out, Ms. Lee.”

  I did as she said without responding, and then smacked the pen back down when I was finished. My streak of sass was starting to bleed through and “customer-service Lana” was slowly fading away.

  The printer behind her started to spit out papers, and she swiveled around in her office chair to reach for them.

  She slapped the first sheet down on the counter. “This is your check—you have ninety days to deposit it.” She slapped down the next piece of paper with the same intensity. “This is your acknowledgment form stating that you’ve received your check and we are no longer accountable to refund you anything further. Please sign and date this.”

  With a scowl, I reached for the pen she’d left on the counter for me and scribbled my name in a frenzied hand. As I set the pen down, I smiled sweetly at her, hoping that the sarcasm would not be lost.

  “Thank you, Ms. Lee. You’re all set. Have a nice evening.” The lack of smile and deadpan look in her eyes told me she didn’t mean it in the least.

  “I hope you have a better one,” I replied, and whipped around to exit the office.

  As I entered the common area, I let out a groan of frustration. Not only was that completely useless, but I’d aggravated myself beyond belief. My only comfort was the check I had in hand.

  I headed in the direction of the doors where I was supposed to meet Megan, hoping that she would have something useful to tell me that might make this trip feel like it was productive. But when I got near the main entrance, Megan was nowhere to be seen.

  I pulled out my phone and began to text her. Out of the cor
ner of my eye I noticed movement, and thinking it was Megan, momentarily stopped typing and glanced up. But it wasn’t Megan, it was the intern who’d been working in the administration office. She appeared to be out of breath and also looking for me.

  She was a petite girl who made me feel like a giant in comparison. Rail thin and somewhat athletic, she reminded me of someone fit to be a gymnast.

  When we made eye contact, her eyes lit up and she waved. “Hey. There you are. You walk really fast, you know that?”

  I dropped my phone back into my purse. “Sorry, I’m supposed to meet up with someone.”

  “I only have a minute because I told Bernice that I was going to the bathroom,” she said. “Sorry you had to deal with her. She’s like that with everyone, so don’t take it personally.”

  “I think she’s in the wrong line of business then.”

  The girl laughed. “You’re not the only one to have said that.”

  “What can I help you with?”

  “I just wanted to tell you that she’s full of crap,” the girl said, glancing over her shoulder in paranoia.

  “About what exactly?”

  “That the faculty is innocent.” She shrugged. “I mean, yeah sure, they are all evaluated and looked into before being hired, but there is such a thing as first-time offenders. The police were here earlier today questioning staff, and the impression I got was that some of them are being investigated. But I haven’t found out who exactly.” She looked down at her feet. “No one is talking to me about anything because I’m just an intern. And they assume I’m gonna spread it all over the school since I really have no loyalties to any of these people. I did happen to see them talking to the one janitor guy, Robert, on my way to the bathroom. I tried to eavesdrop on my way back to the admin office, but by the time I came out of the ladies’ room, they were gone.”

  “Do you know if he’s around today?”

  She shook her head. “No, he’s out for the rest of the week taking some personal time.”

  My mind started to race. So, there were questionable faculty members.

  I pulled a business card out of my purse. “If you find out anything more specific, would you mind giving me a call? I know that seems kinda weird, but if you don’t mind?”

  She took the card from me and skimmed over the information. “Sure. Can I ask why you want to know?”

  I didn’t want to tell her that I might be on the police radar for potential suspects, so I just replied with, “Margo was planning on helping me with something, and even though she never got to, I feel like I owe her a favor.”

  The girl nodded with understanding. “Sure, I get that.” She held up the card before slipping it into her back pocket. “I’ll give you a call if any sort of info comes my way.”

  We said goodbye, and she jogged off in the direction she came from, passing Megan in the process.

  Megan jerked a thumb over her shoulder as the girl disappeared down the corridor. “What the heck was all that about?”

  CHAPTER 9

  “Let’s not talk in here,” I said, my eyes darting around the lobby. The last thing we needed was for someone to hear our bizarre conversation. “Outside is probably safer.”

  As we made our way through the parking lot, I told her about the run-in with my classmate, my experience at the administration office, and the intern coming to find me afterward.

  Megan shook her head in disgust. “Wow, some people are so miserable.”

  “For real. But hopefully this girl can find out something for me.” I smacked my forehead. “Duh, I forgot to get her name. Anyways, tell me what happened on your end.”

  We got into the car and Megan sighed. “Well, the room itself was closed off, door shut with crime-scene tape, typical stuff. But I still scanned the area to see what I thought, and you’re right: there’s only one way in and out, and not many places for someone to disappear quickly. How there was no one in the vicinity to hear her scream is beyond me. Didn’t the person get blood on their hands? Did they walk through the school like that? Run to the nearest restroom? Like what did they do?” Megan’s tone was a little agitated and her speech hurried as she went through the various options.

  “There’s a restroom not far from the classroom, so that’s a possibility. Someone could have easily hidden in there, cleaned themselves off, and waited until the coast was clear to leave.”

  “But what about noises that would have come from the room?” Megan reminded me. “How did she not scream? Or was there a fight beforehand that someone might have heard? Wouldn’t someone hear raised voices and then report that?”

  “Assuming they would wanna come forward and involve themselves. We both know people can get tight-lipped when these kinds of things happen.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Also, when I went back to the classroom that night, there was no one around but me. The place had cleared out pretty fast, but the janitor must have been somewhere nearby because he did hear me scream. He was there in what seemed like seconds. And with her being stabbed in the back, she may have been caught off guard and couldn’t scream. She was only stabbed once too, so clearly they made it count,” I replied.

  “Who do you think the flowers were from?”

  “No idea. Ex-boyfriend trying to win her back? A secret admirer?”

  “Well, whoever it was liked her enough to send flowers. What about this janitor? Do you think it could have been him?” she asked.

  “It’s crossed my mind,” I told her. “He’s definitely on my list of people to consider. But he seemed genuinely surprised when he found her. I don’t know if he’s just a really good actor or was in fact equally as shocked as I was.”

  “We need to look into him for sure,” Megan said with resolve. “Do you think we should go back inside?”

  I shook my head and started the car. “No, that intern told me he’s out for the rest of the week on a personal leave. We’ll have to come back a different day. Plus, that lady put me in a bad mood.”

  “You’re probably hungry. When’s the last time you ate?”

  “Early this afternoon,” I replied, pulling out of the parking spot.

  “Let’s stuff our faces and get ourselves organized with this case. It seems like we’re going to have to play the waiting game a little bit with this one.”

  “Stuffing our faces,” I repeated. “Now that sounds like a plan.

  * * *

  On the way home, we picked up a pepperoni pizza and some teriyaki wings for our brainstorming session. Kikko, of course, greeted us at the door with anxious sniffs, dancing on her hind legs in anticipation of getting some pepperoni from at least one of us.

  I dug underneath my mattress—the official hiding place of my detective journal—grabbed the tattered spiral notebook, and brought it to the kitchen table where Megan and I hunkered down with greasy food and speculations.

  The hard part of this whole thing was that Margo didn’t have much affiliation with anyone I knew, and I didn’t know anything about her on my own. Normally, should a situation like this arise, I could always count on the people who worked or shopped at Asia Village to help me do some digging.

  My only hope at this point was that Margo’s hair stylist, Nicole, would be able to shed the tiniest of lights on the deceased woman’s private life.

  I’d just finished jotting down the limited information we knew about Margo when Megan let out an exaggerated groan. Her eyes were focused on the page I’d been writing, and my guess was that her frustration was due to the fact that most of the page was untouched. All we really knew for sure was that her family owned a dry-cleaning company, and that she had a sister. We concluded her sister must run the family business, but even that we couldn’t be sure about just yet.

  “How are we going to pull this one off?” Megan asked. She removed the elastic band from her hair and readjusted her ponytail.

  I slapped the pen down on the notebook and gawked at her. “Wait a minute, you’re always the one with
the can do attitude. You can’t just go and change tactics on me.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest in mock protest. “If I’m always the one encouraging you, why don’t you have a turn? Put those positivity podcasts and self-improvement books to the test.”

  I stuck my tongue out and she responded with a snicker.

  In recent months, I had taken to the positivity movement that seemed to be spreading like wildfire. Not only had I purchased a variety of books on mindset from the Modern Scroll, but I was dutifully listening to motivational and uplifting podcasts on a daily basis, and Megan couldn’t resist regularly teasing me about it.

  “Okay, fine,” I said, matching her crossed arms. “I accept your challenge. I can be positive about this, no problem.”

  “Oh yeah?” She raised an eyebrow at me. “Look at that empty page and then tell me that again.”

  I sighed. “But this is how all of our cases start. We think we’re doomed and then something opens a door that leads us to another door, and then another…”

  “Well, I hope you’re right. I don’t say this often, but I don’t see this being so easy.”

  With a laugh, I replied, “It’s never easy.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Don’t worry, I have a good feeling about this lead with Nicole. At one time or another, Margo had to say something of use to her, and we’re gonna use that to break into this case.”

  Looking unconvinced, she leaned forward and reached for another slice of pizza. “Like I said, I hope you’re right.”

  “Don’t worry,” I replied, smiling wide. “How often am I actually wrong?”

  * * *

  The next morning, I found myself feeling quite determined. As I put on my makeup, I wondered if that was Megan’s purpose all along. She knew I’d been feeling combative lately, which is exactly why I took the cooking class to begin with. Maybe this was her way of getting me on top of my game.

  Whatever the case may be, it had worked. I got myself dressed and ready for the day, my mind moving from one idea to the next. Of course, most of these ideas were just me making assumptions, since I knew next to nothing about this woman.