by JJ Chow
“Thanks, Winston. Over there”—Jazzman pointed to the area with the sound system. A huge speaker sat on the grass with wires sticking out of it.
The two of them unzipped the bag and unloaded the equipment. They set up the stand and placed the keyboard on it.
Jazzman stretched his fingers and reached inside his vest pocket, pulling out a tiny resealable plastic bag with pills. He popped two tablets into his mouth.
The medicine reminded Winston of Ming’s tampered pill box. “You remember meeting the Chan family yesterday?”
Jazzman put away the tiny bag. “Sure. They crashed the rehearsal and then the dinner. I talked to one of the sons, an artist fellow.”
“Lyle? The one with a giant camera?” Winston indicated the size of the Nikon by framing his hands.
“Yes. He showed me some great snaps.”
That’s it, Winston thought. Photographic proof. “Did he have any photos of his dad at the Mystery Shack?”
“Of course. Ming looked like he wanted to peer into every cranny of that weird place. Lyle even took one of his dad climbing stairs to nowhere. A motion shot, though. Kinda blurry.”
“Was he alone in the picture?” Winston held his breath. Might Lyle have photographed a significant shot? Perhaps the critical moment right before Ming’s fall?
Jazzman dusted off his vest as he thought. “Somebody else was there. One of the brothers, the lad wearing all black.”
Bright. It had to be. “Were they standing next to each other?”
“Real close. The son seemed to be gripping his father’s arm.”
Maybe Bright had been planning his father’s death for a while. That would explain the clothes meant for a funeral. And he’d finally pushed the old man off the stairs. Because messing with the pills hadn’t been enough.
While Winston formulated this theory in his head, Jazzman ran his fingers down the length of the keyboard. The pianist was probably itching to play.
Jazzman looked at the wires trailing the keyboard and frowned. “How do you connect this to the amp again?”
Winston bent over to find the connector to the speaker. He and Jazzman were still peering at the sound equipment in bewilderment when they heard someone approaching.
“I can take care of that, gentlemen,” Carmen said. She was dressed in an elaborate crystal-embedded ballgown, which hugged her every curve, and carried a large satchel.
“Stand at the keys, Jazzman,” she said. “And you, Winston, pretend to be the audience. Go and sit in the front row.”
They moved to the requested positions. Near the sound system, Winston watched Carmen pull something out of her bag and fiddle with the wires. She turned her back to him and blocked his view with her massive gown.
Jazzman poised his fingers over the keys. He pressed down on the keyboard, but nothing played. Had the sound system gone haywire? Somehow got corrupted? But then operatic music poured out of the speaker.
Instead of the romantic ballad of “Chances Are,” Winston was subjected to very high-pitched singing. “What is that?” he said, placing his fingers in his ears.
“I think that’s from the opera Carmen,” Jazzman said, a confused look on his face.
Why would a sound track be playing instead of his preplanned wedding music? Carmen turned around and winked at Winston. She twirled in her ballgown, showing off her dance moves.
The woman always enjoyed being the center of attention. But today she couldn’t be. Because Kristy was the bride, the star of the show. Was she feeling bitter because of it?
Winston groaned. Carmen must have hidden a music player in her bag. Along with other things, like deadly nail files, as he’d witnessed last night. The tool was so sharp it could do some serious damage . . .
He swiveled his head toward the balloon arch. Then he turned back to Carmen, who stood before him with a huge grin on her face.
He got up and almost knocked over his chair in the process. “You were the one who popped the balloons at the rehearsal.”
“That’s right,” she said, not a flicker of apology on her face.
He gripped her shoulders and shook her a little, making her giant purse fall. Its contents spilled. A very familiar black box toppled out. “You took my wedding bands?!”
He snatched up the precious rings. “I don’t understand. Why?”
“A little payback for what you did to me.” She smirked and went over to the sound system and turned off the music.
What was she going on about? He and Carmen had never been an item. Then he had a literal flash of inspiration.
A radiant light glowed around him. He hadn’t pursued a relationship with her, and that’s why she felt spite. “Is this all because I picked Kristy over you?”
“I ditch the guys,” Carmen said. She tossed her hair. “Not the other way around.”
“Sorry.” Winston didn’t know what else to say. “We really weren’t meant for each other.”
“Obviously.” Carmen made a sweeping motion with her hands, encompassing her amazing mansion and its beautiful grounds. “This is what I deserve. Riches and more. And I did it by myself through publishing a bestselling memoir.”
Another brilliant flash. Was Carmen now experiencing a physical illumination as well?
Her eyes narrowed at something behind Winston. “I thought you hired a professional photographer.”
Winston turned around to find Lyle pointing his camera straight at him.
CHAPTER 26
WINSTON SHIELDED HIS eyes from the camera’s flash and asked, “What are you doing here?”
Lyle stopped taking pictures and hung the camera over his shoulder. “We got your message. Didn’t you invite us to your wedding? I caught a Lyft earlier than the rest to take some before shots.”
“Wait, I did what?” Hadn’t he left a message incriminating Viv?
Lyle took out a cloth and started cleaning the camera lens. “You told Viv you saw something in the shack. And to meet you for your wedding.”
Winston thought back to his static-filled phone message and the sleepy clerk. He’d told the messenger about the pin and then said, The wedding starts in an hour.
He did a face palm. He’d wanted Viv to rush and make it before the big event, not to show up for it.
Lyle continued, “Everyone else is getting ready, but they’ll be here shortly.”
Winston took a deep breath in and out. Well, now that Lyle was here, what info could he get out of the photographer? Winston eyed the man’s camera. “Do you still have pics of the Mystery Shack?”
Lyle nodded. “Didn’t have a chance to upload them yet.” He pulled up a picture of the front of the shack and started explaining the lighting he’d used.
Winston interrupted him. “Jazzman said you had a few with Ming on the staircase.”
“Righto.” Lyle scrolled through the shots, passing by a number of staircase photos. It seemed like the entire Chan family had climbed those steps. He stopped at the pictures featuring his stepdad.
One had Ming at the bottom of the steps, pointing to the top. Another had him midway. The next featured Ming—and Bright—on the stairs.
The picture appeared blurry. Bright seemed to have a hand on his dad’s arm, but the details remained fuzzy. Bright’s body was positioned behind Ming’s on a lower step.
“What’s happening here?” Winston asked Lyle, pointing at the screen.
“Bright went up the stairs with Ming. Wanted to hold onto the old man because the steps were so slippery. But Ming flung his arm away.”
Was the grip not malicious then? “So Bright was holding his arm because—”
“He wanted to help. But Ming was stubborn, longed to get to the very top by himself. Which he did—right before he tumbled.”
Winston patted Lyle’s arm as the photographer blinked back a few tears. “Sorry.”
Lyle gulped and said, “Think I’ll take some pics over there.” He pointed to a location across the green space, opposite from where Winston st
ood.
Looked like Lyle needed time to process things. Engrossed in his quick retreat, Winston jumped when somebody tapped him on the shoulder from behind.
Anastasia had snuck up on him.
A large bag with ribbons spilling over the top lay near her feet. “I’m here to decorate the overly plain chairs.”
She enveloped Winston in a warm hug, her layers of lilac silk swishing over his arms like waves of water.
“Need a hand?”
She huffed to herself. “Yes. Pete always runs late. Can you fill in until he gets here?”
Winston nodded, and Anastasia pulled out some lacy ribbon.
“We’ll place the fabric down the aisle on both sides,” she said.
They unspooled the ribbon and got busy making a fancy barrier. Anastasia also tied big tulle bows at various intervals. “So”—she pointed to Lyle—“is the Chan family crashing the wedding, too?”
Winston tangled his fingers in the gauzy fabric and choked out his next words. “I accidentally invited them. Actually, I had meant for Viv to come alone early to corner her.”
“Rose girl?” Anastasia wrinkled her nose. Too much perfume for even the self-proclaimed Russian royalty to bear? “You suspect her?”
He finally removed the ribbon from his fingers and straightened it out. “She was in charge of Ming’s pills before he died.”
Anastasia took her forefinger, decorated with five gold rings, and tapped at her chin. “That does look suspicious.”
He pulled out another spool from the bag and handed it over. “But what I don’t understand is she’s a girl, so there’s a lack of motive. None of the Chan daughters will get any of Ming’s inheritance under his old-school thinking.”
“Unless she won the contest,” Anastasia said while pinning a bow. They had finished one side and moved to the row opposite.
“What contest?” Winston asked, even as he remembered the Chans mentioning a competition happening during their work retreat.
Anastasia selected another spool of ribbon and gave the end to Winston. “Everyone was to present their ideas to Ming on the best knockoff product to create next. If he picked their suggestion, the person who won would get to lead the company.”
Winston dropped the ribbon and scrambled to retrieve it. He dusted off the dirt. “So Fort wasn’t really next in line?”
“Not by default.”
“Did somebody get picked as the winner?”
Anastasia shook her head as she flattened out the ribbon. “Fort said no. Heard his loud voice gloating about it at the table during your rehearsal dinner.”
They tied the ribbon down, and Anastasia placed bows along the stretch of the material. Although he stayed on task, Winston’s mind reeled. Fort would’ve stayed in power, but with him gone, the next in line would be—
“Doesn’t matter,” said a man’s voice.
Winston turned around to find Pete walking toward them.
“Sorry, I’m late,” Pete said to Anastasia.
She put her hands on her hips while he attempted to fluff a few already prepped bows. “We’re about done now.”
Winston could tell she was going to launch into full-scale scolding, so he jumped in. “Pete, why would you say it doesn’t matter?”
“Don’t you know? Maybe you couldn’t hear from your side of the table near Kristy, but I suffered next to those rehearsal dinner crashers. Everyone grumbled about it at the table. How the business was losing money. How the wife wanted to start their golden years but couldn’t.”
Winston swallowed hard. “And now Orchid will never get to go on those vacations.”
Pete scoffed. “I don’t feel sorry for that snatcher.”
“What did you call her?” Winston stopped Pete from messing further with the bows.
“Orchid’s a thief. I saw her steal at the restaurant. Chopsticks, forks, even something porcelain. Slipped them into a giant Ziploc.”
“Was the ceramic object white?” Winston chewed on his lip. “Did it look like a mini bowl?”
“Yes, it even had traces of sauce still in it.”
Winston could picture the array of delicious grilled skewers . . . and its accompanying circular container of deadly peanut sauce. Had Orchid murdered Fort? Because she sure seemed to have hidden the evidence.
But why would she murder him? Maybe it because of her stepson’s gloating, the disrespect he showed for his sick father in the hospital?
A trembling seized Winston, but he soon realized it was Pete shaking him.
“Hey, Winston,” Pete said. “You’d better get ready. Can’t want to miss your own wedding.”
Winston checked the time and sprinted to the main house.
CHAPTER 27
WINSTON RAN INTO THE main house and almost crashed into Alex.
“Whoa, don’t break anything,” Alex said, gesturing to the exquisite-looking ceramic pieces distributed around his home. The main house was more of a museum than a living space, with its bells, whistles, and gongs. Modern art and fancy sculptures lurked around every corner.
“I’m running out of time,” Winston said, sprinting toward the bathroom.
“No worries. The officiant’s not even here yet.”
“He isn’t?” Winston shook his head and grimaced.
He entered the bathroom, finding it done up in an elegant theme of black and white. The polished floor looked like a giant chessboard. Two obsidian vessel bowls lurked over a swirled marble, chocolate-and-vanilla-scented countertop. And this was only the guest bathroom.
The wedding tux hung on the hook where he’d left it. All pressed, it glowed an unworldly white. It was a replica of Tuxedo Mario’s in Super Mario Odyssey—but obviously much cooler.
Before he had a chance to put it on, a knock sounded at the door. Probably Alex. Winston opened it. “Did the officiant finally show up?”
“Huh?” Orchid Chan stood before him with a giant potted flower in her hands.
“Oh, I thought you were someone else.”
Orchid pushed her way in, then closed the door behind her.
He gulped. What she was planning on doing? She had killed Fort for his rudeness. And Ming for what—his unwillingness to retire?
Winston backed up against the bathroom counter, and Orchid stepped even closer to him.
“This plant is my namesake,” she said. “I want to thank you.”
He eyed the ceramic pot the flower was in. It seemed heavy enough to crack a skull. How ironic to be beaned by a flower with the killer’s same name.
“Thank me?” he whispered. For stumbling onto her wicked ways?
“You were a witness to my family’s suffering.” She lifted the pot up, and Winston flinched.
She edged closer . . . and placed it on the marble top next to him. Could it be some kind of subtle threat?
Winston scrambled to think of a way to make sure she thought he was on her side. “I just want true resolution for you. Peace.”
She nodded and reached into her purse. Did she have a vicious nail file in there like Carmen? Or something deadlier? She yanked out . . . her phone. “Have to text the kids. They’re in the Mystery Shack. Don’t want them worrying. Now I’m the only parent they have.”
As she sent the message, Winston recoiled. “But you did it.”
“What are you talking about?” She peered at him, confused. Her phone dangled in her hand.
“You made Ming, er, go away.” He remembered what the woman at the help desk had said at the hospital. She’d been sorry that Orchid had—
“Yes, I did pull the plug.” Orchid’s lips twisted. “His wishes . . .”
Winston tried towering over her. “How could you kill Ming? Aren’t your marriage vows for better or for worse?” He himself would repeat those very lines soon.
“My husband fell,” Orchid said, her eyes locked onto Winston. “The stairs were too slippery.”
Winston leaned in. “And what about his pills? Moved so he forgot to take his much-needed blood
thinner.”
She stared at him, not blinking.
“You knew,” he said.
Orchid started crying. Fat tears ran down her face. She didn’t bother wiping them away.
He cocked his head and reconsidered her weeping figure. Had it been cold-hearted murder on her part? “Maybe you didn’t want Ming to die, just get injured? Hurt enough to push him toward retirement.”
Orchid wiped her eyes with her sleeve. He wondered if the tears would trickle down into her phone and crash its system. “No, the missing pills were . . . a mistake.”
“Really? And what about the ramekin?”
She gave him a blank look.
“The little container of peanut sauce you slipped into a Ziploc? Evidence of you causing Fort’s death.”
Orchid shook her head several times. “I know she didn’t mean to. It was a prank. And why should she get in trouble for that? Plus, I thought Fort would get better . . .”
“She?” He didn’t think Orchid was speaking about herself in the third person. She could have only meant one person. “Viv did it?”
Orchid’s shoulders slumped. “All a mistake. The sauce, she probably meant it as a joke. Like when she swapped the sugar with salt for his coffee.”
“You saw your daughter dump in the peanut sauce?”
Orchid shivered. “No, I found the ram-a-thingy left with a stack of dirty dishes. It had to be her, right? So I took away the container.”
Had it been Viv? She’d been sitting across from Fort. With the wide rectangular tables at Sambal, she would’ve needed to lunge across the wooden surface to slip in the peanut sauce. Winston said, “Maybe Viv wasn’t to blame . . .”
Orchid continued speaking as if she hadn’t heard Winston. “And the pills. Viv was responsible for those, but Google docs are so complex. Maybe she misread the column.”
While she babbled on, Winston thought, Was the case really that complicated? He’d already established that Viv had nothing to gain. And even if Orchid had offed her husband, it wouldn’t do to kill the successor, too. That would just make more work for her.