by Ovidia Yu
Raja Kumar did not follow the red herring Aunty Lee trailed across the conversation. The generation of Singaporeans who had lived through the Japanese Occupation was dying out. And with or without apologies being given, memories of atrocities would die out too. He held no personal grudge against Japan. The only problem he had with the whitewashing of history was knowing that lessons not learned were often repeated. Still, his responsibility was to deal with people’s problems in the present—not those causing trouble five or fifty years ago . . . unless that was where present problems were rooted.
“I suspect expats coming here on huge incentive packages get unsettled by cultural differences from what they assumed was the god-given norm,” he said. “Their natural biases are triggered and they react with defensiveness or disgust. It’s not just cultural prejudice. I think Allison Fitzgerald was feeling insecure and trying to make herself feel better by belittling locals.”
“But why did everybody focus on her? Her husband must have been involved too. He was living in the house; he must have known what was happening to the dog. Why didn’t people get angry with him too?” It was not only because of what happened years ago that Aunty Lee wanted to get the answer to this. If Mike Fitzgerald was the sort of man who pushed blame on to his wife, Aunty Lee would make sure that any rumors that Josephine DelaVega was involved with the man would come to nothing.
“Allison was the one who signed the contract. She was the one who made the agreement. But I agree with you. The man had to have known what was happening. You could say that he’s noble for standing by his wife no matter what she did. Or if you want to be really old-fashioned and patriarchal, you can say that he should have kept his wife in order and made her behave better. Other than that there really wasn’t anything on him.”
Aunty Lee did not fully agree. People who lived together influenced one another. It was part of the give and take of daily life and community. Either he had accepted his wife and her personality or he had failed to change her. And had he left her because of that? But she put that aside to gnaw on later. The problem with having too many questions bursting out at the same time was it got difficult to keep track of getting the more important ones answered.
“I’m surprised they didn’t just leave.”
“They did leave. And that should have been the end of the matter for us.”
Not for the first time Aunty Lee wished the woman had not come back. “And the vet? The angry online people went after her too, right?”
“They did. But right away the vet said very publicly that she was wrong to have put the dog down, that she blamed herself. She cried on TV and gave two months’ salary to the ReHomers and the SPCA and was donating her time to sterilizing strays, so they left her alone after that.”
“It seems unlikely she would be a target for them then,” Aunty Lee said. “But Allison might have felt Samantha Kang betrayed her.”
She studied Commissioner Raja, who was wearing his most impassive expression—and waiting.
“It could just be a coincidence. Or it could be somebody who wants you to think that the animal people killed Allison, not her ex-husband. Vallerie thinks Allison’s ex-husband followed her to Singapore. Is that possible?”
“If he did I’m sure you’ll know soon.” In case Aunty Lee paid too much attention to pronouns he rushed on: “So overall sounds like the sister is holding up okay?”
“She’s in shock, of course. But I think she’s eating normally—no spicy stuff, she likes lots of sugar and crispy food. Not very healthy, but I get the feeling she’s tougher than she looks. And I don’t think she and her sister were all that close.” Aunty Lee did not think it necessary to mention tabloid papers rather than Vallerie had been her source of information. “From what I gather, Vallerie Love moved to America years ago, just after her sister and her family came to Singapore, and she hasn’t been back to England since. What’s more, she didn’t go back to England when her sister was getting her divorce. You would think she would have, if the sisters were that close, right? And that makes it more surprising that she accompanied Allison here. But she said it was the least she could do, and she had never been to Singapore before so why not? I suppose Allison’s children went to stay with their father when their mother left England.”
“The two children were already staying with their father. After the divorce the court gave custody to the father. In fact he took out a restraining order against Allison.”
“Against her coming close to him or to her children?”
“Children. She was only allowed supervised visits, and she could not take them out of school without their father’s permission.”
“Poor woman.” Aunty Lee had been as set against Allison the Puppy Killer as anyone else in Singapore, but she was definitely feeling sorry for her now.
“The court wouldn’t have granted a restraining order without good reason,” Commissioner Raja said. He looked thoughtfully at Aunty Lee. “Are you sure the sister doesn’t know anybody in Singapore other than those three Allison came to Singapore to sue?”
“She doesn’t even know them. Met them for the first time the day her sister died. Your sergeant Panchal gave her a list of contacts in the British Council and the American embassy but she refused to call them. She says they never helped her sister when Allison needed them. But it’s not a problem. I want you to tell your people that it’s all right for Vallerie to go on staying at my house. You know I have lots of room. Your people can reach her here whenever they want and she will be quite safe. You can put a guard outside if you want, but don’t make him stand in the sun. And I want you to make sure we can get back into the hotel room to get her things. For somebody her size it’s not so easy to just go out and buy clothes here. Of course I can go to Holland Village and pick up a few caftans for her, but just think about the underwear!”
“Hmm. Of course.” Commissioner Raja grimaced involuntarily and made a weary shooing gesture. “Fine, fine. Just keep an eye on her. Don’t let her fall into a drain or walk into a door and sue you for damages. And don’t let her talk you into getting involved in investigating her sister’s death. This time it is really nothing to do with you. We just have to sort it out with the hotel security.”
“Didn’t anybody from the hotel notice anything?”
“Hotels like this, guests are paying for them not to notice anything. But the girl on duty at reception did say that one call came through for room sixty-six after Vallerie left, and when she put it through it was answered,” Raja Kumar said. “We would have asked them anyway, you know. We’ve been doing this job for a long time.”
“That suggests whoever Allison let into her room knew she was staying at the hotel but not which room she was in,” Aunty Lee said. “I know Brian made a call to the hotel from the café. Was that it?”
“Oh no. The hotel took his call. They already knew by then.”
“How?”
“Someone else called it in. But they didn’t leave their name. Some people don’t like getting involved.”
Singapore police could be so earnest and naive, Aunty Lee thought. It was one of their greatest strengths, but could also be a great flaw. Aunty Lee was about to point that out when a buzz made Commissioner Raja check his phone. Aunty Lee knew better than to ask about the text that put a gleam in her friend’s eyes, but she sighed and massaged the knee above her poor damaged ankle to make him feel sorry for her and started absentmindedly on another of the jelly moon cakes. They were really very good: not too sweet, not too large, and leaving a slight aftertaste of honeyed lemon curd.
“Anything important?”
“You might like to know Allison Love was not the only member of her family to come back to Singapore,” Commissioner Raja said. “Apparently the ex-husband, Mike Fitzgerald, arrived a week ago.”
He looked pleased and almost cheerful, Aunty Lee thought. But yes, if the police could show that Allison Love’s ex-husband had followed her to Singapore, it would tie up things very nicely.
“Looks like it. Can’t say anything more right now.”
“Can you say that he also killed that girl vet?”
“So, Rosie, what do you think of that place up in Kuala Lumpur that is advertising nasi lemak that is ‘better than Aunty Lee’s’?” Commissioner Raja rose to his feet, switching back into policeman mode. He knew food—especially food from a rival cook—was the only thing that could distract Rosie Lee from trying to dig out confidential information.
“Sounds like they are giving me free advertising. What are you going to do?”
“One day I’m going to take you up to KL to eat the nasi lemak there that is supposed to be better than yours. When all this is sorted out. We can drive there. Better still, fly up to Penang.”
Aunty Lee smiled, pleased. She did not make the mistake of underestimating Commissioner Raja. He might look like a genial old man on the verge of retirement, and he did his best to bolster that impression. But though his social Singlish made his children and grandchildren wince, Raja spoke Standard English as well as Hokkien, Malay, Japanese, and Mandarin, and could make himself understood in French, German, Korean, and Tagalog. He loved languages and traveling. And he loved food and gossip almost as much as Aunty Lee did . . . something his comments underlined. But while Aunty Lee loved solving crimes because she really loved untangling glitches in people, Raja Kumar preferred setting up systems to run smoothly without interruptions.
“We’ll talk about KL nasi lemak another time. Now you tell me what are you going to do with the dead woman’s husband!” Aunty Lee hurried to get between her guest and the front door.
“How can I talk about death first and then talk about life? Nasi lemak comes first. Life comes before death. And this is one of the rare times I discovered a stall you don’t know. We should run away up-country to eat and give the kids a scare!”
In losing their life partners each had also lost a primary dining companion they had comfortably taken for granted for years. Though theirs was no more than a culinary flirtation, they were aware their offspring had vague apprehensions that Raja Kumar and Rosie Lee might decide to marry. They would be good company for each other and it was unlikely there would be children, but who would control the fairly substantial inheritances they had been counting on?
“We worried enough about them when they were growing up and going out with boyfriends and girlfriends. Now let them see how it feels!” Commissioner Raja had once said to Aunty Lee after deflecting a series of probing questions from Selina.
Actually they were both happy with how things were. The commissioner could talk to Aunty Lee about how Sumathi, his late wife, had first discovered kokeshi dolls (she had left an impressive collection) on their thirtieth anniversary trip to Japan and how, on the same trip, he had first tasted kelp-fed sea urchin sashimi. And Aunty Lee could tell him about how exasperating ML had been, giving up smoking “for good” every two years and donating all his pipes to the Salvation Army, and then buying them back (in their unopened donation box).
And they both enjoyed talking about food, of course.
“So where is this famous new nasi lemak stall?”
“It’s not a new stall. It’s an old one. Nasi Lemak Tanglin. In the Tanglin Food Court along Jalan Cendrasari, opposite the Poliklinik.”
“Old man, you don’t know what you are talking about. What’s so special about their nasi lemak there?”
“Quite a number of dishes are special—fried chicken, chicken rendang, beef liver, beef lung, sambal sotong . . . I think we need to go up-country soon.”
“Here I also got chicken rendang, sambal sotong . . .” Aunty Lee made a mental note to tell Nina to source beef liver and beef lungs, but there was something else. “The seller’s name is Zainal, right?” Aunty Lee remembered. “He was running the stall with his mother—what was her name, I can’t remember. They used to have a stall along Jalan Tanglin. ML brought me once. We sat on stools by the roadside under a tree—”
“That’s it! Wah, Rosie, you are as old as me if you can remember. You look so young I keep forgetting.” Raja Kumar roared with laughter. “That’s it exactly. Zainal is still there. Old like us now. His daughter is helping him. Getting ready to take over. I want to go back up and eat one more time before she takes over. These young people always try to improve here, cut cost there. They say it is the same but it is never the same.”
Aunty Lee thought about Cherril’s factory automation plans and sighed. There were different ways of taking over. She would have to think about it, but for the moment her attention was focused on Vallerie and her dead sister. It was almost a relief to have someone with more problems than yourself to think about.
12
Problems
After Commissioner Raja left, Aunty Lee felt something was not quite right with her insides. When food provoked such a feeling it usually meant an upset tummy and runny stools later. She hoped it was not something in the jelly moon cakes disagreeing with her. People often did not know what food allergies they had. They thought they had been born with ill health and went on eating dairy or nuts or mushrooms or whatever it was that made them sniff, scratch, or break out in spots and feel generally miserable. Aunty Lee was fortunate in not being allergic to anything other than falling off tables, but people were always engineering new foods and genetically modifying old ones, so she was always on guard.
The problem was, it could be difficult to tell which ingredient in a dish was making you sick. But that evening Aunty Lee suspected she knew what was wrong: nobody was asking her what secret information Commissioner Raja might have shared with her. Aunty Lee could have resisted any amount of pressure and questioning, but with nothing to resist she felt the nugget of news (Cable ties! How bizarre was that?) swelling and threatening to leak out of her like gas out of swollen bowels. She wondered why Nina had not yet returned with Vallerie, and when Aunty Lee heard the gate opening she hurried to the front room. Even Vallerie would do. Vallerie would want to know what the policeman had said about her sister’s death, and Aunty Lee would be sympathetic, but nobly refrain from saying what she had learned. But it was Cherril who knocked tentatively at the unlocked door and pushed it open.
“Nina took Vallerie to buy some rash powder,” Cherril explained. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about privately.”
Aunty Lee winced, fearing Cherril wanted to talk about her expansion plans, or perhaps ask about the mountain of mangoes or cache of cooking oil samples still untouched in the Binjai Park kitchen. Aunty Lee knew Cherril had already started looking for a factory; in fact she had wanted to bring Aunty Lee around to tour possible options. Fortunately her twisted ankle had gotten her out of that without offending Cherril, but how long could she go on using that as an excuse? She winced at Cherril’s projections of how, once they got automated production in process, they could start negotiations to distribute “Aunty Lee’s Frozen Microwave Meals” to supermarkets and school canteens. And Cherril had also been looking into leasing “Aunty Lee’s” franchises to kopitiam stalls and kiosks. “There’s a limit to how many people we can serve here. And as long as we are making achar and sambal by hand, production is limited,” Cherril had pointed out. “The only way for Aunty Lee’s Delights to grow is to expand in other directions. And on that subject we should start looking out for larger premises.” It all sounded very businesslike and professional and had impressed Aunty Lee’s stepson, Mark, and even his far harder to impress wife. But Aunty Lee knew that what made her Peranakan pickles and fried fish paste so special was precisely that it was made by hand in limited quantities!
And Aunty Lee had never wanted to make a lot of money from cooking. Indeed, for Aunty Lee the business side of things was more an excuse to cook than anything else. To live in a land where there was enough clean water and food for everyone to eat in peace side by side was already a blessing. Aunty Lee was fond of Cherril. But why did she want to change everythin
g?
Aunty Lee was a firm believer in change when it came to sink filters and underwear, but she saw no point in changing something that worked well and didn’t smell. And her little café with its kitchen and shop worked well for her. It was within walking distance of her house, friends and neighbors could drop in to chat, and the police post nearby kept everyone safe. Best of all, she could watch people enjoying the food she had prepared. Wasn’t that the whole point of cooking good food? Not for Cherril, apparently. Cherril, who was definitely also one of the blessed if only she let herself realize it, only talked about profit margins and brand visibility. In her role of business partner, it seemed to Aunty Lee that Cherril was focusing on the business side of things and forgetting it was really all about food.
Aunty Lee tried to change the subject before Cherril could bring it up. “I’m thinking of making savory jellies. What do you think of a seafood tom yam jelly? Our seafood tom yam is already quite thick. We can boil it up with gelatin then set it in the fridge. Cold and spicy instead of hot and spicy.”
Cherril said vaguely, “I’m not very hungry,” which made Aunty Lee stop and look at her with more attention. Cherril was never hungry, which Aunty Lee considered almost unnatural for someone in the food business. But she usually paid attention to what Aunty Lee was saying.
Cherril was a woman who seemed to look good naturally. Aunty Lee now knew this was not true, having seen for herself how much effort Cherril put into maintaining a perfect complexion through a workday. This had impressed Aunty Lee though she had no desire to emulate her. It was the same respect Aunty Lee felt for people who dedicated time, energy, and money to hybridizing orchids or restoring vintage cars. It was how she felt about her sambals and spiced sauces. They were artists, or perhaps acolytes. But that day Cherril was not looking good. Her makeup was still impeccable but she looked drawn, tired, and intensely worried about something.