Death by Dumpling

by Vivien Chien

  “You have no idea what this information could do to me, if anyone knew that I’m not really who I say I am.” She stopped and looked at me, her expression desperate. “It could ruin everything and jeopardize my kids.”

  “Wait…” I said, finding myself more confused. “Jeopardize your kids?”

  “Yes! I can’t have anybody coming after my family.” Her voice was shrill as she said it.

  I didn’t know what her birth certificate could have to do with her children. But I knew by what she was saying that I had her at a disadvantage. I only had two options. The first was to act like I had no idea what she was talking about and stick to my bathroom story. The other …

  “I promise I won’t tell anyone about your birth certificate if you agree to trade information with me.”

  “What kind of information?”

  “Tell me about this birth certificate angle, and I’ll tell you what I was doing here.”

  She took a deep breath, closing her eyes. “I need you to explain to me what you were doing here first.”

  If there was any one moment that I needed to be honest, it was now. “I’m looking into who really killed your husband. All I did was go into Mr. Feng’s office upstairs to look for a key to get into the office at Asia Village. I promise I didn’t go through any of your personal things.”

  Her eyes widened and she shifted on the couch. “Lana! That is dangerous! What are you thinking?”

  Careful to leave out certain details, like the information I had found in Mr. Feng’s desk, I filled her in on what I had been doing and the odd things that had been going on with Mr. An, Peter, Kimmy, and even Ian. She sipped her tea as she listened, soaking in everything I was telling her. “I thought maybe if I could get into the office and find something, I would be able to figure out what really happened to your husband. I was just trying to help…” I said, feeling silly now that I’d explained the story in full.

  For a few minutes after I’d stopped talking, we sat in silence, and I’m sure that she was thinking of what to say next … or what to do with me. Now that my story was out, she could easily renege on our agreement of sharing information with me.

  I decided to break the silence. “Please don’t tell anyone what I’ve been doing. I promise I’ll stop and I’ll give you the keys back.”

  She glanced up at me. “Did you find anything in my husband’s things?”

  I left out all the parts about how Megan and I had taken certain things from Mr. Feng’s drawer. In my current position, I felt it was best she didn’t know it existed. I did tell her about the appointment book and that Mr. Feng had scheduled a meeting with someone other than Cindy that day.

  “Well, you can take Ian off your suspect list,” Donna replied dryly.

  Her response took me by surprise. “How can you be sure? He’s gaining quite a bit from your husband being out of the picture. Especially with you taking a backseat in running Asia Village.”

  She laughed. “He’s too incompetent to come up with something quite so clever.”

  I cocked my head. “But if he’s so incompetent, then why are you letting him run the plaza?”

  She waved a hand. “It’s a promise I made to his father. Ian has had a bad run, and his father is just about done with him. He almost refused to help Ian when he called from Chicago. That’s when I offered a solution to their problems,” she explained. “I suggested he work with Thomas, and gain experience. Once Thomas was ready to retire, we planned to let Ian handle affairs at the plaza. I thought under our guidance he could be molded into an excellent businessman. Ian needs someone who still has patience left for him. He’s screwed up too many times and there’s not very many people who are willing to take a chance on him like I am.”

  “But why would you want to set him up with me then?”

  She chuckled. “He needs a good woman with a strong head on her shoulders, someone to guide him and keep him on track.”

  I sat back, shaking my head. “Well, that’s not me, because I’m still trying to get myself together.”

  She smiled with understanding. “Lana, you need to stop being so hard on yourself. These things happen over time, and you’ll find your way. Right now, you are doing what any modern twenty-seven-year-old would be doing … you’re finding yourself.”

  I thought that over and wondered if she had a point. Was that what this was? I was finding myself? Is this what they called a quarter-life crisis?

  “Now, while I’m relieved to know that you weren’t trying to expose my secret like I originally thought, I suppose a deal is a deal. But you must swear to me that you will tell absolutely no one. If you do…” She paused. “If you do, then I will be forced to tell the authorities that you broke into my house. Is that clear?”

  I nodded.

  She leaned back on the couch. “I am not from California like I’ve made everyone believe. But it is very important that everyone continue to believe I am Donna Feng from San Francisco, California. No one must find out that I am actually from Shanghai.”

  “But why?” I asked.

  “For them.” She looked at the mantel that sat to the right of us. Her eyes focused on the pictures of her family. “My father was not a good man, and had many enemies. My mother had to make a difficult decision when I was young. She chose to protect me, so she made a deal and brought me to the U.S. where we could start over. Just me and her.”

  I thought back to the only time I had met her mother, and the hard look that rested on her face. It made me wonder how many secrets that woman carried with her.

  “The only way for my mother to be sure that we would be safe here was to pretend that we had been here since the beginning. So the story goes that I was born in San Francisco, and shortly after, my father died in a car accident, leaving her to raise me on her own. And the man who killed my father in this supposed car accident was extremely wealthy, giving us more than plenty of money to live an above-average lifestyle.”

  “So where did the money really come from?”

  Donna looked down at her hands. “Let’s just say that my mother has taken care of all our needs and kept me on a need-to-know basis. The less we all know, the better.”

  I thought this over. “Do you think this has anything to do with Mr. Feng’s death?”

  She shook her head. “If anything were to be found out, the first person they would go after would be my mother. They know how much she means to me.”

  “I see…” I had no idea what else to say. This was not what I had expected to hear.

  “Now that I’ve told you, do you understand why it’s important that no one find out the truth?”

  “Yes, but then why keep a copy of your birth certificate where it can be found?”

  She sighed, looking at me with sadness in her eyes. “Sometimes it’s hard to be someone else. It’s the last thing I have to remind me of who I once was.”

  We sat together for a short while, and I even took a sip of tea. My worries of her being guilty of anything had mostly withered away. I doubted she knew that Mr. Feng had found out her secret, and for her safety, and her family’s, I decided I would burn the papers that Megan and I had found from the private investigator.

  She walked me to the door when I’d decided to call it a night. “I’m still quite upset with you for not telling me what you were up to,” she lectured. “Don’t you think I want justice for Thomas too?”

  Instead of admitting that I thought she was a potential suspect, I said, “I didn’t think you’d want me to meddle in this, but I had to do something. You seemed so sure that Peter was guilty. And I can’t understand why.”

  She pursed her lips. “Well, I have my own reasons for that. But if you think that this is worth looking into, then I will accept that.”

  “You will?”

  She laughed. “Honestly, Lana, you’re a bright girl, and I think you’re capable of figuring out who killed Thomas.”

  “You do?” I asked in amazement.

  “Yes, I do. You
’re able to see a side to these people that the police can’t uncover so easily. And what’s more, I’m willing to keep your little secret under one condition.”

  “Okay…”

  “Tell me what you find before you go to the police. I would prefer not to be surprised by the outcome of anything you may uncover.”

  I tilted my head in contemplation. Not wanting to create unnecessary conflict, I conceded. “That seems fair … it is your husband after all…”

  * * *

  “So, she’s a fraud too?” Megan hissed through the phone.

  I was driving home and couldn’t wait the twenty minutes it would take to get there, so I’d called Megan to fill her in on what happened. She was still at the bar waiting for the next bartender to come in.

  “I know,” I answered in disbelief. “I mean, it shouldn’t have been that big of a shock since both of us saw those birth certificates, but it’s still pretty wild.”

  “She must have said or done something bizarre to make Mr. Feng look into it,” Megan concluded. “So, who is she then?”

  “I’m not sure, but I made it a point to leave out that we’d found a copy of the birth certificate in his office. I don’t think she’d be too thrilled to find out that her husband hired a private detective to follow her around.”

  “Figures that the evidence was right under his nose the entire time. In their own freakin’ bedroom,” Megan said. “But I have to ask … do you think she’s trying to pull one over on us? I mean, she seemed to flip switches with you pretty fast. Maybe she’s faking?”

  I shrugged as if she could see me through the phone. “I don’t know about that either, but my main priority was getting out of there. I’m lucky she didn’t turn on me after I told her what I was really up to. She does have me on camera after all.”

  “I see your point.”

  “So what time do you think you’ll be home?” I asked as I made my way off the freeway into North Olmsted.

  “Who knows,” she said with exasperation. “Robin has been late every day this week, so I can’t even guess anymore.”

  “Okay, well, text me when you’re on your way home, and I’ll make sure that I’m ready.”

  An hour later, I hopped into Megan’s car and we headed toward the Hidden Den. We weren’t sure if it would turn into anything, but I wouldn’t feel that it was resolved until we at least had a look. It could just be a random key chain he decided to use.

  The Hidden Den was located on the corner of a predominantly residential street and looked like it might be out of business. The brick structure was small and unattractive. The flat roof made the building look shorter than it was, and I tried to imagine someone the size of Detective Trudeau fitting in the door.

  Megan parked the car close to the main entrance, which was on the back side of the building away from the street. An unexceptional building like this one, with an entrance in the back, gave me the feeling that a lot of shady dealings could go on here.

  “You ready for this?” Megan asked me over her shoulder as she opened the door.

  I shrugged. “Do we really have a choice?”

  She snickered and pulled open the door, letting me walk ahead of her. It was dim inside and it took a minute for my eyes to adjust. When they did, I was struck by a sense of mediocrity. The room itself was a small rectangle with a low ceiling and the perimeter of the room was decorated with multicolored Christmas lights that I imagined hung there all year long. A small wooden bar with about ten stools stood to our right, and to our left were the bathrooms and a scattering of tables. The place smelled like a mixture of backed-up sewer pipes and French fry grease. I had a hard time imagining Mr. Feng coming to a place like this.

  The bartender was an older, jolly-looking man with a full head of bright white hair. He had on a plain white shirt and a towel was slung over his shoulder. He smiled warmly at us as we made our way up to the stools. “What can I get you lovely ladies this fine evening?”

  “I’ll have a vanilla vodka and Coke, if you have it,” I said, hopping up on the stool.

  He smiled. “I don’t have any of those fancy vodkas here, but I have some cherry Coke that I can mix in your vodka.”

  “Okay, that works.”

  “Same for me,” Megan threw in.

  The bartender went to make our drinks, and I took a casual look around the bar. Hardly anybody was there. An older man sat at the other end of the bar, his eyes fixed on the TV screen just above his head. Behind us, a young couple sat together at a small wooden table for two, holding hands across the tabletop. Country music was playing softly in the background.

  The bartender came back and slid our drinks in front of us. “That’ll be four fifty.” My eyebrows shot up at the low price and he chuckled. “One of the perks of not having anything fancy around here.”

  I pulled out a ten to pay him. “I was wondering if I could ask you … do you happen to know anybody named Thomas Feng? We think he might’ve come in here on occasion.”

  He looked at me knowingly, and leaned against the bar as if to confide his greatest secrets. “Listen, sis, if you have to wonder if your fella is cheatin’ on ya, then he’s probably not worth the trouble.”

  I gave a nervous laugh. “Oh no, it’s nothing like that. He was a friend of mine who got in some trouble and I’ve been trying to figure out what he’s been up to.”

  “Most people that come in here, they don’t mention their names to me. Usually they’re here hiding from something … or somebody.” The bartender nodded in the direction of the couple sitting behind us. “You see them two over there?”

  Megan and I nodded in unison.

  “Their relationship probably isn’t entirely on the up-and-up. If you look closely, you’ll see they both have wedding rings on, but it’s not likely they belong to each other.”

  I chanced a quick look over my shoulder and sure enough, watching the couple for a few minutes gave me the distinct impression that they were just seeing each other for the first time in a long time. I turned back around to face the bartender. “So, if I told you what this guy looked like, would that help?”

  He shrugged. “Worth a shot.”

  I gave my description of Mr. Feng the best I could. I started out with the fact that he was Asian because I thought that might help narrow it down. Not a lot of Asian men going into dive bars that play country music. Was I stereotyping my own ethnicity? Yes.

  “Wait a minute,” the bartender said, a lightbulb no doubt going off in the recesses of his brain. “Is that the Chinese guy that did all the community work and owned that plaza over there on the west side?”

  “It is…”

  “Yeah, he used to come in here all the time with this real beautiful Chinese lady. I think he had an apartment somewhere in the area. I always thought it was real strange that he’d come in here with all the money he had, but hey, I don’t ask questions, or turn away business.”

  So Mr. Feng had been coming in here with someone and I highly doubted it was Donna. Partially because I couldn’t imagine a woman of her status coming to a hole-in-the-wall bar like this one, and also because she was often featured in the papers with Mr. Feng, which would make the bartender most likely call the beautiful Chinese lady his wife. “Did he ever talk to you?” I asked, holding on to hope that we’d find out something else.

  He thought on it for a minute. “Not really, he’d make small talk while he waited for the woman to show up. They’d stay for about an hour and then they’d head off to wherever they went. He never drove here, so I’m assuming that wherever he was coming from was within walking distance.”

  The bartender walked away to get my change, and I sat thinking about what all of this could mean. I don’t know why I hadn’t thought about it before, but Thomas did own a few apartment complexes in the area. So it was entirely possible that he was taking his mystery woman to one of those apartments. And if that was the case, how would we narrow down which one? The keys I’d taken from the drawer had no symbols or
numbers on them to give any clues.

  Megan must have been reading my mind because she asked, “How are we going to find the apartment?”

  “Maybe if we figure out which of his buildings have vacancies? And then we can check those out? See if the key fits in any of those locks?” I asked. Another long shot, but so far the night was looking up.

  “But if he was using an apartment on a regular basis, would it be up for rent?” Megan asked skeptically.

  “No, you’re probably right about that, he’d want to keep it for himself.” I drummed my fingers on the side of the glass. “If I was walking here, it would be because it was the closest place to get to…”

  “Especially if you didn’t want to be seen roaming the streets,” Megan added. “He could run into someone … he’s pretty well known.”

  “So, let’s figure out which buildings he owns in this neighborhood and find the closest one.” I pulled out my phone. “We’ll start there.”

  Megan looked at me with wide eyes. “You mean, you want to do this tonight?”

  I started my search for any property owned by Thomas Feng and said, “Might as well, we’re already out this way.”

  CHAPTER

  31

  After a little bit of digging on the Internet, we located a small apartment complex that Mr. Feng owned about a block away. Perfect walking distance.

  We thanked the bartender for his help and went on our way.

  The old stone structure was well kept, but looked to be about a century old. At this time of night, the building was mostly dark, and only a few lights were on in the three-story building.

  Megan parked the car in the street a little away from the building so we could walk past first and check for activity. It had dawned on me while we were driving the short distance here that the mystery woman might live in the apartment we were looking for.

  We had our flashlights and a backpack in case we needed to take anything with us. We made our way up to the entrance of the building, which was surrounded by boxwood shrubs that needed a good clipping. There was a small entryway and it was cramped with just the two of us standing in it. I checked for a security camera, but found none and gave a sigh of relief. No more cameras.