Death by Dumpling

by Vivien Chien

  On the right wall, there was a pad with twelve buttons and an apartment number listed next to each. Twelve metal mail slots sat to the right of it, all of the mailboxes had names listed on them except for two. That would be our starting point.

  With shaky hands, I rang the first buzzer and waited for a reply. Nothing.

  Megan looked at me. “Well, that’s a good sign, right?”

  “Maybe,” I said. And I pressed the second buzzer with no listed name. And again, nothing. Of the two keys on the chain, I picked the larger one that resembled the kind of key we had for our security door. The lock stuck a little bit, but I got it open and we hurried inside.

  The first apartment with no name was on the second floor, and both of us tiptoed up the stairs. TVs could be heard in the hallway, and I was thankful for the lack of total silence.

  We read the numbers on the door and found apartment 203. I pressed my ear up to the door and listened. Silence.

  Megan, who was keeping an eye out, turned to me. “Well?” she whispered.

  I shook my head. “I don’t hear anything.” I straightened and braced myself, putting the key in the lock. It fit, but wouldn’t turn.

  Megan sighed and gestured up the stairs. I nodded in reply and we made our way quietly up the steps to the third floor. We stood in front of apartment 301. This had to be it. Unless we had the wrong building altogether. I kept my fingers crossed that we wouldn’t have to search for another apartment building.

  I went through the same routine of putting my ear to the door, and I heard nothing on the other side. Just to be sure, I gave a light knock, hoping that none of the neighbors would hear the noise and come out. When there was no response, I put the key in the lock, and turned it slowly. The door started to give. Megan and I exchanged a look, and I pushed the door open just enough so we could sneak in.

  Once we were inside, I shut the door gently, and turned the lock. We stood in the dark for a few minutes, listening, and absorbing our surroundings.

  I heard Megan rustling around in her bag, and when she was done a small beam of light hit the floor. “Let’s do a quick walk-through to make sure no one’s in here with us,” she whispered. I could hear the nervousness in her voice.

  I nodded in agreement, not sure if she could even see the gesture. I felt around in my bag and found my own miniflashlight. I switched it on so it would light up the floor, and I made my way through the living room, careful not to make too much noise.

  The apartment was cozy, with a decent-sized living room and small kitchenette. There was a short hallway that I assumed led to the bedroom. We headed for the hallway and thankfully there weren’t any shut doors. At the end of the hallway was a small bathroom, and to the left was the bedroom. I crept up to the doorway and slowly shone the flashlight over the perimeter of the room near the bed. As far as I could tell, no one was in it. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  The room had one window covered in miniblinds. I moved along the side of the bed and twisted the handle to close the blinds tight. Megan and I stood in the room catching our breath.

  “Do you think anyone is living here?” Megan asked, waving her flashlight around the room.

  “Let’s hope not. I’m going to make sure all the blinds are closed in the living room too.”

  “Okay, I’ll look around in here.”

  Before heading out into the living room, I stopped in the small bathroom, and took a look around. There was nothing extraordinary about the bathroom, and I felt a slight touch of claustrophobia standing in the small space. There wasn’t even a window. I stood in front of the sink, and stared at the mirror of the hanging medicine cabinet. The glow of the flashlight lit up the edges of my face and dread washed over me as I recollected every urban legend about standing in front of mirrors in the dark.

  I shook away the fear that was creeping up my throat and slowly slid the mirror to one side. The inside of the medicine cabinet was nothing exciting. There was a tube of toothpaste, a bottle of generic aspirin, and a small bottle of mouthwash. I closed the cabinet and moved back to the living room.

  There was a sliding glass door in the living room and it was covered with vertical blinds. I made sure they were closed and worked my way around the kitchenette and the living room.

  I don’t know what possessed me to check the fridge, but I felt my body ease as I searched through the contents. A carton of milk was on the top shelf with an expiration date of two weeks ago. So, either the person living here didn’t clean out their fridge too often, or no one had been here in at least a few weeks.

  Megan came out into the living room. “There’s nothing exciting in the bedroom. A couple of women’s shirts are hanging in the closet, but the drawers are practically empty. Nothing under the bed either.”

  I told her about the milk and she let out a sigh of relief. She plopped down on the couch and held her head in her hand. “This whole thing is stressful. I hope we find something here … then at least it’ll be worth it.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” I replied as I opened all the drawers in the kitchen, which also contained nothing exciting. A lot of the drawers were empty or had minimal supplies in them. I found chopsticks in wrappers and mismatched napkins that must have come from takeout orders.

  I went over to the couch and sat down gingerly on the edge next to Megan. I was feeling defeated and the whole ordeal was draining the life out of me. I felt like I could sleep for a week.

  “Maybe we should just go,” Megan suggested. “The longer we’re here, the creepier I feel.”

  “Not yet. There has to be something.”

  To our right, there was a small credenza that hugged the wall. I hadn’t noticed it when we walked in because I was so busy worrying about open windows and sound sleepers tucked in their bed. So preoccupied, in fact, that I hadn’t noticed the picture frames placed on top, or the stack of papers lying next to it.

  Megan watched and followed my line of sight. “What are you looking at?”

  “There are pictures over there,” I said, swinging the flashlight to the desk. I got up to get a better look, and what I saw couldn’t have shocked me more. It was Peter’s mom, Nancy. I picked up the frame and shone the light on the portrait. Smiling back at me was Nancy; slightly younger, but it was definitely her. “Holy…”

  “What?” Megan asked, springing up from her seat on the couch. She looked over my shoulder at the picture. “Is that…?”

  “Yup, Peter’s mom.” I stared at the picture. I was having a hard time absorbing and processing all the potential scenarios. From the look of things they were still seeing each other. Did Peter know? Was he the killer after all? Or was it Peter’s mom? Thomas was supposed to be happily married to Donna. So why did this apartment even exist?

  “You know what’s even more strange?” Megan said, breaking me out of my thoughts.

  “It really can’t get weirder, Megan…”

  “Wanna bet?” she asked, reaching around me and lifting the other frame to eye level.

  “What…?” I stared at the frame she held in her hand; it was one of those folding frames with two slots for five-by-seven photos. One side was a picture of Peter in a cap and gown, his graduation photo. And the other was a picture of a younger Mr. Feng with a toddler on his knee, and Nancy standing behind the two with her hand on Mr. Feng’s shoulder.

  “Didn’t you tell me once that Peter never knew his father?” Megan asked.

  “Yeah…”

  “Do you think—”

  “No.” I shook my head. “No, this can’t be right. He probably just took him under his wing or something. You know, since he didn’t know his own dad.” I turned away from Megan, clutching the photo.

  “Lana…” Megan said softly.

  Before I could venture further into denial land, we heard a door slam in the hallway, and both of us jumped. I dropped the picture frame I was holding in my hand, and it made a loud thud against the table.

  Megan swore for both of us.

 
; We stood frozen in place, listening for more sounds in the hallway. When we didn’t hear anything, Megan crept to the door and put her face up to the peephole.

  “Nancy?” a muffled voice called through the door. “Is that you?”

  Megan jumped back from the peephole, her hand flying up to her chest. She turned to me and put a finger to her lips.

  “Nancy?” the voice called again. Then there was a light knock at the door.

  My heart was thudding so loud in my chest, I thought for sure the entire city block could hear it. We stood in place for several minutes until we didn’t hear anything anymore. Megan quietly stepped back up to the door, placing her face near the peephole and held it there for several minutes.

  She must not have seen anything because she turned to me and hissed, “Bring that picture frame. We need to leave!”

  * * *

  Back at home, we both sat on the couch with a beer in our hands. We hadn’t talked the whole way home. Half of the car ride was spent catching our breath, and the rest of the silence, well, I didn’t know about Megan, but I was lost in my thoughts about everything we’d learned since leaving the house earlier that night.

  What we had found opened up even more possibilities than we’d had before, and now that I had more time to think about it, it could even put Donna back on the suspect list. Did she know that her husband was being unfaithful to her? Was everything she’d told me earlier that evening a lie?

  And Peter … did he know that Thomas was his father to begin with? Or had he just found out and that’s why he’d started acting so strangely? Furthermore, if he’d just found out, why had Nancy or Thomas decided to tell him after all this time? Either way, I didn’t want to believe it.

  “I think it was Peter,” I blurted out into the silent room, shocking myself in the process. Did I really believe that?

  Both Megan and Kikko turned to look at me. Both with equal surprise.

  “You sound pretty sure of yourself,” Megan replied.

  I stood up and started to pace. “It has to be. He must have known that his mom was sleeping with Mr. Feng … or doing whatever they were doing.” I had a cringe moment thinking about it.

  Megan leaned forward, balancing her elbows on her knees. “I don’t know, something doesn’t feel right about it being Peter…”

  “What makes you say that?” I asked, stopping in the middle of my pacing.

  “With everything we’ve found between the office and this secret apartment … I think there’s more to it. I don’t think it’s as simple as Peter being mad because Thomas Feng was his father.”

  I threw up a hand. “Of course there’s more to it.”

  “Aha! So you admit there’s a possibility that Thomas is Peter’s father.”

  I grunted and continued to pace. “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t be stubborn, Lana, there’s a family photo to prove it.”

  “We don’t know that. I’ve taken pictures with you and your family before, doesn’t mean that we’re related.”

  “We just left their love nest, Lana. I mean, come on, that was obviously their secret meeting place.”

  “We don’t know anything,” I repeated.

  She huffed. “Okay, fine, we don’t know that to be a hundred percent true. What are we going to do now?”

  “I don’t know yet…”

  “Well, one thing’s for sure, we can’t tell Donna any of this. No matter how much she wants to help.”

  “Agreed,” I replied. “She could be guilty after all, I mean, her whole story could be made up to throw me off track.”

  “A woman like Donna…” Megan shivered. “I don’t even want to know how she’d react if she found out her husband was cheating on her.”

  “I need to find a way to talk to Nancy about this. I need to find out what the extent of their relationship was and if she thinks Peter may have found out. Jeez,” I said, throwing my arms up. “I need to talk to Peter too.” I thought about the times I had tried getting him to open up to me, and how close he’d come the night that Kimmy interrupted us. His behavior couldn’t all be because of Kimmy’s workplace situation. There had to be more to the story.

  “Do you really think either one of them will tell you anything?”

  “I’m not sure about Peter at this point, but I might be able to convince Nancy that it’s best to tell me, so I can help her before anyone else finds out the truth.”

  “Help her?” Megan asked, confused.

  “Yeah, you know … so Donna doesn’t come after her.”

  * * *

  That night I had weird dreams about Mr. Feng, Donna, and Nancy, all sitting together at a dinner table. In front of them were plates and plates of shrimp dumplings.

  The trio talked cheerily to each other, but their voices were muffled and I couldn’t make out what they were saying. I watched as they laughed, throwing their heads back as if they didn’t have a care in the world.

  Mr. Feng sat between the two women, his arms hung loosely around both of their chairs. They leaned close to him and whispered. Donna picked up a pair of chopsticks and grabbed a dumpling, bringing it to Mr. Feng’s lips. He took a bite and smiled lovingly at her.

  I yelled to him, trying to warn him not to eat the shrimp. But he couldn’t hear me.

  I woke up screaming. My body was slick with sweat and I gasped for breath. Kikko poked her head out from under the blanket and looked at me with doggy concern.

  I couldn’t do this anymore. Now this whole thing was invading my dreams. This had to end.

  CHAPTER

  32

  It is my firm belief that every once in a while, the universe will present you with a gift. It could be something very small and seemingly insignificant, but it will lead you down the right path. And usually, it’s when you least expect it.

  So that’s why when at the end of my shift that day, Nancy Huang walked casually into Ho-Lee Noodle House on her day off … the very next day after Megan and I found the secret apartment, I sent thank-you vibes to the universe. Here was my chance, so conveniently laid out before me. I couldn’t pass it up.

  Nancy smiled pleasantly at me as she walked up to the hostess station, and I tried my best to return the smile. But, as I had suspected, I failed. Nancy immediately picked up on it, and cooed her concern. “Lana, what’s wrong? Such a beautiful girl should never look so sad.”

  “I would like to talk to you about something, if that’s okay.” My tone came out flatter than I meant it to.

  She nodded. “Of course, anything.”

  I looked over my shoulder. “Not here. Maybe we could talk out in the plaza. My shift is over in fifteen minutes.”

  Concern spread on her face. “Is everything okay with Peter?”

  “As far as I know, everything’s fine with Peter,” I assured her. “I wanted to talk to you about something else.”

  “Okay, I’ll go wait for you by the bench near the koi pond.” And with a furrowed brow, she exited the restaurant.

  The minutes dragged on as I waited for Vanessa. At five on the dot, she came in like a flurry of wind. “Sorry, I’m here, I’m here,” she said through gasps of breath.

  “It’s fine,” I said and grabbed my things. “I have to go.”

  “Um, okay … see ya then,” she said.

  I hurried out into the plaza, and saw Nancy sitting, as promised, on a bench near the koi pond. Even in her modern clothing, she reminded me of a traditional Asian painting. I thought back to that particular painting in Mr. An’s store and thought how much she resembled the lovelorn woman.

  When she saw me coming, she gave a weak smile, and patted the bench next to her. “Lana Lee, you are worrying me.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be like this, but I have to,” I said, setting my bag down next to me.

  “What is this about?” She looked at the bag and then at me.

  I dug around in my bag, and pulled out a few photos. “I’d like you to look at these,” I said, handing them to he
r.

  She looked at me with worry in her eyes and then down at the pictures, taking them from my hand. “I don’t understand…”

  “Just look,” I encouraged, nodding at the pictures.

  She flipped through the pictures I had kept with me in my purse. The first one was of the young girl that I had recognized but couldn’t quite place. Now I knew it had been Nancy when she was a young girl, still in college. The second was the one that Megan referred to as the “family photo,” and the third was the torn picture I had found in Mr. Feng’s secret drawer.

  Nancy’s eyes began to moisten. She touched the photo of Mr. Feng with a delicate finger. “Where did you get these?” she asked, looking up at me. The photos shook in her trembling hand.

  “Around,” I said.

  She turned her head from me. “Are you going to tell Peter?” she asked in a shaky voice.

  “Tell Peter what?” I asked, wanting her to say it out loud. “I was hoping you’d tell me what all of this is about. I believe it has something to do with Thomas Feng’s death.”

  Her head whipped back around to face me. “What? No, it couldn’t.”

  “Nancy…”

  Her shoulders sank. “Thomas is Peter’s father.”

  Well, bully for Megan. She was right on that one. I took a moment to process that. “Does Peter know?”

  She shook her head. “No, I never wanted to tell him.” She wiped a tear away.

  “So … how did all of this happen?” I gestured to the photos. “Why did he end up with Donna instead of you?”

  She began to cry, and I imagined that it was in memory of days long gone. Days that she had buried in the back of her mind until I so callously brought them back to the surface. I felt a twinge of guilt … but only a twinge. I reminded myself that a man was dead, a close friend, and it might have something to do with their affair.

  “Nancy, I need you to tell me.”

  She nodded through her sobs. “Thomas and I were very much in love … it happened by accident. He and I became friends through Charles … and we didn’t mean to … fall in love.”