Aunty Lee’s Deadly Specials

by Ovidia Yu

  Aunty Lee leaned forward and whispered, “Never Say Die? The prayer and healing group?”

  “Yes, exactly. You went also? What did you get done?”

  Aunty Lee hesitated delicately. “I couldn’t make up my mind. Then—well, you know what happened.”

  Fortunately Doreen was a good jumper-to-conclusions. “Mabel died before you could get it done. I really don’t know what those people are thinking. Everybody knows you must have a succession plan. Even Lee Kuan Yew has a succession plan. But that woman just goes and dies and leaves us all in the lurch. But don’t worry. Somebody is already looking into it. As long as you are already on the list.”

  Aunty Lee always tried to appear ignorant with people who wanted to share information. To her this was only polite, like saying you were hungry to a hostess who you knew had spent hours preparing a lavish meal for you. In both cases it took little effort and usually made everyone happy. She looked blankly at Doreen now, and for added effect almost knocked a plate off the table. Doreen Choo steadied it quickly.

  “I don’t think I’m on the list. I couldn’t commit because—I still have so many questions and Mabel . . .”

  “Not to speak ill of the dead but poor Mabel was not a patient person. Don’t worry; you can ask me anything you want. I decided to just take the plunge and take the leap of faith, and look, I can see!”

  “Exactly! Praying aside, are they real doctors or not? And somebody said they don’t know whether they go and take parts from pigs and monkeys and transplant them inside you!” Aunty Lee did not think anyone could take that seriously but Doreen smiled, pleased.

  “Of course not! Real people. And Chinese people some more! I asked!”

  “How can you guarantee? Can you see the body first?”

  “Why would you want to see a dead body? Rosie, believe me, you can trust them. They give you a form to fill in, your lawyer can check for you first. On it it gives the race and age of the donor and swears the donor is in good health. I got my Henry to check all the medical details for me.”

  Oops, thought Aunty Lee. In her school days that would have been called “a slip showing more than your underwear.” Thanks to years of playing mah-jongg she knew to take a noncommittal sip of tea as though she had not picked up anything. Doreen was staring at her, watching for a response.

  “It’s good you got a doctor to check for you,” Aunty Lee said, vaguely approving. “Are they real doctors or not?”

  “Of course they are proper doctors.” Doreen’s relief that Aunty Lee had not picked up anything made her even more loquacious. “And Henry supervises everything. You wouldn’t believe it to look at the man, but in the hospital world he is a big shot, okay. And when he was in practice he said he made a point to only employ local doctors to work for him. Those foreign grads, not so good. You know why they have to go away to study medicine, right? Because they cannot get into medical school here. Then they come back like so big-time like that. Does not mean they are smart, just means their parents wasted money to send them overseas because they cannot get into university here!”

  Aunty Lee remembered Henry Sung’s tremor. A rest tremor that disappeared with voluntary movement. If he was in the early stages of Parkinson’s he might already have problems with daily tasks such as writing and shaving, and having a young doctor around would be a great help.

  “It was one of Henry’s young doctors that took care of my eyes. Henry told him what to do, like remote control like that.”

  “Did you ask who the donor was?”

  “I didn’t want to know. Must have been a car-accident victim or something. Henry said it’s strictly confidential. I can quite understand that.” Doreen giggled girlishly. “If I was selling off my relative’s body parts I would also want it to be confidential. But why not? After all, they won’t be needing them anymore. And it must be very good money for them, given how much they charge us!”

  Of course Aunty Lee asked how much the eye operation had cost. The price was high but Doreen said it was worth it. After all, she had been almost blind and depressed and now she could see and had a life and a beau. How could you put a price on that?

  “There’s something else I should tell you. I sent in a complaint about the hygiene in your kitchen because Henry asked me to. I only did it to make him happy. He still wants to believe it was food poisoning and he says he just wants to make sure nobody else suffers. And anyway, he said if your kitchen is clean you got nothing to worry about. Sorry, ah.”

  “Don’t worry, one letter won’t matter so much.”

  “That’s what Henry said. That’s why . . .” Doreen trailed off and stopped.

  The beautiful but somewhat overcrowded living room looked out through glass sliding doors onto a meticulously maintained patio surrounded by a border of bougainvillea. Aunty Lee wondered how Henry Sung had broached the subject. Doreen, I want you to write a letter complaining about the hygiene in your friend’s café even though you’ve never been there.

  “Henry brought it up at the prayer and healing meeting actually. He asked all of us to write and complain and to make sure we don’t mention that we know him or one anoother. He even gave us sample letters to copy and a list of important people to send them to. You know, same as the letters prayer groups must get together to write when the government wants to support abortion or gays. But we could see it’s all part of his healing process. Rosie, I’m so glad you understand. We have to stick together at times like this. I mean everybody knows that Mabel killed herself even if nobody dares to say it out loud. Poor Henry. Mabel only ever cared about her successful lawyer image and her useless son. Mabel’s two loves. Both of them rotten at the core. And Sharon is taking over things now. That girl is another one just like her mother. That one is never going to find a husband, you watch and see.”

  All this sounded incredible to Aunty Lee, who was beginning to despair of being able to bring the conversation back to her Never Say Die invitation. It was seldom she met someone who could outdo her in inconsequential talk. Fortunately the front door opened as Doreen was going into the intricacies of what men really found attractive in women of any age.

  The doorbell had not rung so as not to scare the maid. Henry Sung must have his own key, Aunty Lee thought as she watched him enter with all the assurance of familiarity. He looked almost comically dismayed to see her and for a moment Aunty Lee thought he was going to turn and leave. He took a half step backward and bumped into Sharon, who was right behind him.

  “I invited Henry and Sharon to stay here for a while,” Doreen explained. “Just till things calm down at their place. Come sit down with us and have some tea. Sharon, go and ask the girl to bring hot water and some more cups.”

  Sharon left the room without answering.

  “Too many policemen in the house,” Henry Sung grunted. He sat down next to Doreen and helped himself to a drink out of her cup. “Sticking their noses into everything. This is cold. Disgusting.”

  “I told him he should leave somebody there to watch them. Don’t know what those policemen may pinch. They don’t get paid very much, you know. I don’t know how Henry is going to manage on his own. You know the servants all left? They went back to the agency and refused to return to the house. Mabel was always hopeless at handling servants.”

  “Poor Mabel,” Aunty Lee said, prompting social sighs of agreement from the other two.

  “Those whom the gods love die young,” Doreen murmured.

  “So sad, especially after I heard you put so much into renovating the house for Leonard to move back.”

  “The pool house was renovated to be Leonard’s bachelor pad for after he got better,” Henry Sung said.

  “It was equipped as an ICU for Len,” Sharon said at the same time, coming in with an electric kettle, which she proceeded to plug into a wall socket. Doreen looked disapproving but said nothing. Henry seemed oblivious, and Aunty Lee was sure Sharon had hurried back to monitor what they were saying rather than for the tea.

&nbs
p; They should have agreed on a story, Aunty Lee thought. Both explanations were completely credible but side by side they canceled each other out. The difficulty with telling anything other than the truth was that there were so many “others.”

  Henry cleared his throat. “Well, actually I tried your chicken buah keluak that day at the party—”

  “How did you find it?” Henry was clearly trying to change the subject but Aunty Lee was always ready to talk about food, especially hers. In her experience people’s attitude toward food mirrored their attitude toward life.

  “Oh, I thought it was good. Narrow escape, huh! But we’re not saying it was the chicken dish that killed them. Just that we should all move on as quickly as possible. Edmond was saying he didn’t see the point in people eating all these things that are potentially dangerous. Young people like him, they don’t appreciate our traditional foods.”

  Dr. Yong was a liar. Aunty Lee had seen his platefuls of emptied buah keluak casings.

  “Edmond Yong is staying at the house while we’re here,” Sharon Sung said as she walked past them toward the corridor beyond.

  “Rosie wants to come for the prayer and healing group, Henry,” Doreen Choo said. “She needs to do her—what was it, Rosie?”

  “Knees,” said Aunty Lee as she got to her feet and felt the creak. She had hinted it was her eyes but suddenly she could not bear the thought of Henry Sung looking into her eyeballs with sharp objects at hand. Luckily Doreen Choo had not been paying attention.

  “I don’t know—” Henry Sung said. “It’s a closed group. That means you cannot just go around telling people about it.”

  “Of course Aunty Doreen’s friend can come,” Sharon Sung said, pausing in the corridor. “We’ll be meeting here on Tuesday night. Six P.M. I’ll tell Edmond you will be joining us.”

  Sharon disappeared into one of the rooms, having made her pronouncement. The three older people looked at one another. It appeared Mabel’s mantle had been assumed by her daughter.

  “I should be going,” Aunty Lee said.

  17

  Aunty Lee’s Delights Closed

  The next morning Inspector Salim was summoned to Phoenix Park again.

  “The news is good and bad. The buah keluak poison is not what killed Mabel Sung and her son. According to forensics, the poison was in the buah keluak but it was commercial cyanide—added to the dish, not in it to begin with. It took the lab so long because they wanted to be sure. It is from the same family of poisons but was commercially processed. Probably from the rat poison or anti-algae agent found there. The lab is testing samples to confirm that now.”

  “So Aunty Lee is officially off the hook?” Salim asked thoughtfully.

  “I expected you would be happier to hear that,” Commissioner Raja said.

  “I suppose the bad news is if it was not a buah keluak accident somebody deliberately put the poison in the food?”

  “That was supposed to be the good news.”

  “Sir?”

  “Henry Sung’s ex-minister friends want us to drop it. They say it’s nobody’s business but the family’s.”

  “That’s what people might call cronyism.”

  “The old guard sees it as the spirit of sticking together and watching out for one another.”

  “Watching out for each other against outsiders?”

  “The true spirit of Singapore that made us is in these people. They built this country as new immigrants and activists.”

  “And now their children don’t want to take responsibility for anything but feel entitled to a good life just because they were born here.”

  “The majority is still willing to work hard, Salim. I would call you one of the good examples of that.”

  “But there is a group of privileged who are realizing how precarious their position is. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? These people are fighting to not lose what they think they have even if they are not willing to work to increase it.”

  “We are not having a political or sociological debate so early in the morning, Inspector Salim. Or at least I’m not.”

  “You’re telling me to drop what should be a murder investigation?”

  “I’m telling you this is not officially a murder investigation. Most likely it was a mercy killing and suicide. Mrs. Sung could not bear to watch her son suffer, knew there was no hope for him, and killed him and herself. Henry Sung knows it but cannot admit it because Christians don’t commit suicide. They only have Accidents, Misadventures, and While Of Unsound Mind Incidents. Anyway, digging into all that is not going to help anybody. Best to just drop it and let the family get over things quietly.

  “And we have received other complaints against Aunty Lee’s Delights—the hygiene standards in the shop kitchen, the lack of temperature monitors for the heaters, the domestic helper illegally working at a business location.” Commissioner Raja did not enjoy saying this, but he was glad he was not the one who would be saying it to Aunty Lee.

  “So you want me to close down the shop even though you know they had nothing to do with Mabel Sung’s death?”

  “It’s not my call. We have to investigate all complaints and in this case letters were sent to the National Environment Agency, a town council leader, and a high court judge who asked us to look into it. The notice has already been forwarded to your people. The closure is temporary pending results of the investigation.”

  “How many complaints?” Salim asked.

  “Four that I know of. This is separate from the poisoning case.” Commissioner Raja looked at Salim.

  “Four complaints from four different people?” Salim found this hard to believe. “Why now? It has to have something to do with the Sungs.”

  “I forwarded the NEA report to you with the closure notice. The judge and town council leader had their assistants phone in the investigation request.”

  “I’ll get back and take a look at the notice.” Salim had come straight to headquarters after getting the summons at home that morning.

  “Your Sergeant Panchal signed for the notice. She said she would see to it.”

  Outside Aunty Lee’s Delights

  A woman in the familiar blue uniform of the Singapore Police Force stood in the entryway of Aunty Lee’s Delights, triggering the door jangle repeatedly.

  Her presence was nothing out of the ordinary. Officers from the nearby Bukit Tinggi Neighborhood Police Post often dropped in for Aunty Lee’s treats to take advantage of the “in uniform” discount set up for students and national servicemen. Still, Nina watched the woman suspiciously. Nina was fond of Inspector Salim (who Aunty Lee claimed had turned down a promotion to stay near Nina) and knew most people in Singapore trusted the police. But underneath their uniforms they were still people. When times were good it was easy for people to do the right thing. But if times changed, they were people with the weapons and the power.

  “After all the trouble last year I hope that this year is going to be easier,” Nina said as Aunty Lee came to join her. “Now looks like this year is going to be even worse.”

  “Can I help you?” Aunty Lee said pleasantly. “What are you putting on my door?”

  “There have been several complaints about your food and the hygiene of your kitchens,” Staff Sergeant Panchal said. “This is a notice of temporary closure pending investigation. If our investigations reveal your food was involved in the poisoning of two people, then we will press charges,” Despite the lab results Panchal still had not given up on what she considered the best solution to the deaths.

  Aunty Lee looked shocked. “Aiyoh! Are you going to arrest me? Are you going to use handcuffs? Can I take my heart medication and my high-blood-pressure medication to prison with me? And my allergy pills and my antiseizure stress pills?”

  “Oh no—” Panchal said. “I am not arresting you . . .”

  “Are you sure? If you think my food killed those people, why aren’t you arresting me?”

  “Pending investigation. After inve
stigations are concluded we will get back to you.”

  “But I am catering a dinner party tonight. I have to get all the food there and ready by six P.M.”

  “I am afraid that is impossible. You will have to cancel. We will also be taking samples from your kitchen for investigation.”

  “Who asked you to come and test our food? When did they ask you to come and test? Our kitchen test was already done, you know!”

  Since Nina was only a maid, SS Panchal was inclined to ignore her. But Nina was difficult to ignore.

  “We got A1 cert. You want to see our A1 cert? Anyway who asked you? You must have documentation before we let you in! Or else how do we know you are not coming here to put poison inside our food and blame us if it kills someone?”

  “Everything we used on Saturday has been washed already,” Aunty Lee said. “But you can look around the kitchen and test what you want. Nina, you go and show her whatever she wants.”

  “But, ma’am! She got no search warrant!”

  Outside there was a screeching of brakes and a clanging of crushed metal as the red prayer ash bin on the grass verge was knocked over by Salim’s Subaru. The car jerked to a stop and Salim leaped across the drain and sprinted across to them. “Thanks, Panchal, I’ll take it from here.”

  “Sir, you didn’t close your car door.”

  Salim pulled the café door shut behind him, cutting off its welcome jangles in midchime. Outside, Staff Sergeant Panchal shrugged and resumed taping the closure notice on the door.

  “Aunty Lee, Nina, let me take care of this—Nina put down that chopper—”