Oliver takes a deep breath. He should say the right things. You never speak ill of the dead, everyone knows that. He should tell her that Marshall was a good person, someone who always made everyone around him happy. He should tell her that Marshall’s death is a horrible loss for everyone who’s ever known him. The words are already forming in his mind, but when Oliver opens his mouth, what comes out is, “My brother was maybe the most charismatic person I’ve ever come across, but he was also the most cruel. He took pleasure in humiliating others, in making sure everyone knew he was better than they were. And his favorite target was me. He made sure that I knew, and everyone knew, that I was the bad twin. I hated him.” Oliver’s voice shakes. What the hell is he doing, telling her all this? He might as well tell her he’s guilty and hold out his wrists for her to handcuff. Not that she has handcuffs, she’s a little old lady who owns a tea shop, for goodness’ sake.
He expected Vera to be horrified at all the toxic things he’s spewing, but instead, she nods sagely and slurps at her tea. “Ah yes, I figure, this man is not good man. Is why he is murdered.”
Tiny pinpricks shiver down the back of Oliver’s neck. “M-murdered?” He finds, to his horror, that his hand starts to shake, and he hurriedly puts down his teacup before the tremors become too obvious. “Wha— The police didn’t mention foul play to me.”
Vera releases a surprisingly powerful snort and flaps a hand at him. “The police. What do they know? They don’t even take fingerprint. They are not at all like on TV, you know, with all that fancy CSI stuff, oh no, they come in, they look around, they take my statement, then they call medical examiner. I thought, aha, this medical examiner will know what he is talking about, but he come, he look at the body, he take the body away. End of story.” She leans forward, her eyes on Oliver. “No, if you want to solve the mystery of your brother’s death, we must do it ourselves.”
“Uh . . . I don’t . . . I’m sure there’s protocol in cases like these, and the police I’m sure are doing their best to look into it and make sure everything looks kosher.” Actually, he hopes they’re as incompetent as Vera described.
“And what is it you think happened?” Vera narrows her eyes at him. Suspicion rolls out of her in thick waves. She’s not even bothering to hide that she thinks he’s one of the main suspects.
Oliver can practically feel his pores expanding and releasing sweat. “There’s nothing determined yet, we’re still waiting for the medical examiner to confirm it, but they think it might have been an allergic reaction.”
Vera’s eyes narrow even further. They’re so narrowed they’re practically closed by now. Oliver half wonders how she’s still able to see. “An allergic reaction to what?”
Oliver shakes his head. “Marshall was allergic to quite a few things. Beestings, peanuts, almonds, feathers—one time, our mom got this secondhand goose-down duvet, and I remember she was so pleased because they’re usually so expensive—”
Vera nods. “Ah yes, what a good find. Good woman, your mother.”
“The best,” Oliver says with a wan smile. “Anyway, Marshall and I still shared a bed at the time and that night, I remember hearing this awful noise. It was like he was trying to breathe through a thin straw. It was horrible. I woke up and tried to shake him awake, but all he did was continue doing that whistling breath, and I started screaming and crying, and our parents barged into our room and got him his inhaler, and then they had to rush him to the hospital; his face was all swollen and his hands—” Oliver shudders. “His fingers were like sausages, all red and swollen, the skin was so tightly stretched. I thought they would burst. He had a rash for days afterward, even after the swelling went away.”
“Hmm.” Vera scratches her chin. “Interesting. Well, this is all very helpful, Oliver. Thank you, I have a good list of suspects.”
“What?”
“Nothing concrete enough to show you, but—” She shifts in her seat and takes out her phone. “You put your number in there, and I will call you once I find killer.”
“Uh . . .” He tries to think of a million reasons to say no, but when he glances at Vera’s kind but also razor-sharp expression, he knows anything he comes up with would be futile. So Oliver keys in his number, all the while wondering just what the hell he’s gotten himself into. He gets the feeling he’s going to regret stepping inside Vera Wang’s World-Famous Teahouse for a long time to come.
NINE
RIKI
After the second consecutive missed call, Riki’s phone gives up on silent mode and starts wailing. The noise slices through his nightmare-filled sleep in which little Adi is shouting, “Kakak, when can I come to America too? Why have you left me behind?” and Riki wakes up in a pool of sweat, heart thudding and mouth dry. He paws his bedside table for his phone, unplugs it, and goes, “Adi? What’s wrong?”
But instead of Adi’s, a woman’s voice comes out. “Riki? Are you still asleep?”
Riki blinks blearily, trying to clear his sleep-fogged mind. “Who’s this?”
“It’s Vera.”
Nope, the name isn’t—
Oh. Right, Vera. The little old lady from the tea shop. Why the hell is she calling him at—Riki glances at his watch—what the hell? It’s only 7:32 a.m. That can’t be right. His heart suddenly revs up again, before his mind catches up. She must be calling because something is very, very wrong. “Vera, what happened?”
“Well, I have been checking the Buzzfeed, you know, and I don’t see your article anywhere! And I think to myself, ah, since it’s not up yet, maybe I still have time to give you some important detail to put in your article.”
It takes a moment for Riki to figure out just what in the world Vera is talking about. The Buzzfeed? Oh, right. He stupidly told her he’s from Buzzfeed when he met her yesterday. Oh god. He massages his forehead. Why had he said that? “Uh, right,” he mumbles.
“For example, make sure you mention my shop address. It’s important that people know where to find me, yes? And also, you didn’t take pictures of my shop yesterday. Do you forget to? I have put on more makeup today, and my hair is looking very nice, so come by and take photos of me and my teas, okay? You know, I read that articles that have plenty of pictures are the ones that do best. You reporters, you’re given a bonus if your article goes viral, right?”
Are reporters given bonuses based on how many clicks their articles get? Riki has no idea, but he could conceivably see that happening. He nods, then realizes Vera can’t see him, and says, “Yeah . . . ?”
“Ah, well, there you go. Come here, take many photos of me, take photos of the body outline too, that’ll be good for the article.”