Just this morning, Vera woke up to a text from Tilly. A text! From Tilly! Without any prompting on her behalf! It said:
Ma, call me back when you get this. We need to talk about the flash drive. You could get in serious trouble for doing that. We need to discuss how to properly handle this. I still can’t believe you did that.
A bit naggy, if you ask me, Vera thinks. She’d replied with:
Of course I don’t have flash drive, what you think I am so stupid? I was just asking hippotechnically.
Tilly had replied with more questions, which Vera conveniently forgot to reply to.
The thought of telling Tilly and Winifred about her newfound sleuthing skills puts an extra bounce in Vera’s step and she practically prances down the stairs. As expected, Oliver’s standing there, looking wary and hesitant, his shoulders rounded. If he’d been wearing a hat, he’d be clutching it in two sweaty palms, wringing it in front of his chest. As it is, hats have gone the way of yore, so Oliver merely stands there, one hand in his pocket, the other clutching his phone. When he sees Vera, both relief and panic war on his face, if that is possible. Vera can practically hear his thoughts: Oh good, she’s here. And Oh no, she’s here.
“Oliver! Good boy, you’re just in time. Sana, Riki, this is Oliver.”
Behind her, Sana emits a loud, horrified gasp, and Riki freezes midway down the steps. They both stare at Oliver like—well, like they’re staring at a dead guy.
“I’m his twin,” Oliver says quickly, before either of these poor kids gets a heart attack.
They both visibly sag. Sana recovers first, giving what Vera thinks sounds like the world’s fakest laugh. “Oh man, you guys really do look alike.”
“How did you know my brother?”
There’s a split second of a pause, then Sana laughs again and says, “I didn’t know him personally, I actually have a true crime podcast and I’m here to do a story on him. I know what he looked like, of course, because I googled him.”
“Yeah, same here,” Riki says, offering Oliver his hand. “I’m Riki, I’m a reporter covering a story about your brother. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Inwardly, Vera shakes her head. Young people really need to learn how to lie better. All she needs to do is get them alone in a room with a bright light she can shine directly in their faces and the investigation would be over in five minutes, but where would the fun be in that?
“Thanks,” Oliver says, then almost apologetically, he adds, “We weren’t close.”
The three of them nod at one another, then stand there looking extremely awkward before Oliver raises his eyebrows at Vera. “Um, is there a reason why you asked me to bring my car here?”
“Oh yes. Are introductions over, then? Good, good. Let’s go. No dillydallying! Like I always tell my Tilly, you young people should move fast. Grab life by the you know what!” Like a mother goose, Vera herds her three suspects out of her shop. She locks up the door and catches sight of the top of Winifred’s head bobbing behind the door of her fake bakery. Vera smirks and waves at Winifred. Hah, she’d bet money that Winifred is writhing with curiosity to know what’s going on. Outside of Vera’s teahouse is a shiny new Benz. Impressive. She hadn’t pegged Oliver to be the type to drive a Benz, but, she supposes, this is why one should never judge a book by its cover. She strides to the Benz and pulls the passenger door open. Or tries to, anyway. It’s locked.
“Uh, that’s not my car,” Oliver mumbles. “That one is.” He jerks a thumb at a sad, clunky-looking Volvo parked behind the Benz.
Vera doesn’t allow herself to even turn her head in the direction of Winifred’s bakery. She can just imagine Winifred snickering to herself. Gah! She marches to the Volvo and yanks open the passenger door.
“Where are we going?” Sana says, standing on the curb and hugging the bag of food to her chest. Her eyes are wide with concern.
Vera sighs. “Are you wanting to investigate for your potcut or not? Get in. I told you already, we are going to see my fourth suspect.”
Sana and Riki exchange another glance—they probably think they’re being very subtle with their glances, but Vera’s counted seven already. It only reaffirms her belief that these two are meant for each other. Then they climb into the back seat. Vera climbs in as well, and sinks into the front passenger seat with a small sigh. She will never admit it to anyone, but she is rather tired. Four hours of nonstop cooking will do that to you. But it’ll all be worth it when she can finally gather all her suspects in a single place and do a Sherlock Holmesian reveal of who the killer is. Not that she knows right this very moment, but she will once they’re all in the same room, she’s sure of it.
As she settles in her seat, she spots a thick, bound stack of papers next to her feet. “What is this?”
Oliver stiffens. “Oh, that’s just—that’s my old manuscript. I’d forgotten it was there. Could you just put it back where you found it, please?”
Vera does so, making a mental note to take it with her when she gets out of the car. In her experience, it’s best to nod and agree with what people say before doing exactly what you wanted from the very beginning.
“So where to?” Oliver says.
Vera rummages in her handbag and locates a piece of paper on which she’d scribbled an address a few nights before. “Here.”
Oliver looks at the piece of paper, then his head jerks up. “What the hell?”
Sana and Riki lean forward. “What’s wrong?”
“This is—” Oliver sighs with open exasperation. “It’s Marshall’s home address. How did you even—”
“I use the Google, of course,” Vera says primly.
“You can’t just look up people’s home addresses online,” Oliver says, aghast.
“Oh yes, you can.” In truth, Vera had dug out Marshall’s wallet from his pants pocket and found his driver’s license and taken down his home address before tucking it back into his pants pocket. All this while wearing her thick yellow dishwashing gloves, of course, because Vera would never be so careless as to tamper with potential evidence. Somehow, she doesn’t think that these youngsters in the car with her would approve of her doing this, even if she had been wearing gloves.
“How?” Sana says from the back seat.
“It’s easy,” Vera says. “Now, drive.”
“What? No! I’m not just going to show up unannounced at Marshall’s house, my god, Vera. His wife and kid are probably home, they’d be grieving, and—”
“So they’d need company. And food, probably. This is why I cook all morning. Now, be a good boy and drive, don’t make me waste all this home-cooked food.”