But scrubbing the toilet seems to work; when Julia finally comes out, she’s less jittery.
“Thanks,” she says to Vera. Then she laughs. “I don’t know why I just thanked you for ordering me to clean the bathroom.”
“Because you know is for your own good.” Vera hands her a Tupperware container. “I make lunch for you and client. Spring rolls, plenty of veg, very good for you. Give you energy to work. Now you go away.”
“It’s not really time yet—”
“Better to be early is what I always say.”
Julia opens her mouth, probably to argue, then seems to think twice. Good, Vera thinks. She’s learned that it’s useless to try and argue with me. Julia goes and gets her camera bag, which she packed very carefully last night. At the door, she pauses, dawdling, oozing with uncertainty. “Are you sure you’ll be okay with her?”
Vera has no idea if Julia is asking her or Emma. Either way, what a silly question. Why would anyone not be okay with Vera? “Go,” she scolds, shooing Julia away. And with one last glance over her shoulder, Julia walks out the door. Vera and Emma go to the bay window to watch Julia’s car leave the driveway, then Vera turns to Emma and says, “Okay, now we get to work.”
Emma nods. Vera puts a cardigan on the little girl, making sure the buttons are all done up, and the two of them walk out of the house hand in hand. First, they take the bus to Chinatown, where Vera buys fresh, cheap groceries. She shows Emma how to pick out the freshest fish (“You poke them in the eyes, like this”; Emma is surprisingly enthusiastic about poking fish in the eyes) and how to haggle with the shop owners for the best price. By the time they’re done, the shopping trolley that Vera has brought is loaded to the brim. They stop by for a quick snack at the fortune cookie bakery, where Emma eats three cookies, then they make their way back to the house. After unloading everything into the fridge, Vera slices up an enormous Korean pear and shares it with Emma while reading her a story.
The reading goes like this: “ ‘The king says, “You are a beautiful girl, but if you can’t turn this roomful of hay into gold by sunrise, I will have you kill—” ’ What? What is this silly story? Rumpy—Rum—Rumpapum? Even its name is stupid. Emma, you listen to Grandma Vera, this king is a very bad man. You hear me? Right, so . . . where are we? Yes, so . . . ‘With the help of Rumpy—Rumpapum, she manages to turn three whole rooms of hay into gold, upon which the king says, “Amazing! You shall be my wife!” And Anne is overjoyed—’ What? Emma, you listen to Grandma Vera. Are you listening? This Anne is very stupid. Very! Stupid! You hear me? Why is she happy that crazy king wants to marry her? She should be horrified. She should carry a dagger with her on wedding night. That’s what Chinese maidens used to do, you know. In old days, Chinese maidens don’t get to choose who they marry. They don’t even get to meet their husbands until the wedding day. So part of the traditional wedding outfit is a little dagger, just in case their husband turn out to be bad man. Emma, are you liste— Oh, you are asleep. Harrumph. Just as well, then. I will have talk with your mother about giving you stupid books.”
Vera gets up gently, placing the little girl down on the sofa. From Emma’s room, Vera fetches a woolen blanket and drapes it over her before giving her an affectionate pat on the head. She smiles at Emma, marveling at the way the little child has wormed her way into Vera’s heart in such a short time. She loves the way Emma’s eyelashes curl up ever so slightly. It reminds her of when Tilly was little and how soft and warm he had been then. She creeps away, careful to avoid the creaky parts of the floor, and starts tidying up Emma’s bedroom, picking up various toys and clothes that have been strewn about and putting them in various cubbies. When the floor is free of toys and other debris, Vera turns her attention to the rest of the house.
Because the truth is, even though Vera has been feeling at home here, she hasn’t quite forgotten about her true purpose for being here. She is here to find out the truth about Marshall. And so, squashing any traces of guilt way, way down inside her, Vera creeps out of Emma’s room. Right, she has of course searched the master bedroom top to bottom. She has also gone through the kitchen, the dining room, and the living room. Which leaves the garage.
She marches out to the garage and looks around the space. It’s filled with quite a bit of junk, most of which looks like it hasn’t been touched in years. There are also racks on one side of the wall, with detergent and various tools sitting on them. Vera narrows her eyes and opens one of the cardboard boxes at random. It’s filled with what looks like old baby clothes. Hmm. She opens another box, then another. Tennis rackets, old shoes. Gah. This is going to take forever. And the worst part is, Vera isn’t even sure what she’s looking for. She has a vague idea that there might be a ledger of some sort? But there’s no guarantee of that, is there?
In one last-ditch effort, Vera grabs a fold-up chair resting against the garage wall and places it under the racks. She steps onto the chair carefully and peers at the upper shelves. And her heart stops, just for a moment. Because there, right in front of her, is something smooth and silver. Something that’s clearly out of place in the gloom of the garage. She reaches over and slides it off the shelf.
It’s a laptop.
Vera’s heart bursts into a gallop. Who would hide a laptop away in the garage? Someone who was doing something nefarious. Someone who was doing something so shady that it might have gotten him killed. Someone like Marshall.
With an agility that she didn’t know she had, Vera hops off the chair, clutching the laptop to her thumping chest, and hurries back inside the house. She checks on Emma, who’s still fast asleep on the couch, and scurries into the master bedroom. Swallowing, Vera opens the laptop. It asks for a PIN. Vera groans out loud. Nooo! Not when she’s this close to solving the puzzle!
But then Vera looks again at the screen, and it isn’t, in fact, asking for a PIN. The actual words are: “Please insert key to unlock.”
These newfangled machines! Vera lifts the laptop and checks underneath it, half expecting to find a keyhole. Nope. None of the sides either. Just to be safe, she even checks the top. No keyhole. The only holes it has are those for USB drives.
Vera’s mouth drops open, her breath hitching. A USB drive! Of course!
Quickly, she lifts the hem of her shirt to reveal the fanny pack she’s been wearing since she found Marshall’s body. She unzips it, takes out the flash drive, and uncaps it with a trembling hand. Here we go. She inserts the flash drive into the laptop and waits, breath held.
The laptop screen blinks, then two words appear: “Shaking hands . . .”
Then: “Key accepted.”
The screen changes, showing a folder named: “Assets.”
Vera clicks on it, and it opens up to show dozens of folders. Eyes narrowed, Vera scrolls down, unsure what she’s looking at. Until one of the folders’ names catches her eye. She opens it. And gasps.