“Hmm.” Officer Gray is still watching Julia closely, and Julia can’t tell what’s going through the cop’s mind. Does she believe what Julia just told her? It does sound ridiculous, even to Julia’s own ears. “And where were you the night that Vera’s teahouse was broken into?”
Julia is grasping at straws. “I—well, here! I have a toddler. I’m here every freaking night, okay?” Oh god, she hadn’t meant to lose her temper like that. “I know how bad this looks—” Julia says, shifting uncomfortably, and her elbow knocks against the cushion next to her. The cushion covering Oliver’s manuscript. Her eyes dart to the manuscript and quickly back to Officer Gray’s face, and something in Julia’s expression must have betrayed her, because Officer Gray practically pounces on the manuscript.
“What’s this?”
“Oh, it’s just—”
Officer Gray turns the manuscript pages with interest. “Huh. Oliver Chen. That’s Marshall’s twin brother, isn’t it? He’s a writer? He give this to you?”
“Ah—” Julia tries to think of something to say. But what? She doesn’t even really know what she should say here. She’s so incredibly furious at Oliver, yes, but she’s not sure if she should be telling Officer Gray anything, not until she’s fully figured out what the hell really happened. But now it’s out of her hands, literally, and in Officer Gray’s. “I found it here. He must’ve given it to Vera. Or maybe Vera took it herself, I don’t know. I think it’s just some made-up boring story.” She gives the world’s fakest laugh and reaches for the manuscript, but Officer Gray holds it out of reach.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to borrow this for a bit. I like to do a bit of reading now and again. Take a break from social media.”
No, no!
But all Julia can do is sit there with her stupid fake smile. It’s only after Officer Gray leaves that Julia speaks again. Just a single word, with a whole world of frustration behind it.
“Shit!”
THIRTY-TWO
VERA
Emma wakes up at five every morning, no matter how late she goes to bed, which suits Vera just fine. Finally, someone who shares her sensibilities of waking up early enough to seize the day! So, every morning, it is just her and Emma in a quiet, slumbering world. They move through the house slowly, their socked feet padding gently on the floors so as not to wake up Julia. Vera wipes the sleep away from Emma’s face with a damp towel and hands her a toothbrush. While Emma brushes her teeth, Vera serves out the congee she’s cooked earlier. The two of them have a quiet breakfast as they slowly wake up, then she takes Emma on her morning walk. Emma has adopted Vera’s way of walking—elbows out, chin up, brisk tempo. Vera doesn’t remember the last time she loved anyone the way she loves Emma.
Today, as on many days, they spend the morning drawing on the beach with Sana, whom Emma loves because Sana is always ready with tickles and kisses and fanciful doodles of mer-animals. Then Vera takes Emma to Chinatown, where they shop for groceries as usual. Emma asks Vera if they can stop by her teahouse, but Vera shakes her head; the last time she was there, the teahouse had been smashed beyond recognition, and she didn’t want to ruin the lovely day by seeing the ghost of her past. A sense of dread gnaws at Vera; she knows that one day she will have to go back home. She is merely a guest at Julia’s, nothing more. But she’d like to push that day back as much as she can—is that such a bad thing? She does, however, stop by Alex’s house, but nobody answers the buzzer when she rings it and tells him it’s her. Maybe he went out for a walk. Poor Alex. Vera hopes he’s doing okay without their daily morning chats. She takes out a bag full of specially prepared tea mixes and hangs it at the gate. The bag has a note attached to it that says:
THIS FOR ALEX, APARTMENT THREE D. DO NOT TAKE IF YOU ARE NOT ALEX!!!
Then off they go to the tram station and back to Laurel Heights. By the time they get off at their stop and begin the walk back to the house, Emma is visibly wilting, her steps meandering and her eyes fighting to stay open. Vera urges her on, feeling guilty that she didn’t have the foresight to stop for a snack or a rest. Luckily, they make it back to the house before Emma reaches the point where she breaks down and demands to be carried. Vera unlocks the door with a sigh of relief, saying, “Come, we go inside and get you to bed. Oh, hi, Julia, we—”
She stops when she sees Julia’s expression. The last time Vera saw that expression on Julia’s face was the first time Vera laid eyes on her—looking frightened and lost outside Vera’s teahouse. Instinct overtakes Vera and she gestures to Emma. “Here, you put Emma down for her nap, and I will put away groceries; then we will talk.”
Julia nods, bending over to pick up the already half-asleep toddler in her arms, kissing the top of Emma’s head as she does so. “Oh, baby,” she whispers to Emma. Emma’s head droops on Julia’s shoulder and Julia doesn’t stop kissing it even as she walks down the hallway toward Emma’s room.
Vera tidies away the groceries into the fridge, her mind racing. What could possibly have upset Julia like that? It must have something to do with Marshall. A million possibilities zip through her mind. Maybe Julia found out something about his murder. Maybe Julia is finally ready to confess to his murder! Oh, such an unlucky thought. Vera still hasn’t removed Julia and Oliver from her suspects list, but she doesn’t like to think of the possibility that either one might be responsible for Marshall’s death. Tch, she tuts to herself. And here you are, comparing yourself to the likes of Sherlock Holmes. What rubbish.
She’s in the midst of washing her hands when Julia creeps back to the kitchen.
“She went out like a light,” Julia says with a weak smile. “You guys must’ve had quite the day.”
“Oh yes, we are always having adventures.” Vera wipes her hands dry and turns off the kettle, which is just about to boil. She takes out two of her specially made sachets from a canister and pours out two cups of tea. Hot tea in hand, the two women walk into the dining room. “So,” Vera says, “it seems like maybe you also have an adventure?”
Julia closes her eyes and breathes out. “I don’t even know where to begin. Officer Gray stopped by today. Apparently, Marshall’s death is about to make me rich.” She gives a laugh that has no humor in it. “Which of course makes me seem suspicious as hell.”
“Oh? Why rich?” Vera takes a sip of the tea and sighs at it warms her up. It’s one of her favorite combinations: candied winter melon peel with burnt rice—it tastes of caramel, rich and earthy.
“We both took out life insurance a few years ago. Anyway, while we were talking, Officer Gray noticed a manuscript.” Julia shifts in her seat, her eyes drilling into Vera’s. “Do you know anything about that? It’s written by Oliver. I found it in your room. I wasn’t snooping,” she adds quickly. “I heard a noise from the bedroom, so I went to check, and that was when I found his manuscript.”