Wonton Terror Read online

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  For my fellow daydream believers, Keep on keepin’ on.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I am extremely grateful to the following:

  My amazing agent, Gail Fortune, who continues to show me unwavering support and encouragement. Thank you for the pep-talks and reassurances! To my magnificent editors, Hannah Braaten and Nettie Finn, how I got so lucky to have both of you I’ll never know, but I am thankful for you every day. To Allison Ziegler, Kayla Janas, and Mary Ann Asher for all you do to make the Noodle Shop series excel. You gals are the best! And as always, I thank St. Martin’s Press for the incredible opportunity to be part of their author-ly family.

  Thank you to Joshua Hood for answering my completely random questions on sneaky ways to blow things up. If anything, you are patient. And to Michael Boomhower for conversations over Mexican food, entertaining my queries on explosives, the occasional vampire, and everything in between. I appreciate you more than words can say.

  To my wonderful dad, Paul Corrao, for just about everything under the sun. Your support means the world to me. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. To my mother, Chin Mei Chien and my sister, Shu-Hui Wills, thank you for wise words and life lessons. Much love to my soul sister, Rebecca Zandovskis, for keeping me afloat when the high tides roll in. I am fortunate to have you in my life.

  Alyssa Danchuk, thank you so much for your continued support, your many years of friendship, and for being the familiar face at many of my book events. I appreciate you. To my gals, Mallory, Lindsey, and Holly who always have my back and keep up morale when I’m up to my eyeballs in edits. Thank you, thank you!

  To the book bloggers, sellers, and librarians, a million thank yous not only for the support you give to my series and kind words along the way, but also for the services you perform every day. Go books! To my readers, you guys are freaking awesome! Many thanks to all of you for picking up my series and allowing me, Lana, and all the wacky characters of the Noodle Shop mysteries into your lives.

  To the unnamed friends and family who have encouraged me along the way, I thank you always.

  CHAPTER

  1

  “The Poconos or Put-in-Bay?” I waved two travel brochures in front of my good friend and restaurant chef, Peter Huang. My boyfriend, Adam, was planning a weekend getaway for my upcoming birthday and he’d left me in charge of location selection. The only problem was that I couldn’t make up my mind.

  Peter and I, including many others from the surrounding community, were standing in a parking lot on a blocked-off Rockwell Avenue in preparation for the first Asian Night Market of the summer. Rockwell, between the two intersecting streets of East Twenty-first and East Twenty-fourth, was barricaded from traffic to host the weekly outdoor event from sunset until 11 P.M. Every Friday evening during the summer months, local businesses—some Asian and some not—set up a booth to display their merchandise or food.

  And as restaurant manager of the Ho-Lee Noodle House, I, Lana Lee, was tasked with the duty—by my mother—to accompany Peter to at least seventy-five percent of the events.

  Not that I minded in the least. Would I take hanging around outside on beautiful summer nights over being cooped up in our family’s restaurant? That would be a yes.

  The evening was just beginning and the market wasn’t yet open to the public. Peter was busy prepping our rented grill and workstation while my job was to handle cash flow and take orders. He had given me specific instructions to not touch his grill, and without a fight, I complied. Instead, I busied myself with the travel brochures that Adam had passed on to me the other day. When it came to stuff like this, I was never good at making a decision.

  “I don’t know, man, I’ve never been to either one before.” He leaned over the grill, and the black baseball cap that he always wore sat low, covering his eyes. “Flip a coin or something. That’s what I always do when I can’t decide.”

  I grumbled at the colorful pamphlets in my hand. “I don’t know why he can’t pick where we’re going. It was his idea to begin with.”

  Peter chuckled. “If you pick something lame, maybe he’ll pick something else.”

  “Hmmm … not a bad idea…” I stuffed the brochures back in my purse underneath our workstation counter. As I stood up, a food truck pulled into the parking lot and maneuvered itself carefully near the fence adjacent to our location, next to two other trucks that had arrived earlier.

  The truck nearest the stage sold bubble tea in every flavor known to man, and would be sure to bring long lines, especially in this heat. The truck that would now be in the middle spot sold barbecued meat on sticks. They also pulled in a lot of business since their product was so easy to carry while walking around the night market.

  The current vehicle pulling in, Wonton on Wheels, was owned by Sandra and Ronnie Chow, who had been friends of my parents since I could remember. Sandra and Ronnie were always starting one business venture or another, but they were new to the food service industry.

  It was only a little over a year ago that they’d jumped on the food truck bandwagon and, so far, it seemed to be going pretty well for them. Even though the married couple had been friends with my parents since I was little, they’d become more distant over the years and we hardly saw them anymore. My mother used to drag me to their house to play with their son, Calvin, who was only a few years older than me. I remember him being something of a bully. My dad would try to convince me that Calvin teased me because he liked me, but at that age I couldn’t have cared less. After all, boys were “yucky.”

  Sandra, a rail-thin woman with sunken cheekbones and a sharp nose, hopped out of the passenger seat and inspected her husband’s parking job. After she’d made a loop around the vehicle, she stood near the driver’s side window and gave him a thumbs-up.

  “Good thing we didn’t bother bringing any wontons with us,” Peter said, watching as the couple worked to set up their truck. “They’re totally going to steal the show.”

  As far as Asian food trucks go, Wonton on Wheels was a genius idea if I’d ever seen one. They prepared wontons in a variety of ways: on skewers, as salad cups, fried, steamed, and of course, in soup. I had sampled a couple varieties myself … you know, for research, and found that I was a fan of their steamed wontons in chili sauce. Thinking about them made my mouth water.

  I decided to focus on our station instead of drooling over wontons. Maybe at some point later in the night, I’d get the chance to slip away and grab myself a couple.

  After the register portion of the booth was set up just the way I wanted it, I checked the time and noted there was about ten minutes left before the general public would be allowed through the barricades.

  Sandra had wandered off from the food truck and was now standing at a booth diagonal to both of our spots. She was chatting up a woman who appeared to be peddling handmade jewelry. The woman locked eyes on me and waved me over. Sandra turned around to see who the woman was waving at and smi
led when she realized it was me.

  I smiled in return and waved, letting Peter know that I would be right back.

  When I approached the jewelry stand, the woman came around to the front of her table and grabbed both of my hands. She was a petite woman with chubby cheeks that reminded me of my mother. “Waaaa … Lana Lee!” She leaned back and gave me a once-over, nodding in approval. “You are so grown-up now!”

  I kept the smile on my face, unsure of what to say. I didn’t recognize this woman at all.

  “You do not remember me, but I was good friends with your mother when you were a little girl. My name is Ruby.”

  I shook my head. “I’m sorry, but it’s nice to meet you … again.”

  “That’s okay.” Her eyes darted back to the Ho-Lee Noodle House booth. “Is Anna May here too? I bet she is a beautiful woman now.”

  Anna May is my older sister and as far as I’m concerned she’s okay looking. “No, she’s working at the restaurant tonight, but I’ll be sure to tell her you said hi.”

  Ruby pinched my cheek. “Your mother must be so proud of you.”

  “I hope so…”

  She stepped aside so Sandra and I could say hello.

  “It is so nice to see you, Lana.” Sandra extended her hand. “It has been a very long time.”

  Most of the older generation of Asians are opposed to hugging, but I can’t help it, I’m a hugger. I blame my dad for that one. So forgetting my manners, I wrapped my arms around Sandra. “Nice to see you too.”

  Sandra winced as my arms squeezed her shoulders.

  I jumped back. “Oh, I’m sorry!”

  “It’s okay,” she replied apologetically. “I hurt my back this week. It is nothing serious.”

  Ruby tsked. “You hurt your back … again?”

  The two women exchanged a look that was lost on me.

  “So…” I said, feeling slightly out of the loop. “Is this your first time at the night market?”

  Both women nodded.

  I inspected the table of jewelry Ruby had on display. “These are gorgeous.”

  Organized in velvet trays were cloisonné earrings, jade bracelets, rings and necklaces made with opals, mother-of-pearl, and turquoise. She even had a selection of Chinese hairpins and hair combs.

  “Thank you.” Ruby admired her table of accessories. “I make everything by hand.”

  “Wow, really?” I studied the intricate beadwork on a pair of pearl earrings and wished I possessed the skill and patience to create something that delicate. “You should talk to Esther Chin about carrying some of these in her shop. I bet these would sell like crazy at the Village.”

  Ruby and Sandra shared another unspoken message before she replied, “Perhaps I will talk with her.”

  “Speaking of crazy, get ready for tonight,” I warned them. “It gets so jammed with people, they can barely get through. Last year we ran out of food within—”

  “Sandy!” a gravelly voice shouted from behind us.

  The three of us turned in the direction the voice was coming from and saw Ronnie Chow standing near the back of the food truck. He was short, chubby, and sweating like he’d just run a marathon. “Get over here now!” He waved his arms frantically at his wife. “Stop messing around! No gossiping. We have work to do!”

  “Okay, I’ll be right there,” Sandra said in a sheepish tone. When she turned to face us, I noticed that her cheeks were pink with embarrassment. “I will talk with you later.”

  The two women exchanged a final look before Sandra walked off.

  When she was out of earshot, I turned to Ruby. “Is everything okay?”

  Ruby shook her head, disappointment etched in the soft lines of her face. Her eyes stayed on Sandra as she approached her husband. “This is how Ronnie behaves. I don’t know how Sandra can handle him.” With a heavy sigh, she turned away from the couple and walked back around her table.

  I continued to watch the Chows while Ruby busied herself making the final preparations to her jewelry stand. I gathered that Sandra and Ronnie were speaking harshly to one another by their jerky body language and strained expressions. Ronnie pointed at their food truck and then pointed at the food truck next to them. I saw Sandra look around him, fold her arms across her chest and turn on her heel to head back inside their truck. When she turned away from him, I caught her profile and could see her lips moving as if she were mumbling something to herself. She disappeared on the other side of the vehicle and I turned my attention back to Ruby to wish her luck on her first evening at the night market.

  I said good-bye to Ruby and made my way back to Peter who had been watching the exchange.

  “What the heck was all that about?” Peter asked.

  “Oh, I guess that lady at the jewelry stand was a friend of my mother’s when I was a kid.”

  “No, I didn’t mean that … I meant them.” He tilted his head toward Wonton on Wheels.

  “I have no idea, but I was wondering the same thing.”

  CHAPTER

  2

  To be clear, the path I ended up on isn’t exactly how I imagined my late twenties would go. Less than a year ago, I was determined to turn myself into a corporate hot shot who wore stiletto heels and fancy suits. Never mind that I have yet to find a pair of stilettos I can wear longer than fifteen minutes without staggering in pain.

  But an unforeseen turn of events that began with an ugly breakup and kept on spiraling led me down a road I couldn’t have anticipated. That’s life, right?

  Before I knew what was happening, I was working at my parents’ Chinese restaurant, Ho-Lee Noodle House, as their day-shift server, sporadically dyeing my hair unnatural colors—I’m currently rocking purple—and solving crimes in my search for truth and justice.

  Now a handful of months later, I’m managing the family business while my mother enjoys an early semi-retirement, dating a detective with the Fairview Park police department, and deliberating on what color to dye my hair next.

  In short, I finally felt happy. And my life—though on a different track than intended—was starting to feel normal again. As the crowd began to enter the streets, I took a moment to appreciate my current plane of existence. It was good to be Lana Lee.

  Rockwell Avenue was soon filled with masses of people moving from one tented booth to another in search of handmade goods, local services, or menu samplings from nearby restaurants.

  Asia Village, the shopping plaza that housed my family’s restaurant, was well represented on the busy street. Aside from Peter and me, Kimmy Tran from China Cinema and Song, an Asian entertainment store, was two tables away from us selling CDs and Chinese movies. Esther Chin, who owned Chin’s Gifts, was somewhere down the street peddling her porcelain knickknacks, music boxes, and jade jewelry. Jasmine Ming, from Asian Accents hair salon, was showcasing a table of hair treatments, shampoos, and nail care products while Mr. Zhang, from Wild Sage herbal shop, was at the opposite end of the street enlightening people on proper usage of herbal remedies and elixirs.

  Even Penny Cho from the Bamboo Lounge was present. She was handling the onstage entertainment that was set up at the end of the parking lot. As the night continued, dance numbers and musical acts would be performed on the main stage that sat in front of an eating area packed with picnic tables. Once the entertainment began, our little tent would have a long line of people waiting to purchase spring rolls, dumplings, and fried noodles.

  The beginnings of a line had already formed in front of our stand, and before I had time to truly appreciate the event, Peter and I were slammed with food orders. While he worked to keep the food pans stocked with the most popular items, I filled plates with customer requests and cashed them out as quickly as possible.

  It was humid for a night in June and the air felt stale around us. The heat coming from the grill and below the pans wasn’t helping matters. I made a mental note to remember clip fans for the following week.

  The performances began around 7 P.M. and opened with a group of
women dressed as geishas that wowed the crowd with a traditional Japanese dance. It was so beautiful that most of the crowd in the surrounding area paused to watch, and Peter and I got a break from serving customers. When the act was finished, applause erupted all around us, and within seconds the hungry visitors lined back up in front of the food carts.

  Peter inspected the inventory below the counter, opening lids and counting what we had left. He shook his head. “Dude, we’re almost out of dumplings already. I thought the spring rolls would be first to go.”

  We were only halfway through the night. I pulled out the small notebook I kept in my purse and made notes on what items we would need to adjust for next week’s market. “I wonder if anyone else is running out of food yet.”

  My eyes traveled over to Wonton on Wheels, which had a line that was at least ten deep. Sandra was manning the window by herself, and when I glanced over to the front of the truck, I noticed that their son, Calvin, had arrived and was having what seemed to be a very heated discussion with his father.

  Despite the fact that I had not been a fan of Calvin’s when we were kids, he’d turned into a decent-looking young man. He was tall, thin with a little bit of muscle, and kept his jet-black hair short and shaved on the sides.

  His full lips were turned down in a frown and his arms were crossed over his chest in what looked like defiance of his father. From small snippets I’d heard around the plaza, Calvin was constantly butting heads with his father, who was dead set on turning him into an entrepreneur like himself. But Calvin wasn’t having any of it.

  At eighteen, he’d enlisted in the Navy to avoid his father’s scrutiny. But he hadn’t lasted long and ended up getting out after a couple of years. Since then he’d been filling his time by going back to school and picking up odd jobs. Last I’d heard, he was working as a food delivery truck driver and drove routes that took him through various states in the Midwest.