Fatal Fried Rice Page 2

  Noticing that most of our classmates had returned, I jerked a thumb over at the entrance. “Wanna get back in there? Looks like she’s going to start soon.”

  Bridget nodded in agreement. “Yeah, we better get back, so we don’t miss anything important. It was really nice chatting with you. Maybe in the next class we can sit together. It would be nice to have a partner who actually has a personality. The guy that’s sitting next to me has zero social skills.”

  I chuckled. “I’d like that.”

  As we headed back into the room, Bridget turned around and whispered, “Oh, and don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone who you are. It’ll be our little secret.”

  CHAPTER 3

  The group of us circled around Margo’s cooking station to observe as she did a walk-through of tonight’s featured dish: fried rice. We watched as she diced carrots, chopped onions, minced garlic, and beat a few eggs. She included tips on chilling rice overnight and cooking times so as not to burn the rice.

  As she started combining the ingredients in her skillet, the fragrant aromas of garlic and soy sauce filled the room. My mouth began to water, and I think I heard the woman’s stomach next to me rumble.

  Once Margo was finished, she ladled out small portions into Styrofoam bowls and offered a sample to anyone who wanted to taste test the finished product. Of course, no one refused, and we all stood around with our plastic spoons, oohing and ahhing at how delicious and simple the dish really was.

  Nine o’clock had snuck up on us as we idly chitchatted about all things cooking. Before it was time to go, Margo instructed us on next week’s class itinerary. “Please grab a shopping list before heading out for the evening. Everything you need to purchase is on this paper.” She held up a printout for the class to see. “We’ll get started cooking right away. Make sure to bring to-go containers with you. We will not be providing them like we have done in the past. We’ll use the first hour for the hands-on portion of the class, and then after cleanup and break time, we’ll get into our next dish which will be Orange Chicken.” She wished us all a good night as we made our way out of the room.

  Aside from a handful of stragglers who wanted to keep their conversation going, the room had cleared out and I felt less self-conscious. I decided to stop and talk with the instructor before leaving. I had a great idea and was hoping that she’d agree to it.

  She smiled at me as I approached her cooking island. “Hi there, I hope you enjoyed the class tonight.”

  I nodded. “Yes, thank you. I really did.”

  “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “Yeah, actually…” My eyes drifted to the countertop. “So, I manage a local Chinese noodle shop. Maybe you’re familiar with it … Ho-Lee Noodle House?”

  “Yes actually, I’ve been there quite a few times. It’s a great restaurant.”

  “Thanks.” I glanced up to read the expression on her face. “You’re probably wondering why I’m here then, huh?”

  “Not really. A lot of the younger generation is ill prepared in the kitchen. I’m guessing your restaurant is family owned and you didn’t plan on working there. Am I right?”

  I laughed. “How’d you guess?”

  “My family owns a dry-cleaning company.”

  We both stared at each other for a moment, then burst out giggling.

  Margo took a breath and quieted her laughter. “So, what’s your question?”

  “I was wondering if you could give me extended cooking classes on a one-on-one basis. I thought maybe you could teach me some more in-depth techniques. I’d pay you, of course.”

  She tilted her head, taking a minute to consider my request. “It would have to wait until this set of courses is finished. Is that okay? I have a lot going on at the moment.”

  I responded with a vigorous nod. “Yes, that’s absolutely fine with me. I’ll take whatever I can get. I’m trying to keep this a secret from my family, so any outside help would be greatly appreciated.”

  Margo chuckled. “Don’t worry, I completely understand. We can discuss a schedule once we get to the final weeks, how does that sound?”

  “That sounds great. Thank you so much.” I adjusted the tote bag on my shoulder so I could reach into my purse. I dug into the side pocket and pulled out a business card, handing it over to Margo. “Here’s my number before I forget to give it to you.”

  She took the card and slipped it into her back pocket. “Thanks.”

  “Well, I’ll get out of your hair. Have a good evening.”

  “You too, Lana. It was great meeting you.”

  When I turned to leave, there was a middle-aged man with sandy brown hair and a dimpled chin standing in the foot of the doorway. He might have been one of the men in my class, though I didn’t recognize him. He’d been so quiet, we hadn’t realized he was standing there. Margo turned to acknowledge him, and I excused myself, exchanging a smile with her new visitor as he twisted sideways, allowing me room to pass through the threshold.

  There was a sense of ease that washed over me as I left the classroom. I felt like I had accomplished something and was working toward a goal I’d been putting off for longer than I could remember.

  On my way out, I noticed the girl I’d talked with earlier, Bridget, sitting in one of the lounge chairs near the main doors. She was fixated on her phone, but glanced in my direction as I approached, doing a double take. “Oh, hey,” she said, giving me a wave. “So, what do you think? Can we handle the daunting task of making fried rice?”

  I laughed. “I think we’ll come out alive.” I looked around. “Are you waiting on somebody?” I felt nosy asking, but I couldn’t figure why she was just hanging out. Curiosity always got the best of me.

  “Oh, I’m waiting for my Uber,” she told me. “My car’s in the shop because my brakes are one step away from being nonexistent.” She held up her phone. “He should be here soon.”

  “Want me to wait with you?” I asked.

  “Oh no, you go on ahead. I’m sure you have to work in the morning. I’ll see ya on Thursday.”

  I said goodbye and when I exited the building, I spotted my car immediately as it was one of the few left in the parking lot. After turning on the engine, I sent a quick text to Megan asking if she wanted me to pick up anything on my way. Also, not being able to help myself, I asked if anyone had come looking for me. A few minutes later, she replied “no” to both.

  I put the car in drive and turned up the radio, heading out onto York Road.

  As I was stopped at the traffic light in front of Valley Forge High School, I realized I’d forgotten the handout Margo wanted us to take home. I made a quick right into the parking lot of the high school, and turned around to head back to the learning center.

  Hurriedly, I parked the car and jogged back into the school, hoping to catch Margo before she went home. I’d only left about fifteen minutes ago, so if she’d been held up talking to that guy, then there was a chance she hadn’t packed up yet.

  When I re-entered the school, Bridget was gone, and the rest of the building had seemed to clear out as well. I continued on down the hallway at a brisk pace.

  Nearing the classroom, it took me a moment to understand that something was amiss. I noticed a scattering of peas, carrots, and rice trailing out of the doorway. Not thinking much of it at first, I proceeded into the room, and was brought to a sudden halt by the scene before me, stopped short in the threshold gripping onto the metal trim of the doorframe. My hands felt warm against the cool metal as I gripped it for stability.

  Lying sprawled and facedown in a mess of fried rice mixed with thick burgundy-colored liquid was Margo Han, a huge knife protruding out the middle of her back. As I slowly edged myself out of the room, I felt the contents of my stomach start to bubble up. I clutched at my belly, trying to force normal breath to pass through my lungs. Heat rose from my neck, traveling up to my hairline, and I could feel the sweat beginning to collect on my forehead underneath my bangs. My eyes welled with tears a
s my mind flashed to what I knew was coming, and before I could stop myself, I let out a blood-curdling scream that must have echoed through the entire school.

  CHAPTER 4

  The janitor, hearing my scream, had come running over to find out what exactly was going on. I could barely speak, and pointed to the classroom where I’d found Margo in her current state. He poked his head in the door, and after he’d witnessed the scene for himself, he pulled out his phone and called 911 without saying anything else to me.

  When he got off the phone with the dispatcher, he told me to sit down and try to relax while he went to meet the police and paramedics who were on their way.

  Not wanting to be anywhere near the room, I chose a couch on the opposite side of the common area, and clutched my tote bag to my chest while I waited. I took a couple of deep breaths and reminded myself that I wasn’t in any immediate danger, I was safe … I just wished I could have said the same thing for Margo Han.

  The first to arrive were two officers from the Parma police department who made my twenty-eight years seem very advanced. I couldn’t help noticing that both policemen had baby faces, and I wondered if this was their first homicide call.

  The taller of the two, with a shaved head and dark, full eyebrows, approached me. His hands rested on his belt, and he acknowledged me with a respectful head nod. He appeared extremely calm in contrast to what I knew my face must look like to him. I’d managed to hold back the tears that threatened to come pouring down my face, so at least I had that going for me.

  The officer gave me a comforting smile, his voice low and steady as he spoke. “Ma’am, the gentleman I spoke with, Mr. Larkin, told me that you’re the one who found the body. Is that correct?”

  “Yes,” I replied, assuming that Mr. Larkin was the janitor.

  “Can you tell me exactly what happened?” he asked. He chose the couch adjacent to mine and sat down, in what I’m guessing was an attempt to meet me at eye level.

  I went through the explanation of how I came back to the classroom in order to get my weekly recipe list after having already left the school. I told him about the man I’d seen as I was leaving and that I had assumed he was another classmate.

  “Do you remember actually seeing him in the class?”

  “No,” I admitted. “I can’t really say. “He was a very average-looking man. Not really someone you’d remember.”

  “Would you be willing to write all this down for me?” he asked.

  “Of course,” I nodded. “Anything I can do to help.”

  He excused himself and a few minutes later returned with an incident report sheet, asking me to fill it out to the best of my ability. “You’ll need to come down to the station at some point, but I do want to get your testimony fresh. Just be as specific as you can.”

  I took the paper from him and stared at the line that read “Name.” I was having a hard time remembering anything right now.

  The officer seemed to sense my frustration. “Take your time. I’m going to talk with my partner. The detective should be here any minute now.”

  He left me to my own devices, and I took a quick scan of the common area to see where the janitor had gone. He was nowhere in sight and I assumed he was standing guard near the entrance somewhere to lead in whomever was coming next.

  Trying to focus, I filled out the report to the best of my ability. I even made it a point to write down exactly where I was when I decided to turn around. I didn’t know if any of that information would help, but Adam always told me the more details, the better.

  My only regret was that I couldn’t really remember what the man looked like that I had seen right before leaving. If they found him, would I be able to pick him out of a lineup? Probably not.

  Still, I added the small details I could remember, hoping that they’d be able to figure out more with the class registration list. If it was that man, then that eliminated all the women in the class. And that cut down the suspect list considerably.

  When I was finished, I signaled the officer I’d been talking with, and he came over, pointing at the paper in my hand. “You done?”

  “Yes, I hope it’s okay.”

  He took the paper from me with a gentle smile. “I’m sure it’s fine. If there’s anything further we need to know, we’ll be in contact.” He glanced down at the form. “This is your cell phone? Or a landline?”

  “Cell phone,” I replied. I pulled out a business card from my purse, and handed it to him. “I manage this restaurant, and am there Monday through Friday until around five o’clock. You can always call me here if necessary. I don’t have a landline at home.”

  Taking the card from my hand, he gave it a cursory glance before clipping it to the form with the pen I’d used. “Thank you. We appreciate your cooperation.”

  “Do you need me to stay? Because I’d really like to get home.”

  “Understandable. But I’m going to need you to hang tight until the detective gets here. He shouldn’t be much longer.”

  “Okay.” I sighed and leaned back against the couch. I knew he was going to say that, but I was hoping maybe since I’d filled out the witness form, they’d just let me go. “Is it okay if I use my cell phone to call my boyfriend?”

  “Of course. Feel free to make any calls you need to. But please, don’t say anything that may get passed along. We’d like to notify the family first before this gets around.”

  I nodded. “My boyfriend’s a police detective, so he knows the drill,” I said with a tiny wisp of a laugh. “If I don’t tell him what’s going on, I’ll probably get in trouble.”

  The officer smirked. “What city?”

  “Fairview Park.”

  “Oh, I have a buddy that works in Fairview … Steve Clark.”

  “I actually know him. He’s answered a few calls that came through for Asia Village.”

  His smile grew a bit wider. “What a small world. I’ll have to tell him we met.”

  “Weissman,” a gravelly voice declared.

  The officer I’d been talking with, apparently Officer Weissman, glanced up and his posture straightened. “Hello, Detective Bishop.”

  “Is this my witness?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Weissman replied, sounding more official than he had since he’d first arrived.

  It led me to believe that this Detective Bishop commanded a certain level of respect, and maybe instilled a little fear into the men who were of lesser rank.

  I twisted in my seat to face the detective, who was standing slightly to my left. “Hi, I’m Lana.”

  He returned my greeting with a grunt. “I’ll take it from here, Officer. Make sure you collect the statement from that janitor. What the hell was his name again?”

  “Larkin, sir. Robert Larkin.”

  “Yeah, that guy.” He held out his hand expectantly.

  Officer Weismann handed him my testimony and glanced at me from the corner of his eye. Before leaving, he gave me a friendly wink then went on his way to, presumably talk with the janitor.

  Detective Bishop was not by any means a large man, but the way he talked, you’d think he was bigger than he was. I put him at around five foot six and a little over 150 pounds. He had a crew cut and no sideburns or remnants of facial hair. Though I guessed him to be somewhere in his mid-forties, he’d be lucky if he could muster a five-o’clock shadow. The suit he wore was navy blue with no flair of cut like the Italian suits that our property manager, Ian Sung, wore. His belt buckle, shoes, and tie were equally drab, and offered no hints of personality.

  His eyes skimmed over the report as he slowly moved to the chair opposite me. He had yet to fully acknowledge my presence. Considering the circumstances, I wasn’t really going to fuss about pleasantries, but it would have been nice and put me at ease if he’d at least forced some type of smile. Though I’m guessing my comfort level wasn’t really his first priority at the moment.

  “This is pretty specific,” he said when he’d finished reading my testimony.
His charcoal eyes flicked up at me.

  My palms started to sweat. If I were being paranoid, I’d say there was some accusation behind that statement. But I reminded myself I wasn’t under suspicion. Not yet anyway. “I really tried to be as helpful as possible. My boyfriend is a detective, so I know how hard your job can be.”

  He pursed his lips. “What city does this boyfriend work for?”

  “Fairview Park.”

  He took a moment to think. “Detective Adam Trudeau, if my memory serves me correctly.”

  “Yes, that’s him,” I said.

  “Well, I hate to break it to you, but name dropping isn’t going to win you any points with me if that’s what you were thinking.” He glanced back down at the police report, scrutinizing the form as if it were a fraudulent document.

  “Oh no, you misunderstand,” I said, trying to keep my voice from rising in defensiveness. “I just meant that I know how difficult things can be when you’re investigating a case and I wanted to make sure I did everything I could to help with that. I didn’t know Margo long … just met her today actually, but she seemed like a really nice person, and I’d feel better knowing I did all I could to help find out who did this.”

  “Uh-huh,” was his reply. “So, you signed up for this class, and then met her tonight for the first time?”

  “Yes.”

  “It says here that you work at a Chinese restaurant. You don’t know how to cook already?”

  A nervous chuckle escaped. “Well, no. It sounds strange, I know. But I’ve never been interested in cooking Chinese food. I only took over my parent’s restaurant this past year, so I figured I should learn.”

  “And there’s no one there who can teach this stuff?” he asked, sounding unconvinced of my story.

  “Technically yes, but it was supposed to be a surprise.” Call me crazy, but I didn’t think he’d want to hear about the feud with my sister right now.

  “Did you know anybody else in the class?”

  “No. I did talk with one girl earlier this evening, but I’d never met her before tonight either.”