Death by Dumpling Read online

  I remembered how angry she’d been that day. And even though she was clearly still mad about it, a part of her looked defeated.

  As if on cue, she looked down at the ground. “I don’t know what more can be done.”

  “I wonder how my parents will take the news. I mean, we’re not doing too bad, but fifteen percent could really hurt us.”

  “Tell me about it. Meanwhile, look at this house.” She jerked her head toward the Fengs’ stately home. “Makes you wonder what they need the extra money for.”

  “I guess so.”

  She turned to me, smoke blowing in my direction. “By the way, sorry all of this is falling on you and your family. You’ve always been good people. I saw the police leave with Peter yesterday.”

  I frowned. “You saw that, huh?”

  “Oh yeah, I’m pretty sure the entire plaza saw Peter leave with the police.” She shook her head. “How embarrassing for him.”

  “I know he didn’t do anything. He doesn’t have that kind of hatred in him.” I looked back at the house, thinking about the anger I saw on Mrs. Feng’s face as she’d talked about Peter. “Whatever may have happened between them, Peter would never do something that terrible.”

  “Listen, I wouldn’t worry about it too much. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

  That’s where she was wrong. There was something I could do about it, but I wasn’t going to tell her that.

  She tapped her lip with the butt of her cigarette. “But if they think someone killed him then they should really look at his enemies … you know? People he’s wronged.”

  My ears perked up. “People he’s wronged?”

  “Yeah, like I said to you the other day, he was going to make the wrong person mad.”

  “Are you thinking of anyone in particular?” After all, it couldn’t hurt to pick her brain for ideas.

  “Like poor Mr. An. He can’t afford his rent either and I know for a fact he loves that store. It was really important to him to be a part of Asia Village. Especially after everything he’s been through.”

  Mr. An and the Painted Pearl were fairly new to the plaza. He’d opened up about a year ago and at first he’d done really well. But, as time went on, he had fewer and fewer customers. He seemed like a nice enough man, so I couldn’t really see him being capable of murder.

  What Kimmy said was true though. He was closing his shop and from what I’d heard around the plaza, he’d thrown a full-sized tantrum over it. Now his front windows were covered with posters promising bargains for the store closing. From the looks of it, his sales hadn’t helped much.

  “What do you mean? What has he been through?”

  She leaned forward off the car. “I heard my mother gabbing with the Mahjong Matrons about Mr. An and his big falling-out with someone or other … something to do with a woman, I think. So the store is really important to him, you know? Probably keeps his mind busy.”

  I looked at Kimmy skeptically. “You really think Mr. An would be capable of something like that … over a store?”

  Kimmy nodded. “Without a doubt. The poor guy has to move his shop to one of those kiosks in a mall.” She stared at me. “A kiosk, Lana. How do you even sell art properly from a kiosk? What a slap in the face.”

  “But he seems so nice,” I pointed out. “I can’t see him being the vindictive type.”

  “If you push people far enough…” She tilted her head. “Yeah, forget all the other stuff, just taking away someone’s livelihood, that’s enough to piss anyone off. If you ask me, I can’t think of a better reason to kill somebody.”

  Before I could respond, Sue came outside with my sister. Kimmy flicked her cigarette across the yard and opened her car door. “See you around, Lana.”

  Anna May and I stood in the driveway and watched them drive off. As their car disappeared around the corner, my sister turned to me and said, “Boy, she’s turned out to be an angry little thing, hasn’t she?”

  I didn’t do it often, but I couldn’t help but agree with my sister.

  CHAPTER

  7

  I woke up to Kikko staring at me. She was about five inches away from face, and when I opened my eye a sliver, she placed her paw square on my nose and grunted. I grunted in return and rolled over. It couldn’t possibly be time to get up already. It was still dark outside.

  Kikko continued to paw at my back, and with a giant sigh, I sat up in bed and looked at the clock. Crap. It was time to get up.

  After walking the dog and starting up the coffeemaker, I found my way into the shower and stood under the warm water until my toes turned red. Our morning walk had been crisp, to say the least. Today was going to be a struggle. I could feel the weight of the past couple of days bearing down on my shoulders. Figures … here I’d thought that things were finally going back to normal.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about Mrs. Feng or the expression on her face when she talked about Peter. And what about Mr. An? He’d been a regular at lunch a few days a week since his shop moved in, but since Nancy usually waited on him, I didn’t know much about him. I knew he was soft-spoken and not entirely social. I’d never heard anything troubling about him until the announcement of his store closing. Even then, I didn’t actually see any of it myself. The gossip mill worked double time at the plaza most days. The Mahjong Matrons were usually in the thick of it, and since I saw them first thing every morning, I’d hear things before everyone else did.

  Megan was still sleeping when I left for work, so I stuck a Post-it note on the fridge telling her I’d be home around six.

  The plaza parking lot was fairly empty when I pulled in and I found a decent spot in the employee parking area. As I got out of my car, I saw Ms. Yi, who ran Yi’s Tea and Bakery with her twin sister. I smiled and waved a good morning. In a quick movement, she turned her nose up at me and turned away, hurrying inside. Okay … someone was grouchy this morning. Not that either of the Yi sisters were particularly pleasant people, but they were usually at least civil.

  My usual morning routine flew by. After I’d gotten home last night and updated my mother on my and Anna May’s trip to the Feng house, she informed me that Peter would be taking some time off and our night cook, Lou, would be filling in most of the mornings. My mother would work the evenings and Anna May would fill in whenever she was free.

  It’s not that I didn’t like Lou … he just bugged me. He was kind of a pain and his cooking wasn’t as good as Peter’s. But my mom liked him well enough, so I had to suffer with the adjustment until Peter came back to work. I asked my mother why she couldn’t work in the morning instead. She laughed for about ten minutes.

  There was a loud rap at the door, and I jumped, nearly dropping the handful of chopsticks I was holding. When I turned to see who was there, a bundled-up Lou stared back at me, waving eagerly with a gloved hand.

  “Good morning, Lana!” Lou said with an overabundance of cheerfulness. He took his gloves off and ran a hand over his slicked-back hair.

  I looked up at the clock; it was only eight-fifteen. “Morning,” I replied. “You know we don’t open until nine, right?”

  His puffy black jacket rustled as he walked past me. “Nine sharp,” he answered, tapping his watch. “I like to get an early start.”

  I watched him scurry into the kitchen. Great. A morning person. I could already tell this wasn’t going to go well.

  * * *

  Nancy Huang walked in a little before noon with a pitiful look on her face. Under her normally cheerful eyes sat big black circles and her skin, which was usually milky and bright, looked ashen.

  Aside from Esther, she is the only other Taiwanese friend that my mother has, therefore making the three of them the best of friends. Nancy had taken on the midday shift several years ago as a temporary solution to my mother’s lack of employees at the time. But they had both enjoyed her working there so much, Nancy dropped her other job as a seamstress to work for my mother full-time. I liked having her around and considered her t
o be “the cool aunt.”

  Seeing her so unlike herself gave me a sharp pang in the bottom of my gut. Peter was all she had and I could hardly imagine what it was like for her to watch him go through something like this.

  When I talked with my mother about Peter taking some time off, she didn’t go into details about why or how long. Peter and I hadn’t talked and I didn’t know what was said to him at the station. I wanted to reach out, but I felt like I should give him some time first.

  I met Nancy at the hostess booth and gave her a hug. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you, Lana.” She gave me a light squeeze as she returned the hug. “I don’t know what to do,” she whined. “Peter said he doesn’t want to talk to anyone right now. How can I help him if he won’t talk to me?”

  Releasing her from the hug, I took a step back and looked her square in the eye. “Why did you come in today? Me and Mom could have handled your shift.”

  She half smiled in a brave sort of way, and shook her head. “It’s better to work. I didn’t want to sit at home anymore. If he won’t talk to me, there’s nothing I can do.”

  “What’s going on exactly?”

  Her eyes began to well up. “He would not tell me much. Just the way that the detective was talking to him sounded like he was guilty.” She sniffed back her tears. “Peter thinks he’s going to need a lawyer.”

  I sighed. “Do you know of any reason why Peter and Mr. Feng would get in an argument?”

  She looked up at me from under her eyelashes and it reminded me of a Precious Moments doll. She shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s going on. Why would Donna blame him?”

  “Have you talked to her at all?” I asked. “She seems to think that Peter and Mr. Feng got in a fight about something. That’s why I’m asking.”

  Nancy stared at the floor. “I don’t know what they would fight about…”

  The bells above the door jingled, and in walked Esther, a vision of floral glory. Despite the bright outfit she had on that included a teal blouse covered in cherry blossoms, her expression was grim. She approached the hostess podium and assessed me and Nancy. “Lana, stand up straight. You will grow up crooked old woman.”

  I rolled my eyes and straightened my back. Esther had been guiding me on these particular odds and ends since I was a little kid. Once when I was five she gave me an entire lecture on the importance of crossing your legs and being a lady. I considered her the “strict aunt.”

  She turned to Nancy. “Ai-ya, why did you come to work today?”

  Nancy replied to her in Cantonese, of which I knew none. My mastery of Hokkien, the Taiwanese dialect my family spoke, was shaky from lack of use and my Mandarin was starting to fizzle out of my brain. I swear my mother and her friends spoke Cantonese just to keep secrets from me and my sister.

  The two women exchanged a look I couldn’t interpret, and then Esther turned to me. “Where is Mommy?”

  “She’s in the back room.”

  Esther looked at the kitchen door, and then turned to us. “I talked to Donna this morning, there is no funeral for everyone.”

  Nancy gasped. “Why not?”

  “Donna did not say,” Esther answered. “She will have a dinner next weekend.”

  “A dinner?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Yes, the whole plaza will have dinner together and some people will say nice things about Thomas. Everyone must go.”

  “Like a memorial?”

  “Yah, yah, yah,” she replied, nodding vigorously. “We have dinner together as family.” Esther gestured to the back room and headed in search of my mother.

  Nancy and I stood together, speechless. Despite this surprising news of Donna’s decision, I felt okay about it. Funerals always made me uncomfortable. I never knew where to stand, who to look at, or if I should smile. You want to be polite, but at the same time, it’s not like you’re there for a good time. Best just to avoid the whole thing. But it was the Feng family, nonetheless, and the rest of us Asia Villagers were used to their pomp and circumstance.

  “Why would Donna choose to do this?” Nancy asked, her eyes welling up again. “Thomas was very important to the community. Many people will want to pay their respects.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe she was worried that it would become a circus or something.”

  Nancy cocked her head at me. “A circus?”

  “Yeah, you know, too many people would come and make it crazy.” Sometimes I forgot when talking to my mother’s friends that they wouldn’t always catch colloquialisms. “Like newspeople or things like that.”

  She seemed to think on it a minute and then slowly started to nod. “Oh, okay, I see now.” She shifted her weight. “Can you wait a few minutes for your lunch break, so I can talk with Esther and your mother?”

  “Sure, go ahead. I’m in no rush.”

  To keep my mind off my growling stomach, I checked on the few patrons who were finishing up their lunch and cashed out a couple of tables. It had been a decent morning and there was a nice chunk of change in my apron pocket. Since Lou was in the back cooking, I decided to take my freshly made tip money and splurge on lunch elsewhere.

  When I got up front to the podium, I noticed Kimmy walking past the restaurant staring through the window. I waved, but she just kept walking. After a few seconds, she walked by again, still staring, but going in the opposite direction.

  What the heck was that girl doing?

  I came around from behind the podium and walked to the door, peeking out in the direction she’d gone. Just as I was about to open the door to get a better view, she popped up in front of me and we both jumped, yelling at the same time.

  “Kimmy!” I held my palm over my heart. “What are you doing?”

  Looking just as startled and irritated as I was, she asked, “Have you read the Plain Dealer today?”

  I had given up on the news long ago. There are only so many terrible stories of crime and death that you can read before you finally have to throw in the towel. I shook my head, stepping away from the door to let her in.

  She handed over the rolled-up newspaper she’d been carrying under her arm. “It’s in the Metro section.”

  My eyes went to the place she pointed to with her index finger, and the headline read: LOCAL ASIA VILLAGE PROPRIETOR FOUND DEAD IN OFFICE: MURDER INVESTIGATION ONGOING

  I felt light-headed.

  “Well…” Kimmy nudged. “Read it.”

  Thomas Feng, property owner and Asian community innovator, was found unresponsive in his office located within Asia Village this past Tuesday, shortly after noon. The Fairview Park Police Department is investigating the death as there appear to be suspicious circumstances. Officers are pursuing potential leads, but little information has been released.

  I cringed at the mention of “potential leads” and wondered if that was a reference to Peter and myself.

  The article went on from there to talk about the good deeds that Mr. Feng had done for the Asian community since way back when and the people he had befriended throughout the city during that time. There was even a picture of him shaking hands with the mayor of Cleveland.

  “Great.” I folded the paper back up and handed it over to Kimmy. “So now the whole city knows that his death is being investigated.” I sighed.

  “I thought you should know, so you can be prepared.” She took the paper, hugging it to her chest. “This is going to turn into a media circus, you watch.”

  I thought about how I’d just mentioned the same thing to Nancy in the wake of Esther’s news. “I wonder if that’s why Donna decided to have a private funeral,” I said out loud.

  Kimmy sneered. “So you heard that too, huh?”

  “Yeah, Esther just came and told us a few minutes ago. At least she’s having some type of memorial service, I suppose.” Even though it seemed like an odd choice for their family, I was still more comfortable with the idea of a dinner. No urns, no caskets …

  “I guess it
makes sense, it’s just that…” Kimmy paused. A blank look washed over her face.

  “It’s just what?” I encouraged her to continue.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know, but leave it to Donna Feng to throw a party when her own husband dies.”

  * * *

  At five o’clock, Vanessa Wen traipsed through the door, her apron slung over her shoulder. Sixteen going on twelve, Vanessa had been forced by her parents to get a part-time job to learn responsibility. Of course, wanting a car—and that being her only real motivation—Vanessa agreed. My mom was a sucker for teaching life lessons, so she’d readily agreed to let Vanessa work at the restaurant.

  Meanwhile, my hair was graying.

  Her long, pin-straight hair—pulled back in a high ponytail—bounced as she shimmied behind the hostess station. “Hey Lana,” she said, smacking her gum. “Is it true that you guys poisoned old man Feng?”

  I gasped. “What did you just say to me?”

  After she stuffed her purse in the cabinet, she turned to face me. At sixteen, she was already my height. “Everybody in the plaza is talking about it. They’re all talking about how Peter left with the cops the other day.”

  “First, you might want to show some respect for the dead,” I lectured. “And second, don’t run around talking like that.” My eyes slid toward the back of the restaurant. “His mother is in the kitchen and is on the verge of a nervous breakdown.”

  She held up her hands. “Geez, sorry.”

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, reminding myself I wouldn’t look good in prison orange. “Just try and stay out of the drama, okay? We don’t need anything to make this worse.”

  She threw up her hands. “Fine, whatever. I just thought you should know that literally everybody is talking about it. It’s turning into a spectacle out there. There’s like … a team Peter … and then…” She stopped. “Well … you know … the others.”