Jesse Q. Sutanto

By the time she reaches the door, she still has no idea what she’s going to say, but it doesn’t matter. People seem to know that Julia doesn’t have much to say. They either talk over her or ignore her entirely. She’s used to it.

Oh, honestly. It seems she must do everything herself, including find the man’s killer. Though, Vera admits to herself as she sips the untouched Longjing and ginkgo tea, maybe she isn’t being fair. She drinks her mind-sharpening tea every day, after all, so can she blame everyone else for not being as astute as her?

Okay, perhaps the fact that she’s taken something out of the dead man’s clenched fist has given her a bit of an unfair advantage.

But no, it’s likely to be the tea.

“Look, you need to hand that over to the police, you understand?”

“They don’t even take case seriously. They say it looks like just innocent death!”

“Maybe because you took evidence from the—oh my god, I can’t do this. I can’t be talking to you about this while I’m at work. Look, Ma, don’t do anything. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Okay, drink more water and—”

Tilly hangs up before Vera can remind him to look for a girlfriend at his office. She stares at the phone for a bit, then sends him a text.

Don’t forget to look for girlfriend at office.

A wooden tray is set before him, and Vera pours him some tea. It smells like sweet flowers and milk, and tears prick Oliver’s eyes. He can barely remember what his mom had smelled of, of course, but somehow this scent is bringing her back to life in front of him.

“This is Huangshan Maofeng,” Vera says, handing him a fragile-looking teacup. “Try.”

He does so, and it takes him straight back to his mother, and Oliver can’t hold back the tears anymore. Vera, for her part, seems unperturbed that a complete stranger is sitting there crying in front of her. In fact, Oliver thinks as he accepts a handkerchief from her, she looks rather pleased about it.

“That is the correct reaction to this tea,” Vera says, taking a sip. “It is very rare, all my teas are rare, you know, and when it is picked, the farmers sob because the fragrance is so beautiful it reminds them of the celestial gardens in heaven.”

“Really?” Oliver sniffles, fighting to get his emotions under control.

Vera shrugs. “I don’t know, I make it up. Americans like it
when I tell them stories about each type of tea.” Her accent becomes stronger, more exaggerated. “Oh, this tea, from Fujian Province in China, is guarded by a golden dragon that fly above the fields.” She cocks an eyebrow at him. “See? Convincing, eh?”

Oliver nods and gives a weak smile.

“How old are you again, Sana? What year are you born in?”

Sana tells her, and Vera scrunches her face up in deep thought. A moment later, Vera shakes her head with a tut. “Ah, you are a dragon. Not compatible with my son. I been thinking, if you are not killer, of course, that I should introduce you to my son, but he
is an ox, you know, so it’s not compatible. Dragon will eat the ox.” Vera turns to Riki. “And you? What is your zodiac sign?”

“Uh. I’m a rat?” Riki says apologetically.

“Oh!” Vera claps, a huge smile swallowing her face. “Wonderful! Perfect match, you two! I just know it. I know you will make a good couple. If neither of you is Marshall’s killer, then this is match make in heaven. Such good luck.”

Vera’s murder investigation is going so well that she wonders why more people don’t just decide to leave their boring desk jobs and go into detective work. She’s started daydreaming of having the huge VERA WANG’S WORLD-FAMOUS TEAHOUSE sign taken down and replaced with VERA WANG: PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR. Maybe she should, just to see the expression on Winifred’s face. Then again, maybe the reason why her investigation is going so well is because no one expects a tea expert to also be an expert at solving murder mysteries. Vera is basically undercover. Yes, better to hide the fact that she is a sleuth as well as a tea doctor, as she sometimes likes to refer to herself. Tilly, of course, would say, “What’s a tea doctor? Do you treat teas when they have indigestion? When they break a limb?” But that’s Tilly for you. He’s going to be very annoyed when he finds out that his mother has only gone and solved a murder.

As she settles in her seat, she spots a thick, bound stack of papers next to her feet. “What is this?”

Oliver stiffens. “Oh, that’s just—that’s my old manuscript. I’d forgotten it was there. Could you just put it back where you found it, please?”

Vera does so, making a mental note to take it with her when she gets out of the car. In her experience, it’s best to nod and agree with what people say before doing exactly what you wanted from the very beginning.

Vera can’t remember the last time she had so much fun. People always say that your wedding day is the happiest day of your life, but honestly, people should try solving murders more often.

Cause of death: Bird dander
Suspects:
The city of San Francisco, because letting all these pigeons roam free

Maybe he kick pigeon and it kill him

Big Bird

Oliver because he is only one who knows about bird allergy!?

It’s her own fault. She’d been so eager to make a name for herself. This is the problem with creative people; their self-image is divided into two parts—one thinks that they’re a genius who will one day create a masterpiece of such breathtaking brilliance that it will still be discussed with reverence hundreds of years later; the other part thinks they are trash raccoons rooting around in the
dark and coming up with nothing but more trash. There is no in-between. It’s either “super genius” or “trash raccoon,” and somehow these parts coexist within the head of one very tortured artist.