Aunty Lee's Deadly Specials (28 page)

“I watch
Big Business and Broken Hearts
.” Aunty Lee confirmed this impression by naming a popular Korean soap opera.

Aunty Lee could sense he was about to bolt and stepped in: “I was hoping you could
help me if only you were still operating somewhere, but maybe you can recommend someone”—she
lowered her voice—“unofficially. Nowadays, with so many rules and regulations, it
is so hard to get anything done.”

Dr. Yong’s whole demeanor changed. Suddenly he was back on familiar ground.

“I see . . . but you still didn’t tell me where you work.”

“It’s a private clinic.”

“But can I go and look around first? I am scared of operations, old lady like me,
you can understand.”

“It’s not allowed,” Dr. Yong said firmly. He sensed that the balance of power had
shifted subtly but he wasn’t sure where or how. “It’s because of privacy and hygiene
and everything. You wouldn’t understand. But it’s the way it’s done.”

Aunty Lee looked thoughtful.

“So are you interested?”

“Yes. I think . . . put me down for a pair of knees, okay? But remember, I don’t want
some old man’s knees. I want to be able to walk up and down steps, no problem.”

“I promise you. These will be young man’s knees. You will be able to go dancing, trust
me!”

After Aunty Lee had dutifully laughed at his joke (had he but known Aunty Lee’s own
two knees were still happy to support her on the dance floor if only she could find
someone worth dancing with), she introduced her final piece of bait.

“So then why Dr. Sung cannot show you how to help him?” Aunty Lee was playing the
ignorant insistent granny lady for all she was worth.

“Because it’s not his hands that are the problem, Mrs. Lee. I don’t know how much
you know about Parkinson’s but it is the big thing old people are always most scared
of, right? Parkinson’s disease is the result of having too little dopamine—that’s
a chemical, a neurotransmitter—in the parts of the brain controlling movement. As
a matter of fact there has been some research done suggesting that we can do something
to help him. The research showed that transplanting brain tissue from fetuses into
the brains of people with Parkinson’s disease could relieve their symptoms drastically
because of a specific type of neuron—that’s a brain cell—within the fetal tissue.”

Edmond did not expect the old woman to follow all this. It was only meant to confuse
and impress her enough to trust herself and her money to his knowledge and expertise.

“Where did they get the fetal tissues from?” Aunty Lee sounded more curious than intimidated.

“Oh, there are always lots from abortions. Don’t worry—ha ha—we don’t kill any babies.”

This was not the time, Aunty Lee told herself, to go into a discussion on abortion.
Catholic Nina was already slamming plates around on the other side of the room, even
though she was supposed to have been eavesdropping silently.

“The original research was halted, prematurely I believe, because some of the patients
developed a different kind of uncontrollable movements and jerking. But this was a
very small percentage. If the patients are willing to take the risk, I think we should
go on.”

“But from where will you get the”—Aunty Lee’s voice dropped to a frightened, conspiratorial
whisper—“dead baby parts from?”

“You can leave that to us,” Dr. Edmond Yong said with genial condescension. “Just
let us know what you want done and we will take care of everything. I just want you
to look through these papers. Please take note you cannot use your Medisave. You take
your time and let me know when you are ready, okay?

“Of course these are not the actual papers you will be signing, those will be drawn
up specially for you, depending on your state of health and the procedures you are
signing up for. A lot of women feel since we are doing surgery, might as well do liposuction
at the same time.”

But Aunty Lee, peering confusedly at the papers, did not pick up on this. Edmond Yong
didn’t think she would actually read them. Old people, he knew very well, had problems
with their eyes and their attention spans. In fact he suspected that this old woman
had been dragging out their conversation with questions more because she wanted the
attention than because she needed answers. He had done a brief course on the psychology
of aging and knew that getting attention was important to old folks; he just didn’t
have the time to spend listening to her. But her financial standing seemed sound enough
even though she did not look as though it was.

And he knew that if only he could convince her to go through with the operation, this
might be his big break.

The sum indicated was a large one. But Aunty Lee could see that someone in chronic
pain would consider it money well spent.

“What is happening with all that poisoning business?” Aunty Lee asked, as though it
had just crossed her mind. “Are they still investigating? How long do these things
usually drag on?”

Of course Nina had already been dispatched to find out how long such things took.
The only answer she had come up with was that it varied with who was involved and
how much attention the case received. But Aunty Lee guessed that Edmond Yong enjoyed
being consulted as an authority.

“That depends, of course”—he lowered his voice slightly—“and in this case there are
complications . . .”

“What complications?”

“The case of your late husband’s suspicious death was brought up, so in this case
there was a previous poisoning incident.”

Aunty Lee looked suitably taken aback. “There was nothing suspicious about my late
husband’s death!”

“That’s because no tests were done, nothing was investigated since your husband was
being treated for cancer. But someone clearly remembers a family member, possibly
the daughter of the deceased, saying at the funeral wake that it was impossible ML
Wong could have died of a heart attack because he never showed any previous signs
of heart trouble.”

Aunty Lee was stunned. She had never been accused—at least not to her knowledge and
certainly not by Mathilda—of having anything to do with her beloved ML’s death. As
for the improbability of a heart attack, hadn’t Aunty Lee said so herself? Despite
ML’s cancer, none of them had expected a sudden heart attack. Indeed the family member
who Dr. Yong’s source was quoting was more likely Aunty Lee than Mathilda! Aunty Lee
had done her utmost to make sure the wake had all the dignity due to ML’s life and
memory, but she had been so distraught that she could barely remember it. “Yes,” she
had said in response to many condolences. “Yes, it was fast. But after surviving all
the cancer treatment, how could he suddenly die of a heart attack when he had never
had heart problems before?” Indeed dear Mathilda had repeatedly and patiently reminded
Aunty Lee that ML’s heart had likely been weakened by the cancer and the chemotherapy.

Aunty Lee started to tell the young doctor this, but stopped when she saw how intently
Edmond Yong’s attention was fixed on her, his lips slightly parted in an unconscious
smile of anticipation. He suddenly reminded Aunty Lee of herself in the middle of
a delicate cooking procedure such as frying
kueh
pie tee
shells or “top hats.” The oil had to be at just the right temperature, the brass
mound coated in just enough rice-flour batter of just the right consistency to make
the crispy little shells one by one . . .

Dr. Edmond Yong was coating her in lies and insinuations, Aunty Lee realized, and
dipping her in hot oil, expecting to easily crush and crumble her.

Aunty Lee shook herself. She reminded herself to look confused and anxious. “Oh no,”
she said faintly.

“You see, everybody has complications,” Dr. Yong said smoothly. He was already certain
he could make this old woman do whatever he wanted but he went on adding to her fears
because he enjoyed it.

“And on the business side also, since your kitchens here are being investigated, it’s
only right that all your products already on sale in supermarkets should be recalled,
just in case. And consumers with previously purchased bottles of your
sambal
or
achar
should be warned. The public always gets angry when product information is not made
available to them, so it’s only right that they are warned there may be something
wrong with the Aunty Lee’s Delights line of products.”

Edmond Yong felt confident and smoothly authoritative. All the marketing and self-help
guides he had studied were paying off. He had a good product, knew his target market,
and had an offer in hand that she could not refuse.

“All Sharon’s friends tell her that she should call for a full investigation but she
told them that there was no point. After all, no matter what they find out, it would
not bring her mother and brother back. I’m sure you will agree that that’s the best
course.”

“Of course,” Aunty Lee said cautiously and curiously. “So what do you want me to do?”

“We just need you to agree that it was your chicken
buah keluak
that was responsible for what happened. Of course with all your deepest regrets for
the tragedy and all that blah blah blah. But basically, that all this was a careless
accident on your part, that you are sorry, and it won’t happen again, and that’s that.
Case closed. We can all move on and stop wasting so much time.”

“Are you trying to blackmail me?” Aunty Lee asked with some interest.

“No, of course not. I’m only saying that since nothing can be done for them now, the
best thing we can do is contain the damage, right?”

“So you want me to say that it was my fault that two people died?”

“I’m just saying that it will all blow over faster.”

“But then the real killer—if there is one—will get away? Of course that’s assuming
that they didn’t kill themselves. But if they did, the police investigation will find
that out.”

“The police.” Edmond Yong snorted. “They will find out what they’re paid to find.”

“You cannot talk about Singapore police like that,” Nina said.

Edmond was startled. He had not noticed her come into the room, but she was standing
by a door he had not seen before, between two of the display cases. “In the Philippines
everybody knows the police are always trying to do a lot of reforms, Aquino is trying
to make them do reforms, but they are still corrupt. Here you try to offer the police
a bribe to escape fine, you get arrested—double fine!”

Aunty Lee noted that however Nina treated Salim to his face, she defended his back
fiercely. That was a good sign if only Aunty Lee could find some way of letting Salim
know. But cheering Salim up was not a top priority for Aunty Lee right then and she
filed the thought away for future reference.

“What is it, Nina?” was all she said.

“Madam, the gardener is asking if you want him to cut down the rambutan tree branch
over your porch, otherwise the next time strong wind comes, sure kenah.”

“No. Those branches got a lot of fruit just turning yellow. Those can be very sweet.”

“Maybe dangerous, madam.”

“Going to turn yellow then red then ripe already. Tell him don’t worry.”

“I will tell him to keep an eye on it,” Nina said darkly as she exited.

Edmond Yong ignored the interruption, forgetting Nina as soon as the door closed behind
her.

“You don’t want your husband’s two children asking questions about his death, do you?”

Hearing her late husband referred to still gave Aunty Lee a slight jolt. Especially
here in what had been his favorite room.

“Nobody asked questions.”

“And you don’t want them to,” Edmond Yong said. “Because you know how things work.
If you say anything to anybody about this knee surgery, people will hear the rumors
about your husband’s death. Everybody will know this is the second time somebody died
after eating your cooking. Rumors are enough to destroy you. It will be good-bye to
your business, to you, everything. For your own sake you don’t want that to happen,
right?”

Was Edmond Yong really trying to threaten her into silence? Aunty Lee was reminded
of a gang of Chinese con artists that conned old women into handing over their jewelry
to be cleansed of bad luck. If they told anyone then bad luck would be doubled on
their families. Apparently this scam had worked successfully in the Chinatowns of
several American cities where the aging Chinese women were isolated from their new
countrymen and their Americanized children. Unfortunately for the scammers, in Singapore
they had run into Aunty Lee buying dong gu mushrooms in Chinatown. It was one of the
cases that had made Inspector Salim look good.

Now Edmond Yong was trying to intimidate her the same way, and Aunty Lee felt a thrill
of realization. “Of course!”

“Mrs. Lee, do you understand what I’m saying?”

Apparently she had not looked intimidated enough. Aunty Lee did her best to look flustered
and confused.

“You want me to say my food poisoned those people. So what do you want me to do after
that, close down?”

“Oh no, of course not! Aunty Lee’s Delights is a household name! All I am saying is
admit one mistake, the family says no hard feelings. Take a break until all of this
blows over. While you’re resting, let me fix your knees for you. When you get back
to work you will feel so much better. No more pain when you are standing all day in
your kitchen. You may feel so good that maybe you’ll even take up aerobics or jogging—ha
ha!”

It was that little laugh that made Aunty Lee decide she detested this man the same
way she detested the little smiling faces that people used to end unpleasant text
messages, like “We read over your menus and find they are not suitable for us :).”
That smiling icon was confusing. Aunty Lee was never certain whether it meant “I’m
joking” or “I’m happy” or “I’m just smiling at you for no reason even though I never
smile at anyone I meet in person.” Now the unpleasant young man was transposing the
most annoying part of text messages into real life.