"It's not just vegetables, you know," Carla Saito said, wavering between caution and suspicion. "Just because you take the chicken or the pork or whatever out of the pot, it doesn't mean the vegetables inside are vegetarian."

Surprisingly it was Lucy Cunningham who spoke up. "Some traditional Buddhists are vegetarian on the first and fifteenth day of the lunar month. And most eat vegetarian on the first day of the lunar new year, which was last week. That's why you can probably get a wider range of vegetarian food than you get in Europe, for example."

"Right! Right! True! True!" Aunty Lee said, as though praising a smart student.

"Lucy reads up on stuff like that and tells me," Frank said. He looked pleased. "Some of it actually sticks, believe it or not." His wife gave a polite smile but seemed preoccupied. There was definitely something bothering her, Aunty Lee thought, and normally she would have probed further. But at the moment she had more fascinating fish to fry.

"You do look familiar," Frank continued to Harry Sullivan. "Any relatives we might know?"

"No brothers, no cousins. Sorry, mate."

"Trace far back enough, we all have common ancestors," said Frank Cunningham. "Whether it's the apes or Adam, eh?"

"As long as we keep reproducing, we'll all be related!" Harry Sullivan said. "Of course there's no guarantee of that. Not with all these left-wing gay activists running around saying men should marry men and women should marry women and babies can be aborted, no questions asked-"

Harry was looking at Carla Saito as he spoke, but it was Frank Cunningham who responded.

"Reminds me of a story I know-"

Lucy Cunningham shook her head but did not even try to stop her husband.

"An old cowboy sat down at the bar and ordered a drink. As he sat sipping his drink, a young woman sat down next to him. She turned to the cowboy and asked, 'Are you a real cowboy?'

"He replied, 'Well, I've spent my whole life breaking colts, working cows, going to rodeos, fixing fences, pulling calves, bailing hay, doctoring calves, cleaning my barn, fixing flats, working on tractors, and feeding my dogs, so I guess I am a cowboy.'

"She said, 'I'm a lesbian. I spend my whole day thinking about women. As soon as I get up in the morning, I think about women. When I shower, I think about women. When I watch TV, I think about women. I even think about women when I eat. It seems that everything makes me think of women.'

"A little while later, a man sat down on the other side of the old cowboy and asked, 'Are you a real cowboy?'

"He replied, 'I always thought I was, but I just found out I'm a lesbian.' "

Frank Cunningham roared with laughter as he delivered his punch line. Following his cue, Mark Lee and Harry Sullivan laughed too. Selina Lee and Lucy Cunningham appeared not to have heard anything, and Cherril Lim-Peters said: "I don't understand. How can a man be a lesbian?"

Aunty Lee knew it would be no use trying to get Carla Saito to say more-at least not before she got some nourishment inside her. Aunty Lee could tell the girl had not eaten for some time-her body was exhausted and on guard.

Nina brought out a tureen of hot and sour soup (defrosted in the microwave, as it was an emergency) that she placed in front of Aunty Lee.

"You try this. You will like it. Then you can tell us all about why you are looking for Laura Kwee and why you are running around Singapore in the middle of the night without eating properly." Aunty Lee ladled out a generous bowlful of the soup and pushed it in front of Carla Saito expectantly.

"What's in it?" Carla knew she would probably eat it no matter what the answer was-now that she was sitting down, with the worst of her immediate fears allayed, she realized how hungry she was.

"Mushroom stock. My own homemade mushroom stock. I use shiitake and wood ear both. Then got bamboo shoots, water chestnuts, and fried tofu. You said you can eat onion and garlic, right? For seasoning, there's onion and garlic and my homemade vinegar and homemade chili oil as well as pepper and hot sauce. Is it too hot? If too hot, you should take some rice . . . Nina?"

Nina was already on hand with the rice.

"And, Selina, why don't you try phoning Laura Kwee again."

"Aunty Lee, I told you Laura already said she won't be coming tonight."

"She doesn't have to come. I just want to talk to her."

Selina tried Laura's cell phone again. Again there was no answer.

Mark and Cherril were the only ones still at the table in the inner room discussing wine. Or rather, Mark was talking about wine and Cherril was listening, all agog, prompting him with questions. Nina had already started clearing the table, though Selina had not yet touched her dessert. Selina would have to speak to Aunty Lee about training the girl better. She avoided Aunty Lee's desserts as a matter of course, not just because she was worried about her weight but because all that coconut milk was seriously unhealthy. But it was still only right that Nina should have asked her before removing her untouched bowl. The Cunninghams, carrying their bowls with them, were walking around the shop looking at the paintings and jars of food on display. Harry Sullivan, having abandoned his dessert but taking his winegla.s.s and a bottle with him, had positioned himself at the table beside Aunty Lee and the strange woman.

"No need to panic," Harry said. "Bodies are found in the ocean all the time. Just because your friend doesn't answer her phone doesn't mean she's dead! Look, here's Selina. Selina, you just heard from Laura, didn't you? And she said she just heard from Marianne? Selina, tell this worried young lady that Marianne's fine."

Selina nodded. "Yes. Not more than an hour ago. I don't know where your friend is, but she's fine."

Still, she took her phone outside to try again. She had a few choice words for Laura Kwee herself.

Laura did not answer her cell phone. At some level Selina had expected this. She was angry with herself for not having foreseen it. But then Selina always expected the worst of people. Her giving Laura a chance to redeem herself had been part of her attempt to show people-show Mark, really-that she could put things behind her and move on. Mark insisted on seeing her as unforgiving, said that she held on to grudges. Of course Selina had argued him down and made him take it back, but the words still stung. She kept coming across examples that proved how wrong he had been to judge her, and it frustrated her that Mark just held up his hands in mock surrender and said he had apologized, the case was closed. It was not just about saying sorry and forgetting it, Selina thought resentfully. Mark had not understood why he was wrong. He had just grown tired of talking to her and wanted to drop the subject.

"Anything wrong?" Harry Sullivan appeared on the five-foot way. Selina wondered whether he was already leaving and tried to remember whether he had paid for his evening.

"No-Laura Kwee's still not answering. I just left a message for her to call me back."

"Not likely she'll call back if she's not answering, is it?"

"At least when they ask me again where she is, I can say I've tried again."

Harry lit a cigarette before continuing. "The whole wine-tasting business is like a ritual, isn't it? Like the j.a.panese tea ceremony? It's very interesting to see how Mark manages to marry it with the serving of food. Can't be easy."

"It's not." Selina felt slightly placated.

"And your friend Laura, well . . ."

"Yes?"

"Laura isn't very used to drinking, is she?"

His wickedly conspiratorial whisper made Selina laugh. She instantly felt better. Most of Selina's life was spent suspecting and trying to sniff out conspiracies rather than being included in them. Of course, Harry Sullivan was right. Laura Kwee had been very silly at the last dinner and was probably still embarra.s.sed. The only person this reflected badly on was Laura herself, not the organizers of the gathering, as any reasonable guest could see. Selina also liked the way Harry made her feel. They were not exactly flirting-Selina would never do anything like that-but she felt part of a larger, cosmopolitan world when she was around him.

"I hope you didn't mind the things Laura said to you last week," Selina said. "She didn't mean anything by them."

"Oh, I think she did," Harry said unexpectedly. "That's why they only came out of her when she was drunk. All the rest of the time it's repressed inside her. Probably good for her to let it all out once in a while. And today she was probably just too embarra.s.sed to turn up."

That was true. It was such a mature way of looking at what had happened that Selina decided to adopt it herself. But she would still make sure that Laura Kwee knew how angry she was. No one would have cared if Laura decided not to show up, but she had phoned saying she would be there, indeed that she would be there early in order to help . . . For the first time a quiver of worry crossed Selina's mind. It was not like Laura at all not to show up. Laura liked to be in on things, carrying stuff and arranging stuff so that she could make people think she was active and busy and needed. It just wasn't like her not to turn up for an event like this evening's.

But as Harry Sullivan had just pointed out, Laura was probably embarra.s.sed. She had really behaved very badly at the previous gathering, especially to him. "Oh, were we supposed to wait for you to talk about it? But I've already finished all my wine!" Laura Kwee had said to general laughter at the first dinner when Mark tried to draw their attention to the slightly sharper, woodier-tasting wine he had chosen in order to complement the richness of the laksa gravy.

Mark had only shaken his head slightly at Laura's words. To him, she was an idiot, but he knew that she meant well. The best thing to do in such circ.u.mstances was to just let things go. Arguing with idiots just made you look like an idiot too. But Laura had apologized so tearfully and profusely afterward that Mark and even Selina had been placated.

It was pleasant outside, away from the talk and all the activity that went on around a meal, Selina thought. Even the ashy nicotine odor of Harry's cigarette did not annoy her as much as it usually did.

"We should see what's happening inside," Harry said.

Inside, the conversation of most of the guests had shifted from the lesson in wine appreciation that had been planned, with only Mark and Cherril continuing talking softly about the wine business at the other end of the table.

Carla Saito found she was explaining things to herself as much as to these strangers . . . these kind strangers. The soup was delicious. Her body, contentedly digesting quality nourishment for the first time in a week and a half, finally relaxed.

"I came to Singapore to meet my friend Marianne Peters," she said. There were some nods of recognition.

"Can't be a close friend if she didn't tell you she was going to be out of Singapore!" Harry Sullivan said.

Carla did not dignify that with an answer. "I thought maybe something came up. I was just going to wait. She knew where I was going to be staying, so I thought if I just waited, she would get in touch. But then this morning, when I was in the taxi, the radio was on-"

Aunty Lee thumped her palm on the table in delight. "You heard about the body, right? I also heard about the body!"

Aunty Lee was only too happy. "They say that she is unidentified, so anybody who knows anything please get in touch. We should phone them and say that Laura Kwee is missing-Laura Kwee and Marianne Peters, both missing."

"No, they're not missing!" Selina snapped. "Aunty Lee, you're just being dramatic for nothing. I told you Laura Kwee texted me. She said she couldn't come. She didn't say she was being thrown into the sea or anything. And she said that Marianne told her she wasn't coming either. So please stop talking rubbish and wasting all our time! If you're so worried, why don't you call the police? Come on, Mark. Are you finished? We should start clearing up."

"I did call the police," Carla Saito said in a small voice. "But they couldn't tell me anything. I thought maybe if I could just find out something about the body they found . . . at least I could set my fears to rest." She looked at Selina, who was checking the bag of leftovers Nina had just handed her. "Do you know what time Marianne phoned Laura Kwee to say she wasn't coming?"

"Must have been sometime today," Selina answered. "Anyway, nice meeting you. Good-bye."

"I should be going too." Harry Sullivan stood and gave an enormous stretch. "Give me a ride out to the main road?" No one took the hint.

"Marianne came for the first wine dining session," Aunty Lee said. "She signed up for all five of them, right, Selina? She and her brother, Mycroft, and his wife, Cherril. But then only Cherril is still coming. The others didn't want to come back after that first time."

"They're busy," Cherril said quickly. "I mean Mycroft is busy. Something came up. You know what Mycroft is like. He never stops."

"Did Marianne know when you were coming to Singapore?" Aunty Lee asked Carla. "She's away, right, Cherril?"

"She went on some kind of diving holiday with friends. I think she said they where going somewhere in Sabah . . . Seaventures at Sipadan or something like that. But the phone signal isn't very good and there're no phone chargers there, so she's not taking calls. She said she'll let us know when she's coming back."

"Surely she must have said how long she's gone for."

"A lot of people took extra leave because of the Chinese New Year, so she may not be coming back until after the weekend," Selina pointed out.

"Aren't her parents worried they haven't heard from her?" Aunty Lee asked Cherril.

"They're always worried about everything," Cherril said. "In fact Dad Peters wanted to try to get in touch with her friends if she wouldn't take their calls. But Mycroft wouldn't let them fuss. He says the more they try to control Marianne, the more she will fight them, so they should just leave her to do her own thing and if she's in trouble she'll call."

"Why are you looking for Laura Kwee?" Aunty Lee asked Carla.

"She was helping Marianne. Or rather she was getting a friend of hers to help," Carla replied. "It's really this guy I'm hoping to get in touch with."

Cherril, happily high on her evening out without her husband, was getting ready to say her farewells. She looked around for Mark, but apparently he had already forgotten her. He was watching his stepmother. Mark knew from long experience that when Aunty Lee served someone with what he thought of as her "special food face" on, it meant she wanted something from them. It was thanks to that food face (and lamb kebabs specially marinated in paprika, coriander, and cardamom) that Mark had told Aunty Lee and his father about the money problems he and Selina were then facing . . . in spite of all his promises to Selina. Even though things had all worked out wonderfully, thanks largely to Aunty Lee, he suspected Selina had never forgotten the episode and never forgiven Aunty Lee for making him break his promise. Now Mark was just glad he was not the one facing the hot bowl of soup.

Besides, he was curious too. Either Aunty Lee's "kaypohness" was infectious or he just wanted to find out why someone would go to such lengths to track down Laura Kwee.

Cherril left and the Cunninghams asked for a taxi to take them back to their hotel-surprising Selina, who had not seen them as people who could afford to stay at the Raffles. She felt a pang that she had missed recognizing the Cunninghams for what they were. That was the problem with Australians playing tourist. They dressed for comfort and it was impossible to tell how much they were worth. Apart from Harry Sullivan, of course. At least Harry respected his hosts enough to dress decently when he came to the wine and dines.

Selina could see that Harry was also studying Carla Saito thoughtfully. She wondered if he had reached the same conclusion as she had. Surely it was obvious (to everyone except Aunty Lee) what kind of relationship this woman was having with Marianne Peters. Selina felt a throb of glee. It was not only her duty to warn Aunty Lee that this might not be the sort of person she wanted to encourage as a customer; it was also clearly Selina's duty to warn Mycroft Peters what kind of company his little sister had been keeping in America, and whom she had been making plans with. Selina had always felt that Mycroft Peters looked down on Mark and herself in spite of his stewardess wife. Well, she thought, at least Mark didn't have a perverted sister!

Meanwhile Nina had finished clearing up the table and washing up the kitchen and setting the kueh mixes for the following day in the enormous fridge . . . and still Aunty Lee was asking questions and Carla Saito was not answering them.

4.

Laura Kwee on the Beach News that a woman's (still-unidentified) body had been found on Sentosa was on the front page of the Straits Times the next morning. Nina could not see that there was anything more there than they had heard over the radio the day before, but Aunty Lee insisted on having the article read to her three times. Then she sent Nina to walk out to the 7-Eleven for the Today paper and told her, "You go online and look for me what the people are saying on STOMP!" (The Straits Times Online Mobile Print featured everything from shocking photos of highway accidents to rude service staff. It always had the latest news even if it was seldom accurate.) The Lees had enrolled Nina in a basic computer course within months of her arrival in the Lee household. M. L. Lee believed that people functioned satisfactorily only when they were constantly learning something, and Aunty Lee wanted somebody else's eyes and efforts to give her a shortcut into the whole new world of gossip she sensed e-buzzing around her. Despite her insistence on using traditional cooking methods, Aunty Lee loved new gadgets and technology. She might have an old charcoal brazier installed in the back alleyway and an old granite mortar and pestle that was never to be washed with soap, but she also had the latest model in blender-mixers (for catering) and her enormous state-of-the-art fridge, specially ordered from Germany, which had different compartments kept at different temperatures in the most energy-efficient way possible. So it was not surprising that Aunty Lee had a computer at home and an iPad 2 always close at hand, and Nina's skills and eyesight kept her connected with a planet of food and eaters.

And perhaps it pleased Aunty Lee, just a little, to know this irritated Selina, who said as often as she could, "If you want someone to look up things online, you can ask Mark. He's always fiddling around with his computer," and "If Nina has enough free time to play with an iPad, you should send her over to clean our place!" That second suggestion, not really a joke, had been repeated several times.

There could be no disputing how beautifully the Binjai Park bungalow was maintained and how Nina had set up and managed the home vegetable garden, where she grew enough vegetables to supply the house and enough pandan, limau purut, and chilis to supply the shop. In fact Selina had even approached Nina directly, saying that Aunty Lee wouldn't need a live-in helper for much longer and for her own sake she should start looking for more long-term employers. Being Selina, she had added that Nina should know better than to expect that any other employer would allow her the same liberties that Aunty Lee did. As Aunty Lee said when Nina told her about this, Selina meant well. Nina tried to remember this. But still she enjoyed looking up things for Aunty Lee, and enjoyed it even more when Selina was around.

"Go online and find out if they know who it is yet!"

"Ma'am, when the police find out they will say. Now is just people guessing only."

Contrary to what Selina believed, there was quite enough work for Nina under Aunty Lee's supervision. That morning she had already watered and trimmed the garden, prepared and washed up breakfast, and made the pot of lemongra.s.s-and-ginger tea (from freshly harvested lemongra.s.s) and was currently employed in tailing mung-bean sprouts or tow gay. Because Aunty Lee insisted on sprouting her own green beans, this was slightly more complicated. Rather than the uniformly slim straight sprouts you could find in the market or supermarket, her sprouts were twisted and contorted. But they were also lusciously plump and juicy. "Like women," Aunty Lee said. "The skinny ones all no taste." Nina thought it fortunate that Aunty Lee only said that in private-so far. It was the kind of comment Harry Sullivan would have leaped on to make one of his awkward jokes.

"You don't know. One of them may have guessed right!" Aunty Lee padded round the table and poked at the iPad. "Even now they may be arresting the murderers!"

"Aunty Lee! Your hands are wet! After you short-circuit it, then you know!"

Still, Nina preferred Aunty Lee like this in the mornings. In the weeks and months after M. L. Lee's death, she had been politely silent. No trouble to anyone, she had said little, eaten little, and-as Nina knew because she was herself a light sleeper-slept little. All night she had heard her employer's steady, sad steps going round and round the house. Down the stairs, around the living room, stopping at the door of the study, where her husband used to sit with his papers when he was alive, then back up the stairs . . . only to return again to repeat the same pattern. It would have been better, Nina thought, if only Aunty Lee could have cried and fallen apart, because then she could have helped put her back together again.

Even now she occasionally found Aunty Lee standing silently before one of the portraits of the late M. L. Lee. There was at least one in each room-here, facing them in the living/dining room, M. L. Lee sat regally, his wife behind him with one small plump hand on his shoulder. That had been taken on their tenth wedding anniversary. They had not had so many years left together. There was also a smaller photograph of M. L. Lee with his first wife, Dimples Koh. Aunty Lee kept it there because Dimples was Mark and Mathilda's mother, but it was unlikely Mark noticed the photo and Mathilda wasn't in Singapore to see it. Nina had never seen Aunty Lee paused in thought in front of that particular photograph.

Just then the intercom from the gate sounded. Nina was startled. They were not expecting any deliveries that morning.

"Did you order anything, ma'am?" Singapore might be safe, but you still had to be careful. Even here there were probably people who would take advantage of a rich old woman alone in her house with a poor maid.

"No, no." Aunty Lee fluttered toward the door, obviously intending to examine their visitor in person.

"Aunty Lee, please wait. Let me find out who it is and what they want first . . ."

But then Nina saw the two uniformed policemen standing at their gate and the police car stopped behind them and knew she was not going to be the one asking the questions.

"Sorry to disturb you like this," one of the officers said. "I am Senior Staff Sergeant Salim and this is my colleague Officer Pang. We are looking for Mrs. Rosie Lee."

Nina was taken aback. Aunty Lee, on the other hand, looked delighted. "You must come in and sit down," she insisted. When the men hesitated, she added, "I am an old lady, I cannot stand up for long. You want to ask me questions, you must come in and sit down."

SSS Salim was the newly appointed officer in charge of the Bukit Tinggi Neighbourhood Police Post, which included Binjai Park in its jurisdiction. This was a quiet, mostly upmarket residential area with few problems. The main reason for having a neighborhood police post there was because of the presence of the Swiss emba.s.sy, the International Community School, the Canadian International School, the German European School, and the homes of some of the wealthiest residents in Singapore.

In fact this was a posting that managed to be simultaneously a dead end and a potential big break. Some officers might have been very happy with it. Others might view it as an opportunity to make valuable contacts for the future. SSS Salim Mawar was just trying to find his feet. Awarded the Singapore Police Force Overseas Scholarship, he had graduated from the National University of Singapore with a bachelor of law (honors) and almost immediately proceeded on to obtain his master's of philosophy in criminology and law from Cambridge University. This was his first official post since returning to Singapore. He was well aware (some had said it to his face in warning) that he was being groomed to be one of the token Malays in the leading party. He was also well aware many of the English-educated, middle-cla.s.s Chinese in his homeland treated him as more of an outsider than he had been in England.

But even if he sometimes felt like an outsider, there was, as yet, no other place that Salim considered home, and until he found one, Singapore would have to do. And in Singapore he could physically blend into his surroundings-a definite advantage for a police investigator, which was still how Salim saw his job. His aide, Officer Pang, though Chinese (and speaking English, Mandarin, and Cantonese as well as a smattering of Malay and Hokkien) did not share this advantage. Sergeant Timothy Pang was too good-looking. Whenever he entered a s.p.a.ce, old women forgot their age, young women forgot themselves, and even men were not immune. It was not Officer Pang's fault, of course. And SSS Salim found it very useful having Officer Pang around because just looking at him threw most people off balance.

SSS Salim was impressed by the neatly ordered living room he was shown in to. He sat down on the seat Aunty Lee indicated to him before she sat herself down on the other side of the little coffee table. Officer Pang remained standing by the door.