“What spy?”
Sui Chan sipped hot water from her thermos. “You remember when the factory closed down for the investigation? The authorities finally found proof Madam Chan was collaborating with a Japanese operative during the war. Guess the relationship must have gone sour, because she shot him—in her own home!”
I was reeling. Could the spy be Zhou Hin Kong?
“The police found his remains in the neighbor’s garden half eaten by worms. They say it happened years ago.”
Gu Ma’s taken care of everything,Yi Gor had told me that last night I saw him. Finally, I understood what he meant.
“I know we’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead,” Sui Chan was saying, “but Madam Chan had a wicked heart. That snake betrayed her own country with no shame—yet look at her, as soon as she’s caught and has to lose everything,thenshe kills herself? You learn a lot about people from what brings them shame.” Sui Chan scoffed. My friend noticed that I hadn’t been eating. “What’s wrong? You look sick.”
I lowered my egg tart to my lap. “Madam Chan was my aunt.”
“Your aunt!”
“My father’s older sister. I... I should have told you sooner, but it’s not something I like remembering.”
“I can’t blame you.” Sui Chan whistled. “You were her niece and she made you walk to work every day.”
“She took my pay, too.”
The petty part of me hoped Gu Ma was baking in hell as she deserved, while deep down, I also felt a stab of guilt. The last time I’d seen her, I’d pretended to haunt her as Lily’s ghost. I knew how superstitious she was—could I be to blame in any way for her fate?
I finally bit into the tart, the sweetness in the velvety custard soothing the familiar pain in my ear that flared up whenever I was anxious.No. Absolutely not.
“I take it you aren’t going to the funeral,” said Sui Chan. “Are you still worried they’ll look for you?”
If Gu Ma was dead, that meant Sai Ma would be the lady of the house. At the realization, I lost my appetite again. I folded over my knees, throwing the crumbs from my apron to the pigeons.
“I need to get out of here. My face is on every Peaksoy bottle—it’s getting harder to hide.”
“You could write to Tom—”
“No,” I cut my friend off. There was no chance I’d write to Tommy. Just the notion of asking him to take my face off his precious soymilk made me want to punch the concrete slab under my knees.
“Then where will you go?” Sui Chan asked.
I’d never forgotten how Lily and I used to dream together. I responded softly, “The Beautiful Country.”
“America? They don’t let in Chinese women. Not unless you’re married to one of them.”
I refused to believe my options were so bleak. “I don’t want to get married.”
“Then there’s no America.”
I bit my lip. “Even if I changed my mind, what kind of man would marry a girl he just met and bring her with him halfway across the world?”
“Plenty of men.” Sui Chan leaned toward me. “My husband has a friend from the States who happens to be visiting. He’s leaving in a few days, though.”
I knew that scheming look in her eye. “I don’t want to marry a gweilo,” I said. Bad enough I was considering marrying a stranger—it’d help if we could speak to each other.
“Do I look rich enough to know any gweilo?” Sui Chan said, laughing. “He’s Chinese—and recently widowed. I’ll bet he’s hoping to meet someone in Hong Kong.”
That made me pause. “He’s really from America?”
“You go and tell me if he’s a Yankee or not. Just don’t get your hopes up too high. He’s a cook, nothing fancy like a soymilk tycoon.”
“I’m done with tycoons.”
