The Mystery of Revenge

  “Thank you!” Ann was so moved that she was almost in tears. “You’re so kind!”

  “Not at all,” Yi-yun said with a smile and biked away.

  “See you tomorrow!” She waved.

  Ann’s eyes followed Yi-yun into the darkness while waiting for her roommate to pick her up as the city bus had stopped running. That night, Ann knew she had found her best friend.

  Chapter 2

  Yi-yun was stirring when her roommate Amy left for school in the early morning. Suddenly realizing she didn’t have to keep up with her old schedule anymore, she sighed contently and went back to sleep. When she finally got out of bed, it was almost eleven in the morning.

  It felt a bit strange being home during a school day, but Yi-yun utterly enjoyed it. Ever since she moved to Boston, she had rushed around grudgingly, juggling work and school. In the mornings, even when she didn’t have classes, she still had to head to campus, trying to finish her homework so she wouldn’t be late for work in the afternoon. She had to work four nights a week plus two full days during the weekend, first as a bus girl then as a waitress and a bartender at China Dragon. It was pure luck that she could finally put a halt to this painful life and be able to enjoy a relaxed morning at her own pace. Wearing a big smile, Yi-yun went to the kitchen to fix herself a healthy breakfast—cereal with low fat milk, a glass of orange juice, and an apple. Very soon she should make Fang Chen lunch and take it to his office because he had a class in the early afternoon. While blowing her hair into a fashionable hairdo after showering, Yi-yun quickly ran through a few possible lunch items in her head.

  So far, the relationship between her and Fang Chen had been more than agreeable. He was rich, his family owned a high-tech firm in Singapore, and he was very smart. When he came to America, he was armed with a BS degree, a green card, and loads of cash. Now, with a future doctoral degree in stock, he had almost everything Yi-yun wanted in a man. Just imagining being able to quit her job and walk into China Dragon as a customer made her giggle with joy.

  The door of Fang Chen’s office was readily opened when she knocked. “What are we having for lunch?” Fang Chen asked when he saw Yi-yun. He had been anxiously waiting. “I’m starving!”

  Yi-yun smiled, dropping a quick kiss on his cheek, which made Fang Chen beam like a little child, and set down a brown bag.

  To be honest, Fang Chen wasn’t the type Yi-yun had in mind for her mate. He was short, balding on the top, and wore a pair of thick glasses that looked like the bottom of a classic Coke bottle. It was amazing how different his appearance was from what she had imagined in a man. Her dream of a mate was tall and well built, with big smoldering eyes, and dark hairs. But Yi-yun had learned a valuable lesson as soon as she entered the real world. A handsome young man was worth nothing if he couldn’t provide his girl a decent living. In the past few years, she had dated quite a few good-looking guys in China as well as in the US, but none of them could or was willing to support her financially. The tuition Fang Chen paid for her alone was more than ten thousand dollars!

  “Ham and egg sandwich, my favorite!” Fang Chen claimed happily and took the sandwich out of the brown bag.

  “Have you washed your hands yet?” With a frown, Yi-yun took the sandwich away from him. “You have to wash your hands first,” she said firmly.

  “I haven’t touched anything dirty,” Fang Chen said, a little embarrassed. “Look, my hands are clean.” He showed her his hands with a red face.

  As she watched him munching on the sandwich, however, Yi-yun remembered the question that was worrying her. “When do you think we should look for our new apartment?” The arrangement was that she would move in with him in a few days, but they hadn’t found a new place yet.

  He stopped chewing. “I’ve been thinking about it this morning,” he said with some hesitation while forcing down a mouthful food with water. “What do you think if we keep my apartment?” he asked, looking up at her nervously.

  “It’s a one-bedroom apartment!” she protested. It would be scandalous if people found out that they were sharing a bedroom. As far as Yi-yun was concerned, they were just good friends casually dating, she hadn’t planned to share a bed with him yet.

  Fang Chen’s face turned a deep red. “The cheapest two-bedroom apartment in Boston costs more than a thousand dollars,” he said wearily. “If we keep my apartment, we could easily save up to several hundred a month.”

  “What would people say if they found out we were living together without being married?” she blurted out angrily. She thought she had made her case crystal clear when they discussed about their new agreement last week—she would cook and do laundry for him, and in exchange, he would help her with rent and tuition.

  “I can sleep on the couch,” he said, dropping his eyes.

  “It won’t work,” she interrupted him, fuming. “You’re Chinese. You know how the Chinese think!” Although she could care less about old traditions, it was America after all, Yi-yun didn’t want to be the target of finger-pointing and the center of mass gossiping in her community. Who cared if Fang Chen slept in the living room? The apartment had only one bedroom, and she could never pass as his roommate.

  “I know, I know,” he said, suppressing a dejected sigh. If money could buy peace, he would gladly pay extra. But the fact was, even if they were living together in a two-bedroom apartment, their arrangement would still generate rumors and gossip.

  “It would be different if we were engaged,” Fang Chen murmured under his breath, trying hard to choose the right words. As he saw it, moving in together as a committed couple was the only way to avoid gossiping.

  “What did you say?” Yi-yun was quite confused. Marriage wasn’t something she had even considered.

  Fang Chen tried to explain, but he was so nervous that he didn’t know what to say. Instead of backing down, however, he took a deep breath and stepped forward. “Yi-yun, I don’t know how to put this, but I’ve been thinking about it for quite some time. I love you, and I want to spend my life with you,” he said as he kneeled down in front of her. “Will you marry me?”

  Her jaw dropping, Yi-yun stared at him in disbelief. What was he saying? Was he proposing marriage? She found the answer when she looked into his eyes—the eagerness, the love. Gosh, what should she say? She had never thought about marrying him because she didn’t love him. He might be her boyfriend, even though she preferred to think of him as a good friend who was willing to help her financially, but that was all.

  What should she do now? Bewildered, Yi-yun stole a glance at him and saw he was so nervous that he was trembling. Tears swelled in her eyes and her visions blurred. Oh, hadn’t she been waiting for this moment since she came of age, a husband and a home of her own? Why should she be hesitant? She had given up the dream of Prince Charming a long time ago; if she were to marry somebody someday, he could be the right choice.

  “Will you?” Fang Chen asked anxiously.

  “Yes,” she said in a quiet and quivering voice. She tried to smile, but instead, the tears ran down like loose pearls. It was very silly indeed, but she couldn’t help it.

  “Oh, Yi-yun, my dearest,” he jumped up, overjoyed. “I love you,” he said, embracing her passionately, “and I always will.”

  She stood woodenly in his arms. Her body felt the kisses and hugs, but her mind wasn’t functioning. Oh dear, she was engaged. Did she really want to be married right now? She wasn’t even twenty-two!

  “I’ll take care of you and support you,” he whispered into her ears while kissing her tenderly. “We’ll be happy together.”

  “Yes,” she said, crying silently on his shoulder.

  Fang Chen left when it was time for his class. He promised he would let her choose the diamond engagement ring. “We’ll go shopping tomorrow,” he said.

  Yi-yun wandered aimlessly through the hall and stepped ou
tside. It was a warm day in mid-October with bright sunshine and a soft breeze. The Charles River in front of her was sparkled with shiny twinkles, and the trees lining the streets were covered with colorful leaves. When the wind passed smoothly by, the grass surrounding the campus shook in delight. What a beautiful day!

  Bathing in the fresh air under the sun, a stream of happy thoughts floated through her mind. At last, with a marriage to one of the richest students on campus, she was on her way to achieve the goal she had set for herself when she left China.

  It all started in 1976 when the Cultural Revolution ended without a bang. As the country struggled toward a painful recovery, it opened its door unguardedly to the foreigners for the first time. Soon, the daring and eager investors flooded in, so were the ways and means of outside world. The pictures of the much-developed western countries found their way into the household of two middle school teachers.

  Yi-yun was a ten-year-old when she first laid her eyes on an American magazine. Amazed, she couldn’t take her eyes away from the colorful photographs: the big houses, the beautiful yards, the shining cars, and the gorgeous clothes! Look how people in other parts of the world lived! She remembered being ashamed when she looked down at her own clothes—the shapeless gray Mao uniform, one of the few outfits people were allowed to wear at that time, so lifeless and ugly in comparison.

  Her family was supposedly middle class, both her parents being college grads, which made them the cream of the crop in their country. Before 1966, they did live rather comfortably if not luxuriously in a two-bedroom apartment in a brownstone town house built in the 1930s in the old French quarter in Shanghai. But the Cultural Revolution had changed everything. As intellectuals, her parents were doomed. Two working-class families, now the new ruling class, moved into their apartment and occupied the two bedrooms under the slogan of “equal living” in the height of the revolution, leaving her parents and their only daughter jammed into the living room. As long as Yi-yun could remember, her home was a small square room that she shared with her parents. On one side, it was a big bed for her parents; on the opposite side, it was a small bed for her. They slept there, ate there, even entertaining guests there, and they had to share the only bathroom with the two working-class families. During her childhood, Yi-yun had broken down more than a few times when she couldn’t hold her pee any longer while waiting for the bathroom to be vacant.

  “I wish I lived in a different country!” she sighed when she put down the magazine. Several nights after reading the magazine, she had some beautiful dreams, only to be woken up by the snores of her parents. Unwaveringly, she kept her dream alive—when she grew up, she would move to a foreign country and have a beautiful house of her own.

  “Guess what?” she said, totally upbeat again, when Amy returned from school in the evening.

  “What?” her roommate asked, rather uninterested. She was so tired that she dropped her backpack, sank into the couch, and closed her eyes.

  “I’m engaged,” Yi-yun proudly announced.

  “No!” Amy’s eyes popped open as she sat up.

  “Yes,” Yi-yun said, laughing loudly while opening her arms.

  “Oh, Yi-yun, what a surprise!” Amy cried, rushing into her arms and hugging her “You almost made me speechless! Now, show me the ring!”

  “No, I don’t have it,” she said regretfully. “We have to buy it tomorrow. It happened so suddenly that Fang wasn’t prepared.”

  “Oh, how sweet,” Amy crooned, giving her another big hug. “Did you set the wedding date yet?” she asked.

  “Maybe someday next month?” she responded doubtfully. “I don’t know if I’ll be ready though.”

  “You will,” Amy said to her assuredly. “Fang Chen is such a nice guy, Yi-yun! You’re so lucky!”

  Yi-yun beamed. The approval, tinged with envy in her roommate’s voice made her happy and proud. “I have to call Shao Mei and Ann,” she said to Amy. Shao Mei used to sleep on her couch, so Amy knew her well. She moved out only recently after her son came to the United States. Ann and Amy were classmates.

  “Yes, you have to. I’ll have to make a few phone calls as well. I’ll need a roommate sooner rather than later; otherwise, I won’t be able to afford this apartment.”

  Chapter 3

  “To be honest, I was surprised,” Ms. White admitted while rocking back and forth habitually in an old-fashioned rocking chair in her living room, “to see him leaving with a roller. He never left with a roller. The biggest luggage he ever carried was a duffel bag before that day.”

  Paul Winderman was sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee in front of him on the coffee table. The furniture in this neat and sunny one-bedroom apartment was a mixture of antique and semimodern. Even though the color of the couch and matching love seat in the living room had been faded, he knew they were rarely touched.

  “What time was this?” he asked, looking at Ms. White who had her mostly gray permed hairs pulled neatly behind her ears. She was rounded in the middle but looked very energetic for a seventy-year-old.

  “Oh, around seven in the morning,” she said, trying to be precise. “I was having my first cup of coffee, and I looked out the window, and there he was, rolling away this big suitcase.”

  “Did you hear anything unusual the night before?”

  She stiffened, remembering the moaning of their lovemaking. “The usual stuff,” she said rigidly. “They had sex. That’s for sure.”

  Paul Winderman studied her while sipping his coffee, which to his delight, was very strong. For some reason, old Ms. White seemed to dislike her young neighbors; he was wondering if she disliked both or just one of them. Aloud, he asked: “What type of people were they?”

  “Hard to say. She was nice enough, always said hello when we ran into each other. Sometimes, she and I would exchange some pleasantries and news,” she said. “He’s a snob, always looking down at the tips of his shoes when he walks, never even say hi” she added distastefully.

  “Do you think they were on good terms?”

  She became all rigid again. “I suppose so. She was devoted to him, I’m sure. The guy never lifted a finger on anything around the house. All he did was playing his piano. She told me that he had to protect his fingers”—she snorted—“protect his fingers indeed! I’d say he’s just lazy. What type of a man would live on his girlfriend’s wages! She’s been supporting him for years. As my father used to say—”

  Paul Winderman lifted his right hand to interrupt her as he knew perfectly well what her father would have said about a man living on a woman’s wages. His father would have said the same thing. “But I thought he got a job as a concert pianist.”

  “He signed a contract with the Boston Symphony. At least that was what she told me. But he didn’t start getting paid until very recently. She said she had been working at a Chinese restaurant so he could concentrate on his piano. She’d been supporting him since when, I don’t even want to know,” she said sordidly. As an independent woman, she had been working all her life, teaching little kids. Even after retirement, she had volunteered at the local library for years until recently.

  “Do you think he loved her?”

  “If love is about sex, then I say yes,” she blurted out. “All they did when they were home is have sex! Piano and sex. That’s about it!”

  He nodded knowingly. That could be one of the reasons she despised him. “Now think carefully, Ms. White. Because you are so intelligent, you might have noticed something other people wouldn’t.”

  She turned a little pink with pleasure.

  “Did you hear anything unusual, anything, before he left, either the night before or the early morning?”

  “Now, it could be something,” she said, sitting a bit more upright. “I did hear him raising his voice a couple times the night before, and she cried out once or twice. It didn’t sou
nd like arguing. I thought at the time she might have burned her hand while cooking. You see, the building’s old, so the walls and the floors have deteriorated quite a bit. I could hear the sounds they made, but words were barely audible.” She colored up a bit when she tried to explain. “And I couldn’t distinguish between a moan and a cry. That’s why I didn’t pay much attention then.”

  “Did she cry out before or after he raised his voice?”

  She shook her head. “Couldn’t tell, I wasn’t really listening you know. She was a very reserved woman normally. The only time she made lots noises was when they had sex.” Her face blushed pink again as she looked at him apologetically. “Sometimes, he pinned her against the wall while doing it, and I could feel my side of the wall vibrating. The man is a pig,” she said disgustedly.

  Paul Winderman shook his head unconsciously. Due to the condition of the body, which was badly decomposed, they hadn’t been able to pinpoint the exact timing of the murder. It could be before or after Tom Meyers had left for his tour. If it was after, he could walk free even though every clue they found had pointed to him as the prime suspect. Just this morning, they had found a pillow with a gunshot burn in one of the trash bins nearby. Whoever shot the victim had used the pillow to stifle the sound. It was his pillow all right, there were no fingerprints other than his and hers.

  If Tom Meyers had shot her, most likely he had done it the night before. If he had killed her in a convulsive fit, she would’ve cried out or screamed before she died unless, of course, he had shot her when she was asleep, then dragged her to the living room. But there was nothing in the crime scene indicating the body was being dragged or carried over from somewhere else, and the autopsy had confirmed it.

  “Did you see his face when he left that morning?” he asked. “Was he nervous?”

  “I only saw his back and his suitcase when he walked out. Oh, he did turn sideway once. Yes, his face was rather pale, but he’s always as pale as a ghost, hiding in the apartment all day long,” Ms. White said nastily.