When they finally emerge from the Metro station, the two women look around them with wonderment. They are in the Latin Quarter, and the Notre-Dame Cathedral appears in the distance like a glorious mirage. It is impossible, even for Chinese mothers, to not have one’s breath taken away at the sight. There is an overwhelming realization that you are in the presence of something wondrous, something built by the blood and tears of people who existed hundreds of years ago. Something that has seen everything—revolutions, wars, life, death—and remained.
For once, Vera and Winifred are speechless as they walk toward the magnificent building. Of course, as soon as they get near, they are swallowed up by throngs of tourists. This early in the morning, the place isn’t as crowded as it can be, but there are still a ton of people there, all of them speaking different languages. The presence of them jerks Vera back to reality, and she whips out her phone and begins to take dozens of photos of the cathedral from various angles.
“Take video of me,” she calls out to Winifred, who is also taking photos with gusto. “I need to post to my followers on the TikTok. They have been very eager to know where I am going in Paris.”
“Vanity,” Winifred mutters, but she does as Vera asks, albeit a little grudgingly.
Vera throws her arms up and grins widely at the phone camera. “Hello, followers!” she calls out. “I am at the Not-the-Damn museum!”
“Cathedral,” Winifred says.
“Not-the-Damn Cathedral,” Vera says without skipping a beat. “It is very beautiful, maybe most beautiful thing I see before. Even more beautiful than Tilly when he was baby. Actually, he was quite ugly baby, looks like a potato. But now he has grown into handsome young man.”
“You are so long-winded,” Winifred says.
Vera’s mouth snaps shut and she glares at her errant camerawoman for a split second before turning her attention back to the camera. “Okay, I stop now. We are going to go inside. I will post again later. Ciao!”
“I don’t think they say ‘Ciao’ here,” Winifred says, and hands the phone back to Vera.
“Yes, they do.” Vera uploads the video onto her TikTok and tucks her phone back into her fanny pack. “What else would they say? It’s European, Winifred.”
“Ciao is Italian. Over here they say”—Winifred frowns, obviously at a loss as to how the French might say goodbye—“auf Wiedersehen.”
Vera makes a mental note of it as they stroll through the giant doors of the cathedral. The interior of Notre-Dame is just as glorious as its exterior. Despite the number of tourists here, the dark, hallowed space has a sobering effect on everyone, and the noise is at a minimum. Vera and Winifred stop chattering and gape around them in relative silence. Even the air feels thick with the weight of centuries of history. Every inch of it is to be pondered and admired, and the ribbed vaulted ceilings strike a sense of wonder in Vera. Before coming here, Vera had foolishly thought that she would only spend a half hour here before getting bored and heading to the next spot on her to-do list. But it becomes clear now that Notre-Dame isn’t something to rush through.
As Vera contemplates a statue holding its own severed head, someone bumps into her from behind.
“I am so sorry!”
Vera’s right hand flies to her fanny pack instinctively, and she turns around to see a beautiful Caucasian woman who looks to be in her eighties, alongside a Caucasian man who looks to be in his thirties.
“I’m sorry,” the woman says. “My eyesight isn’t what it used t—oh!” She peers closely at Vera. “Are you . . . Vera Wong?”
Vera’s eyebrows disappear into her hairline. “Y-yes.”
“Vera!” Winifred says, then hisses in Cantonese, “You shouldn’t just reveal who you are. What if she is a scammer of some sort? Haven’t you learned from Penxi?”
Vera’s face grows warm. Because Winifred is right, isn’t she? Vera, as a sleuth and a wise elderly lady, should have known better than to tell strangers who she is. “That is,” she quickly adds, “I might be. Or I might not.”
“It’s her,” the old woman says excitedly to her companion, rummaging through her handbag. “Where’s my phone? Ah, here it is. Where’s that damn app? Here we go. And . . . here! This is you!” She brandishes the phone at Vera with a huge smile. “Oh my lord, a real-life celebrity!”
Despite herself, Vera is swayed by the woman’s enthusiasm. Winifred is still hissing in her ear, but Vera shakes her off and says with what she thinks is a humble smile, “Yes, it is me.”
“My word!” The old woman clasps her hands over her chest. “Can we take a photo together? I am such a big fan of yours.”
“She is.” The young man sighs. “She won’t stop forwarding your TikToks to the family group chat.”
“My name’s Edith, and this is my grandson, Matthew. We’re from Houston, Texas, and we’re such huge fans of yours!”
Now that Edith mentioned Texas, Vera detects the iconic Texan twang. Vera loves accents of all sorts, but she finds the Texan accent to be one of the most bewitching. When Tilly was a teenager, Vera once said, “Y’all need to do your homework,” and he’d sworn he would get to his homework right away, just as long as she never said “y’all” ever again in his presence.
Excerpt continues below cover reveal.
Others are looking over at them now, and Vera catches a few glares from the crowd. With a start, she realizes how loud they are being, and her face flushes. She had been determined to not be one of those tourists, the kind that every local despises and wishes to fling back to their country of origin.
“Let’s go outside,” she says.
Walking out of the cathedral is like stepping out from an ancient world into a modern one. The noise from the street envelops them, and Vera is both relieved and sad to leave the quiet, cool darkness of Notre-Dame.
“Please take photos of me with the Vera Wong, sweetheart,” Edith says, pushing her phone at Matthew.
Even though it’s sort of overwhelming to be mobbed by fans (or rather, by a single fan and her long-suffering grandson), Vera takes it upon herself to be gracious. She stands next to Edith, smiling her best smile and ignoring Winifred’s aggressive eye rolls. The sight of Winifred so obviously squirming with jealousy makes it easier for Vera to grin.
When they are done, Edith positively squeals with joy as she scrolls through the numerous photos that Matthew has taken. “Oh, thank you so much,” she says to Vera, clasping her hands. “Do y’all have plans after this? You must let me buy you a coffee—oh!” She catches herself and wags a finger at Vera. “Oops, I forgot. You don’t drink coffee. Well, let me treat you to tea and some of those delicious French pastries.”
Vera is flustered by Edith’s nonstop chatter, but in a good way. In most situations, Vera naturally becomes the leader of the pack, someone the others look up to with expectation. But Edith is so much older than Vera, and so loud in personality, that Vera is in the other position, looking with slight confusion at Edith. And it’s . . . nice. She hasn’t realized just how tiring being a constant leader is. It’s been so long since she’s had someone to whom she can relinquish the wheel. And for once, she’s able to be what Robin would call a “passenger princess.”
“We have a lot of plan,” Winifred pipes up. “We are very busy, so much to see.”
Vera glowers at her, and she returns the look with raised eyebrows that convey, What? We do!
“Sorry, excuse me. I talk to my friend first.” With that, Vera grabs Winifred by the arm and leads her a few steps away, where they converse in rapid Cantonese. “Why don’t you want to have cake and tea with them? It’s free food, Winifred! Are you so rich that you can turn your nose up at a free treat?”
“Vera,” Winifred replies slowly, as though she is talking to a senile old woman, “they are strangers. Don’t you know the term ‘stranger danger’? What if they’re luring you into having cake and tea only to drug you and kidnap you?”
“Look at her. She’s a harmless old woman!”
“You’re an old woman and you are definitely not harmless.”
Vera’s mouth drops open. “I am not old! You are one year older than me.”
Winifred gives her a flat look. “Vera, I have lost count of the number of times you’ve referred to yourself as a helpless old woman.”
“Aiya, that’s just so the youngsters would respect me. You of all people should know that. Now, enough said, we will join Edith and her grandson for a snack, and after that, we can resume our itinerary. Okay?”
Winifred sighs. “Okay, but don’t come crying to me when they drug and kidnap us.”
“If they do, I will get us out in no time,” Vera says with the kind of confidence that only someone who has solved two murders could have.
Is there anything better than being right? Well, French cakes that are so beautiful they are practically works of art come close, but still, nothing can beat the endorphin rush that comes with being proven right, especially when it happens right in front of Winifred.
The impromptu little meal with Edith and Matthew has turned out to be an utterly pleasurable affair. The cakes were almost too pretty to eat, and the tea was served in dainty little cups with an elaborate flower pattern. And the café itself looked like something out of a fairy tale, with plenty of outdoor seating. Eating and drinking as people walk by while being surrounded by the enchanting city of Paris has been nothing short of magical. In the end, the four of them stay for almost two hours, chatting and eating and drinking cup after cup of tea.
Which of course means that as Vera and Winifred make their way back to the apartment in Butte-aux-Callais, Vera is practically vibrating with victorious joy.
“You see what I told you?” Vera says. “This is how you make friends that become your newfound family, Winifred. You must keep your heart open. I think that must be why strangers find me so approachable. They can sense my openness, my generosity . . .”
Winifred the sore loser stays grumpily silent as Vera waxes on and on. When they finally get to the second floor of their building, Winifred marches inside their unit with what can only be described as an annoyed walk. Two steps in, however, she stops short, making Vera bump into her.
“Aiya,” Vera says. “Why are you stopping right in the middle of my way? Look, I understand that you’re angry because I proved you wrong, but—”
“Vera,” Winifred says, and there is a strange note in her voice that slices through Vera’s speech, silencing her. “You know how you said on the TikTok that if anyone needed a murder to solve in Paris, they should come to you?”
It takes a second for the words to sink in. “Um, yes?” Vera says.
“I think someone took you up on the offer.” Winifred steps to one side, letting Vera go past her and into the living room.
Vera gasps. One might think that having once found a dead man in the middle of her forgotten tea shop, Vera would be used to it by now and would have come up with a better response than a mere gasp. But she must be forgiven for the unoriginal reaction because this is, after all, only the second time in Vera’s life that she has come across an unexpectedly dead man in her space.
__________________________________
