“And the heat’s on me,” Maureen continues. “’Cause I was the last one with the stuff. I can’t let them suspect—not her, oh god, I can’t—change of plans, you hear me?”
I give my Wolverine grunt again.
“We’ll have to pin it on the photographer.”
“What?!”
“She was the one who helped carry the boxes back to the room—you sound weird, do you have a cold?”
It takes everything inside me to come up with another grunt.
“Anyway, she helped me carry the boxes back. I can tell them that I was careless, that she was still in the room when I opened the safe. Maybe she saw the safe code or whatever, and then came back later to take the stuff. That’s believable, right? It’ll buy us enough time. You need to—shit, what are we gonna do with the stuff? You need to put them in the photographer’s room and—”
I hang up on her. My heart is racing, my mind shattered. I can barely string together a coherent thought.
“What did she say?” Ma asks, rubbing her elbows, her face lined with worry. She’s so concerned she forgets to speak English and switches to Indonesian. “Meddy, you look so scared, what is it?”
I stare at the phone. I stare at Ma. Nothing comes out.
“Meddy!” Ma snaps her fingers. At the same time, the phone vibrates again. I jump, and reality comes rushing back in, like a flood.
I hit Reject, and then send off another text:
Ah Guan [2:11PM]: Can’t talk now, but will take care of the stuff. Don’t worry.
When I look up again, Ma raises her eyebrows. “Well?”
“They found out that the tea ceremony gifts are missing, and Maureen wants to blame it on me.”
When I was five, there was a boy at my kindergarten who was always pulling my hair and pinching me. When Ma complained to the school about it, they laughed and said, “Awww, that’s so sweet! Little Bobby has a crush on your daughter. Isn’t that the cutest?” Ma rose to her full five feet two inches—even her breasts rose—and she got this look on her face, as if the soul of a warrior had just taken over her features. Mrs. Mallone, my teacher, was still stupidly grinning at her. She didn’t even know what was coming. But by the time Ma was done with her tirade, Mrs. Mallone was in tears and had promised to have a talk with Bobby’s parents about boundaries.
The expression on Ma’s face reminds me of that moment. Everything about her is standing tall and proud and furious.
“That no-good thief wants to frame my daughter?”
It’s right at this moment that the door unlocks, and in come all my aunties. They pile in, rubbing their bellies and chatting amicably in Mandarin, but then Big Aunt notices the look on Ma’s face.
“What happened?” she says. “Is there trouble?”
“The thief wants to frame Meddy!” Ma cries.
My aunties gasp, shock and anger rippling through them. Big Aunt cries the F-word in Mandarin, Second Aunt immediately launches into some Tai Chi pose that no doubt has some ridiculous name, and Fourth Aunt slides her over-the-top nails across her neck, hissing. I want to hug them all to pieces. They’re all so enraged on my behalf.
“We’ll fix this,” Big Aunt says, and for once, Second Aunt doesn’t even come up with a snarky retort. She nods along while crouching into a pose that looks like it should be called something along the lines of Carrying an Extra Large Gourd and says, “Don’t worry, Meddy. We’ll fix this.”
“No.”
They all look at me. Ma steps toward me. “Meddy—”
“No, you’ve all helped me so much. I can handle this one by myself. I know exactly what I have to do. I’m going to get rid of this—” I heave the bag out of the closet. “And then I’ll be back for the body.”
23
A perk that comes with being one of the core wedding vendors: the wedding planner has shared a Google spreadsheet with me that includes the day’s timetable, the phone numbers of everyone important, and a very handy list of everybody’s room number.
I do a quick search for Maureen’s name, and there she is.
Name: Maureen Halim
Role: Maid of Honor
And thief, the voice in my head snarks snarkily.
Phone number: （626） 526-1755
Room Number: 317
My mouth sets into a grim line and I sling the duffel bag over one shoulder and walk briskly toward the staircase. Level 3. I pop my head out before walking out to the hallway, careful to make sure that there’s no one about. Luck’s on my side, and I hurry toward room 317. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I move fast, too fast to second-guess myself. There’s no time for second-guessing anyway, and if I freeze now, if I chicken out, then I’ll be caught with a bag full of stolen goods, and what good will that do anyone? So I walk, ignoring all of the panicky voices crowding my head, and before I know it, I’m here. Room 317.