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WHO HAD ACCESS TO THOSE dangerous red pills? Winston snapped his fingers. “It must have been Vivian. She was supposed to organize the meds last.”
“The Chans’ youngest daughter?” Kristy said. “She smelled like innocence.”
Or a cloying rose scent masking something more sinister, Winston thought.
Kristy bit her lip, and Marcy said, “No need to concern yourself, Ms. Bride. It’s off to bed. Big day tomorrow. You’ll need to look fresh and rested.”
Marcy led Kristy around the balloon spill on the floor. As Kristy passed him, Winston pulled his fiancée into a quick hug and whispered, “Sweet dreams, love.”
“I’ll try,” Kristy said, “but I’m so worried about the Chan family. I wish they had some sort of resolution. It seems wrong to enjoy our celebration while they’re still suffering.”
Winston wanted to be the one tucking Kristy into bed. But, of course, he couldn’t spy Kristy’s bridal gown prior to the wedding. Bad luck. Anyway, he’d have his own chance to escort her tomorrow night . . .
Marcy soon reappeared, and her huge yawn brought him out of his daydreams. She started counting the blown-up balloons aloud.
“There’s probably enough,” Winston said.
Marcy scrunched her nose in disbelief.
“Time to sleep, sis. You staying the night?”
“I think I will. Let me text Gary and let him know.” She whipped out her phone and punched a few keys.
Mere seconds later, a ping sounded. Winston caught a glimpse of a kiss emoji before Marcy tucked the phone away.
“I’ll take a quick catnap,” she said, stretching across the couch. “Get some energy to blow up more balloons. Better to have plenty on hand.”
“Just sleep. We can hack together something in the morning,” Winston said. Rummaging in the linen closet, he found a quilt and draped it over his sister.
Glad I have Marcy as a sister—instead of someone like that conniving Viv. He must have said it out loud, though, because she thanked him for his compliment in Cantonese: do jeh.
She snuggled under the covers and continued, “Too much sibling rivalry in that family. Like at rehearsal dinner.”
“What’s that, Marcy?” Then he remembered the hubbub at Sambal. The heated conversation in Cantonese. “What were they arguing about?”
Marcy positioned a throw pillow under her head. “Ming’s very specific written will. He’d set aside some money for his wife, but none of the inheritance goes to the daughters, only the sons.”
Old-school thinking. Females got less than a byte; they ended up with nothing because boys were “worth more” than girls. But it did create a motive for Viv to take out her stepdad. “I need to find her,” Winston said. “Bring her to the police before she escapes.”
“You need more evidence,” Marcy said, stifling a yawn. Her eyes started closing, and she murmured, “Go to bed, Winston. The Chans will be here in the morning. Takes time to figure out funeral details.”
His sister conked out. Winston tucked the quilt around her. It was nice to be the responsible one for a change.
She’d had her turn, always being the reliable Wong. In fact, Marcy had organized the burial details for their parents. He had shown up to everything without any idea of the cost or the work involved.
As his sister’s breathing slowed, Winston found his mind slipping a little into dreamland. Should he follow Marcy’s advice? He could go home and crawl into his cozy bed. Surely, the Chans would still be around in the morning tying up loose ends.
He checked his watch. Just before midnight. What he wouldn’t do for a soft down pillow at this hour.
But something niggled at the back of his mind. Evidence. He needed more concrete links to Viv as the killer. And the more time that went by, the fewer clues might remain.
Should he truly investigate at this late hour? Leads could reveal themselves after he had a good night’s rest. Clear thinking could lead to greater insight.
Meanwhile, he knew Kristy might be tossing and turning with concern. Maybe he couldn’t provide her with complete peace of mind tonight, but he could solve the case before their wedding.
Winston wandered over to the kitchen faucet. He splashed cold water on his face. Drying himself with a nearby dish towel, he rubbed hard at his cheeks to wake himself up.
One more stop tonight before he called it quits. He needed to go back to the exact scene of Ming’s death.