‘Ah.’ Panchal could not remember anything about talking people out of drains. But she had attended a seminar on talking suicides off balconies. ‘If you come out of the drain we can talk about it?’
Just then, her phone buzzed.
‘Inspector? No, not another burglary. It’s Aunty Lee. She’s in a storm drain. No, she’s not hurt.’
‘Tell Inspector Salim I said Hello!’ Aunty Lee called up.
Despite having been involved in several of Salim’s murder cases, Aunty Lee was still somewhat in awe of the Inspector. She had been on her way to tell him what cute and clever children he and Nina could have together. And how true love would be enough to overcome any differences in their Muslim and Catholic backgrounds. But remembering Nina’s refusal to listen to her, Aunty Lee’s steps had slowed … that was when she had seen the wild kesum growing on the slope by the storm drain next to the house that had been under construction for so long.
Daun kesum or kesum leaves were such an essential ingredient in making laksa that many people referred to them as daun laksa or laksa leaves. The oils of the young kesum leaves gave just the right aroma to spicy assam laksa. In the old days the creeper with its tiny purple flowers had been easy to find in muddy roadside ditches or growing along shallow drains. When you wanted to cook you went outside and plucked what you needed. But today’s Singapore lacked muddy ditches and shallow drains. As a weed rather than a cash crop, kesum was seldom found in markets and never in supermarkets. Too often Aunty Lee had been reduced to using mint leaves as an alternative. Though no one had complained, the compromise galled her. Forget love problems. Make good laksa, she had decided. That renovations had damaged the protective barrier around the drain made it easier for her to climb round to the weed-filled slope.
‘Inspector Salim would like you to get out of the drain, Aunty Lee,’ SS Panchal said. ‘And I need to let Mr and Mrs Guang know you are not at risk.’
By now the Guangs had come downstairs and were watching from just outside their gate. ‘How did you get down there? Can you get out?’
‘There’s a path on that side behind the bushes. Here, hold for me first.’ Balancing against the stone side of the drain, where it ran underground beneath the road, Aunty Lee reached up with a bunch of leafy stalks which SS Panchal squatted to pull through the railings.
‘Please be careful, Mrs Lee.’
‘You please be careful of my kesum leaves!’
Once her hands were free, Aunty Lee scrambled up the overgrown slope on her hands and knees as a child might. Though undignified it was effective and she was soon standing by Panchal brushing herself down.
‘You should apologize to these people for worrying them.’ SS Panchal smiled at the Guangs. They nodded back cautiously.
‘I don’t see what the big fuss is about. Nobody was going to use the kesum. Anyway it will grow back. I didn’t pull up the roots. Why shouldn’t I take it?’ Aunty Lee grumbled.
‘Outside of community gardens of which you are a registered member, the plucking of fruit and flowers in public spaces without permission is an offence which carries a fine of up to $5,000,’ Panchal recited dutifully. Now it was time to Defuse Neighbourhood Tensions. She handed Aunty Lee’s leafy loot back to her before waving to the new neighbours. Mr and Mrs Guang came over, still looking suspicious. No doubt they had expected Aunty Lee to be removed in handcuffs.
‘So sorry I frightened you! I wanted to get these leaves to cook my laksa. Later you must come to my shop and try my assam laksa. My treat. I hope you will come and try?’ Aunty Lee beamed hopefully at the Guangs, and to Panchal’s surprise they melted. Aunty Lee was so plump, positive, and genuinely good-natured.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ they repeated, bowing.‘We hear there are many house burglaries in Singapore, that’s why we are worried,’ Mr Guang said. ‘And the police signs say we must report suspicious activity.’
‘Oh I totally understand!’ Aunty Lee said. ‘One of my old school friends kenah. So terrible hor!’
They launched into an animated discussion of burglar alarms and guard dogs till Panchal said: ‘You want me to phone Nina to come and get you?’
‘No! I don’t want to see Nina!’ Aunty Lee winced at the thought of facing Nina with nothing resolved. ‘Don’t you have to take me to the police station to question me?’ Perhaps she could still have a quick word with Inspector Salim.
‘We know where to find you if we need to ask questions. Don’t you want to get your leaves back to your house or to your shop?’
Aunty Lee’s bungalow was deep in the right branch of the housing estate, about ten minutes by foot beyond the row of shop houses where her café was.
‘You better bring me back to the shop,’ Aunty Lee sighed. She got into the police car then lowered the window to call out to her new friends: ‘You must come to my shop to eat!’
Truth be told, it was not just because of Nina that Aunty Lee was feeling a bit out of place in her own shop these days.
Aunty Lee’s new partner, Cherril Lim-Peters, was a very skinny, very smart, young woman who never seemed to get tired. Aunty Lee liked Cherril’s energy. What she found difficult to deal with was Cherril’s constant need for change and improvement. She was always coming up with ways to do things faster, better, and to greater profit.
Selina Lee, Aunty Lee’s stepdaughter-in-law, said Cherril was compensating for growing up in a Housing Development Board flat and studying in a government school. Selina never missed a chance to correct Cherril’s pronunciation or grammar. But Cherril knew far more about business productivity.
Given that Cherril’s determination was directed towards building the business and making more money, taking Cherril on as a partner had certainly been good for the business side of Aunty Lee’s Delights. It also made Nina’s temporary absence possible. (Aunty Lee had picked out several honeymoon packages to start off the marriage Nina was rejecting). Before Cherril came on board, Nina had taken care of Aunty Lee’s accounts, ordered supplies, and planned menus as well as helping with the actual cooking and serving.
Initially, Cherril had only taken over the drinks side of the business that Aunty Lee’s stepson, Mark, had started and given up. But lately Cherril had been talking about introducing new healthy alternatives. She had also taken over the accounts and balancing the books after taking an online course on cost-effective business accounting. Nina was just Aunty Lee’s assistant in the kitchen again. And not even the sole assistant, now that Cherril had hired two Chinese nationals to help in the shop during peak hours. Avon and Xuyie were both fair, pretty girls who claimed to speak English.
Aunty Lee could not understand their English any more than they could follow her Singlish. Luckily Cherril could give them instructions in Mandarin. Aunty Lee wondered if Nina felt left out, listening to the three Chinese girls chatting and giggling incomprehensibly. Aunty Lee certainly did. Both Aunty Lee and Nina were comfortable enough with Chinese dialects to do their marketing, food ordering, and scandal gossiping in Hokkien, Teochew and Cantonese. But neither had studied the government-sanctioned Mandarin. In the old days, newcomers to Singapore had learned English to integrate. The recent influx of Mandarin speakers no longer seemed to find that necessary.
‘All residents are encouraged to report any suspicious persons to the authorities immediately.’
‘Turn