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her, and though she had not expected to, the bereaved sister had slept well. She would have liked to stay in bed now. But she had to think about what she was going to do next.
    The room they had given her looked like a room a child had grown up in and then moved out of. The books on the shelves ranged from childhood favorites to philosophical texts, and there were graduation photographs on the wall. Once alone she checked carefully for bedbugs, cockroaches, and other horrors she suspected Singaporeans of keeping in their homes. Fortunately it seemed clean enough, and once she locked herself in she felt safe for the first time in that terrible day. The windows looked down on the large back garden of the house and carefully placed trees concealed the other houses that surrounded them. There was an attached bathroom with a shower and toilet, the mattress was firm and the bedding clean, and all in all she knew taking the risk to stay here had been the right decision.
    Vallerie knew Allison would have had reservations aboutaccepting the fat old café cook’s invitation to stay with her. Allison would have preferred a decent hotel with standards of cleanliness to live up to, even if she didn’t have the means to pay for it. But Allison was not around anymore, Vallerie reminded herself. She, Vallerie, had to make her own decisions now.
    Allison might be gone, but she still had to think about what she could do for her.
    And she was hungry.
    Of course murder was a terrible thing. But when the victim was not somebody you had known personally it became like one of the crime shows on television—an interactive show that they had front row seats for. Which made it extra frustrating because Aunty Lee was right in the middle of the action but had no idea what was happening.
    â€œMaybe you should phone Salim,” Aunty Lee suggested when her helper came out with hot tea. “Just to find out what they’ve found out so far. For Vallerie’s sake, of course. The killer must have attacked her sister while she was in the taxi coming to our place yesterday, can you believe it? If only her sister had come with her she might be alive now!”
    â€œOr maybe the killer would have followed them to the shop and killed them both there,” Nina suggested. “And all of us too. Or taken us hostage. Again.” Nina had not enjoyed her firsthand experience of being taken hostage, which she blamed on Aunty Lee’s meddling and interfering.
    â€œI’m sure Salim will want to talk to Vallerie again. You should call and tell him he can talk to her here. It will be lessstressful for her. If you heard her in the toilet just now she must be awake. She’ll probably be hungry. Can you make her a breakfast that will put her in a good mood?”
    â€œWhat are you going to do with this woman, madame?”
    What Aunty Lee wanted to do was find out why Vallerie’s sister had blamed Josephine, Brian, and Cherril for the breakdown of her marriage. There might be nothing in it, of course. Aunty Lee felt sorry for the late Allison Fitzgerald. Losing a husband, whether to death or divorce, was difficult. And people in crisis often created and clung to a personal view of reality, however warped. It was a matter of survival, when the only stable thing in your life was an object you could focus your hatred on. But why had she blamed the former Animal ReHomers?
    But intrigued as Aunty Lee might be by Allison’s death, at the moment her immediate concern was Vallerie. Vallerie Love was terrified and traumatized and a guest in her house, and Aunty Lee was first and foremost a good hostess.
    â€œI’m going to take care of her while she’s here.”
    Having a guest to occupy Aunty Lee while her ankle recovered was a good idea, Nina thought. She only wished Aunty Lee had guests who were interested in batik and orchids rather than murder and lawsuits.

6
    Breakfast with Vallerie
    By the time Vallerie came