Mrs. Tan’s heavy body sank into the worn sofa cushions. She clutched wet tissues in one hand and a package of fresh ones in the other. Granny listened sympathetically. Dressed in a rose print blouse and navy pants, her petite body was almost lost in the armchair’s pink and blue floral pattern. Her face, still clear and smooth at the age of sixty-six, registered shock. But Jenny Leung knew she was not surprised to hear the Widow Woo was involved. “Mr. Lau, the owner of the Phoenix Noodle Company, has accused my husband of fraud!” sobbed Mrs. Tan. “He claims we owe him two hundred dollars, but we have not ordered anything from him for over a month.” “Not a lot of money,” Granny murmured, “but enough to cast suspicion.” “And it was only a month ago, during a mah jong game at the community business social, when my good husband discovered the Widow Woo had extra tiles hidden in her pocket.” Mrs. Tan’s voice wavered. “Isn’t Mrs. Woo the bookkeeper for the Phoenix Noodle Company?”
