Table Of Content

Begin Reading Table of Contents About the Author Copyright Page Thank you for buying this St. Martin’s Press ebook. To receive special offers, bonus content, and info on new releases and other great reads, sign up for our newsletters. Or visit us online at us.macmillan.com/newslettersignup For email updates on the author, click here. The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you for your personal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way. Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author’s copyright, please notify the publisher at: us.macmillanusa.com/piracy. For my fellow daydream believers, Keep on keepin’ on. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS I am extremely grateful to the following: My amazing agent, Gail Fortune, who continues to show me unwavering support and encouragement. Thank you for the pep-talks and reassurances! To my magnificent editors, Hannah Braaten and Nettie Finn, how I got so lucky to have both of you I’ll never know, but I am thankful for you every day. To Allison Ziegler, Kayla Janas, and Mary Ann Asher for all you do to make the Noodle Shop series excel. You gals are the best! And as always, I thank St. Martin’s Press for the incredible opportunity to be part of their author-ly family. Thank you to Joshua Hood for answering my completely random questions on sneaky ways to blow things up. If anything, you are patient. And to Michael Boomhower for conversations over Mexican food, entertaining my queries on explosives, the occasional vampire, and everything in between. I appreciate you more than words can say. To my wonderful dad, Paul Corrao, for just about everything under the sun. Your support means the world to me. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. To my mother, Chin Mei Chien and my sister, Shu-Hui Wills, thank you for wise words and life lessons. Much love to my soul sister, Rebecca Zandovskis, for keeping me afloat when the high tides roll in. I am fortunate to have you in my life. Alyssa Danchuk, thank you so much for your continued support, your many years of friendship, and for being the familiar face at many of my book events. I appreciate you. To my gals, Mallory, Lindsey, and Holly who always have my back and keep up morale when I’m up to my eyeballs in edits. Thank you, thank you! To the book bloggers, sellers, and librarians, a million thank yous not only for the support you give to my series and kind words along the way, but also for the services you perform every day. Go books! To my readers, you guys are freaking awesome! Many thanks to all of you for picking up my series and allowing me, Lana, and all the wacky characters of the Noodle Shop mysteries into your lives. To the unnamed friends and family who have encouraged me along the way, I thank you always. CHAPTER 1 “The Poconos or Put-in-Bay?” I waved two travel brochures in front of my good friend and restaurant chef, Peter Huang. My boyfriend, Adam, was planning a weekend getaway for my upcoming birthday and he’d left me in charge of location selection. The only problem was that I couldn’t make up my mind. Peter and I, including many others from the surrounding community, were standing in a parking lot on a blocked-off Rockwell Avenue in preparation for the first Asian Night Market of the summer. Rockwell, between the two intersecting streets of East Twenty-first and East Twenty- fourth, was barricaded from traffic to host the weekly outdoor event from sunset until 11 P.M. Every Friday evening during the summer months, local businesses—some Asian and some not—set up a booth to display their merchandise or food. And as restaurant manager of the Ho-Lee Noodle House, I, Lana Lee, was tasked with the duty—by my mother—to accompany Peter to at least seventy-five percent of the events. Not that I minded in the least. Would I take hanging around outside on beautiful summer nights over being cooped up in our family’s restaurant? That would be a yes. The evening was just beginning and the market wasn’t yet open to the public. Peter was busy prepping our rented grill and workstation while my job was to handle cash flow and take orders. He had given me specific instructions to not touch his grill, and without a fight, I complied. Instead, I busied myself with the travel brochures that Adam had passed on to me the other day. When it came to stuff like this, I was never good at making a decision. “I don’t know, man, I’ve never been to either one before.” He leaned over the grill, and the black baseball cap that he always wore sat low, covering his eyes. “Flip a coin or something. That’s what I always do when I can’t decide.” I grumbled at the colorful pamphlets in my hand. “I don’t know why he can’t pick where we’re going. It was his idea to begin with.” Peter chuckled. “If you pick something lame, maybe he’ll pick something else.” “Hmmm … not a bad idea…” I stuffed the brochures back in my purse underneath our workstation counter. As I stood up, a food truck pulled into the parking lot and maneuvered itself carefully near the fence adjacent to our location, next to two other trucks that had arrived earlier. The truck nearest the stage sold bubble tea in every flavor known to man, and would be sure to bring long lines, especially in this heat. The truck that would now be in the middle spot sold barbecued meat on sticks. They also pulled in a lot of business since their product was so easy to carry while walking around the night market. The current vehicle pulling in, Wonton on Wheels, was owned by Sandra and Ronnie Chow, who had been friends of my parents since I could remember. Sandra and Ronnie were always starting one business venture or another, but they were new to the food service industry. It was only a little over a year ago that they’d jumped on the food truck bandwagon and, so far, it seemed to be going pretty well for them. Even though the married couple had been friends with my parents since I was little, they’d become more distant over the years and we hardly saw them anymore. My mother used to drag me to their house to play with their son, Calvin, who was only a few years older than me. I remember him being something of a bully. My dad would try to convince me that Calvin teased me because he liked me, but at that age I couldn’t have cared less. After all, boys were “yucky.” Sandra, a rail-thin woman with sunken cheekbones and a sharp nose, hopped out of the passenger seat and inspected her husband’s parking job.