Murder at the Museum

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‘Good, good,’ he says, his head on one side. ‘Now adjust your stance, just so …’

After my class, I head back up the stairs to the antechamber where my clothes are waiting. But something is different: on top of my folded floral dress is a tiny white parcel. I pick it up.

As I look more closely, I realise that it’s not a parcel but a flower; a perfectly folded piece of paper in the shape of a bud. But what is this unlikely bloom doing here, on my clothes? Did Bai put it here? It’s so complex that I can’t imagine how each fold was created to achieve this elaborate design. As I peer closely, I think I can make out some writing inside – but I don’t want to risk damaging the paper by attempting to open it along the wrong folds.

I decide to ask Bai about it. Cradling the paper creation gently in my palm, I walk through the strip curtain to the restaurant. Bai is perched on a bar stool, making notes from a textbook. She looks up as I approach.

‘What have you got there?’ Her face brightens as she sees the origami. ‘Oh! It’s lovely!’