Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

After being processed, I was led to a (thankfully) empty cell. I wasn’t sure I could deal with a rando up in my space after all that had just happened.

I sat on the wooden bench attached to the wall, which was every bit as functional as the chairs in the interrogation room. I drew my legs up onto the bench, hand clutching the area of my shirt where my necklace should be. It was taken away during processing and I felt scared and naked without it. My mind refused to focus on the fact that I had just been booked on bogus drug charges and, based on the evidence, was going to be locked away for some time.

Instead, I did the breathing practices Adeena taught me. Well, I tried to, but having a well-honed sense of smell could be more of a curse than a gift in certain settings. Rather than inner peace, each deep inhalation brought whiffs of a sour, unwashed odor emanating from the empty but not-quite-clean latrine.

So now what? I guess I could put my trust in Amir and the legal process (ha!), but this seemed like a good time to go over all the details of the case that I knew so far. How much info did I actually have? Well, someone put arsenic in Derek’s dish. That same poison matched one found in his system. How did it get there? The only people close enough to his food were me, Tita Rosie, Lola Flor, and Mr. Long. My family clearly didn’t do it, but that just left . . . Mr. Long?

But that didn’t make sense. Derek was his stepson. He didn’t seem to like Derek much, based on my godmother’s gossip, but he must’ve cared about him somewhat. Why else would he be coming after us so hard? Unless it was all an act.

I shook my head. But what was the motive? And why at our restaurant? There was an anonymous tip called in about us, so my family was tied to it somehow. Why us?

I thought back over the suspect list my godmothers gave me. Luckily Adeena still had it, so it hadn’t been taken away with my other possessions. The list was short and populated with restaurant owners that Derek had attacked in his column, so even though the details were fuzzy, I could recall the general info:

Stan and Martha Kosta—Stan’s Diner

Diana Torres—El Gato Negro

Akio and Yuki Sato—Sushi-ya

George and Nettie Bishop—Big Bishop’s BBQ

Mike Krasinski—Pierogi Palace

Stan’s Diner and Big Bishop’s BBQ were Shady Palms institutions. In fact, Derek and I had spent a good portion of high school hanging out in the sticky booths at Big Bishop’s BBQ, often with Adeena and Derek’s best friend, Terrence, in tow. George and Nettie Bishop were like family. I couldn’t believe he’d dare desecrate such a special place, but there’s no way the Bishops had anything to do with his death. I mentally crossed them off the list. I knew I’d eventually have to go there in person to talk to them, but I couldn’t handle that right now. Too many memories tied to that place.

Stan’s Diner, however, was on the other side of town, an area I wasn’t particularly familiar with. I wouldn’t say Shady Palms was segregated, at least not as noticeably as Chicago was, but let’s just say Stan’s Diner and Pierogi Palace were in the older part of town, where a particular set of clientele preferred to stay. Big Bishop’s BBQ, El Gato Negro, and Sushi-ya were on the other side, where people whose families hadn’t been in Shady Palms (or the U.S.) for generations upon generations settled. Tita Rosie’s Kitchen, which was lucky enough to be located on the Main Street strip of downtown, was directly in the middle.

As I tried to recall the information the aunties had scribbled next to each name, the sound of footsteps and clinking keys interrupted my thought process. Looked like I was getting a cellmate. I put my feet back on the floor and braced myself for what was coming. I didn’t expect to see a familiar face.

“Marcus?” I said, recognizing one of Ninang Mae’s younger sons. “I didn’t know you were a cop. Heck, I didn’t know you were old enough to—”

“I’m not a cop,” Marcus Marcelo replied, as he opened the cell door and gestured for the woman he was escorting to enter. She scowled at him, but followed his instructions, moving to the opposite side of the cell to sit and sulk.

After locking the door behind her, he clarified, “I’m a corrections officer. And I’m sorry, Li—Miss Macapagal, but while I’m on duty, you’ll have to refer to me as Officer Marcelo or C.O. Marcelo. I don’t need anyone thinking I’m giving you preferential treatment.”

He nodded toward the woman, then addressed her. “Mrs. Sato, your husband is being questioned right now. I’ll come get you when it’s your turn, but until then, play nice, OK?”

He turned to leave, but I stopped him. “Marcus, I mean Officer Marcelo, wait! Do you know how long I’ll be here? Have you heard what’s going on? Is my aunt OK?”

Marcus sighed, but moved closer so we wouldn’t be overheard. “I can’t tell you much, but it’s serious. Detective Park has enough evidence to put you away on those drugs he found.” He searched my face for a moment, probably remembering my cousin Ronnie and wondering how alike we were. I stared defiantly back. Satisfied, he moved on. “As for the murder, it’s shaky at best. But he’s used to getting his way around here, Lila. I hope you have a good lawyer. You’re going to need one.”

I took a deep, shaky breath, willing away the tears and nausea. “You’ll let me know if anything else comes up, right?”

He shook his head, but in a voice only I could hear, said, “I’ll do what I can.”

He stepped away and spoke again, this time at a regular volume. “I’m sorry, but my hands are tied.” He glanced at the woman he brought in, who was studying us.

He nodded at her before leaving and I returned to my seat, noting that I had the full attention of my cellmate. She looked me up and down, assessing every part of me, so I did the same. She was East Asian, probably Japanese, and her straight black hair was cut to her shoulders in an asymmetrical bob. She might’ve been pretty, but her red, swollen eyes and the rivers of eye makeup staining her cheeks made it difficult to tell.

She was older than me, but her skincare routine (or fantastic genes) made it impossible for me to tell how much older. She could’ve been anywhere between late twenties and early forties, but was probably somewhere in between. I was in the middle of comparing our general size if it came down to a fight when she finally spoke up.

“You knew Derek.”

It wasn’t a question.

I straightened up, planting my feet on the floor to steady myself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She stood and moved toward me, fists balled up. “I heard that cop or whatever he is talking to you. He mentioned drugs and something about a murder. Is that why you’re in here? Did you kill Derek Winter?”

I stood up and moved aside, trying to put distance between us, which wasn’t easy in a six-by-eight jail cell. “I don’t care what you overheard. I had absolutely nothing to do with Derek’s death.”

She moved closer and I circled to the side. “Then why are you here?” she asked.

“Why are you here?” I countered. “You seem to know Derek. How are you involved?”

“I . . . just found out Derek died. He was supposed to meet—” She cut herself off, tears gathering in her already reddened eyes as a wave of grief washed over her features. “I thought my husband—never mind, it doesn’t matter now.”

She was babbling, but I managed to put the pieces together. “You’re Yuki Sato, aren’t you? You and your husband own that new sushi place that Derek reviewed last summer.”

Her eyes widened. “How did you know?”

“Marc—Officer Marcelo—called you ‘Mrs. Sato’ and I knew that Sushi-ya was owned by a couple named the Satos. Wasn’t hard to put two and two together.” I stared at her. “I don’t understand. From what I know, Derek left terrible reviews about your restaurant. You should hate him, but you seem to really be grieving his death. Almost as if—”

“We were friends,” she interrupted. “That’s all. The reviews were a misunderstanding.”

If my godmothers’ notes were correct, that was one heck of a misunderstanding.

“OK, but how did you become friends?” I made sure not to put an emphasis on the word ‘friends,’ though I wanted to. “He still wrote those reviews. How could he possibly make it up to you?”

She sighed and made her way over to one of the benches. “After those reviews, the health inspector started coming around and came up with a laundry list of infractions, even though my husband and I were sure we were up to code. We had no way to challenge him though, and he’s the only health inspector in town. What he says goes, and he wanted us to pay an outrageous fee to keep operating.”

“Wait, were these actual health code violations he was busting you on? Because this sounds a lot like extortion.”

She shrugged, but more to signal helplessness than nonchalance. “Like I said, I was so sure they had nothing on us. But when the inspector came to visit, he pointed out all these problems that I’d never noticed, like the lights being too dim in certain areas and the bathroom door being open during operating hours. And of course, he came the one day our ventilation system was broken.”

Questionable, but still no connection to the case. “And what does this have to do with Derek?”

“I tracked Derek down at the news office and made a big scene, saying it was his fault that jerk was on our backs. He took me aside and said he’d talk to the health inspector since he was a family friend. After they talked, the inspector said he’d cut our fees in half if we hired a particular contractor to fix the problems.”

Hmm, that setup smelled fishier than a barrel of patis left out on a summer day. I wonder if Derek was purposely writing bad reviews to sic the health inspector on these restaurants and then taking a cut of the fees the inspector charged them. Depending on how damaging those reviews and fees were, that could be a motive for murder. I’d need to check if he did the same thing to the other restaurants on the list, but I was pretty sure I knew why Derek went easy on the Satos.

Yuki had been so open and vulnerable during her confession, I figured it was time to go for the jugular. Take advantage of her grief and strike while her guard was down. “And how long were you and Derek having an affair?”

SLAP!

Yuki wasn’t the only one who’d let her guard down, because I was completely unprepared for the vicious backhand that cracked across my face. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, that tiny woman could pack a wallop.

I cried out from the force of the strike, bringing Marcus running over to our cell. “Hey! What’s going on in there?”

He took in the expression on my face and the mark blooming around the area covered by my hand. “Mrs. Sato, I can’t have you attacking prisoners in my care. Looks like you’re going to be charged after all.”

“Prisoner?!” I exclaimed.

“Oh please, I barely touched her,” Yuki said.

We eyed each other.

Marcus sighed. “Yes, Miss Macapagal. Until bail is posted, you’re under arrest and in our care. And Mrs. Sato, you haven’t been released yet. Guess you’re spending the night here as well.”

“But, Officer—”

“I won’t be pressing charges, Marcus. And if there are no charges against her, she can go, right?” I asked.

Marcus looked back and forth between Yuki and me, trying to figure out what had gone down before he arrived. “You sure, Lila? I mean, Miss Macapagal?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t want any bad blood between us restaurateurs. I’m sure we’ll run into each other, and I don’t want it to be too awkward when we do.” I smiled at her. “We have lots to discuss. Right, Yuki?”

She studied my face, like she did when she first arrived. “Of course. I think talking to you again would be . . . most enlightening.”

Marcus grunted. “In that case, you’re free to go, Mrs. Sato. Nobody’s pressing charges, so you and your husband are being let off with a warning. Just keep it down next time, OK?”

Yuki got up and exited the cell. Before walking off with Marcus, she said, “Come by Sushi-ya once you get out, Lila. It’ll be on me.”

With one last inscrutable look, she was gone. Leaving me blissfully alone again, trying to figure out where this new puzzle piece fit.