Chapter Thirty-nine

Chapter Thirty-nine

After thanking Amir for his help, Tita Rosie and I went home. She headed straight to her room without talking to anyone, and was still holed up there, hours later.

I’d taken a short nap, but woke up more restless than ever. I made my way to the kitchen and witnessed a true sign that something was wrong in the Macapagal household: Cate and Mrs. Long were attempting to make their own coffee.

“Hey, Lila. Sorry for making ourselves a little too comfortable in your kitchen, but we didn’t want to disturb anyone,” Cate said, as she went through just about every drawer and cabinet we had.

I forced a smile. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry our hospitality is a bit lacking at the moment. It’s been a strange day.”

To hide my discomfort at finding near strangers rifling around my kitchen, I made a big show of preparing some snacks since it was time for meryenda. Too tired to come up with more elaborate fare, I toasted some pandesal and set out cheese, butter, and coconut jam. In deference to our guests, I also included some store-bought jars of peanut butter and strawberry jam in case the coconut was too intense for them.

“Strange . . .” Mrs. Long repeated, tracing her finger along the wood grain of the kitchen table. “I guess that’s one way to put it.”

I winced and glanced at Cate apologetically. She smiled in acknowledgement, then said, “We know why your aunt was brought in. Nancy insisted it wasn’t her, and that your aunt’s knife was there because she’d prepared dinner for her a few nights ago, but the detective said he still had to take her in. If it gets too awkward for you, we can check into a hotel, but Nancy would rather save the money.”

“Cate . . .” Mrs. Long warned.

Cate shrugged. “Anyway, we brought over these coffee beans so we could at least contribute something, but I couldn’t find a coffee grinder.”

I tried to process everything Cate said, but decided it was enough that neither of them thought Tita Rosie was guilty and went along with the subject change. “Yeah, my aunt and grandmother are big believers in instant coffee. I had to bring my own coffee-making equipment when I moved back.”

I pulled out my coffee grinder and French press and went to work, finding comfort in the familiar ritual and rich, fortifying scent of good coffee. I let the electric kettle come to a boil, then waited thirty seconds before pouring the water into the French press, covering the contraption, and letting it all steep for a few minutes.

As it did, I set out mugs, a sugar bowl, and spoons. “I usually take my coffee black, but would either of you like sugar or creamer?”

Mrs. Long nodded, taking the sugar bowl from me. “Yes, please. I’ve never been able to drink it plain. I don’t understand how you can deal with that bitterness. You’re just like Ed and Derek.”

Ignoring what felt like a slight, I opened up the fridge and surveyed the contents. “We have coconut milk, almond milk, and soy milk.”

“You don’t have regular milk?”

I looked in the pantry. “Evaporated and condensed. Which would you prefer?”

She blinked at me, confused. “Milk. Like in a gallon. Or half-and-half? Cream? Not even Coffee mate?” Her voice became more and more strained as she ran through these options.

I looked around and found the nondairy creamer we kept for the random aunties that stopped by all the time. Or at least they used to before this whole mess started.

I held up the jar. “Will this do?”

“Yes!” Mrs. Long clutched at the bottle of powdered Lord-knows-what like a lifeboat saving her from the storm of ethnic food and lactose intolerance.

As she doctored her cup of coffee with the creamer and tons of sugar, I took a sip of the plain coffee as a quick taste test. Seeing how much junk she was putting in hers, I expected it to taste overly bitter or burnt, like most low-grade coffee. But this was crisp and bright with delicate fruit and citrus undertones. Perfectly suited for drinking black.

I raised my eyebrows. “This is some really good coffee, Mrs. Long. It doesn’t taste like grocery store coffee beans. Where did you get it?”

“Oh, this?” Mrs. Long frowned at the creamy brown liquid filling her mug. “I don’t really see what all the fuss is, but Ed and Derek loved this stuff. Cate, can you pass me the bag?”

Cate, who was leaning against the kitchen counter and chowing down on buttered pandesal, handed me the bag without comment.

“Thanks.” I stared down at the bag emblazoned with a familiar logo. “You got this from Java Jo’s?”

“It was either Ed or Derek. They were in charge of buying the coffee since they were so picky about it. Java Jo’s was one of the few things they agreed on. They went there every day even though we had perfectly good coffee at home. Said they liked to use the shop for business meetings so they could write off their tabs as business expenses.”

Little alarm bells started ringing, though I couldn’t figure out why. “Business expenses? Just Mr. Long though, right? Or did Derek use the cafe to write his reviews?”

Mrs. Long buttered a bit of pandesal for herself. “I’m pretty sure Derek did work on his articles there, but they mostly used it to meet with Craig and some of the people who rented our properties. Kevin, too.”

It took me a minute to place the name. “Craig? As in Craig Nelson, the health inspector?”

She nodded, mouth full of buttered bread. “Ed’s best friend. They had some side business that Derek helped them with.”

“What kind of business?”

She shrugged. “Ed never was one for sharing details with me. Probably thought I was too stupid to understand. Anyway, it brought in steady money and let Derek and him spend time together, so I didn’t much care.”

She’d dropped the fact that her husband thought she was stupid so casually into the conversation, as if it were something she’d known and accepted a long time ago. Just what was their relationship like?

I decided to switch targets slightly. “That’s strange. You said Kevin was one of the people he did business with? But Kevin told me he didn’t know Derek all that well.”

Mrs. Long’s face fell. “Now, why would he say that? I know Derek kept to a very rigid schedule and went there at the same time every day. Kevin even came over once. They were friends.”

Mrs. Long looked so distressed by the fact our local barista was denying his friendship with her son that I had to try to smooth it over. “Maybe he was just saying that because he didn’t want to talk about Derek with me. You know, since it’d be too painful discussing their friendship?”

She didn’t look convinced. “Maybe.”

Time to change the subject. “So you’re not the coffee aficionado your husband and son were?”

Cate and Mrs. Long both chuckled. “That’s one of the things we bonded over right away,” Cate said. “Never understood their ridiculous obsession. Coffee should be hot and strong enough to get the job done. That’s it.”

“Amen to that,” Lola Flor muttered, as she shuffled into the kitchen and poured herself a mug. “Pass the sugar and creamer, ha?”

Cate slid them over. “Rosie still napping? It’s getting pretty late.”

I frowned. “She deserves a bit of rest. A lot’s been going on, you know.”

I glanced at the kitchen clock, noting the time. “Although this is rather pushing it. I think I’ll bring her some meryenda, make sure she’s not sick.”

I set up a tray with a plate of pandesal and cheese, then took the time to fry an egg and some SPAM to add to the platter. Finally, I prepared a cup of coffee with so little sugar and creamer you wondered what the point of adding it was. Just the way my aunt liked it.

I knocked on the door and waited for her to call out her approval before opening the door and entering. She was awake, and clearly had been for a while, but she hadn’t changed out of her duster yet. The dull green rosary that had been her constant companion my entire life was in her hands, slipping through her fingers bead by bead, their surface as well-worn as the prayers Tita Rosie murmured under her breath.

I set the tray on the table next to her bed and pulled up a chair. “You OK, Tita? Are you hungry?”

She didn’t answer me until she’d finished whatever bead she was on—it’d been so long since I’d last used a rosary, I couldn’t remember the order or most of the prayers.

“Anak, how did you know I was ready for a bite to eat? Come, sit with me while I have my meryenda.”

We sat in companionable silence as she methodically made her way around the plate. As she wiped up the last of the runny egg yolk with the pandesal, I couldn’t stay quiet any longer.

“Tita, Marcus said that a witness told the police they saw you leaving the Longs’ house earlier today. Is this true?”

She sighed. “Yes, it is. I should’ve listened to June and just stayed at the wake.”

Whoa, giving Ninang June credit for something? Interesting. “Why’d you go over there?”

“Mr. Long said he wanted to see me earlier at the wake. That his wife had talked to him and he’d figured out a way to solve both our problems. I just had to meet with him and Mr. Nelson.”

Coffee sloshed onto the tray as I grabbed her arm. “Mr. Nelson, the health inspector? Did Mr. Long tell you why he wanted you to meet with the inspector? Maybe mention something about a contractor?”

“Ay, Lila, be careful! I could’ve burned myself.” She set the mug down carefully and put the tray on her bedside table. “I’m not sure why we needed to meet. Just mentioned something about the repairs that might be necessary after the vandalism.”

I knew it! Mr. Long and Derek had a side hustle going with the health inspector that involved bogus claims and raking in fees from the contractors they referred.

Which, OK, reconfirmed one major suspicion, but that didn’t tell me why Derek and Mr. Long were dead now. Did the health inspector kill them both? Decided that he didn’t like splitting the profit three ways and got rid of his partners? Or maybe he wanted to get out, go on the straight and narrow, and the other two wouldn’t let him?

My aunt interrupted my musings. “Anak, I’m a little bit tired. Could you take the tray away? And make sure our guests have plenty to eat.”

I stood up, collecting the empty tray. “Are you sure, Tita? Maybe cooking will make you feel better?”

She smiled at me, but her heart wasn’t in it. “I just don’t think I can face them right now. They know why I was called to the police station.”

“But they don’t think—”

She shushed me. “It doesn’t matter. I think we all need some time, diba? Just help your lola with dinner. I’ll come out when I’m ready.”

I wandered out to the kitchen to wash the dishes. Cate and my grandmother were no longer there, but Mrs. Long still sat at the kitchen table, swirling a teaspoon through her half-finished cup of coffee.

“How is she?” Mrs. Long asked.

“Not great,” I admitted. “But the same could be said for all of us, I’m sure.”

She reached out for a piece of pandesal and began tearing it to shreds. “I hope she doesn’t think . . . she knows that I don’t blame her for . . .”

I placed the clean dishes in the rack next to the sink. “I’m not going to lie, she’s worried about what you must think of her. Knowing that she was being questioned for your husband’s murder.”

Finished with my task, I looked over and noticed she wasn’t eating. I had no idea what happened to the cookies I’d brought her, but a loaf of banana bread sat wrapped on the counter. I cut a thick slice and placed it in front of her.

“Honestly, I’m surprised you’d want to stay here with us. I know you said you wanted to save money, but I’m being accused of killing your son. My aunt is now a suspect in your husband’s murder. How could you possibly—”

“Because you didn’t do it.” Mrs. Long kept her eyes on her plate. “We both know that.”

“But how—”

“This banana bread was Derek’s favorite, did you know that?” Tears pooled in her eyes as she tried to smile at me. “I know he gave you problems. But he really did care about you. Everything that happened these last few months . . . you have to understand, it wasn’t him.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just made a noncommittal sound as I refilled my mug.

“I have a confession to make.” Mrs. Long finally looked up and met my eyes. “Those drugs in your locker. I think I know how they got there.”

I dropped the knife I’d used to cut the banana bread, narrowly missing my foot. “How did you know about that?”

She smiled sadly. “Honey, the newspapers have been following my son’s case very closely. And they are not particularly kind to you.”

I cursed the Shady Palms News team out in my head with every profane term I could think of, inventing some of my own when it didn’t feel like enough. “Oh. I see. So, um, how did that bag end up in my locker?”

She dropped her gaze again. “After Derek . . . passed, I went through his belongings to see if there was anything I could donate. I found that bag under one of the loose floorboards in his room.” She smiled to herself. “He didn’t think I knew about his secret hiding spot, but of course I did. Anyway, I brought it to Ed and demanded he tell me what he knew about it.”

The thudding of my heart echoed in my ears. “And? What did he say?”

“Just that he’d take care of it and to shut up and mind my own business. And when you got arrested, he seemed awfully pleased with himself. Then I remembered he must have keys to your restaurant since he owns the building. And that he’s been wanting to kick your family out for a while now.”

My head was spinning with all the info she was dropping on me. “Mrs. Long, why are you telling me all this? Not that I don’t appreciate it, but he was your husband. And I’ve been accused of killing your son.”

“Oh, honey. We know who killed Derek. Don’t we? You must know who really killed my son.” Her eyes watered as she pushed away from the table and fled the room, leaving me with nothing but unasked questions and an uneasy feeling in my heart.