I poked my head into Lola Flor’s room and noticed her lucky visor wasn’t hanging from its usual peg. Yep, she’d gone to the casino.

I carefully put the pie into a carrier and headed over to Ninang June’s, praying she actually had something important to tell me and that this wasn’t her attempt to set me up with one of the Calendar Crew’s roster of sons, nephews, and godsons. It wouldn’t be the first time my godmothers sprung a surprise date on me.

Thankfully, no eligible bachelors were waiting for me. Instead, the Calendar Crew stood around the table setting down dishes and gabbing in Tagalog. Suddenly, I didn’t know what was worse: having to small talk my way through what was essentially a chaperoned date or enduring the full onslaught of my godmothers’ attention.

“Lila! What took you so long? Go wash your hands and help us.”

“How’s your aunt doing? We’ve been praying for her.”

“What’s that?” One of them poked at the carrier I’d set on the table.

“Calamansi-ginger pie with a coconut shortbread crust. I’m trying out a new recipe.”

Luckily, my godmothers didn’t share my grandmother’s aversion to anything not “authentically” Filipino. The fact that food was one of Lola Flor’s few tangible connections to her homeland, and that it meant more to her than just sustenance, was not lost on me. But her refusal to try anything new and insistence on me being a “real” Filipino grated on me. As a second-generation member of a colonized country, born and raised in the Midwestern United States, what did that even mean? But good luck having that conversation with her.

I washed my hands and helped Ninang June set the table. The leftover pork and chicken adobo my grandmother had pushed on them— green beans, chopped tomatoes, and white rice—already sat in the middle, so once we brought out the plates, glasses, and silverware, everybody dug in.

I reached for the bottle of patis, and as I added a few dashes of the fish sauce to my tomatoes, Ninang June said, “Bernadette told me you visited her at work. Was she able to tell you anything good? Last time we talked, she hadn’t been able to get at his chart.”

Of course Ninang June would’ve pumped her daughter for information already. “Sort of? She thinks Derek went into a diabetic coma and didn’t wake up. She couldn’t tell me any more without violating hospital regulations though. She did say that the medical examiner needs to run more tests before they can make an official announcement.”

“What did that Janet woman tell you?” Ninang April asked.

I put my fork down. “How did you know I talked to Janet? Nobody was in the hall.”

The aunties all gave me a pitying look. “Nobody was in the hall, but plenty of people were in their offices. You think people don’t listen to a conversation happening right outside their door?”

Ninang June had been head nurse at the Shady Palms Hospital for years before quitting to run her late husband’s business over a decade ago, and still kept in touch with much of the hospital staff. Maybe I could use her to get me some info on the DL.

I sighed and picked up my fork again. Food was the only thing that would get me through this conversation—my godmothers weren’t in the habit of drinking wine with dinner, so this was going to be a long night.

“So if you’ve already received a report, why are you asking me about it?”

“We need to hear your end of the story. It’s important to hear it from the original source.”

Wow. I knew my godmothers loved tsismis, but who knew they took it this seriously? Guess I should be glad they didn’t know about community listservs, because I could see them exploiting their powers for the dark side.

I’d lost my appetite but knew better than to leave food on my plate, so I stabbed another piece of chicken and stuck it in my mouth to delay answering.

Ninang April put down her spoon and fork. “Lila, stop stalling. You can’t avoid us, you know that.”

I really hated how well they knew me.

“I didn’t learn anything.”

They stared at me, waiting for more.

I sipped some water. “We, uh, got into a fight and I left.”

“Amir wasn’t there to help you talk to her?”

I slammed my glass down, water slopping all over the table. “No, he wasn’t there when I talked to her. I don’t need his help.”

Ninang April snorted. “If you want Bernadette or Janet to talk to you, you definitely need his help.” She smiled at my outraged look. “What? You girls have been competing since you were children. You think they’re going to play nice now that you need them?”

“OK, first of all, I never wanted to compete with either of them. With Ate Bernie, well . . . you know.” I glanced over at Ninang June. “As for Janet, she would always join in my activities just to taunt me! That girl made my childhood a living hell. I don’t see where she gets off being mad at me.”

My godmothers all tsked. “Ay, Lila, as self-absorbed as ever,” Ninang April admonished.

“Ay, April, stop it,” Ninang Mae said.

Thank you, finally someone on my side.

“She’s so young, of course she’s self-absorbed. You can’t expect her to see what we see, diba?” Ninang Mae continued.

OK, I didn’t need this. “Excuse me, I have to clean up this water spill. And I think it’s time for dessert.”

I got up to wipe down the table and get my pie. Ninang June joined me in the kitchen to make decaf coffee for all of us.

“Lila, don’t take it too hard. We’re just trying to help out.”

That was the problem. Their idea of helping caused me nothing but stress.

Ninang June served everyone coffee and pie, and we all settled into a haze of sugar and happiness. My pie got a thumbs-up from everyone, but Ninang April (of course) offered me a useful bit of feedback.

“The balance of sweet and sour is well done, but you need to cut the richness. Either a thinner layer of filling or maybe some whipped cream would be good. Also, the ginger is interesting, but I think it’d be better to just let the calamansi shine on its own.”

After we finished the pie, I wondered how long I’d have to sit there sipping subpar coffee before I could politely say my goodbyes.

As if sensing my listlessness, Ninang June said, “Lila, before you leave, you should know we invited you over for a reason.”

She pulled a sheet of paper out of her blouse pocket and slid it across the table toward me. “Don’t tell Rosie we gave you this, but we made a list of anyone who could be a suspect in Derek’s death. You know, in case the medical examiner says he didn’t die naturally.”

I stared at the paper but didn’t pick it up. “Um, I appreciate the effort, but it’s not like he was murdered. What we need is someone who can speed up the lab results, or at least get the health department to clear us ASAP. Do you know anyone like that?”

“Don’t worry, we’ve made a few calls. Things will start moving quickly. But just in case . . .” Ninang June gestured at the paper.

“Good. Now that that’s settled, I should head home and check on Tita Rosie. Thanks for dinner.” I shrugged on my coat and went to the front room to put my shoes back on, leaving the list where it lay.

Ninang June came over to say good night and give me a quick hug and kiss goodbye.

It wasn’t until I was searching for my keys outside that I realized she’d also managed to slip the suspect list in my pocket.

Chapter Eleven

It was weird to wake up the next morning and not have to rush to the restaurant. None of us knew what to do with ourselves. I’d told Tita Rosie that Bernadette was coming over for lunch, so as soon as we finished breakfast, she headed to the restaurant to pick up supplies to prepare a feast for our one guest. Lola Flor said she was going out and wouldn’t tell us where, but my aunt and I both knew her destination.

I took Longganisa out for a run, which I hadn’t been able to do since I started working at the restaurant. We both had stubby legs and were out of shape, so she made the perfect running buddy. I guess I underestimated how out of shape we both were because a mile out, just as we were about to reach the riverwalk, she splayed out on the pavement and refused to take another step. The lazy little sausage made me pick her up and walk back.

I had deliberately avoided the Main Street Plaza, which housed our restaurant, because I didn’t want to be reminded of the other day. However, I figured that short run had earned me a little treat, so I swung by Java Jo’s to grab a coconut milk latte for myself and a stale pastry for Nisa.