Even though it was right next door to our restaurant, the spaces were a world apart. My aunt hadn’t updated the decor since she bought the place in the late 90s (and the original owners hadn’t updated the decor since at least the 70s). Tita Rosie’s Kitchen was meant to be warm and comforting, the feeling of having a meal at your home away from home. However, what was once “cozy” and “rustic” was now just small and outdated.

In contrast, Java Jo’s was all black and white and stainless steel. Very clean and modern-looking with the only splashes of color coming from Kevin’s framed artwork. You’d think an interior like that would seem cold, even sterile, but the ever-present steam from the cappuccino station, the burble of the espresso machine, and the smell of quality ground coffee beans made it heavenly.

Kevin was cool with me bringing Nisa inside as long as no other customers complained, so I sat at a table near the door and waited for Adeena to join us. After handling the short line, she made her way over with a tray bearing Nisa’s pastry plate, a giant mug with my latte, and several small paper cups filled with her latest creations.

She had a magical touch, experimenting with beverages the way I did with my bakes, and we were each other’s guinea pigs and suppliers. It was thanks to her that my calamansi iced tea was a hit (my original ratios of honey to citrus were off), and my Sunday contribution to the coffee shop was the one day the pastry case sold out. Adeena was always on Kevin to expand the menu and be more adventurous, but he continued slinging the same boring (yet quality) beverages and the same dry pastries from a commercial supplier.

The one thing she was able to talk him into was the Sunday specials, which she and I lived for. She’d spend days thinking up what to offer, and then test my strong sense of smell and trained palate. Over time, we developed a little tasting ritual that we’d go through every week, which I used to indulge my weekly dairy allowance.

I popped a Lactaid pill, and Adeena handed me the first paper cup. I closed my eyes and took a long sniff. The scent of cinnamon and cloves tickled my nose. I sipped the brew slowly, letting the liquid flow over my tongue, holding it there a moment to let all the flavors permeate.

I swallowed. “Did you just take your chai spice mix and add it to coffee?”

She grimaced. “That obvious?”

I shrugged. “It’s been done.”

She bit her lip and handed me the next cup. I repeated the ritual, only this time a floral bouquet flooded my nose and mouth. I choked it down, but barely.

“Too heavy-handed with the rose?”

I gulped down water, too intent on washing the taste of potpourri out of my mouth to bother answering.

She sighed and handed me the final cup, which turned out to be liquid gold. I’d never had hot chocolate that was so rich, yet drinkable—I drained the tiny cup and immediately wanted more.

“That’s the winner. Hands down, the best hot chocolate I’ve ever had. What’s in it?”

She grinned. “You know I can’t give away my secrets.”

I pouted a bit, so she added, “Unless you’ve finally decided to settle down here in Shady Palms and open a cafe with me?”

“Uh . . .” was my very articulate reply.

Nisa came to the rescue by whimpering loudly and pawing at the door. “Oops, I better let her out before she goes all over the floor.”

Remembering the list Ninang June gave me, I pulled it out of my belt bag and handed it to her. “Oh, before I forget, Ninang June slipped that in my pocket last night. I think she’s being ridiculous, but you know more about these places than I do. Let me know what you think, OK?”

Adeena frowned, obviously sensing I was trying to change the subject, but took the list and waved me off. She couldn’t exactly accuse me of training my dog to get me out of awkward situations, so I escaped this time. Unfortunately, this conversation had been coming up more and more frequently and I didn’t know how to answer.

When I was in Chicago, the two of us would spend hours fantasizing about how Adeena would move to the city after finishing school, and we’d open our own place together, taking the Chicago cafe scene by storm. But over the past year, and especially now that I was back in town, she seemed more and more content to stay in Shady Palms and open a business here.

Which I just couldn’t understand. I didn’t exactly like Shady Palms, but Adeena loathed it here. If I felt stifled by family expectations, she was drowning in them. One of the reasons Amir and I never explored our feelings for each other was because of Adeena. It was no secret that Amir was the golden child of the family. The one who did everything right, the oldest, the boy, the one who not only met expectations but smashed through them at every opportunity.

Adeena was the afterthought. Sure they loved her, but not a day went by that she wasn’t reminded of what a disappointment she was. They hated her clothes and hair. She had yet to graduate from pharmacy school, not because it was too hard for her, but because she’d rather sling beverages than get a proper degree. And worst of all, she refused to meet with any of the nice young men her parents hoped she’d someday marry.

Because she was a lesbian. Something her parents knew—she’d come out to them her first year of college—but conveniently ignored.

Hence her big-city dreams: diverse populations meant diverse palates and lifestyles, things that were sorely lacking in our little town.

So what happened? Why the big push to get me to settle down in Shady Palms?

* * *

? ? ?

I made it home in time for a quick shower before Bernadette arrived. When I entered the kitchen, the warming aroma of almondigas, meatball soup with vermicelli noodles, enveloped me. I hadn’t had this soup in years, and had forgotten how much I loved the rich, garlicky broth and slippery noodles, atop which floated delicately spiced pork meatballs. This was going to be a real treat.

I set the table, then helped Tita Rosie bring out the soup as well as the leftover adobo and rice from yesterday. A few slices from last night’s calamansi pie were waiting in the fridge. We just needed Bernadette to show up.

So where was she?

After another fifteen minutes passed, Tita Rosie moved the soup back to the stove to keep it warm and I hunted for my cell phone to see if Bernadette had texted me saying she’d be late. I finally found it when I heard my ringtone out in the area where I’d left my boots.

I rushed over to answer it and was surprised to see Adeena’s name flashing across the screen instead of Bernadette’s.

“Hey girl, what’s up?”

Adeena’s voice was shaky. “Lila, I’m so sorry. I don’t know how to tell you this, but . . .”

My hand tightened around the phone. “But what?”

“My friend from the lab said they found traces of poison in the dishes from your restaurant. They can’t say if it matches anything found in Derek’s system, but they know this much: He was murdered.”

Chapter Twelve

Before I could fully process what Adeena said, the doorbell rang.

I scurried away without answering it. “Oh my gulay, there’s someone at the door. Do you think it’s the police? Do they think my family killed Derek?”

Adeena’s voice flowed, warm and reassuring, through the phone. “You’re innocent, so there’s nothing they can do to you, right?”

We both paused, knowing that wasn’t quite true. The law tended to work differently for people like us.

She continued, “Go answer the door. The longer you take, the more suspicious you look. I’m calling Amir to let him know what’s going on.”

I thanked her and hung up, but stayed in the hallway staring at the front door. Whoever was on the other side got tired of ringing the bell and started pounding on the door. Tita Rosie bustled by to answer.

“Lila, what’s wrong with you? That’s probably Bernie out there and it’s freezing!”

She was right.

Bernadette stomped inside, both to knock the snow off her boots and also because she was pissed at me. “What the hell, Lila? Have you been standing here this whole time?”

“Bernadette, language!”

She flushed. “Sorry, Tita Rosie.”

My aunt gestured for Bernadette’s coat and led her into the dining room. “Come in and warm yourself up. I made almondigas for lunch.”

Bernadette’s eyes lit up. “My favorite! You remembered?”

Tita Rosie smiled. “Of course I did. I even added extra fried garlic, just the way you like it.”

Bernadette swooped in and hugged my aunt, who patted her a few times on the back, the awkward gesture contrasting with her beaming face. Unfortunately, the doorbell rang yet again, interrupting this love fest.

We all looked at each other, Bernadette and I in alarm and Tita Rosie in confusion.

“Who could that be?” Tita Rosie asked, moving to open the door.

Bernadette and I huddled together. “Did you hear about the poison?” she asked.

I nodded. “That’s why I didn’t answer the door right away. I thought you were the cops. How did you hear about it?”

“The usual office gossip. Guess I’ll forgive you for letting me freeze on the front porch, but don’t think you can avoid the cops this time . . .” she trailed off as Tita Rosie and Detective Park stepped into the room.

I forced a smile. “Hello, Detective. We were expecting you.”