“It’s my property, isn’t it? I have a right to know what’s going on in my buildings. Especially,” he said, eyeing my grandmother warily, who was staring daggers at him, “when my son was killed on the premises, and the police are calling in favors so you can open up again.”

Lola Flor made a dismissive noise with her lips. “He wasn’t your son, so stop pretending like you care. Spend more time comforting your wife, who just lost her only child. Also, everyone knows this man is your friend, so now who’s trying to call in a favor?”

Mr. Long’s jaw dropped and his face flushed an ugly, deep red. “Wha— How dare you imply—”

“Rosie, open up the door. Let’s get this over with. If we want to be ready in time for dinner, we have a lot of shopping and prep to do.” Lola Flor muttered a few more things under her breath in Tagalog, but nothing I could translate in polite company.

The health inspector, who introduced himself as Mr. Nelson, cleared his throat. “Yes, that would be best. I have other establishments to visit today, Mrs. Macapagal.”

Tita Rosie was so flustered, she didn’t bother correcting him on her title. “Of course, Mr. Nelson.” She opened the front door and gestured inside. “After you, sir.”

We all stepped into the dining area and I tried to look at the restaurant with fresh eyes, analyzing the space the way the health inspector probably was. Our restaurant was always spotlessly clean, but the space itself was a little rough around the edges. Not a hygiene problem, more of a “we haven’t updated the space in twenty years ’cause we’re broke” kind of an issue.

Back in December, when I had gotten the call that the restaurant was failing and my aunt needed me to step up, the first things I did were set up a social media presence and change the decor. We didn’t have the money to make any real alterations, but we did what we could. Adeena helped us paint the walls a lovely shade of terra-cotta to cover up the dingy white it was before. We hung family pictures and mementos and scattered Philippine memorabilia throughout the space: a giant wooden fork and spoon set hanging by the kitchen, hand-woven table runners, a print of Prayer Before Meal by the cubist artist Vicente Manansala, and several Barrel men figurines posed on a high shelf.

A painting of the Last Supper graced the wall where we seated large parties, so our diners could eat awkwardly below it as they contemplated their sins. I’d tried to get rid of it more than once, but that painting was the one thing my aunt refused to budge on. I’d already convinced her to remove the Santo Ni?o statue that used to watch creepily from the corner, so I figured a compromise was in order.

Mr. Long paused in front of the painting long enough to give a derisive snort before following the rest of us to the kitchen.

My aunt wasn’t having any of that. As she flicked on the kitchen lights, she said, “Sir, you don’t have to agree with my choices, but I ask you not to insult the Lord in my—Susmaryosep, what is this?!”

Smashed dishes and bent-up cutlery littered the floor. Pots and pans were strewn around the room, far from their usual resting places. One of the windows was broken, shards of glass littering the sink and windowsill. Worst of all, the food stored in the fridge and freezer had been pulled out and left to rot in the open air. The food hadn’t been out long enough to begin to smell, luckily, but long enough that we’d have to throw it out.

All that food—and money—wasted.

My eyes swept over our beloved kitchen, my horror and nausea building as I took in the destruction. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

But before I could run off to the bathroom, Tita Rosie wailed and started to fall to her knees. I caught her and we both sank to the floor.

I held her as she cried, as she screamed, “Bakit?” over and over again. Why indeed. What had our family done to deserve this?

Meanwhile, Lola Flor was screaming at Mr. Long and the health inspector. “You had something to do with this, didn’t you? You’ve been wanting to kick us out for years! If you think this is your chance . . .” She trailed off, clearly thinking about a threat strong enough. She couldn’t seem to find one to convey her true meaning in English, so she switched to Tagalog to berate him.

Mr. Long went from barely concealing his pleased smile to alarm as my tiny grandmother advanced on him. “Get away from me, lady, or I’m calling the cops!”

Sensing a task that could occupy my aunt, I said, “That’s right, the cops! Tita Rosie, you need to call the police and report this. They’ll need to investigate, find out who did this to us.”

She waved her hand helplessly at the mess. “What’s the point? We don’t have the money to replace this. We’re done.”

This caught my grandmother’s attention. She marched over to us and yanked my aunt up with one hand. That old woman was strong. “I won’t have any daughter of mine talking like that. You are a Macapagal and we do not give up. Now go call that detective and tell him to do his job. I’ll start cleaning up.”

Tita Rosie wiped her face with a napkin I handed her. “You’re right, Nay. Let’s get to work.”

She scurried off to her office to make the call, but I stopped Lola Flor from walking into the kitchen. “Wait, Lola! We can’t disrupt the crime scene.” At her huff of impatience, I said, “We need to keep it preserved so the cops can document it for our insurance claim. We do have insurance on this place, right?”

Reluctantly, she nodded and stepped away. “Fine. But call your lawyer friend and tell him to get here right away. If the police are coming, we’ll need him.”

The health inspector sidled away as I waited for Amir to answer. “I’m obviously not needed today, so maybe we should—”

“Hey, you’re not going anywhere,” I said just as Amir picked up. “No, not you, Amir. I’m talking to the health inspector.”

I explained what had happened and he promised to head over immediately. “Don’t touch anything, make sure nobody leaves, and take pictures of everything for the insurance. Be there soon.”

Mr. Long and the health inspector tried to leave while I was distracted, but my grandmother planted herself in their way and refused to move. Detective Park and his team arrived just in time to witness these middle-aged men get crossed over by a woman in her seventies.

“Mr. Long and Mr. Nelson, are you trying to leave a crime scene? You should know I’d have questions for anyone involved,” Detective Park said, watching the tableau before him with amusement.

Mr. Long huffed. “I’m not involved and have nothing to say. Everything was like this when we got here. Also, why are you here? Does Shady Palms PD usually send a high-ranking detective to investigate vandalism? Or is this another favor being called in?”

“I’m here because this is still a crime scene in an ongoing investigation. I need to make sure these events are not connected in any way. If you’re not involved, then you’ll have no problem telling an officer what you saw when you got here.” Detective Park waved one of his men over to interrogate Mr. Long and the health inspector. “Talk to these two separately, will you?”

The officer nodded and led Mr. Long away first for questioning. Detective Park turned his attention back to my grandmother and me. “So what happened here? Where’s Rosie?”

Lola Flor pursed her lips. “We’re not talking until our lawyer gets here.”

Detective Park raised an eyebrow and looked at me. I shrugged. “What she said.”

A police photographer moved through the wreckage of the kitchen, taking quick shots of everything. I did the same from the doorway, careful not to enter. Not only did I not want to contaminate the scene in any way, it no longer felt like a safe space. It was no longer our kitchen.

“You don’t have to do that, you know. We could send copies of the photos to your insurance company,” Detective Park said.

“And we’ll of course be requesting those official photographs, Detective. But it never hurts to have a backup,” Amir said, the tinkling of the door chimes announcing his arrival seconds before his voice did.

The look on Detective Park’s face was difficult to read as he watched Amir make his way toward us. “Mr. Awan, come to save the day again. I sure hope this family is paying you well since you seem to be at their beck and call.”

“And I hope you find out who is so obviously trying to put my clients out of business that they’re willing to not only trash their restaurant, but also frame one of them for murder.” Amir’s smile was so sharp and cold I flinched, even though it wasn’t directed at me. “We’ve both got a lot of work to do, Detective, so why don’t you cut to the chase. Lila will go grab her aunt and the family can answer your questions.”

“With you present, of course.”

“Of course.” Amir’s expression relaxed a bit as he turned to me. “Can you call Auntie so we can get started?”