A raised eyebrow was the only response I got. Fair enough, he’d already shared more than he needed to with me. I couldn’t expect him to tell me everything. Maybe if I played up my fear about constantly being so close to death, I could get his sympathies on my side. It’s not like I’d be lying anyway. This latest encounter had me shook. And then I remembered something Terrence had said.

“Oh, Detective, did you find a dachshund statue in Janet’s office? Her fiancé mentioned it to me.”

He glanced through his notes and shook his head. “Sorry, it’s not on the list. You sure it was there?”

“I never saw it but Terrence said she was planning on giving it to me. It seemed important to him, so I wanted to check.”

“I’ll ask my team in case they missed anything, but it’s doubtful.”

I couldn’t ask for more than that, so I thanked him. “You haven’t told my family about what happened here, have you?”

“I called Rosie once I got here and was able to ascertain your safety. She should be here any minute.” A frown creased the space between his eyebrows. “Is that a problem?”

“No . . .” I said, dragging that single syllable out. “I just, I was hoping to be the one to tell her. After all that’s gone on, a call from the cops is enough to trigger her anxiety.”

Detective Park swore loudly, surprising the heck out of me. “You’re right. I didn’t even think of that.”

I sighed and sat down. “I know you were just joking earlier, but this is starting to feel like too much. I don’t like that I’m always the one who’s around when these bad things happen. Like, am I being set up? Or what if something happens again, but this time I walk into the situation? Am I in danger, too?”

“We’ve already got patrols watching your home and restaurant. I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about.”

I wasn’t sure if that made me feel better or worse. “Because you were worried about our safety?”

Detective Park rubbed the stubble on the back of his head. “Among other reasons, yes.”

I remembered that he still considered me his prime suspect and was likely counting down the days till he could arrest me. So, worse. The knowledge that my family was under constant surveillance definitely made me feel worse. At least I knew Tita Rosie and Lola Flor were safe.

As if on cue, the two of them dashed into the room.

Tita Rosie went straight to Mrs. Long and grasped her hands. “Oh, Nancy. I’m so, so sorry.”

Lola Flor marched over as well, ignoring Detective Park and me. “Nancy, you can’t stay here tonight. The police will be all over this place and it’s not good for you to be here.”

Mrs. Long protested faintly, eyes on the space between my grandmother and aunt. “No, it’s fine. I’m fine. Cate will be here later to stay with me. We’re fine.”

“Cate can come over, too. Just for tonight.”

Mrs. Long didn’t respond.

Tita Rosie squeezed Mrs. Long’s hand. “Would you like to go back to the funeral home? Maybe talking to Cate will make you feel better. Then you can say goodbye to your son.”

That seemed to wake Mrs. Long up. “That’s a good idea. I need to clear my head. If Cate wants to stay with you, we can. I’ll leave it up to her.”

Cate agreed immediately. “I’m sorry, Nancy, but the idea of staying in the place where Ed was just killed . . .” She shuddered. “I’d never be able to sleep.” She turned to my aunt. “The funeral director said you were the one who provided the food for the wake.”

Under normal circumstances, my aunt would’ve beamed and asked what Cate had thought. But this whole Derek thing had left her more cautious, undermined her confidence. Her response was hesitant, as if she wasn’t sure what Cate was going to do with this information.

“Yes, my mother and I made the food. We own a restaurant here in town.”

Cate grinned, brightening her previously dour expression. That simple motion lit up her face, highlighting her kind, keen eyes. “Your food is unlike anything I’ve ever tried before. So delicious! If you’re going to feed us like that, maybe we can spend more than one night.”

Mrs. Long’s eyes widened. “Cate! Tonight is fine because Ed was just—it’s too soon to stay in that house. But we will not trespass on their hospitality.”

Cate took one of Mrs. Long’s hands into hers and patted the top of it. “I’m joking, Nancy. I’m here as long as you need me, wherever you choose to stay.” She paused. “And I’m sorry about Ed, I really am. I wish to God you didn’t have to go through this.”

She looked at us. “You probably think I’m cold, making jokes like this after my brother’s death. But this is how I deal with things. And right now, I’m more worried about Nancy’s safety and well-being, so thank you for opening your home to us. If it gets to be a problem, we can always check into a hotel.”

I chewed on a fingernail as I watched this scene, torn between pleasure at helping Mrs. Long in her time of need and discomfort at the thought of the difficult conversations I knew we’d have soon. At the very least, giving my aunt someone to take care of seemed to take her mind off our restaurant problems and my legal troubles, so this tragedy had one bright spot.

With that taken care of, there was one last thing I had to do. Swallow my pride and go talk to Adeena.

Chapter Thirty-seven

When I walked into Java Jo’s, Adeena was at the counter. She laughed and chatted with each customer until she saw me in line. The smile melted off her face like a bowl of halo-halo on a Midwestern summer day. She finished serving the customer in front of me, but when I stepped up, she called out, “Kevin! Time to switch!” then headed over to the espresso machine. She didn’t make eye contact with me once.

Kevin came to take my order, frowning, but chose not to ask any questions. “Hey, Lila. Coconut milk latte, right? You want that hot or iced today?”

Without taking my eyes off Adeena’s back, I said, “Give me a Java Jocinno.”

As a jab at the people who kept asking him if he served Frappuccinos, Kevin started selling “Java Jocinnos” with the tagline “Are you really going to keep pretending this is actually coffee?” They were basically milkshakes with a shot of espresso and super delicious, but very obviously not coffee. Coffee snobbery at its finest, and I was all about it.

Kevin blinked, but again chose not to question it. “Wow, mixing it up today, huh? So you wanna stick with your usual coconut or try one of our other alternative milks? We got almond, soy, rice, oat—”

“Nope. Give me the real stuff, Kev. And no messing around with that two percent. I want whole milk. One scoop each of double fudge and sea salt caramel. Triple shot of espresso.”

“You want whipped cream on top?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Kevin. You know I want whipped cream on top. And actual whipped cream, not the coconut cream kind.”

He sighed. “Lila, do you need to talk? Because I really don’t think—”

I slapped some cash on the counter. “I’ll be sitting in my usual spot. Call me when it’s ready.”

He shook his head but rang up my order and handed me the receipt. “Should be up in five.”

I nodded and headed over to my table, catching up on all the social media stuff I’ve been ignoring for the past week. I scrolled through my personal accounts, but nothing really caught my eye, so I switched over to the Instagram account I’d made for Longganisa. She was way more popular than I was, but I hadn’t uploaded a new pic in a week and her fans were not pleased. I made a quick post of her splayed out on the sidewalk the day she gave up mid-run. A quick caption of “My human is mad I stopped running to sploot, but doesn’t she know it’s important to stretch?” and there we go. Enough to appease her fans for a couple of days, at least.

Finally, I switched over to the business account I’d created for Tita Rosie’s Kitchen. Other than a quick post I made the day Derek died, explaining we were closed until further notice, I hadn’t bothered checking the account. So I didn’t notice the DM sitting in our in-box.

It was from Yuki, Derek’s former paramour if I’d guessed correctly. She’d sent it the day I visited her and her husband at Sushi-ya.

We need to talk. But not at the restaurant. Contact me here if you can meet me.

Hoping I hadn’t missed the window of opportunity, I messaged her back.

I’m at Java Jo’s right now. Could you meet me here? If not now, sometime today or tomorrow?

She answered back almost immediately.

Too public

That was it. No other suggestions or a hint of what she needed to talk about. Not even a “. . .” appearing to show she was composing another message.

    Where are you? I could come to you

I’m at the funeral home

For Derek’s wake?

Yes

How long will you be there?

I don’t know. No one else is here, so get here soon

I calculated how long it’d take me to get there.

    Gimme 20 min. Don’t leave before I get there

I’ll try but no promises

I started to message back, telling her to be patient, when my Java Jocinno was plunked down in front of me, sticky-sweet liquid trailing down the large fountain drink glass.

“Oh, shoot, sorry, Kevin. Can you make that to go?” I asked without looking up from my phone.