I looked down and noticed the stack of papers she clutched in her hand. I’d already gone through my aunt’s accounts to figure out the problem areas—it was one of the first things I did after returning home. Figured I should put my expensive education to work, even if I didn’t have a degree to show for it.

We were a fairly popular restaurant with the locals, yet couldn’t seem to make ends meet and I didn’t understand it. Till I looked through our records. My aunt and grandmother were wonderful cooks, but not very business savvy. Or at least my aunt wasn’t. My lola was a killer at mahjong and pusoy, a kind of Filipino poker. She was also really slick when it came to day-to-day transactions. She was not a record-keeper, however, which made it difficult to track what needed to be done. And she sure did love the casinos, eating up what little profit we made.

Tita Rosie’s problem was that she was too soft. Too soft to charge her customers the true value of her food. Too soft to go after her estranged, alcoholic husband who’d run off with most of her savings. Too soft to ask her son Ronnie, my good-for-nothing cousin, for help—he was a boy, therefore free to live his own life. Not to say that the rest of the family never lobbed guilt his way—he just managed to dodge it while I took nothing but direct hits.

“Tita Rosie, that’s not going to happen. I’m not going to let them just take away your life’s work. Trust me, OK?”

She smoothed my hair and kissed my forehead, something she hadn’t done since I was a child. “Thank you, anak. I’m going home now. Think I need to lie down for a little bit. Do you all need anything?”

We shook our heads and she took her leave.

Adeena looked at her brother. “So what are the next steps?”

He frowned. “I don’t think there’s anything we can do until the police are done with their investigation. Or at least till the test results come back.”

Looking at my crestfallen expression, Adeena said, “Hey, remember when West Haven stole Petey Pablo sophomore year and we worked together to find him and exact revenge?”

No, not Petey Pablo the rapper. Petey Pablo the parrot was the Shady Palms High mascot. I didn’t care much for sports, but Derek had been on the football team and was devastated that their good luck charm had disappeared right before the big game. Plus I really loved that ridiculous bird. So Adeena and I teamed up to investigate our rival school and saved the day.

We’d actually earned a decent chunk of change that year finding lost items and spying on cheating boyfriends (I know, the irony) but I gave it up junior year to focus on college prep.

Reminded of those days, I tilted my head, formulating a plan. “You said our restaurant’s closed until they learn how Derek died, right?”

Amir stared at me, having had to bail us out of trouble enough times to not like my line of thinking. “Yes . . .”

Adeena grinned. “So, we back in the game?”

I slung an arm around her. “Yep. Put on your sleuthing cap, girl. We’re on the case!”

Chapter Eight

You can’t be serious,” Amir said, his expression clearly showing he knew how deadly serious I was. “Let the police do their jobs. If you really want to know specifics, I can find out for you. Under no circumstances are you to investigate on your own, got it? It could be dangerous.”

Adeena scoffed. “You’re not our dad, Amir Bhai. You can’t tell us what to do.” As his expression darkened, she added, “Plus, how dangerous could it really be? That idiot probably went into diabetic shock and passed out. Or at worst, had an allergic reaction. It’s not like we’re trying to track down a serial killer.”

She turned to me. “Oh, do you remember Robin? My friend from pharmacy school? They work in the lab for the county police department. I’ll ask them to let us know if they hear anything.”

“Awesome. I’ll check in with Ninang June and see what she wants.” Inspiration struck. “Oh, her daughter works at the hospital as an ER nurse. Maybe she was there when he was brought in. I’ll stop by there first to see if she knows anything.”

Adeena said, “Sounds like a plan. I’ll text my friend and let them know what’s up. I need to head back to the cafe though. Kevin’s probably lost without me.” She tossed her undercut, magenta-streaked wavy hair over her shoulder before waving goodbye.

Then it was just me and Amir standing there.

He’d finished eating, so I covered the tray, bussed his dishes, and began wiping off the table. He watched me in silence, seemingly content to just let things stand as they were. Which was fine with me. Conversations with Amir never went where you wanted them to.

As I shrugged on my coat and switched my no-slip work shoes for winter boots, Amir finally spoke up. “If you’re going to go snoop around, I’m coming with you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Amir, I appreciate your concern, but I’m just going to the hospital. Half the staff knows me and is related to me in some way. I’ll be fine.”

He put on his coat and wound his scarf around his neck, the ends draping just so down the front. “Not everything’s about you, Lila. If I’m going to help your family, I need all the information I can get. Something tells me,” he eyed me warily, “you might not be as cooperative as I’d like you to be.”

The weight of our history sat in those words, an accusation of all the times he’d wanted me to be more forthcoming, more helpful, more “cooperative,” as he put it.

But I couldn’t. He knew why. And he claimed to understand. Didn’t stop him from trying though. From wanting.

I didn’t know how to respond, so I said, “We should take separate cars. I have errands to run and I’m sure you have other things to do.”

I grabbed one of the foil trays and hurried out before he could naysay that statement. He wasn’t the only one who could hold an unsatisfactory conversation. If there were an Olympic event for avoidance, I probably wouldn’t bring home the gold, but I’d sure as heck place.

* * *

? ? ?

Amir and I managed to catch my cousin Bernadette while she was on break in the cafeteria. I say “cousin,” but we weren’t related by blood. Like most Filipino families, we extended that relationship to any close family friend. So even though I was an only child, I had enough godmothers, cousins, aunties, and uncles to populate a small village. Or at least a relatively small town that began to feel smaller and more suffocating the older I got.

Bernadette stood from the table where she was snacking on shrimp chips and wiped crumbs off her magenta-pink scrubs before giving me her usual friendly greeting. “Hey bruha, about time you came to visit me. You been with Tita Rosie for what, two or three months now? And you’re only coming around now that you need me for something?” She made a noise with her lips and gestured to Amir. “Even Mr. Big-Time Lawyer here knows how to make time for his family. What’s your excuse?”

I pasted a smile on my face as I screamed on the inside. “Missed you too, Ate Bernie. And in case no one told you, I’ve been busy helping Tita Rosie and Lola Flor run the restaurant. Maybe if your ex-boyfriend stopped being trash and came to help his mom, I’d have more free time.” My smile grew bigger. “You talk to Ronnie lately?”

She stiffened, but managed to redirect that barb. “Speaking of ex-boyfriends, seems like yours is dead and the police blame you. What do you think you’ll achieve by coming here? You know I can’t give away confidential patient information.”

It had always been like this between us, ever since we were little. She was only a year older than me, and the aunties were constantly putting us in competition against each other. Not Tita Rosie—she was above all that. But Ninang June was Bernadette’s mother, and you better believe she pitted us against each other. My other godmothers say she and my mom were always trying to show each other up. Guess the rivalry continued beyond the grave.

Amir stepped in to smooth things over. “We know you’re busy, Bernadette, so thanks for taking the time to talk to us. We would never want you to violate HIPAA, but if there’s anything you could tell us, anything at all that would help?”

The stormy expression left her face as she beamed up at him—Amir always had that effect on women. “All I can say, unofficially, is that I was in the ER when he was brought in and it looked like diabetic ketoacidosis.”

“Is that the same as a diabetic coma? What are the symptoms? How could you tell?” I bombarded her with questions.

She looked at me with scorn. “Since I can’t tell you anything that I might’ve seen on his chart, I suggest you google it.”

I sighed, and Bernadette shrugged. “Hey, I take my job seriously and I’m not losing it for you. You want more info, I hope you got an in with the medical examiner’s office.”