Homicide and Halo-Halo (Tita Rosie's Kitchen Mystery #2)
Mia P. Manansala
Chapter One
Curls of smoke drifted around the Brew-ha Cafe, a pleasant floral aroma filling the space while hints of an unknown herb tickled my nose, making me sneeze.
“Salud,” said Elena Torres, the pierced-and-tattooed woman holding the smoldering bouquet, as she wafted a bit more smoke toward me. Adeena Awan, Elena’s girlfriend and my best friend, stood next to her, breathing the mixture in, bathing in the smoke.
I held back a cough. “Didn’t we already cleanse the place?”
Elena nodded, circling me with the smoke cleansing stick in her hand. “Yes, but I did some research and saw that guava leaves were used in ancient Filipino practices the same way the indigenous people here use sage. Thought it would bring some good energy into the shop and be something nice for your ancestors, without us having to appropriate white sage. This is a special blend of guava leaves, rosemary, and lavender my mom and I grew in our greenhouse.”
Ah, so that explained the floral scent my trusty nose detected. I wasn’t as into the woo-woo stuff as Adeena and Elena, but I appreciated how thoughtful Elena was being. Besides, the place could use a good cleanse after what happened here back in March.
She continued, “I’m really liking the vibes this blend is bringing. I’ll need to make more for the altar.”
We all glanced toward the employees-only corner of the shop. It used to be the back room of the cafe, but after the events that happened a few months ago, neither Adeena nor I could stand to look at it, so we had the walls knocked down and converted it to a semiprivate alcove. Elena wanted to use the space to set up an altar, to both pay homage to those who came before us and to have them bless our business venture. She’d been bugging me to give her something to add to it, but I kept putting it off. I knew what she really wanted were photos of my dead parents, but I refused to put them on display, even if the only other people who’d see them were Adeena and Elena. They weren’t for public consumption, even in a way that was meant to honor them. Besides, I wouldn’t even look at the photos of them inside my own home—what made her think I’d be comfortable seeing them in my place of business?
“It’s getting way too hot in here. I’m gonna close the door now. Can you turn on the AC and make sure it’s not acting wonky anymore?”
Adeena had propped open the door earlier to “let out the negative energy” and the sweltering summer heat rolled in, the temperature having already reached a stifling eighty-six degrees at seven in the morning. Any of the bad juju Elena had managed to cleanse would be replaced with my dark mood if it got any hotter.
The air conditioning kicked in, and I breathed a sigh of relief as the cool air washed over me. Summer had just started and the cafe had been closed since the . . . unpleasantness, but we were finally ready for our soft opening in a few days.
I looked around the room, once a monochrome minimalist space, now full of color and life. We’d outfitted the area with Adeena’s artwork, Elena’s plants, and my . . . well, OK, so I hadn’t added any personal touches to the cafe yet, but I was more of a back-of-the-house person. I handled anything involving organizational skills, such as ordering, sourcing suppliers, bookkeeping, etc. I was also the baker, so my contribution would be more evident once we opened.
If we opened.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were missing something, that we were rushing into opening too soon. This was my dream, after all. It needed to be perfect. It needed to be a success. It needed to be right.
Before I could voice these doubts, Adeena said, “Stop it. We’re not pushing back the opening.”
I struggled to keep my facial expression neutral. Had I been thinking out loud or had Adeena finally progressed to full-on mind reader? “What are you talking about? I didn’t even say anything.”
She studied my face. “You didn’t have to. I know you and I know the way you think. Plus, you had that look on your face.”
I crossed my arms. “What look?”
“The one where you don’t know whether to run away or puke. You really need to start dealing with your anxiety and stop sticking your head in the sand over every little thing.”
“What Adeena is trying to say,” Elena cut in, giving her girlfriend a warning look, “is that we’re worried about you. You’ve seemed really stressed out and—”
“Of course I’m stressed out! We’re opening on Monday and we’re so not ready. We haven’t even—”
“Haven’t what? We’ve done everything possible.” Adeena ticked off the list on her fingers. “We’ve replaced all the furniture because neither of us could stand to look at it anymore. We hired industrial cleaners to go over the entire place,” here her eyes flicked over to a particular spot near the door, “and the space is sparkling. It’s even cleaner than your family’s restaurant, which is really saying something. We’ve registered the business with Illinois, had my brother draw up all the legal papers, gotten every freakin’ license possible. We could’ve opened even sooner if it hadn’t taken the county so long to replace Mr. Nelson.”
Mr. Nelson was the previous health inspector, currently in jail after I’d exposed his shady dealings with the help of Adeena, Elena, and some of the other Shady Palms restaurant owners.