Homicide and Halo-Halo (Tita Rosie's Kitchen Mystery #2)(21)
“Sorry, that’s client-coach confidentiality. Can’t talk about that.”
“Oh, of course. Sorry, I should’ve known.” I studied her, curious to learn more about her. “What made you decide to be a coach?”
Sana leaned her head back, eyes on the elegant wood-and-bronze ceiling fan that turned lazily above us. The sun was setting outside and golden light filtered through the large windows, casting a warm glow around her. She was quiet for so long, I thought she wasn’t going to answer me, so I also leaned back against the couch and closed my eyes to enjoy this peaceful moment. The light breeze conjured by the fans and the hazy feeling from the strong drinks left me feeling relaxed in a way that I hadn’t in a long time.
“I wanted to help people.” Sana’s voice, barely above a murmur, floated toward me. I kept my eyes closed but nodded to show I was listening. “I thought I could do that with my original career, but it didn’t work out. So I did some volunteer nonprofit work for a while and realized how many young women of color struggled with running their own businesses. I started unofficially coaching this Black-owned beauty business, though I didn’t know that’s what I was doing at the time. The owner couldn’t afford to pay me, but referred me to some friends who could, so I thought I’d do some research and see if I could turn it into a career.” I opened my eyes to take another drink and Sana turned to me and smiled, holding up her wineglass in a salute. “Turns out I could.”
I clinked my glass against hers. “It’s great that you found your niche. I thought I did too, but now I’m not sure.”
“With the Brew-ha Cafe? You mentioned earlier that you were having trouble with your recipes, but you seemed to figure that out. Is there something else bothering you about this business venture?”
I’d already spilled way more than I was comfortable with during our run earlier—after all, my problems were my own. But enough of my feelings must’ve leaked through into my expression because Sana set her glass down and leaned toward me. “You’re more than your work, Lila. More than whatever contributions you think you’re supposed to be making.” She paused. “More than whoever people think you’re supposed to be.”
She was getting dangerously close to things I never talked about, so I faked a yawn. “Thanks, Sana. I appreciate it. I’m getting tired though, so I think I’m just going to wash my face and go to sleep if that’s OK with you.”
Sana sighed but didn’t push me. “Of course. You can borrow anything of mine that you need. Spare toothbrushes are under the sink. But think about what I said, OK? Good night.”
I agreed and went about my usual nighttime routine. But after she headed to her room, I downed the rest of the sangria pitcher and waited for red wine–fueled oblivion to take me.
Thinking was the last thing I wanted to do.
* * *
? ? ?
I woke up the next morning with the rug imprint creasing my cheek, a dry mouth, and an aching head, made worse by the relentless ringing of my cell phone, which was . . . somewhere in the room. Inching my sore body off the floor, I spotted my purse next to the couch and crawled over to it. I somehow managed to dig out my phone and answer it before it went to voicemail.
“Hello?”
Tita Rosie’s panicked voice shook off the lethargy that had settled into my bones. “Anak, you need to come over to the restaurant right now! They just arrested Bernadette for Rob Thompson’s murder!”
Chapter Seven
I wasn’t arrested, Tita. They just took me in for questioning.”
Bernadette sat at the table sipping coffee and munching on pandesal with my aunt, grandmother, and godmothers, everyone looking mighty calm after nearly giving me a heart attack with that phone call.
Adeena’s older brother, Amir, was there too, and he greeted me with a warm smile. He was a lawyer and had saved our family countless times in the past. Guess it was Bernadette’s time up at bat.
I waved at him and slid into the seat next to him, ignoring the fuzzy feeling in my stomach that smile gave me. Adeena had finally given us her blessing, but after years of crushing on him, I suddenly wasn’t ready to make it a reality. Feelings were complicated, and I’d had my fair share of complications lately. Right now, what I needed was his friendship.
Tita Rosie placed a bowl of arroz caldo, a soothing, chicken-and-ginger-laced rice porridge, in front of me and I smiled at her. My stomach wasn’t up for a heavy silog breakfast, but it needed more than the light bread rolls and coffee the others were consuming. Without my saying a word, my aunt knew exactly what I needed.
“Thanks, Tita Rosie. I have to say, you gave me quite a scare with that phone call.” I nodded at Bernadette. “Glad you’re OK, though. I wouldn’t want a repeat of last time.”
Amir’s smile faltered a little at my lack of attention, and he picked up another pandesal to dip in his coffee. “She’s not out of the woods yet. They didn’t have enough to hold her on, but they made no secret of the fact they consider her a suspect.”
My godmothers, who had been suspiciously quiet this whole time, erupted at his words.
“They’ve always been incompetent, but to think my Bernie had anything to do with this!”
“Everyone knows it was the wife, why are they even wasting time on this?”