Homicide and Halo-Halo (Tita Rosie's Kitchen Mystery #2)(3)

Chapter Two





Tita Rosie’s Kitchen was most famous for our breakfast platters and Sunday lunch specials, and usually at this time of day, Tita Rosie and Lola Flor would be busy preparing for the Saturday-morning breakfast rush.

Instead, they were setting platters of garlic fried rice, sunny-side up eggs, and Filipino breakfast meats on the large table where Detective Park and the Calendar Crew sat waiting for me and Bernadette.

“Took you long enough.” Ninang April looked me up and down, then gestured toward her eyes. “You look tired. Staying up late is bad for your skin, diba? And you’re getting too much sun.”

I sighed. “Good morning, everyone.”

Tita Rosie waved me over to the seat between her and Detective Park, who’d quickly become part of the family. Shocking, considering a few months ago he got me locked up for murder and tried to convince everyone I was a small-town drug queenpin (it’s a long story). Anyway, I caught the real killer—at no small risk to my own life, I might add—and as if to make up for his mistake (and possibly to get back into my aunt’s good graces), the detective had been nothing but kind and solicitous ever since, which I appreciated. He also insisted on referring me to a therapist and talking about feelings, which was not appreciated.

My aunt shoved a piece of pandesal that she’d thickly coated with my grandmother’s special coconut jam, minatamis na bao, into my hands. “You look hungry, anak. Kain tayo!”

She gestured to the plates on the table, urging everyone to help themselves to the do-it-yourself silog platters. I dished up a big plate of longsilog—longganisa (the delicious sausages I loved so much I’d named my adorable dachshund after them), sinangag (garlic fried rice), and itlog (fried egg). Traditional Filipino breakfasts typically included sinangag and itlog, as well as some form of protein, and the name of the dish changed depending on which protein you chose—tocilog, tapsilog, spamsilog, bangsilog, etc. It sounded intense, but this hearty meal was the only real way to start the day. No bowls of cereal or skipping meals in the Macapagal household. We worked long, hard hours and needed the delicious fuel to get us through the day.

Once plates were full, everyone except for Detective Park crossed themselves, which I copied belatedly, before tucking into the food. Joy Munroe, the teenager my family hired to help out at the restaurant since I was busy with the cafe, came out with a tray of drinks, her willowy arms straining as she tried to place the carafes of coffee and tsokolate on the table without spilling anything.

I offered to help her, but she demurred politely. “Thanks, Ate Lila, but I’ve got it. This is good training for me.”

Bernadette smiled at her as she accepted a mug of tsokolate, our version of hot chocolate. “Love your positive thinking, Joy. Remind me to work more strength training into your routine in addition to your lessons on grace.”

Joy beamed at her. “Great idea, Ate Bernie. Does anyone need anything else?” We all shook our heads at her. “Then, Tita Rosie, I’m going to do my homework in your office. I ate before coming here and want to make sure my work’s done before the first pageant meeting tonight.”

After she left, Detective Park said, “Diligent girl. But shouldn’t she be on summer break?”

“She’s going to summer school to make room for more AP classes when school starts. She’s hoping to get an early acceptance into one of Chicago’s top schools for civil engineering,” Bernadette said, her chest puffing up as if she were bragging about her own daughter. “I’m coaching her for the pageant. She could really use the scholarship that comes with the crown. Lord knows, her parents are no help.”

Joy was the younger sister of Bernadette’s best friend, Pinky, a fellow Filipino nurse at the Shady Palms Hospital. I didn’t know much about Pinky, other than she worked hellish hours to provide for her family, so it was nice that Bernadette had taken Joy under her wing.

Detective Park cleared his throat. “Now that we have privacy, we should probably get to business. What we talk about here doesn’t leave this table. Am I clear?” He leveled a look at my gossipy godmothers, who had the nerve to look affronted.

“Detective, shame on you. We would never share classified information,” Ninang Mae said, lying with the face of a saint.

“You better not, because if there’s a leak, I know exactly who to blame. I called you here since you’re all either good sources of information,” he nodded at the aunties, which seemed to mollify them, “or directly involved with the pageant.”

This he directed at me and Bernadette. He continued, “Ordinarily, I wouldn’t get civilians involved, but according to the chief there isn’t even a case. I wanted to get your take on the problem.”

He pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket and put it on the table between us. At his nod, I picked it up. It took me a minute to decipher the cursive script before reading aloud,

    Cancel the pageant if you know what’s good for you



I looked up at him. “That’s it? Ominous, but not particularly threatening. Is the SPPD taking this seriously?”

Detective Park made a noise of frustration. “I tried, but the chief is blowing it off as a prank. Won’t even add extra guards until the final event because it’d be ‘bad optics’ and ‘there’s no room in the budget.’” Even without the gesture, I could hear the air quotes in the detective’s voice. He continued. “Rob Thompson invested fifty thousand dollars and has devoted hundreds of hours on the planning committee to make sure it’s a success. Plus, the mayor has been making a big to-do about it for months. Thinks it’s the perfect opportunity to sweep away the last bits of bad press from, well, you know.” He paused, softening his tone. “How are you doing, by the way? Did you ever get in touch with Dr. Kang? She can do a quick virtual session with you, see if she’s a good fit for—”