Homicide and Halo-Halo (Tita Rosie's Kitchen Mystery #2)(8)
She was right. Joy was giving the pageant table recommendations on what to order and guiding Valerie to safe menu options when I joined them.
“As long as you order a dish that says it’s served with rice or rice noodles, you should be fine. And the majority of our desserts are made with glutinous rice and rice flour, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Great job, Joy,” I said, taking my seat next to Sana. “I’d planned on being their guide but needed to talk to Tita Rosie really quick.”
She smiled, her dimples making her look extra sweet. “No problem, Ate. Are you all ready to order?”
Rob ordered my aunt’s signature mixed adobo lunch platter, while Sana echoed my order for shrimp sinigang, a delicious, tangy soup that managed to be both comforting and refreshing. Valerie went with one of our breakfast platters, available all day due to their popularity. She couldn’t decide which meat to choose—I kept pushing her toward longganisa, the most delicious sausage ever—so Joy told her she could get a sampler platter with small portions of the sweet, garlicky longganisa, sweet, cured tocino, and salty, lightly dried tapa.
Joy left to give our orders to the kitchen, and Rob’s eyes followed her every step. Valerie dug her elbow into his side and he turned his attention back to us, wincing slightly.
“She’s the pageant contestant I mentioned earlier. Practically a member of the family. I will, of course, be completely objective when it comes to judging, but I’m glad that I took this position. I remember from my own pageant days that older creeps loved hanging around the girls,” I said, looking him in the eye to make sure he got my meaning. His scowl told me that he did.
Satisfied, I turned toward Valerie. “I’ve been meaning to ask. You said it didn’t matter that I have a personal connection to one of the contestants. So then why was Bernadette rejected?”
“Bernadette?” she repeated, brow creased.
“Bernadette Arroyo. She’s my cousin and the runner-up from my year. She said she couldn’t be the judge because she was coaching Joy.”
When the Calendar Crew put the pressure on me to accept the position, I tried to redirect them and have Bernadette take on the responsibility. She cared about the pageant way more than I did and should’ve won the year we competed together. She wasn’t happy about having to admit that she’d already volunteered, and they’d turned her down.
“Oh. Well, coaching involves training a specific candidate to win, so that’s more of a conflict of interest than your family employing a contestant. Though I don’t remember talking to a Bernadette about being a judge. We were pretty adamant it be you.”
Ouch, no wonder Bernadette’s pride was hurt. This woman must’ve dismissed her with barely a glance, considering how she couldn’t even remember her. “Why? I mean, I get that she didn’t win, but she would’ve taken my place if I hadn’t been able to fulfill my duties. Plus she’s a nurse. She’d be a great role model for these girls.”
Valerie shrugged. “That was probably the mayor’s call. I introduced quite a few changes to the rules and events and vetoed the judge who was chosen after you first turned us down. I insisted the last position be filled by a female professional, and the mayor said it had to be a former winner since that was tradition. You’re the only one still in Shady Palms who fits both criteria, so we were at a bit of a stalemate. It was either you or no one.”
I wasn’t quite sure how to take that. “I thought the previous judge dropped out. Why did you replace them?”
Rob, Sana, and Valerie all seemed to have a sudden need to drink from their previously untouched water glasses instead of answering my question. Interesting. Before I could push further, Joy arrived with our meal.
After serving us and checking if we needed anything else, she left to go wait on some new customers and we dug into our food. The weak air conditioning in the restaurant was no match for the ninety-degree heat outside, and combined with the big bowl of steaming sinigang that Sana and I were consuming, I was soon dripping with sweat.
“This tastes so familiar!” Sana said. “That sourness . . . is it from tamarind?” When I nodded, she grinned, the dazzling smile lighting up her whole face. “I knew it. My family’s originally from Trinidad, and we use it in a bunch of dishes. This soup is new to me, but somehow it tastes like home, you know?”
She attacked the soup and rice with new vigor, and so did I, both of us patting sweat away with the paper napkins on the table.
Rob noticed this and frowned. “I don’t understand how you two can eat soup on such a hot day.”
I snorted. “What, do you think people in hot climates never eat soup?”
Sana added, “Why do you think so many tropical countries eat spicy food? Sweating is healthy and helps us cool off. Removes toxins from the body, too. Though it does do a number to my hair,” she said, dabbing at her edges.
“I’ll stick with ice cream to cool off, thanks. Or an ice-cold beer. Speaking of which, with the way I drink, no amount of sweating will detox me.” He chuckled at his little “joke.”
Joy came by to refill our water glasses. “If you want something cold, you should order Lola Flor’s special halo-halo for dessert. It’s so good!”
At the pageant group’s confused looks, I said, “Halo-halo literally means ‘mix-mix.’ Think of it as a combination of shaved ice and an ice cream sundae. It’s one of my favorite desserts and my grandmother makes almost every component of the dish herself instead of relying on jarred or canned ingredients.”