Mom and I waited at Lucky Dragon Palace for Celia to meet us. The restaurant was crowded for the daily lunch special, so we had to sit in the small office adjoining the kitchen instead of our usual booth. We kept the door open for ventilation and to keep the room from becoming too claustrophobic. My chair was half in the doorway and half in the kitchen.
I didn't mind being crammed in the back, even though it was a tight fit. It was more private. Everyone in town wanted news about the murder. Fletcher Canyon had always been the kind of place that knew everybody's business, but information about Celia's arrest travelled faster than any other news. People had even called our house trying to get any bit of the juicy details.
"I think it's why the restaurant even more busy today," Wenling said to Mom.
"If I knew murder was so good for business," Mom joked, "I would've asked Celia to kill Christy's husband."
"Wait," Wenling said. "You told me that Christy was a widow."
My brain remembered Celia, and Todd from the newspaper, saying they were sorry about my husband. "Mom, have you been telling people Robert died?"
Mom laughed.
"Mom, that's not funny," I said.
"It's kind of funny," Mom said.
I saw the back door open, and Celia stepped through it wearing giant Jackie O-style sunglasses, a scarf over her head, and her collar popped up. She was so dramatic. She closed the door, took off her glasses, and rushed over to us.
"My dear family! Thank goodness I got here. The press and the people," she said, "they won't leave me alone."
I wanted to roll my eyes, but I didn't. She looked like a Filipina version of Audrey Hepburn in "Charade." I admired how she pulled off "the look." My hair always fell straight. I could put it back in a pony tail or put it back with barrettes. That's it. No messy buns, up dos, braids, perms, ever looked right. And if any hairstylist could pull it off, the look crumbled within days.
"What happened?" Wenling asked, patting the open seat next to her. She didn't hide her excitement to hear the news, but Celia didn't mind.
"They came to my house and arrested me! I was in jail for hours until My Dearest could post bail. It was awful."
"What were you doing with the necklace?" I asked.
"That," Celia waved it off, "is just a simple misunderstanding. Sir Harold wanted me to have it." I could tell she was taking great pains to downplay that it was a big deal.
"But the agency doesn't allow gifts!" Mom said.
"Of course not! I told him. He insisted. So I took it. I figured I would bring it back after the party, return it to the safe, and he would think I had it."
"You have the combination to the safe?" I asked.
Celia smiled. "Sir Harold has me open it for him all the time. He trusts me more than his own daughter."
"Celia, does Mr. Sanders keep a copy of his will in that same safe?" I asked.
She didn't answer.
"Celia," Mom said. "You read that will, didn't you?"
"He wanted me to read it," she said, but her lie wasn't convincing.
"How much did he leave you?" Wenling asked, once again not hiding her excitement.
"He left me the necklace, some money, and a car!" Celia said.
"And your fingerprints are all over that safe," I said.
"Aye!" Mom said knowing what I was getting at.
"How much money?" Wenling asked.
Celia shrugged her shoulders trying to be coy.
"That much," Wenling said, nodding her head. Mom nodded, too.
"I didn't say anything," Celia said.
"I bet it's a half a million," Mom said.
Celia's jaw dropped open. "How did you know?" she asked. That's when my jaw dropped open. How did Mom know?
Mom smiled, but didn't answer Celia's question. I made a note to ask Mom about that later. Although, she still hadn't told me how she convinced Mr. Sanders to agree to the party.
"They think you did it, because of the will, you know," Mom said.
"That and the pills," Celia answered.
"What about the pills?" I asked.
"That's why he was asking about Celia administering medication," Mom said. "Something went wrong with the medication."
"They've already talked to you?" Celia asked, glaring at me.
"DC came by this morning," Mom said.
"The handsome detective came to your house?" Wenling asked not hiding her hurt about not getting the news. "Why didn't you tell me while we were waiting?"
"I didn't want to explain it twice," Mom said.
Wenling was less than impressed with that answer.
Celia interrupted. "What did you say?"
"He talked mostly to Christy," Mom said, totally throwing me under the bus with the truth. Celia turned to me and glared.
"I had to tell the truth, but we told him that we'd never seen you with the necklace,"' I said, leaving out the part where I had to confirm that she'd bragged about going to Europe.
"How could you betray me?" Celia asked, folding her arms.
"I didn't betray you!" I said.
She turned away from me.
"What about the pills?" Mom asked.
"They said that Sir's pills had been half-empty. That someone had opened each of the capsules and poured out the medicine!"
"Why would someone do that?" Wenling asked.
"To kill him," Celia said. "But they think it was me who did it."
"Your fingerprints are probably all over the bottle," I said.
"Of course! I give him his medicine every day. I pick it up from the pharmacy! But why would I pour out the medicine from his pills? I could just substitute different pills, he wouldn't know the difference."
"Someone else had to do it," Mom said. "The son was staying there wasn't he?"
"For three days only," Celia said with disappointment.
"But he could've gotten to the pills," I said.
Celia shook her head. "He might not have died after only three days."
"But maybe," I said.
"Maybe," Celia said sounding dejected.
"Then it's the daughter," I said. "The checkbook was open when I found the body, and they'd fought about it."
"It was there when I went upstairs. That's when Harold paid me," Mom said distracted by her thoughts. "I just don't think," Mom paused. "maybe it was her."
"Her fingerprints might be on the bottle," I added.
"If I were her," Mom said. "I would've poured out the pills, wiped the bottle, and just waited for Celia and Harold to fingerprint it up again."
I nodded. Mom was right.
Jennifer rushed into the kitchen. "Thank God, you're here and you're all right," she said to Celia. "You need to stay away from George?"
"Why?" Celia asked.
"Who's George?" Wenling chimed in.
Mom said, "You know, George. He's Harold's son."
"That George," Wenling said.
Jennifer nodded. "He's really upset about his father's death."
"Or he's just pretending," I said.
Jennifer shook her head no. "You know Barbara's niece, Ann works part-time at The Watering Hole, right?"
"That's no place for her," Wenling said.
Mom nodded her head in agreement. "It's shady."
The Watering Hole was a dive bar in Sylmar, which is the next town over.
Jennifer nodded and then continued her story. "Ann called home to Barbara to tell her if she saw Celia to watch out for George. She came in for the lunch special and told me just now. I didn't tell her you were here, so word doesn't get out."
Celia put her scarf back on, and glasses.
"But why would Celia have to watch out for George?" I asked.
"George was in the bar getting drunk and talking crazy. He said he'd kill Celia if he finds her. He even asked Ann where Celia lives!"
"This is a small town. Everybody knows where everybody lives," I said.
"He can't think I'm the killer!" Celia said. "No one really believes that."
Jennifer looked down. I could tell she must've heard people gossiping who did believe Celia did it. "Maybe you should leave town with your kids."
"The judge said not to leave town," Celia said. "But maybe my kids and husband should go to my mother-in-law's in Arizona."
"That's probably smart," I said.
"Jennifer, tell everyone Celia is off to Arizona with her family, and we'll hide her at our house," Mom said. "Leave your car here so no one will know, and we'll drop you off."
"Where are you guys going?" Celia asked.
"We're going to find out who really killed Harold Sanders," Mom said.
Celia smiled. She seemed to believe we would find the real killer.
I wasn't so confident.
For a moment I thought I might miss that darn cat, but after trying for a half an hour to wrestle him into the van, I was so over it. We headed back up the dreaded mountain to see Margaret, under the pretext of finding the owner for that menace of a tuxedo cat. My catering-van driving skills hadn't improved much, and rush-hour traffic didn't help. Okay, Fletcher Canyon didn't have the traffic problems most of Los Angeles did, but even the few extra cars we had on the road made me nervous. It's one thing to die in a fiery crash off the side of a mountain. It's a whole other thing to take innocent bystanders with you.
"Is that a siren?" I asked Mom as I checked my mirrors and wished, once again, for a rearview window. The noise grew louder.
Mom tilted her head for a listen. "I don't think so."
Panic set in. "There's no place to pull over on this road."
"There's a turnout over here," Mom said and pointed to a very small bit of dirt to the right of the road, next to a death-drop of an edge.
"That wasn't big enough for our van."
"It was the size of two parking spaces."
"It came up too fast."
The siren grew louder, and in my mind, it sounded angrier. I kept trying to see the cop behind us, but all I saw was empty road. He must be right on our tail.
"We're almost at the Sanders' house. Just pull onto their private road and stop," Mom said.
My heart raced. The police already had it in for Celia. Now they'll have it in for me. I pulled onto the private road and shut off the ignition, almost forgetting to engage the emergency brake. Mom and I traded a look. "Sorry," I said.
The siren kept blasting, which annoyed me, because we'd obviously pulled over. I opened the door with my hands up in surrender.
"You don't have to put your hands up," Mom said.
"I don't want them to shoot me for fleeing," I hissed at Mom. Or rather, I didn't hiss, something else did. And that's when I realized it wasn't a siren. It was that darn cat yowling in the back of the van.
Mom suppressed her laugh.
"That cat could've killed us," I said getting back into the van and heading up the road to go to Sanders' house.
"I'm going to miss her when we find her owner," Mom said.
"It's a him," I corrected but Mom didn't answer. She pointed to the open gate. Normally, we'd have to buzz to be let in, this time it was open. I shot Mom a worried look.
"Just drive in," Mom said.
I did what she said, but I didn't like the look of this.
The moment I parked the van, the yowling stopped, which took the edge off my worry.
"You get the cat. I'll ring the bell," Mom said.
"That cat hates me," I said.
Mom rolled her eyes. "I'll help you with him."
I paused before opening the back doors of the van, and prepared to use the door as a shield if the cat leapt out and attacked me. Mom rolled her eyes, scooted me out of the way, and opened the doors herself.
The cat yowled. Mom shushed him, and the little thing quieted. "Come on," Mom said to the cat, and the fur ball trotted to the edge of the van and leapt into Mom's arms. "Good cat," Mom said and patted it on the head.
I shook my head and closed the van doors.
We rang the doorbell. Margaret greeted us, but she was obviously expecting someone else.
"I thought you were my psychic," she said.
"Is that why the gate's unlocked?" Mom asked.
"Yes. I didn't want to risk missing her. I desperately need her advice."
"About what?" I asked.
Margaret gave me a shocked look. "The murder of course. I can't believe Celia would have killed my father. And I have to find out who did it before my drunken brother does something stupid."
Mom and I traded glances. "Do you think it's possible your brother did it?" Mom asked.
"I'd thought of that, but he's so upset, and he hasn't been here long enough," Margaret said. Her attention turned to the cat. "What a beautiful cat! Did you bring her in for an evaluation?"
"Yes," Mom said.
Margaret beamed. "Come inside."
"Is this the cat from the party?" Margaret asked.
"Yes," Mom said. "We really like him."
"His coat is very shiny. I'd advise keeping the dear as hydrated as possible so that her fur will look its best when she's preserved."
It took me a moment to realize that we were getting a taxidermy consultation.
"How much longer did the vet give her to live?" Margaret asked.
"It's hard to say. It depends on how well she responds to the medication," Mom answered.
Mom was always a fast thinker. Margaret nodded, but she looked a little disappointed at the idea that the cat might live. Heck, the thing was more of a kitten than a cat. I almost felt bad for the little thing--almost.
"There's an oil you can use that will keep her fur soft just in case," Margaret said hopefully. I found it interesting that an heiress to a multi-million dollar fortune was so interested in making a sale. "It also is good for preventing flees," she added.
"How much?" Mom asked.
Margaret smiled. "Only twenty dollars," she said.
"We'll take it," Mom said.
Margaret sprang from her seat to get the oil.
"She doesn't seem like a murderer," I said.
"No," Mom said. "If I'd killed my dad to fund a weird animal stuffing business, I wouldn't hire a psychic."
"Me neither," I said.
"Do you have twenty dollars?" Mom asked.
I reached into my purse for my last twenty. "I guess this means we own a cat now."
Margaret returned with the oil and gave us instructions on how to use it.
"Who do you think besides Celia could be a suspect?" Mom asked. I was surprised Mom came right out and asked.
"I have no idea. The only people with access to the pills would be Celia, George, and me. Unless Dad committed suicide, but I doubt that."
Mom nodded. "Me, too."
Even though I knew Mom and Margaret were right, I wished they weren't. Because Celia looked pretty guilty right now.