CHAPTER
nine 
I SHOWED UP AT the police station unannounced. I’d been there before, so I made my way over to the battered desk that belonged to Detective Brown. Like on my last visit, I wondered why the station wasn’t dealing with any exciting arrests, complete with yelling and fistfights.
However, I did notice a flurry of activity around the detective’s desk. A dozen officers gathered there and let out oohs and aahs. I stood outside their circle and soon spied the reason for their adoration: Nimbus.
Like a storybook kitten, she’d gotten herself tangled up in a ball of purple yarn. She lay caught inside the soft cage near a seated Detective Brown. The more the cat tried to bat at the yarn, the more she wound the strands around herself. She gave a plaintive meow.
Detective Brown peeked over and grunted at her antics, but stood up. I noticed how he extracted Nimbus from the yarn web with tenderness. Looked like the cat wasn’t the only one ensnared.
I tried to make my way toward his chair, but with my petite five-foot frame I couldn’t barge through the group. “Excuse me, Detective Brown?”
At the sound of my voice, the detective asked his colleagues to give him some privacy to speak to me. They trickled away.
Detective Brown wound up the ball of yarn before he paid attention to me. “Miss Lee,” he then said, “have a seat.”
The chair squeaked when I pulled it out and sat down. “You’ve got your hands full with that one, Detective.” I gave a pointed look at Nimbus.
He let out a hint of a smile. “That kitten sure is one furry troublemaker.”
“Nimbus gathered quite a crowd.”
“Oh, the entire station loves her. They practically want to make her our mascot.”
I beckoned to the cat. “Come here, Nimbus.”
She came to me, letting out a long purr.
“Traitor,” Detective Brown said, shaking his head at the kitten. “After I fed you all those tuna flakes.”
“Did you end up taking her to the vet for a checkup?” I asked while stroking Nimbus.
“Yes.” He swiped some gray fur off his lap. “A clean bill of health. No diseases.”
The words sprang out of my mouth. “Told you so.”
He shrugged. “Needed to dot all the i’s.”
“Great. Now I can take Nimbus back.” I took a deep breath and said, “Also, did you realize the janitor was on campus at the time of Helen Reed’s death?”
“Yes.” Detective Brown took out a worn notepad. “But how did you find out?”
“I remembered that the flags weren’t taken down yet when I met up with my sister—I’m pretty sure he does that every evening after school. I also know that he wasn’t around when the ambulance showed up. Doesn’t that seem suspicious?”
The detective flipped through his notepad. “We got his statement. He was in the bungalows mopping and didn’t hear a thing.”
Really? Detective Brown had let the man off easy. Where was that kind of leniency when I was under suspicion? “What about the broken glass in Helen’s classroom?”
Detective Brown took out a pen and tapped it against his coffee-ringed desk. “We noticed that as well. From a table lamp.”
“How much glass was there? Maybe Helen cut herself and got an infection.”
“Only a single bulb.” Detective Brown closed his notepad. “She couldn’t have sustained severe injuries from that. Or gotten sepsis that quickly.”
He didn’t say it, but I knew that meant he still had his sights on Alice as a suspect. Oh, why had my sister hung around Helen in the first place? But I knew she had a heart for the lonely. Hadn’t Alice told me herself that her fellow teacher had been aloof and distant with people?
Hmm, maybe nobody had been involved with Helen’s death. I hated to think about it, but it was something to seriously consider. “Detective Brown,” I said, “you’ve worked at the homicide division a long time. Do you think maybe you’ve ruled out a very plausible alternate reason from force of habit?”
He rolled the pen back and forth between his palms. “And what would that be, Miss Lee?”
“An emotionally detached young woman is found dead in a parking lot. She’d been suffering from a stomachache. Couldn’t she have taken something deadly?”
Detective Brown dropped the pen on his desk with a clatter, and it rolled onto the floor.
“Maybe she decided to end it all,” I said.
“That scenario doesn’t feel right to me.”
My cheeks heated up. “You’re suspecting murder based on intuition?”
He clenched his jaw. “I’m going to wait for the autopsy report before I make my final verdict. But, Miss Lee, I didn’t find a note.”
I gave him a blank stare.
“A suicide note.”
“Maybe you just haven’t located it yet.”
A vein started throbbing in his forehead, and I excused myself. I’d better get going. Besides, his mention of a note reminded me of something else.
The message to the principal from Helen Reed. It hadn’t looked like a suicide note but had involved some legalese with letters and numbers. Maybe a critical turn of phrase. And I knew someone reliable who could translate that for me.
Marshmallow followed me as I strolled over to Josh’s apartment, holding a grocery bag in one hand and cradling Nimbus with my other arm.
At his unit, I said, “Marshmallow, a little help, please.”
My cat scratched on the bottom part of the door with his sharp claws.
Josh opened the door with a wide grin on his face. “At last, I’ve been looking forward to some quality time with you . . . Marshmallow.”
Marshmallow preened while I snorted at Josh’s joke.
Josh took the groceries from me but did a double-take at the gray fur in my arms. “Did you get another cat?”
“Just temporarily. Until I find the right owner for her.” I placed the kitten down inside the apartment. “Her name is Nimbus.”
Josh peeked into the grocery bag. “Are you cooking for me?” His dark brown eyes shone.
“In a manner of speaking. You know, I’m more of a microwave gal, but I’ll feed you. Besides, cold food is a tradition with us, right?” The first time Josh had made me dinner, he’d served me spam musubi and poke.
As I walked farther into his apartment, I noticed Nimbus scampering toward Josh’s distinctive dining table.
Fsh. A sound like the wind rushed in my ears. I turned back to the open door, but the outside showed me a balmy evening.
“Are you cold?” Josh rushed to close the door. Then he wrapped a comforting warm arm around my shoulder.
I leaned against him.
Fsh. My eyes widened as I finally registered the noise as coming from near Nimbus. Right where she stood admiring Josh’s table carved into the shape of a—
“Fish,” I said, pointing.
“Right,” Josh said. “It’s the humuhumunukunukuapua`a, remember? Hawaii’s state fish.” His parents had bought the special table for him to remind Josh of his roots.
“You seem warm enough now,” Josh said. He moved his arm away and headed toward the kitchen with the grocery bag.
While Josh had his back turned to us, I tapped Marshmallow on his head. I pointed to Nimbus and made a sock puppet talking motion with my hand.
Marshmallow blinked at me. “You heard Nimbus speak?”
A little. I held my index finger and thumb a centimeter apart.
Marshmallow cocked his head at Nimbus. “Must be the fancy transmitter with its high frequency. As an animal lover, you might pick up an echo. Besides, Josh didn’t hear anything. Speaking of—”
Josh cleared his throat, and I turned around to see him looking at us through the cut-out window of the kitchen. “Everything okay with Marshmallow?”
“He’s fine.”
“You seemed to be staring at him for a long time.”
“He had a piece of lint stuck in his fur.”
I pinched away an invisible speck from his body.
Marshmallow bristled. “What? I’m immaculate. Josh won’t believe you.”
“Glad he’s now up to your professional standards,” Josh said, unloading the groceries. He placed a loaf of bread, a metal can, and various produce on his kitchen counter. “Need a helping hand?”
“That would defeat the purpose of my cooking for you,” I said, my hands on my hips in mock anger.
Josh didn’t listen. Instead, when I went into the kitchen, he remained there. I began prepping the ingredients.
Finally, realizing he wouldn’t leave, I kept him busy toasting slices of bread. Plus, those would make up half the meal: kaya toast.
When the food in my own pantry got scarce, I usually opted for a quick peanut butter and banana sandwich. Sometimes, though, I craved a more tropical taste.
I fiddled with the can of kaya on Josh’s countertop.
“What is that?” he asked. Admittedly, the tin looked like it held tuna more than anything else.
“It’s kaya. From the Malay word meaning ‘rich.’”
Once I peeled back the cover, Josh inhaled the scent. “Smells like coconut.”
“It’s sort of like jam.” Kaya, made from creamy coconut milk, tasted heart-wrenchingly sweet and brought back childhood memories of Ma spreading thick layers of it on my toast for breakfast.
While we waited for the toaster to heat the bread, I pulled out the salad fixings. I’d bought pineapple, jicama, bean sprouts, and deep-fried tofu.
“Where’s the lettuce?” Josh asked.
I shrugged. “It’s not a green salad. More like a fruit and vegetable mix.”
“Let’s make it together.”
Using two cutting boards, Josh and I sliced and chopped in a happy rhythm. Despite not wanting his help in the first place, I liked standing side by side focused on the same task. And when we mixed our ingredients together, it felt like we’d been united by food.
Josh smiled at the bright colors greeting us from the bowl: brilliant yellow, earthy brown, and snow-white. “Perfect.”
“Not yet,” I said, reaching for a nearby jar. I dumped in a few tablespoons of belacan shrimp paste, stirred it in, and sprinkled crushed peanuts on top of the salad. “Voilà.”
We sat down next to each other to enjoy our humble dinner. Josh seemed less than enamored with the fruit rojak, though. I guess the sweet, sour, and spicy salad required a certain palate.
As I watched Josh down a glass of water to get rid of the belacan taste, I figured I might as well distract him with a question. “Can you translate some legalese for me?” I struggled to remember the exact code. “CF . . . A? Um, something about a Title 29.”
He scrunched his eyebrows. “Don’t know those terms offhand, and I’m not going to ruin our date by looking right now. But maybe I can check my reference books when I get back to the office.”
“Thanks. Let me know what you find out.”
Josh picked at his salad. “Where’d you hear that phrase anyway?”
“At Roosevelt Elementary. I went there to ask a few questions.”
“Uh-oh. This sounds familiar.” Josh had already gone through one investigation with me. (We’d even pretended to be mock renters together on the case to narrow down the culprit.)
At his piercing look, I sighed. “Might as well tell you.” I described the recent chat I’d had with Detective Brown.
Josh frowned at the cop’s dogged pursuit of Alice. I bet he remembered swooping in on his legal wings to stop the detective from questioning me before.
Josh placed his plate of uneaten rojak to the side and bit into the kaya toast. “Super sweet,” he said, before hurrying to refill his empty water glass.
When he returned, I heard his stomach grumbling. He’d be too polite to complain, so I made a snap decision. Pulling out my phone, I dialed and ordered a pizza for the poor guy.
He gave me a grateful grin and said, “Well, I admit that was definitely a culinary experience.”
With a soft chuckle, I said, “I try to keep our dates interesting.”
“Everything’s an adventure with you.” He touched my face with his gentle fingers. “Just stay safe while doing it.”
I knew he was referring to my snooping. “Don’t worry. I’ve got my bodyguard, Marshmallow here.” I jerked my thumb at my cat, who lounged on the floor nearby.
Marshmallow blinked at me. “You should be protecting moi. As a talking cat, I’m extremely valuable. One in a million, or rather a gazillion.”
I glanced at Nimbus, resting underneath the table.
He followed my gaze. “That kitty? She’s still in training.”
Josh and I said goodbye, and I lingered in his embrace for a few precious moments. Then I headed out the door with the cats in tow.
While crossing the empty courtyard, I thought back to Marshmallow’s joke. “What you said back there is actually true. You’re both valuable cats. So how come Nimbus didn’t have some type of tracker? Especially since you’d already succeeded in your great escape from the same fellow.”
“You give humans more credit than they deserve,” Marshmallow said. “Right, Nimbus?”
He proceeded to let Nimbus in on the conversation. The kitten stopped short before the threshold of my apartment and gave a plaintive cry.
Marshmallow’s jaw dropped.
“What is it?” I asked, looking back and forth between the two cats.
In the dim evening light, Marshmallow turned his glowing eyes toward me. “Nimbus did have a tracker. On a break-away collar. She got it off by rubbing her neck against some bushes near the school.”
Nimbus started shivering.
I scooped her up. “Then it might only be a matter of time before Edgar finds her.” Rushing them indoors, I made sure to lock up tight. The deadbolt slid closed with a satisfying solid thunk.