CHAPTER
eighteen 
THE DAY OF the international goods bazaar arrived accompanied by gray clouds and drizzle. Of course, I showed up to the hotel late. Driving in L.A. in any type of “rainy” weather added a spectacular amount of delay.
I hurried inside Angelic Suites. A large sign directed me down a narrow hall to the Grandiose Ballroom. The open doors led to an average-size room with dimensions not commensurate with its name. Indeed, it looked like it’d been an exercise room in its previous incarnation. One side of it even had a mirrored wall.
The ballroom could still, though, hold a large number of vendors. It looked like a local farmers’ market stuffed inside a room. I passed by a table of carved jade figurines, a huge rack of sombreros, and a desk piled high with wooden clogs. It was like a global crafts tour.
Before I ended up at Scott Reed’s station near the back of the room, I got distracted by an amazing display of pet toys. They came in different shapes and sizes: a striped tiger, a mini elephant, and even a sushi roll.
I picked up a stuffed toy that looked like a giant marshmallow. “Ooh, what beautiful material. Soft but hearty.”
The vendor, a man with an oblong head, grinned at me. “It’s a combination of peat fibers and softened hemp made by artisans from Eastern Europe.”
“Can they withstand cat claws?”
“And dog bites,” he said.
“Can you put this on hold for me? I want to check out some fabric over there first—” I pointed to the booth inhabited by Helen’s father.
The vendor nodded. “Scott. I see him here every year.”
I turned to the seller. “You’ve worked with him before? What’s your impression?”
He shrugged. “Keeps to himself. I’ve heard he made a lot of international investments and owns a few manufacturing businesses overseas.”
I thanked the pet toy vendor and moved toward Mr. Reed’s table, where spools of fabric in a myriad of shades were spread across his table. Brilliant colors and soft pastels intermingled at the booth. The variety of hues on display reminded me of the dizzying array of paint swatches at the local hardware store. I caught a whiff of something musty as I approached the table and hoped the materials hadn’t gotten soaked from the rain.
Helen’s father extended his hand. He looked quite different from the yelling figure I held in my memory from the school function. Instead, he seemed very respectable in his expensive-looking charcoal suit with a white silk cravat.
His head of gray hair gave him a certain gravitas. He had shamrock green eyes set in a craggy face, and I imagined he might’ve been a looker in his younger years.
I stepped up and shook his hand. “My name’s Mimi Lee.”
“Well, you came to just the right spot, Mimi. I carry the finest in silks and other high-quality fabrics from around the world.”
I reached for a turquoise material near me. What with the rich color, it almost felt like touching a flowing stream made of fabric. “That’s amazing. It’s surreally soft.”
He grinned. “I guarantee that you won’t find a better deal on these one-of-a-kind cloths . . . or my name isn’t Scott Reed. And if you don’t want to make your own creations from the fabric, we also sell scarves, bandannas, and wraps.”
I touched a lavender scarf that called to me with its vibrant hue.
“That purple would be a great color on you. Really bring out your lovely eyes. And you can call me Scott.”
An old warning from Ma rang in my head, and I frowned at Helen’s father. Ma had told me about men with “flower mouths”—silver-tongued and too eager to flatter.
I removed my hand from the beautiful scarf and focused on my mission. “I’ve seen you before, Mr. Reed, at Roosevelt Elementary.”
A flicker of wariness crossed his face, but he smoothed it away. “When was this?”
“At the Family and Friends Day. You were conversing with Principal Lewis in a rather, um, animated manner.”
He gave a gentle chuckle. “Understandable, I hope. I’d just learned about my daughter’s death and flew straight to the school after a long series of layovers.”
I looked down at my feet. “I’m really sorry about what happened to Helen.”
“Yes, it was all so sudden”—his voice caught, and he cleared his throat.
Despite the estrangement between father and daughter, maybe he had really cared about Helen deep inside. “My sister is a teacher at the school . . . and we were wondering if you’d arranged the funeral yet.”
“There will be a private cremation,” he said. “I’m planning on keeping the urn in my vacation home in Napa Valley.”
“Oh.” I tugged at my ear. “Well, what about a memorial service?”
“A nice idea, but . . .” His face clouded. “I’m afraid I don’t know any of her friends here. Where would I even start?”
How sad to have missed out on the experience of knowing his daughter’s community. But maybe in her death, there could be a chance for connection. Without thinking, I blurted out, “I could help set it up.”
He startled. “You’d do that?”
“I would need your contact info—oh, here’s your business card.” I snatched one up from the pile on the table and tucked it into my purse while backing away. “I’ll be sure to reach out with some ideas. Take care.”
As I left his booth, my heart ached for the mourning father. How many times had my father said, “Family is number one”? Or as Ma put it in her Manglish, “Family is satu.”
When I asked Alice to stop by my place, she readily agreed. “I’d love to,” she’d said. “I’ve already gone to school to make sure everything is in place when I return, but I’m still anxious. A visit will help get my mind off things.”
Then my apartment would be a good distraction for her. I did have two very cuddly cats. Although right now, they seemed entranced by the new toys I’d brought back from the crafts bazaar and didn’t pay me any attention. (I couldn’t help but get Nimbus her own soft toy, a cloud that I’d also spotted at the booth.)
The bell rang, and when I opened the door, Alice gave me a tight smile. She peeked over her shoulder.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“My nerves are acting up,” she said with a slight shiver. “Ever since I stopped by school, I’ve felt like I’m being watched. Maybe it’s just my imagination running wild because the principal and other teachers might be looking at me with suspicion when I return.”
Or perhaps it wasn’t in her head. Could she be in danger? Then another more positive interpretation occurred to me. Maybe Detective Brown had acted on his promise and sent a cop to patrol the neighborhood to keep the school safe.
“Come inside,” I said, pulling my sister into a hug. “And leave your worries out there.”
Both cats came over at the sight of Alice inside the apartment. They started rubbing their bodies against her legs, and my sister smiled. “What a warm welcome.”
“A minute ago,” I said, pointing to the new toys, “they didn’t even know I existed.”
Marshmallow cocked his head at me. “Jealous much?”
I shrugged. Better that they lavish their attention on my sister, who really needed it. “I’ll make you some tea,” I told her. “Microwaved okay?” Ma usually did the whole nine yards when brewing: using real tea leaves, boiling the water in a kettle, throwing the initial practice batch out, and then making a whole new pot. I nuked my water and dropped a tea bag into a mug.
“I’m okay with instant tea,” my sister said.
Cradling two mugs of hot Iron Goddess Oolong in our hands, we sat next to each other on the couch in the living room and chatted. The cats lolled beneath our feet and got rewarded with occasional pats.
As we sipped our tea, I filled Alice in on my conversation with Helen’s grieving father and summarized the interaction by saying, “So I offered to help him set up the memorial service.”
Alice almost sloshed her tea out of the mug. “You did?”
I gave her a quick grin. “With your help, of course. I bet you know all of Helen’s close contacts.”
“I don’t think she had very many friends,” Alice said. “Just school colleagues, her roommate, and her boyfriend.”
“Then it’ll be easy. I can talk to the people outside of school, and you handle the rest.” I turned the warm mug in my hands. “We just need a last-minute venue.”
“I’ll check with the other teachers. They might have some good referrals.”
“Thanks, Alice. You’re the best.”
Marshmallow purred in agreement but tilted his head at me. “You’re not half bad yourself, Mimi.”
I gave him an ear rub before turning to my sister. “Everyone knows you’re the queen of event planning. Must be all those transferable organization skills from being a teacher.”
She blew out a breath. “Maybe not. I’ve been having trouble calling Dad’s buddy to check on their golfing schedule. My number must show on his caller ID, but he just won’t pick up.”
I drained the last dregs of tea. “Maybe I can call Walt. In fact, I’ll do it right this minute.”
“Good luck,” she said.
I swapped my empty mug for my phone and asked Alice for his digits. While my sister stayed cordial from time to time with Dad’s cronies, I’d never talked to Walt on the phone before.
I wondered if he’d even answer after seeing the strange number pop up. The line rang several times, and I had almost given up when a woman with a sharp voice said, “Who’s this?”
“Oh, hello.” I stumbled over my words.
“Don’t call here.” She hung up.
“Oops.” I glanced at my sister. “I think his wife thought I was a telemarketer.”
We’d have to get moving on the arrangements, though. The days until Ma and Dad’s anniversary were ticking away.