CHAPTER
nineteen 
BEFORE THE ULTIMATE Date Night, a more pressing event loomed on the calendar. We needed to create a memorial event pronto for Helen. If not only for etiquette’s sake, we needed to make sure to fit it in before Scott Reed had to leave the country.
My sister must have been on the same wavelength because she called me at Hollywoof the next morning while I was busy selecting a much-needed new film to show on the flat-screen television. (Nicola had been about ready to smash in the TV with one of the portable blow dryers.)
Alice said, “Okay. I’ve arranged a place for the memorial.”
I stopped riffling through my selection of classic doggie movies. “Really? That was quick. How much did it cost?”
Alice hemmed. “It’s free. Amy insisted on using her own home but didn’t want young children running around at such a serious event and nixed any students. I didn’t have the heart to tell her no.”
Of course my sister had caved in. She had a hard time setting boundaries. A classic people-pleaser personality.
I sighed. “Give me the details.”
“Can you call Mr. Reed and have him okay the date and time?”
“Yep,” I said, rummaging through my purse to find his business card.
So what if Alice was a pushover? I softened my tone and said, “Thanks for making this happen. I’m sure Helen would’ve appreciated your efforts.”
Alice made a tuneless hum down the line. She’d never been good at accepting compliments. “Text me once you confirm things with him.”
We hung up, and after locating his phone number, I touched base with Scott. His schedule was clear, and he’d be able to make it on the tentatively planned date. Afterward, I texted my sister a thumbs-up emoji.
I should get started on inviting the two people on the guest list I was in charge of. Well, there was no better time than the present. Besides, I was due for a lunch break anyway.
As I got ready to leave, Marshmallow’s head swiveled in my direction. “Where are you off to, missy?”
I turned to Nicola and said, “I’m headed to the beach. See you after lunch.”
“Enjoy the sunshine,” she said.
Marshmallow sidled up to my side and unleashed his kitty pouting power.
“Fine,” I said, relenting. I asked Nicola to keep an eye on Nimbus and then my cat and I made our way to All Tide Up.
When I got to the surf shop, Brandon was already out on his lunch break. The staff suggested I check out the nearby pier to find him since he usually took his lunch break there. Apparently, he liked having a view of the glistening waves. Thank goodness nobody enforced the no-pets policy on the boardwalk.
Despite it being the middle of the week, I found a large number of people dawdling on the pier. A number of them were sunscreen-whitened tourists wearing T-shirts advertising L.A. landmarks.
Benches were positioned all across the boardwalk so people could rest. I pinpointed Brandon at one of them. He sat facing the ocean, but instead of looking at the seascape, he seemed focused on the phone in his hand.
“Sucked into screen time,” Marshmallow said.
I shrugged. “That’s a common enough sight.”
“Wonder if he’ll notice if I do this . . .” Marshmallow crept to the side of the bench, in the peripheral view of Brandon. My cat did a fancy dance move, complete with swaying paws and bobbing head.
Brandon’s eyes stayed glued to his phone.
“Huh,” Marshmallow said. “Well, if he’s not going to eat that fish taco, I think I’ll help myself.”
I saw the meal lying on a napkin next to Brandon. Marshmallow jumped onto the bench, but before he could place one paw on the lunch, I lunged forward.
Brandon startled and pressed the power button on his phone. He looked up at me in confusion before recognition dawned on his face. “Uh, Minnie, right?”
“It’s Mimi, actually. I was just looking for you, but I guess my cat found you first.”
Marshmallow twitched his whiskers. “Natural feline instinct. We cats know how to hunt down rats.”
I choked a little.
“You okay?” Brandon’s gaze shifted to the nearest lifeguard tower.
“I’m fine. Dry throat,” I said. “I went by All Tide Up first and asked for you, and they said I might find you here.”
Brandon nodded and scooted over. “Have a seat.” He’d pocketed his phone by that time and reclaimed his taco.
I sat down on the sand-colored concrete bench and wrung my hands. “It’s about Helen. There’s going to be a memorial service for her.”
He hung his head and murmured, “A shame I’m too busy to attend.”
I furrowed my brow. “But I didn’t even tell you the date and time yet.”
He stared out at the distant water. “I really hate grieving in public. Especially in a large crowd.”
“It’s nothing formal and will be held at a fellow teacher’s home.” I told him the details.
“Still, I don’t know . . .”
I again remembered the Kübler-Ross model of grief. Could he be in the denial stage? If so, going to a memorial might actually provide him a sense of closure. “It’ll be a very small gathering, I swear. Her roommate, a few others from school, and her father.”
He cocked his head at me. “Scott Reed will be there?”
“Yes. He’s already confirmed.”
Brandon rubbed the stubble on his chin. “I’ve wanted to meet him face-to-face for a long time. Count me in.”
“Great.” I pulled a paper from my purse where I’d written down the service details and passed it to him. “See you then.”
Marshmallow still eyed the fish taco with longing, so I scooped him up. Inclining my head at Brandon’s lunch, I asked, “Where’d you get that delicious food by the way?”
He pointed out the restaurant, located quite close to the pier.
As we walked over to grab a quick bite, Marshmallow said, “As well you should reward me, I got some great intel.”
“On tacos?”
“No. I understand why Brandon’s so keen to go to the memorial service because of Scott Reed.”
“To meet Helen’s father to pay his respects?”
“Please.” Marshmallow stared me down. “I saw what Brandon was looking at on his phone when I jumped onto the bench—a hostile e-mail from Scott Reed.”
“Are you sure?” I paused in front of the taco shop.
“No doubt about it. I got a look at part of the message. It said, ‘Don’t think you can get away with . . .’”
Uh-oh. That didn’t sound good. “What do you think that means, Marshmallow?”
But my cat had already shifted his attention to the fish taco shop. He smacked his lips. “On to more important matters. You know, we can’t think well without some brain food.”
My stomach rumbled in agreement.