CHAPTER

twenty-three

ALICE AND I met up at a cat café called Just for Licks. It was located in Century City, near various production studios. I’d often wanted to make the drive there to watch a live show taping.

Instead, I’d finally made it so I could check out the opening of a new cat café. The painted sign outside showed two calico cats playing tug of war with a giant ball of yarn.

“Cute,” I said to Marshmallow as I walked in with Nimbus in my arms.

“Kitschy,” Marshmallow said, following me in with plodding steps.

The spacious lobby boasted a feline theme with mock famous artwork on the wall, including a cats-playing-poker print. A tiger-striped carpet blanketed the ground beneath our feet.

Marshmallow froze. “Did they really think a rug made to resemble a skinned cat was a good idea?”

“Be happy you didn’t have to stay inside my purse this time.” We’d done some sleuthing in secret before, when I’d had to sneak him into some pet-unfriendly places.

We walked over to a fenced area where I saw people mingling with a number of rescue cats up for adoption. Folks looking for a furry companion could pay an admission fee to play with the kittens—and hopefully adopt one. I saw a tall man clucking his tongue and dangling a stuffed mouse toy and cooing to a nearby kitty.

Marshmallow murmured, “And who said humans couldn’t be trained?”

“Mimi, over here.” I heard my sister calling me from the other side of the lobby.

We went to the far end of the lobby to the café side. Alice held the gate open for us to enter the space. Tables took up a third of the room, but the rest of the space was designated as a deluxe kitty playground. Owners got to sit down and eat at metal mesh tables while their pet cats had the chance to explore a wonderland of ladders, tunnels, and even a spiral staircase.

In fact, Nimbus jumped out of my arms and scampered up a ladder to reach a ledge that ran the perimeter of the ceiling. Marshmallow blinked at the cat-opia and said, “I’m a cat, not a rat to put in a maze.”

He chose instead to greet Alice with a gentle head butt. She crouched down and opened her arms to him, and he jumped into them.

We made our way to an empty table and sat down. Then Alice proceeded to pamper Marshmallow. He welcomed the petting fest.

“This is the life,” he said. “Can you also scratch an itch I have? A little more to the right . . . ahh.”

I slipped the menu out of the plastic holder on the table.

“I’m going to order the vanilla cat-puccino,” Alice said.

My tummy growled. I’d need something more substantial than coffee to tide me over. “I’m digging the Hello Kitty hotcakes.”

We called one of the waitstaff over and placed our orders.

I watched Nimbus scale up a brick wall for a few moments before turning my attention to Alice. “I need to ask you a delicate question.”

“Um, may I be excused?” Marshmallow said, but Alice had a tight grip on him.

My sister held my gaze. “You know we don’t have any secrets between us.”

I took a deep breath, held it briefly, and exhaled. “It’s about Principal Lewis. He confided in Josh at the memorial service. Have you ever seen him do anything, er, unprofessional?”

Ma had given her own version of the birds and the bees—the cranes and crickets—to a teenaged me. The talk had been shrouded in so many allusions that I hadn’t understood a thing. And Dad had failed to enlighten me at all; he’d stammered and turned beet red every time he’d tried. In the end, he’d abdicated all responsibility to Ma.

But Alice still caught my drift. She looked appalled. “What? No,” she said.

I kept pushing the issue. “Has he ever been too touchy, particularly with Helen?”

My sister blanched. “Why would you ask that?”

I lowered my voice. “This is confidential, but Helen might have started a harassment case against the principal because of his, uh, huggy ways.”

Alice frowned. “I haven’t heard any complaints. Probably because he’s like that with everyone. He seems to view us staff like his surrogate grandkids.”

“Oh, okay.” I averted my gaze and glanced in Marshmallow’s direction, where I noticed him dozing off.

Thankfully, the staff appeared with our order, so we could avoid an awkward silence. Alice busied herself sipping her coffee, and I devoured my Hello Kitty–shaped pancakes. The plate even came with two eggs sunny-side up.

I changed topics. “How was the memorial service for you? Did you get a chance to process?”

“Kind of. Thanks for being there with me.”

“Of course, I’m your jiejie,” I said.

“I’m glad I got to celebrate her life.” She paused. “Hope I wasn’t making a big scene by bawling my eyes out.”

I nodded. “Nope, and your mascara didn’t even run.”

“Well, Jessie lightened the mood by showing off her dress.” Alice adopted a royal British accent. “You know, she was crowned prom queen.”

I stopped short of rolling my eyes. “I may have heard that once or twice before, but she seems like someone who would enjoy being in the limelight.”

My sister shook her head with emphasis. “Oh no, you’re wrong about that. Jessie wasn’t supposed to be crowned queen—it just happened. She told us all about it.”

I’d read the blog post, but maybe Alice knew more of the story. I leaned in. “Do tell.”

Alice fiddled with her coffee mug. “Jessie’s classmate got sick that night—a bout of food poisoning, so Jessie got boosted from runner-up to queen at the last minute. She helped keep the festivities going.”

Food poisoning? I pushed my eggs with their oozing yolks to the side. No salmonella for me, thank you very much. They reminded me of something I’d heard from Amy . . .

I dropped my fork with a clatter, and Marshmallow groused at me. “Just when I was getting some good shut-eye,” he said.

“Forgot I needed to make a phone call,” I said as I excused myself from the table.

Marshmallow’s ears pricked up. “Is that code for contacting the fuzz?”

I gave him a head bob before I moved back to the lobby. Scrolling through my contacts, I dialed Detective Brown’s direct line.

By the gate overlooking the eating area, I watched my sister petting Marshmallow without a care in the world.

The cop answered in his gruff way. “Brown here.”

“Detective,” I said. “It’s Mimi Lee, and I’ve got a lead for you.”

He groaned. “Do I have to remind you what happened the last time when you didn’t leave things to the professionals?”

The killer had confronted me at Hollywoof, but I’d prevailed in the end and managed to clear my name. I puffed out my chest. “I’ve got an excellent theory. Helen Reed complained about a stomachache, right? Well, it turns out that Jessie undercooks everything.”

Detective Brown remained silent. As I waited for his reaction to my brilliant revelation, I snuck a glance at Nimbus. She had stopped in front of a mirror.

“Tell me you’ve got more than that, Miss Lee.”

“Of course I do. Jessie has a history of sketchy behavior. She got her high school rival out of the way to become prom queen. And she’s had her eye on that Teacher of the Year Award at Roosevelt Elementary. She’d been competing—against Helen.” I saw Nimbus cock her head at the “other” cat in the mirror.

I continued, “Helen ate some of Jessie’s poorly baked cookies that day—”

“Irrelevant,” he said.

Nimbus arched her back and bristled at the cat in the mirror. I felt like acting in the same manner with Detective Brown.

“Just hear me out—”

“No. The victim’s cause of death wasn’t due to her stomach contents. Those all checked out.”

“Oh.” My theory had been like Nimbus’s reflection: an illusion. “What happened then?”

“She may have felt nauseated, but . . . All I can say is it wasn’t food poisoning.”

I gazed over at Alice, who was rubbing Marshmallow’s ears. “So my sister is totally in the clear?” I held my breath for his response.

“Not quite. Anyone at the school that day with access to the substance could have poisoned Helen Reed. This investigation is still ongoing.”

I stammered. “I don’t understand, Detective.”

“Miss Lee, the fact remains that your sister was still the last person to see Helen Reed alive.”

This wasn’t the way I had wanted the conversation to go. I ended the call feeling less sure of everything.