CHAPTER
thirty-two 
SINCE I HAD left Hollywoof early because of the skunk situation, I managed to snag a meeting at four thirty with Helen’s father at his hotel. We’d agreed to meet in the poolside area.
When I arrived, I realized that Scott didn’t have a casual dress mode. He sat at one of those glass tables shaded with a giant umbrella and wore dark sunglasses, but he had still suited up. He wore dark formal business attire and was probably roasting in the bright sun. At least he’d left his scarf in his hotel room.
As he saw me approach, Scott pulled out the patio chair for me. When he wasn’t railing at Principal Lewis, he could be a gentleman.
“Thank you, Mr. Reed.” I sat down on the striped cushion seat and faced him. “I wanted to take time to say goodbye before you left—”
“Actually, looks like I’ll need to prolong my stay in the States.” He steepled his hands on the frosted glass tabletop.
“For pleasure?” He didn’t look like a Mickey man, but maybe even he couldn’t pass up time in The Happiest Place on Earth. Disneyland was a hop, skip, and a jump away after all.
“I wouldn’t call contesting a will ‘fun,’” he said, cracking his knuckles.
“I’m sorry to hear that. But why would there be a legal issue? Aren’t you Helen’s only relative?”
“Yes,” he said, “but my daughter wanted to hand over her assets to a complete stranger.”
Could it be—“Brandon?” The couple had been engaged so it’d be a natural wish on Helen’s part.
“That surfer bum?” He banged his fist on the table. “He didn’t deserve a speck of Helen’s affections.”
I chose my words with care. “Their relationship did seem . . . interesting.”
He snatched off his sunglasses and stared me in the face. “What do you mean?”
“Oh.” I waved my hand airily. “Just up and down at times. They got engaged, but she put the ring away. Stuff like that.” But I wasn’t about to mention Brandon’s theory that Scott himself had caused the emotional roller coaster.
Scott tapped the sunglasses against the palm of his hand. “Maybe she did see through him. Atta girl.”
“You really don’t like Brandon, do you?”
He glanced around the empty pool area. “Let me show you one of his e-mails.” Taking out his phone, he swiped at it a few times before showing the message to me:
Scott:
I plan on proposing to Helen at this epic restaurant called Perch. Don’t you think my little surfer girl deserves the best? A few thousand to my account will do. Help a future son-in-law out.
After his signature, Brandon had added a postscript with his bank account routing information. Perch, huh? The French-style rooftop bistro in downtown L.A. boasted a breathtaking view of the skyline. It was definitely a great spot to propose.
“Did you give him the money?” I asked.
“Absolutely not. If he wanted to court Helen, he should impress her with his own resources.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Why she didn’t pick someone more qualified is beyond me.”
I wondered if “qualified” equaled “moneyed” in Scott’s eyes. “I heard that Helen went to a stellar school,” I said.
“You bet she did—all on my dime. Sure, I was busy at the time with work and travel. I didn’t have it in me to be a great single dad—her mother died giving birth to her—but I made sure to provide her with the best education. My girl grew up surrounded by high-class families from the Los Angeles area: the Perezes, the Chius, and the St. Jameses.”
A list of prominent local families. I employed the parroting technique I’d been taught in college to show him empathy. I said, “Sounds like you tried to give her a top-notch education surrounded by high-class peers.”
“That’s right, but little good that did. She still ended up with greedy quote-unquote friends. And pursued teaching, of all things.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“You know what they say. ‘Those who can’t do, teach.’” He slipped on his sunglasses. “I’m a doer myself.”
“Well, it’s too bad you have to extend your stay and change your original plans,” I said. “But at least you can enjoy the good weather out here.”
After I’d said goodbye, he leaned back in his patio chair, but his shoulders remained stiff. He didn’t seem like one who would be into R&R. And neither was I—not when I had my sister’s reputation on the line.
I knew who to turn to for legal advice, so I asked Josh to meet up for dinner. Even though he had to work late, he agreed that he could take a quick break with me.
It took me about an hour to drive there, which didn’t include securing metered parking. At Josh’s workplace, I waited for him in the freezing lobby of his office building. He worked in a staid brick complex, a far cry from the glass and chrome skyscrapers of the neighboring edifices.
I rubbed my arms and sat down in the nook near the staircase. The Charlie Chaplin statue on the bench revived a fond memory of my chatting with Josh in this very spot while we were defining our relationship. I patted the top of Chaplin’s hat with fondness.
Soon, I saw Josh’s sleek frame coming down the staircase with hurried steps. Aw, he didn’t want to keep me waiting.
His brow furrowed as he searched for me in the open lobby.
“Over here, handsome,” I said from the bench.
His brown eyes glittered when he spotted me. “Mimi. I could get spoiled by these spontaneous meet-ups.”
He offered his arm to me, and I looped mine around his. I seemed to float out of the building.
We walked a few blocks before reaching Grand Central Market. Despite being a downtown landmark, the outside looked like an unassuming tan building, particularly with its multilayered windows from the apartments located above the ground level.
On the first floor, though, we found a cafeteria filled with glowing neon signs and bustling customers. Tantalizing smells sizzled in the air and made my mouth water.
I dropped Josh’s arm to point at a few restaurant signs with names that sounded interesting: Eggslut, PBJ.LA, and Sarita’s Pupuseria. As we passed by other vendors, I pointed at more stalls I wanted to explore.
He chuckled. “First time?”
“I rarely go downtown”—my eyes flicked toward him—“except to visit a special someone.”
We strolled hand in hand (my favorite kind of walking) to inspect every single eatery. After making a circle, we’d narrowed down our selections. We soon nabbed a small metal table.
Josh insisted on paying for our meal. He ordered a stack of fancy PB&J sandwiches, including an espresso-inspired one, while I opted for the filled flatbreads of Salvadorian pupusas. Using the cutlery, we shared bites of each other’s food. There was something titillating about trading the morsels as our forks bumped into each other in passing.
Finally, we took a pause to chat.
“Sorry again for the short notice,” I said.
“This beats eating cold pizza with the other guys in the office. Only by a little, though.” Josh shot me a roguish grin, and I flicked a piece of bread at him.
He twirled his fork in the air. “Too bad I only get a quick dinner break. I still have a lot of work to finish this evening.”
I cut up a piece of pupusa, making the cheese inside ooze out. “I don’t want to add to your load, but when you get a chance, could you look something up for me?”
His brows drew together. “Is this concerning the murder investigation?”
I pushed the piece of flatbread around my plate. “Yeah. I spoke with Scott Reed, and he mentioned staying in town longer—to contest Helen’s will.”
“Really?” Josh put his fork down.
“It might have to do with Brandon. You saw how the two of them butted heads at the service.”
“So, you think she left something to her boyfriend—”
“Fiancé. And I don’t think Daddy Moneybags approves.”
“But she’s an adult,” Josh said, “and legally capable of making her own decisions.”
“He seems like the kind of father with very strong opinions.” I relayed Scott’s perception of Brandon, and the way the surfer had attempted to extract money.
“I can check whether the will’s been filed,” Josh said.
“Thanks.” I took a bite of my pupusa with its hearty mix of cheese and pork filling.
Josh placed his hand on top of mine for a brief moment. I loved the extra warmth and feeling of being protected that came over me. “Speaking of parents, what about yours? That Ultimate Date Night must be coming up.”
My appetite fled at his words. I pushed my plate to the side. “Alice already ordered the food in advance and made sure Ma will be home that evening.”
“Sounds like an excellent plan.” He reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
I tingled at his touch. But a negative thought still wormed its way in my mind. Would it still be like this for us a few years down the road? In psych class, I’d read about the honeymoon stage in a relationship called limerence. It typically lasted only two years.
I must have started scowling because Josh spoke up and said, “I made something to cheer you up.”
He’d created a jagged heart out of his sandwich for me by carving the bread with his fork and knife. Dorky, but at least he was my very own dork.
Dinner ended too soon, and Josh had to return to work. After, I’d left downtown using the 110, a smile playing across my lips. He’d given me his heart, albeit a PB&J one.
I didn’t even mind the slow crawl on the freeway and spending my time staring at taillights colored a romantic red. On the side of the highway, I noticed the downtown buildings twinkling with warm light.
My hope even spilled over to my parents’ meeting tomorrow night. Ma and Dad definitely loved each other—they just needed to spend time again in the same room together. And the Lee sisters could make that happen.
My thoughts switched to another couple. If Helen had lived, how would her marriage to Brandon have fared? Would they have made it? Their desired Vegas wedding didn’t inspire any confidence. Plus, the fact that she’d left the ring behind in its velvet box. Oh, I’d forgotten to pass on the message.
I waited until I’d reached my apartment to tell Marina. In the carport of my complex, I pulled out my cell phone and texted her.
Me: Hi. Spoke with Brandon. He said to keep the ring.
Marina: No kidding?
Me: He didn’t want to be haunted by her memories.
Only after I sent the text did I realize his oddly negative choice of words.