CHAPTER
thirty-five 
IN THE MORNING, I was grateful that the weekend had rolled around again so I could sleep in. Knowing Dad had stood us up for the Ultimate Date Night didn’t leave me in a good mood. Even after the sun shone high through the window, I tried to pull the covers back over my head.
Marshmallow clawed them off. “You’d better have something tasty for me to eat after we skipped out on that feast last night. Why didn’t you take the leftovers home with you?”
“I wasn’t really thinking about food, Marshmallow.”
Nimbus crept into my room and jumped on my bed. “Fish?” she said.
My tummy grumbled in response to her request. “Not a bad idea,” I said, stroking the kitten’s head.
Alice and I often boosted our mood through food therapy. Besides sweet desserts, like egg tarts and cheesecake, we often indulged in sushi as a pick-me-up.
I secured the cats in their respective carriers and drove along the 405 to the appropriate freeway exit. The neighborhood where I liked to find the choicest seafood was in Little Osaka. This restaurant row near Olympic and Sawtelle always seemed full of customers at all hours of the day. Parking usually involved a mad dash for an open spot, particularly since there weren’t many attached lots, and the street meters filled up fast.
As I’d predicted, I couldn’t score any parking spaces. Instead, I ended up on a residential street a few blocks away from the restaurants off the main road. Walking down the sidewalk and dodging other hungry customers, I decided to try out the new sushi restaurant I’d noticed advertised on Yelp. What I particularly liked about the establishment upon seeing it was the outside eating area, which would be perfect for my furry friends and me.
I leashed both Marshmallow and Nimbus to the legs of the table, but my cat gave me a sour look. “What’s up with the chains?”
“It makes me seem like a conscientious owner.”
“Yeah, right. You want my mug shot while you’re at it?” Marshmallow groused.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” I said, bustling inside to place my order. Everything on the menu looked delicious, especially since I could see a glass display of the freshest catch on ice. The chef behind the counter flashed his knife at me as he sliced with quick strokes. I ended up choosing an assorted array of sushi, minus the throat-burning wasabi.
When I came back out, Marshmallow seemed to be studying the restaurant sign out of sheer boredom. “What’s ‘wild-caught’ mean?” he asked.
“That the fish they serve isn’t farmed. They’re found in nature.”
Pretty soon, a waiter brought out my order.
“Can I request an extra plate?” I asked.
“Certainly.” He disappeared back inside the restaurant.
I poured some soy sauce into the dipping dish. After I ate a salmon roll, my stomach smiled. “Excellent.”
Soon, I saw the chef coming out of the restaurant. His tall white hat almost brushed the top of the doorframe. He placed a plate decorated with cherry blossoms on the table and said, “I want to personally assure you that our seafood comes from waters tested for contaminants, especially heavy metals like lead and mercury. But we also make sure to catch the fish while they’re young just in case.”
I blinked at him. “Why does the timing matter?”
“Because contaminants can stay in a body for a long time, so the older the fish, the more dangerous the accumulation of chemicals.”
I cut my eyes to Marshmallow and Nimbus under the shadow of the table. “My cats and I thank you very much for your assurance.”
“Oh.” He blanched. “You probably didn’t know, but too much raw fish may upset their tummies. And, by the way, we only allow dogs on our patio.”
Marshmallow stuck his nose in the air, affronted.
“But please make sure to tell your friends about us and our grand opening special,” the chef said as he offered a slight bow and retreated back inside the restaurant.
“Did you hear that, Marshmallow?” I said.
“Yeah, he’s cat-ist.”
“I meant his talk about contaminants. Mercury can stay in a fish’s system for a long time,” I said. “Perhaps it can last for more than one afternoon . . . which means our list of suspects has now expanded beyond the people at school that day.”
I placed two morsels of sushi onto the new plate and deposited them before the cats. “A tiny treat, and regular cat food for you later.”
“Remember, I used to scrounge on the streets. Nimbus might be delicate, but I have a steel stomach.” Marshmallow devoured both pieces. “I guess fish really is brain food because I just had an insight.”
“Which is?”
“If we expand our list, then my original suspect, Marina, rises to the top.”
I clicked my tongue. “Maybe. She was Helen’s roommate, so plenty of opportunity there.”
“And motive, too.”
I pointed my chopsticks at Marshmallow. “How so?”
“Why, because she’s mentioned in the will.”
Marshmallow was right. Even though she hadn’t inherited money outright (except perhaps a small executor’s fee), she’d gotten the luxury townhouse free and clear.
“Don’t forget that she has access to mercury at Déjà Vu,” Marshmallow said. “We should check out that lead soon.”
I finished up the sushi and pushed my plate away. “But for now, we’ve got another pressing mystery to solve. The one involving my dad.”
Thank goodness I didn’t find my dad golfing when I stopped by the country club. He was already in the doghouse with Ma, and he’d better be making it up to her big-time.
I strode up to the reception desk with confidence, squaring my shoulders and adding a slight swagger to my steps.
The man at the front widened his eyes. “Are you all right, miss? Did you pull a leg muscle recently? It’s not advisable to go golfing with an injury . . .”
I scowled at him and restored my usual gait. “Actually, I won’t be playing today. I’m here because my dad, Greg Lee, left his club here by accident. He came in yesterday. Could you check for his name on the roster?”
The man made no motion to search using the computer or look at any of the papers around him. “I’m sorry, miss. I can’t provide access to information about our members.”
I see. What happens in country club stays in country club. “Maybe you can just tell me if you noticed him around yesterday?” I described my dad to the man, from my father’s height down to the cleft in his chin.
“If the gentleman left something on the grounds, we have an excellent lost and found system. He can retrieve it himself the next time he comes to play. We promise to keep his equipment safe.”
I stared out the nearby large glass window, as though visually tracing my dad’s footsteps from the other day. If he’d been here at all.
But would he have lied right to my face—or rather, to the phone? As I gazed upon the rolling green hills, I noticed some workers setting up a large canopy tent.
The man followed my focused stare. His eyes darted left and right. “Now if that’s all, miss—”
Why was he being so cagey? A dark suspicion surfaced in my mind. “Is there a special event happening today?”
“Uh, no. That’s for something scheduled for Friday evening.”
I stared at the man, who’d started avoiding my gaze. “Who made the reservation?”
He mumbled, “That’s confidential.”
I crossed my arms to wait him out, but the unnerving trick didn’t work. In fact, I ended up waiting so long that another member showed up. With a look of relief, the man pivoted his attention to the newcomer.
I gave up and started walking back to my car. On the way there, I decided to contact my dad’s golfing buddy, Walt.
The call didn’t go through. Instead, I got a message saying that I couldn’t reach the subscriber. Was his phone busted, or had my number somehow gotten blocked? Weird.
Fine. I would find someone else with the pull to get confidential information from the country club. I needed a person with connections, and I knew just who to ask.
My fingers flew over the phone as I texted Pixie: Have an opening for Gelato’s spa treatment. Ten-thirty tomorrow. Will that work?
Sounds divine, she replied. Thanks. XOXO.