CHAPTER
forty-two 
I HUMMED TO MYSELF as I dragged the suitcase that housed my special ethnic attire out of my closet. I’d tucked away my special ethnic attire. After all, I rarely had a chance to wear the colorful, distinctive clothes.
Placing the hand-me-down suitcase on the floor of my bedroom, I opened it to find the clothes protected under layers of tissue. I reached under the papers to pull out each item and examine it for moth damage. Thankfully there was none.
I started sorting the clothes by color and style. There were the casual short-sleeve tops, which I ruled out as too informal. Then I continued organizing and piling up the discards until I had narrowed the choices down to three outfits by the time Nimbus and Marshmallow wandered into my bedroom.
“Whatcha doin’?” Marshmallow asked.
I pointed to the selections laid out on my bed. “Kebaya, sari, or qipao. I need to pick one for Ma and Dad’s special event.”
Marshmallow jumped on the bed and tapped at the sari. “Isn’t red the color of love?”
“You reminded me. Brides usually wear the lucky hue,” I said, “so maybe that one’s out of the running.”
“Good. One down. A fifty-fifty choice, Mimi.”
I was tempted to play eeny-meeny-miny-moe to help me pick. The curve-hugging qipao reflected my Chinese side, but I hated its high collar and was afraid the buttons would pop off and leave me exposed.
“This one’s more comfortable,” I said, touching the kebaya, a loose blouse coupled with a sarong.
“You know, if humans had better birthday suits, you wouldn’t need fancy clothes to hide your boring skin.” He strutted. “Look at my excellent fur coat, always available.”
I folded up the qipao and repositioned the tissues in the suitcase. At the sound of the crinkling, Nimbus sprang up and launched herself at the papers.
She settled herself in the suitcase and started shredding the tissues with glee. A few moments passed in this frenzy before she began sneezing.
Shaking her head, Nimbus jumped out of the suitcase and backed away from it. She hissed.
“What’s the matter?” I looked to Marshmallow for an explanation of her behavior.
After a brief discussion, Marshmallow told me that Nimbus had smelled something pungent in the suitcase. I peeled back the layers of tissue but didn’t discover anything. Then I saw a camouflaged inner compartment. Unzipping it, I found a bag of old moth balls. Although expired, they’d probably kept my clothes from getting holes in them.
Guess Ma had placed them in the case before she passed it along to me. She’d used this very suitcase to hold her own collection of “off-season clothes” before.
“Sorry,” I said to Nimbus as I threw out the offending packet. “I couldn’t smell it at all.”
Nimbus sneezed again.
“That little kitty’s got a sensitive nose,” Marshmallow said. “Better attuned than even mine.”
“Must be your age,” I said. “Just look at all your white hair.”
Marshmallow covered his ears with his paws. “Keep your day job because stand-up comedy’s not gonna work out for you.”
Then Marshmallow meowed to Nimbus, and they left my bedroom. I watched the kitten go with rising curiosity.
She’d smelled the mothballs and had a really sensitive nose. Maybe Nimbus hadn’t been the greatest eyewitness the day of the murder, but what if she made a superb nose-witness?
I’d ignored a vital olfactory clue. Nimbus had smelled something strange on Helen’s skin the day she’d died.
I had a sinking suspicion of where that scent had come from. I dialed up Marina from the privacy of my bedroom to ask her for details.
She picked up after a few rings.
“Hi, it’s Mimi.” I didn’t know if she had my name already entered into her phone’s contacts or not.
“Yes? What’s going on?”
“I think I figured something out,” I said. “Can you do me a favor and take a peek at Helen’s perfume bottle?”
“Sure. Let me get it from the closet.” I heard some static over the line as she walked around the townhouse. “Okay, I’ve got it.”
“Can you take a quick whiff?” I asked.
“Smells like strawberries . . . and something earthy?”
Or perhaps metallic. “Tell me what you see on the bottle.”
“Uh, the name of the perfume is called Be Mine,” she said.
“Anything else?”
“It’s heart-shaped.”
I paced around my room. “Can you send me a pic?”
My phone dinged after thirty seconds, and I zoomed in on the image, peering at the curved sides and the bottom with its stylized markings.
I tucked my hair behind my ear. “When did Helen get this perfume?”
“It’s new.” Marina clucked her tongue. “She got it a few days before Valentine’s. Brandon left it on the doorstep with a tag addressed to ‘My little surfer girl.’”
“I see,” I said. “Now I have a giant ask of you. I’d like to set up a meeting at your townhouse . . . and get some justice for Helen.”
Marina’s voice steeled. “There’s nothing I want more. Just tell me what your plan is, Mimi.”
“Thanks. That’s what I was hoping to hear.”