As if on cue, the momtestants started milling around the shop, studying our products in earnest as Elena did the hard sell. Jae grinned at me and waved before calling out his goodbyes.
I watched him for a moment, and the gratitude for everything he’d just done—bringing the women to the cafe to help me with the case as well as the cafe’s bottom line—brought flutters to my stomach. I shook it off and hurried over to join the horde of women I hoped to make my loyal customers. I had work to do.
Chapter Fourteen
All right, everyone, get in close!” the Shady Palms News photographer called out.
Naoko was standing front and center, showing off her winning design. The athleisure wear design event went off without a hitch. Naoko went so above and beyond with her entry, that Beth and Valerie couldn’t even pretend to argue with the results of the unanimous decision. The budding young artist had not only created an entire lookbook filled with designs for the Thompson Family line, she was also wearing a prototype of one of the outfits, her signature rainbow explosion of colors making her the obvious standout. Yuki was fussing over her outfit, straightening it just so for the camera even though it was already perfect.
“Mom, please stop,” Naoko said, the embarrassment straining her voice as Yuki moved from fixing her daughter’s outfit to rearranging Naoko’s bangs.
Yuki laughed and backed away, hands in the air. “OK, I’m sorry. I’m just so proud of you. I hope you know that.”
Naoko flushed and ducked her head, but not before letting a grin peek out, showing how much she actually enjoyed the attention. A lump formed in my throat as I watched their interaction, a lump I couldn’t explain until Yuki joined me.
“I always said I would never become my mother, yet look at me, hovering around and fussing over Naoko the way she used to.” My friend laughed. “Guess I never realized that was her way of showing love. She sure never said it.”
Memories of my mother buzzing around me, always adjusting one thing or another on me until I passed inspection, flooded my mind. And not just before a pageant or performance, either—she’d do this everywhere. Parties. The grocery store. At Tita Rosie’s Kitchen. Picking me up from school. Like Naoko, I was embarrassed by all the attention. Unlike her, I resented it. Her constant fixing made me feel like there was something wrong with me, that I wasn’t good enough the way I was. My hand went to my chest, seeking the familiar comfort of my necklace, but even that provided no relief because the chain caught in my hair and I had to ask Yuki to help me untangle it.
After twisting up my humidity-heavy hair in a messy chic bun, I went over to give Naoko a high five and pose with the other judges for the congratulatory photo. Valerie had already left, after conceding that Beth’s choice was the right one, so we didn’t have to deal with her trying to insert herself in all the pictures.
After we got a couple of group shots, Beth reminded the contestants that their essays were due at the end of the week and everyone split up to enjoy the rest of their day. I was shoving the pageant folder into my oversize Brew-ha Cafe–branded tote bag when Wilson Philipps, the jerk head reporter from the Shady Palms News, approached me. He’d printed the most ridiculous articles about me and my family a few months ago, and it seemed like he was back to dig up more sensational trash to print.
“So, Lila, I hear you’re at it again.”
I hitched my heavy bag higher on my shoulder. “Excuse me?”
“Investigating another murder tied to your family. I heard your cousin Bernadette Arroyo is the main suspect in the case. Care to comment?”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t know who your source is, but you continue to be as wrong as ever. And no, I’m not interested in any follow-up questions,” I said, cutting him off before he could lob any other insults my way.
I turned and marched toward the exit, but before I got more than a few steps away, a hand shot out and gripped my upper arm like a vise, holding me in place. The sense memory of the last time someone put their hands on me like that—tried to hurt me—kicked in and I screamed as I fought off my attacker.
“Let me go! Let me go!” I swung my bag wildly and was rewarded with an “Oof!” when it connected, but I couldn’t let my guard down. I kept swinging and swinging until the hand gripping me finally released me.
I heard Bernadette’s voice floating above me as I sank to the floor. “Didn’t you hear her? She said to let her go! Now get out of here.”
Through the hazy edges of my vision, I saw Bernadette confronting the reporter. What was she doing here? I didn’t remember her being in the crowd earlier.