Ninang Mae snorted. “That’s just because she signed a prenup. If she left Rob, she wouldn’t have seen another dime of his money.”
“Probably would’ve been kicked out of the company as well,” Ninang June added.
This was the first time I’d heard of a prenup, though it did make sense. “Wait, if she signed a prenup, does she get Rob’s money now that he’s gone? Or does it stay within the family?”
Wanting to get out of a prenup was a decent motive for murder, but only if she could expect a payday. Otherwise, she was in far worse shape than before and with a murder charge on top of that. But if the money stayed in the family, would that give Valerie a motive? I asked Amir as much.
He sat up, probably trying to look as lawyerly as possible. “A prenup doesn’t mean someone can’t inherit. It just means certain property that a person holds doesn’t become marital property, which is more about divorce than death. That being said, it all depends on what he put in his will. Just because a prenup doesn’t stop her from inheriting doesn’t mean Rob provided for her in his will. So prenup or no, unless Rob left a provision about what assets go to Beth after he’s gone, she might not get anything. Of course, she could always get a lawyer to contest it, but it’d be tough to get a better lawyer than the ones the Thompson family employ.”
I turned to Detective Park. “Has the will been read yet? The contents will probably help with seeing who has a motive.”
“Not yet. I already got the OK from Mrs. Thompson to be there for the reading later this week. Valerie Thompson should be there as well.”
“Do you think—”
“Hope you’re all hungry!” Tita Rosie came out with the last of the dishes and stood behind her chair, forcing everyone to find their seats.
“Oh, thank God,” Jae said, sinking back into his chair in relief.
Lola Flor eyed him. “I’m going to assume you’re giving thanks to God for this food and not using his name in vain. Am I correct?”
“Of course, Grandma Flor,” Jae said, addressing my grandmother the way Amir and Adeena did. “And thanks to you and Auntie Rosie as well.”
I eyed the spread, wondering where I should start. Skewers of pork barbecue, the slightest hint of char releasing a delicious, smoky aroma, beckoned me, as did the platter of grilled adobo chicken wings next to it. As I loaded up my plate with meat, my aunt reached over to put a tofu-and-mushroom skewer on my mountain of rice.
“Can you tell me what you think of this, anak? I’m testing the recipes for our Founder’s Day booth and this will be our main vegetarian offering. I used a similar marinade as our barbecue, but it’s not quite right.”
Looking at the array of food on the table, I noticed it was all pica-pica, or finger food. Things that could easily be prepared at the booth and eaten while wandering the festival. The barbecue skewers were obviously the mains, but she also had fish balls (so much better than it sounded) and my favorite, kwek-kwek. The hard-boiled quail eggs were skewered, dipped in a bright orange batter colored with annatto seeds, and deep-fried. So simple and so delicious, especially if you dipped it in my aunt’s sweet and spicy vinegar sauces.
“Sure, Tita!”
My aunt was an intuitive cook, and it was rare for her to ask for my help with her food. But once in a while, something stumped her and it was up to my trusty nose and palate to figure out what was missing. I first took a bite of the tofu alone, then the mushroom alone, and finally the two together. It was good, but it wasn’t the explosion of flavor or layers of nuance that I associated with my aunt’s cooking, even after dipping them in the sauces. The Shady Palms residents would happily chow down on it, at least those who weren’t afraid of tofu, but Tita Rosie didn’t believe in sending out mediocre food. Mediocre food made the Macapagals sad and cranky.
“The marinade is too sweet for something this delicate. I would make it saltier and add chiles, similar to what you’d use for tokwa’t baboy or sisig.” I tasted the tofu again, thinking about what would make it pop. “Marinate it for a couple of hours and then brush the reserved marinade on the skewers while grilling them so the sauce will caramelize a bit. With all the sauces you’ll have on the side, that should be more than enough to keep our customers happy.”
“Wow, you were able to figure it out just like that? You’re a real pro,” Jae said as he grabbed a tofu-mushroom skewer for himself. I thanked him, but my tone let him know he wasn’t off the hook just yet.
“Everything is delicious, Auntie! I can’t get enough of this chicken.” Amir was attacking the chicken wings with his hands, like he was supposed to, his plate piled high with a little of everything—minus the pork barbecue, of course. “Can’t wait to see what Grandma Flor gives us for dessert.”
“You’ll get nothing unless we get back on topic,” Lola Flor said, jabbing an empty skewer in Detective Park’s direction. “How did Rob Thompson die, what evidence do you have against Bernie, and who are the other suspects?”
Lola Flor really knew how to kill the vibe in the room. Still, her bluntness got results. I wondered at what age you stopped caring what other people thought about you and just spoke your mind.
Detective Park cleared his throat. “Officially, he drowned. I can’t say anything else about an active case, especially when—”
“When the main suspect is here? Even though I know you don’t believe that?” Bernadette said. She’d been quiet all night, sticking close to Joy and helping my aunt and grandmother, but I’d be a fool to think any part of the conversation that night had escaped her notice. She had a sharp mind, a wide circle of friends, and a vengeful side—maybe we needed to schedule a hangout day to compare our notes on the case, because I didn’t believe for a second she’d left it all up to me.
Detective Park used his fork to remove a piece of barbecue from his skewer, not meeting her eyes. “You of all people know what one can and can’t talk about regarding sensitive information.”
Ninang June scowled at him. “Then why are you even here?”
Detective Park opened his mouth, but it was Tita Rosie who responded. “Because he’s a friend. We all help in different ways, but only if it can be done safely. I don’t want anyone getting hurt or losing their jobs, diba? It’s bad enough Marcus got fired last time.”
Marcus was Ninang Mae’s youngest son and a former correctional officer with the Shady Palms Police Department. He was a big help when I was accused of murdering my ex-boyfriend a few months ago.
Detective Park said, “Rosie, he wasn’t fired. He quit. It had nothing to do with his involvement with the previous case.”
I snorted at that, as I dipped my millionth kwek-kwek skewer in the spicy sawsawan. “I mean, he quit because of how incompetent and low-key corrupt the SPPD is. So it’s kind of connected?”