Free Murder on Bamboo Lane by Naomi Hirahara Page A

chocolate frosting when Aunt Cheryl comes outside to join us. Shippo ignores a sparrow to run toward his favorite Toma.
    “Shippo, oh, Shippo, I haven’t seen you in so long!” Aunt Cheryl buries her face in Shippo’s neck, not even worried about mussing up her makeup, which she apparently applies even on her days off. She always takes care of herself, so it’s hard for people to figure out exactly how old she is, though I know she’s fifty-five.
    Aunt Cheryl would totally love to have a dog, but her demanding LAPD schedule prevents her from being a responsible pet owner. And my aunt is all about responsibility. As a result, she goes crazy whenever she sees Shippo.
    After a few minutes of doggy hugs, she finally turns her attention to me. “Any word about the Jenny Nguyen case?”
    I don’t know how much to tell my aunt.
    “Ah, well, I did speak with her best friend,” I eventually say.
    Aunt Cheryl’s eyes gleam.
    “She doesn’t trust the police. I think she may be undocumented. She won’t talk to anyone else but me.”
    “Your first CI.” Aunt Cheryl seems proud. She doesn’t press for Susana’s name. I’m surprised. “What did she say?”
    I hesitate. If I say too much, I may get Susana trouble.
    “Apparently, Jenny was living in her car.”
    “She owned a car?”
    “She might have been borrowing it.”
    “Whose?”
    “I’m not sure.” My first lie to Aunt Cheryl that evening. “But that’s why we can’t get a residence on her.”
    “So, what’s going on out here?” Mom says. She and Dad come outside with their coffee.
    “Nothing. We are just talking about work.”
    “Work? It’s Saturday. Ellie’s day off. And it’s not like you’re her supervisor.”
    “Caroline, I’m the number two person with the LAPD.”
    Ohmygod. I sense where this is going.
    “You’re not officially number two. I’ve seen the org chart. You’re like number four.”
    “You’ve been looking at the LAPD org chart?”
    “It’s right there on lapdonline.org.”
    Aunt Cheryl gives Mom a look. “Anyway, your daughter is doing very well at her job.”
    “Of course; she’s a Toma,” says Mom.
    “Actually, she’s technically a Rush,” Dad says, but nobody pays attention to him.
    As Mom and Cheryl continue their banter, I call Shippo over and quietly excuse ourselves and head back into the house. Grandma, her beanie almost covering her eyes, is in a deep sleep on the living room couch. She’s rolled up the New Zealand sweater into a pillow; at least she’s found some use for Lita’s gift. I decide to see what Noah is up to.
    “So, what, they’re fighting again?” Noah is on his bed, surfing the Internet on his tablet.
    “Starting to, I guess.”
    Both Shippo and I go around his room, sniffing. I expect it to reek of pot but instead smell dirty socks. I point to his piles of dirty laundry, at least three of them. “Good air freshener.” Shippo disappears under one pile.
    “Hey, have you pulled your gun on any innocent teenagers lately?”
    “No, not any innocent ones,” I say. Noah smiles.
    “So what have you been up to? Anything more with the Lee cartel?” I joke.
    “Simon’s brother’s been breeding this stuff he got on a vacation from Northern California last summer. His parents thought that he suddenly got interested in national parks. It was more about the green stuff growing outside of the park gate.”
    I immediately regret asking him anything. I have a bad feeling that this is all going to catch up with the Lee brothers and, as a result, with my younger brother. “Listen, Noah, you have to ease up on this. I don’t know about Simon or his brother, but I think that they are getting a little over their heads.”
    “I’m fine, I’m fine. I just maybe taste-test a little.”
    This is definitely not going to end well.
    The door flies open, startling both Noah and me. “Family photo time,” Mom announces.
    “Oh joy,” Noah says.
    “We should have taken some pictures when Lita