The Flower Master (Rei Shimura #3) (28 page)

I groaned. "Do you realize you have a perfectly decent alibi that you 're not even using? By insisting you were in the building when nobody could find you, you're making yourself appear a lot more suspicious. The police may not have asked you much, but you must be honest with them."

"Rei-san, you don't think . . . that I hurt Sakura-san?" Mrs. Koda's sad eyes blinked rapidly. "Of course you must. That is why you haven't touched the tea."

I looked straight at her. "I became very sick the last time we had tea together. The police haven't caught the person who did it. Since then I've been careful."

After a slight pause she said, "That is sensible. It is what I would do myself if I were in your situation."

"I want to ask you one more thing. Why hasn't Mari Kumamori passed the teaching exam after trying it three times?"

"She's very good at her class work, but when it comes to the examinations, she must get nervous. There is always a major flaw in the arrangements. I would like to give her a passing grade, but I cannot. The errors are too obvious."

"In testing, is there any time when nobody is in the room? I mean, between the time the students make their arrangements and leave the room, and when the judges come in?"

"The room is always under supervision. We want to ensure that the students don't cheat, and also that they are treated fairly."

"Do you monitor the room during the time the students are waiting outside?"

"Up until about ten years ago, I did it. Then the iemoto asked that I give the responsibility to another teacher."

"Who is that?" I asked, although I could anticipate her reply.

"Sakura Sato. And now that she is gone, we need to find somebody else."

I never touched a drop of tea, but when I left Mrs. Koda's apartment twenty minutes later, I felt totally wired.

I considered telephoning Mari immediately, but a train was just pulling in, so I decided to catch it and telephone from home. I sat on the train, taping my foot restlessly as the stations went by. Even though it was nine o'clock, the train was filling up with salarymen just getting out of the office. The men slumped into their seats, newspapers falling out of their hands as they passed into sleep. No doubt some of them were absentee husbands who had been transferred away from their families, like Uncle Hiroshi. I wondered if Hiroshi and Norie were home that night. I was continuing to feel guilty about how we had parted. My aunt had taken care of me for three days, and I'd stormed out of the apartment without saying good-bye or thanking her. Calling her to apologize was going to be even more difficult, since I had heard Takeo's insinuation about her possible romantic relationship with his father.

When I arrived home, I called Mari Kumamori. She answered the phone herself, and when I told her the news about Sakura's intervention in her testing, she thanked me. "I will try the exam again, Shimura-san. How strange that this time of tragedy has brought a benefit for me. Do you think that the police will be suspicious?" she asked.

"I don't think so!" Surely being held back from progressing in a flower-arranging hierarchy was not a serious enough motive for murder. Or was it?

After I finished talking to Mari, I dialed my aunt and uncle's home in Yokohama. Tom answered and told me that his parents had gone to bed.

"But it's only nine-thirty!" Japanese families routinely didn't go to bed until after midnight, based on the schedule of husbands and children coming home between ten and eleven.

"They're spending a lot of time together. Mother's got Father talking, and now his emotions are spilling forth. The problem is that she has neglected me. I've had to do my own cooking, because they disappear for hours having their private conversations."

"Tom, just think about how your future wife will enjoy those cooking skills," I teased. "Are you far enough from your parents that they can't hear you?"

"Sure. I'm in the living room, and they're upstairs."

"I want to ask you something. Your mother mentioned that for years she has received anonymous letters. The letters were haiku by famous poets, but they seemed to send some kind of hidden message. Do you know about this?"

"She's never mentioned any notes. Although about a year ago, I did see her crying in the laundry room with a crumpled-up letter in her hand. I asked her why, and she made up a story about a high utility bill. But I'd noticed that the letter didn't have a company name or even a postage stamp on the outside."

"So . . . you just said okay and walked off?"

"What reason would my mother have to lie? I was more concerned with whether she was going to have my lunch ready to take to work. I'm afraid I was rather selfish."

I changed tactics. "Did she talk much about the iemoto when you were young?"

"Not really. Mother kept her flower-arranging world to herself. Besides, only since Chika went away to college has she been really active."

The phantom of my cousin Chika again. Baby Chika and adult Chika appeared like bookends surrounding the time that Norie had been involved—and uninvolved—with the Kayama School.

"Does the iemoto have something to do with the notes?" Tom asked.

"I think so," I said. "At the very least, can you keep an eye on your mother? I'm worried about her."

"I'm worried about you, Rei. It sounds as if you're off on a strange new tangent. What happened with the Nolvadex?"

"You were right. I asked Mrs. Koda, and it turned out that she is recovering from breast cancer. I promised that I wouldn't tell anyone, but of course you already knew."

"She will have confidentiality with me, I promise. Has she had a relapse? If she has any questions about her disease, I could make an appointment for her at our oncology department."

"She's still under the care of a doctor. I wouldn't mind speaking to someone in oncology, though. I want to find out whether there is a definite link between pesticides and breast cancer."

"Are you working with those environmental zealots who railed against my mother?" Tom sounded horrified.

"No, but it's a health concern your mother and all women who work with flowers need to consider."

"Listen, Rei, there are far worse things that could kill my mother." Tom's voice lowered. "They're opening the door upstairs. Someone's coming down. I've got to go."

With that, he broke our connection.

* * *

I dreamed of oversized flowers emitting toxic fumes all night long, and I woke early the next morning, probably from the stress. It was 7 A.M, and since it was a Saturday morning, I wouldn't have to worry about morning rush-hour fumes. In fact, the streets were so free of traffic that I was able to jog from Yanaka to the Ocha-No-Mizu district without having to slalom. I ran under a stand of cherry trees, thinking that it was interesting that people didn't sweep up fallen cherry petals the way they did leaves. The fallen cherry blossoms weren't considered litter, but a supreme ornamentation. Under my feet, the petals were crushed into pale pink polka dots, a sophisticated design against the dark gray of the sidewalk.

I was glad that Tom had recalled Norie crying over a letter. There was a good chance that it was a haiku. I was tempted to tell Takeo about this, but my recent experience with him had left me feeling unsure. Did he really want to clear my aunt and find Sakura's killer, or was he just out for an easy grope?

I knew there were enough men in my life: my cousin Tom, to give me medical advice and be like a big brother; Mr. Waka, to feed me gum and gossip; and Mr. Ishida, to supply me with wisdom. Not to mention Richard, who had been my best friend for years but now could be in serious danger from Che Fujisawa's environmental group. I had to talk to Richard before he got hurt.

I was headed for It's Happening! Language School, Richard's current place of employment. I ran down a few side streets before I found a small building that looked like the place that he'd dragged me to as his cover date for the previous Valentine's Day. An advertisement for the language school was in a second-floor window. It was early, but there was a chance a few workers were in—the perfect time for me to leave him a warning note. I buzzed the school office.

"Hai?" a young man answered, sounding weary.

"I have a message for a teacher. May I come upstairs and leave a note?" I put a hint of desperation in my voice, as if I were a student rushing off to my workplace.

"Rei?"

There was only one person at Its Happening! who would recognize my voice so swiftly. But I wasn't taking any chances.

"Randall-san, could it be you?" I asked, still speaking Japanese.

"Who else? Come on up."

I ran up the steps and through the office door Richard was holding for me. He was wearing the same shirt and pants as the night before, with the jacket I'd almost torn slung over one shoulder. He looked as rumpled as a salaryman who'd missed the midnight train home, a sorry state for somebody who was fastidious about fashion.

"Richard." I fell into his arms, but he shrugged me off.

"You're all sweaty!" Richard picked up a can of Georgia Coffee. He took a long sip, and stared at me suspiciously.

"Is that hot coffee?" I asked.

"Mmm. It's from the machine in the hall. Want one?"

"No money. I was out jogging." I turned out the pockets of my shorts to prove it.

"Okay, okay. I'll spring for one. I owe you for that last Caipirinha at Salsa Salsa."

"Thanks," I said, taking it and sinking down on the floor, not wanting to leave damp traces on any of the office chairs. "I'm really sorry about everything. I never thought things would get so bad that you would have to sleep at work to avoid Che Fujisawa."

"That's not it at all." He yawned, revealing a tongue stud that I hadn't known he still wore. "I'm just trying to stay away from Enrique. He's moved into my apartment, and I'm starting to go mad."

"You mean you're still cool with Che?"

"Yes, that liaison is fine. It's pretty exciting, to tell the truth, though it was stupid of you to grab me at the station. You almost blew my cover."

"Sorry. From the back, he looks a lot like Enrique."

"I'm not into Enrique anymore, okay?" Richard snapped.

"But your feelings were so strong. You said you were in love!"

"We had an argument," Richard said. "Enrique thought I was getting too involved in Stop Killing Flowers. He would rather go dancing than save lives."

I looked at Richard carefully, to see if he was kidding me. "Okay, I won't say the E-word again. Just tell me what's going on with Stop Killing Flowers."

"They talk Spanish half the time, which makes it hard, but from what I've been told by Che in Japanese, something really big is going to happen. Something that will make national news headlines, given the season." Richard paused, clearly enjoying his effect on me.

"I'm sympathetic to the cause of the workers. I just hope Che doesn't do anything too extreme."

Richard raised his eyebrows. "The demonstrations they've made in the past have gotten some press attention, but the Japanese imports continued. They're going to do something major this time. It will make the Sunday night news, I'm sure."

"This action is something the police should know about. If Lieutenant Hata is on-site, he can make sure you don't get killed or arrested—" I was so agitated that my coffee can fell off the knee I'd been balancing it on and spilled a light brown puddle across the carpet.

"Don't you dare stop anything." Richard grabbed a wad of tissues and pressed it on the carpet. "You're such a mom. I would have told you, but now that you're threatening to bring Officer Friendly into the picture, I won't."

Mom! That was a truly rotten comment. I tried to keep from screeching when I told him, "If you're so loyal to your new friends, consider the fact that they might be the ones who almost killed Mr. Ishida and Takeo two nights ago. Or maybe you were part of it. Very nice. You've gone from teaching English to attempted murder!"

"We heard about the accident, but it wasn't us. Che told me last night. Why would we hurt someone who's a friend of the group?" Richard asked."What does this 'friend of the group' business realtly mean? Is Takeo in or out?"

"Well, he's donated some yen to the cause, but he will not join. Che told me that he considers joining us impossible, given his family background." How self-destructive for Takeo to give money to an anti-flower group—even though I had come around to believe that Stop Killing Flowers had an important agenda. I asked Richard whether he had heard that Takeo Kayama was involved with their Sunday event.

"Of course not," Richard said smugly. "That event is members only."

"I see." If Richard wouldn't tell me something he knew, it was clear that I'd lost my best friend. I must have been showing my feelings, because Richard took my hand and gave it a quick squeeze.

"I know you've always thought of me as a supreme goof with no real ambition or social conscience," he said. "Things have changed since I've joined Stop Killing Flowers. But because you seem so committed to becoming a police informer, I'm not going to talk to you anymore. At least not about environmental things."

"Take care of yourself." I took one last look at the heart-shaped face topped with a slightly greasy halo of blond hair. My little angel was metamorphosing into someone else. I remembered the cult that had risen to prominence in the mid-1990s, transforming young Japanese college graduates into subway-gassing psychos. At least with environmentalists, I wouldn't have to worry about gas. Or so I hoped.

I ran home and spent the rest of the morning going through the final administrative hurdles necessary for my flea market debut. In Japan, it seemed impossible to do anything without a permit. Then I made a personal call on Mr. Ishida at his shop. After thanking me for the flowers I'd sent, he gave me some suggestions on what I should try to sell at the shrine sale. Since he wasn't going to be able to drive until his vision was better, he lent me his van to transport my wares to the shrine sale. I drove it to my neighborhood, parked legally, and spent two hours carefully transporting boxed china to it. Then I tucked it into bed in a parking garage two miles away that cost four thousand yen for overnight parking.