The Runaway Bride (6 page)

Just then Nancy spotted a flash of white behind a jasmine bush. “What was that?” she asked, pointing.

Mari walked over to the bush and came back a second later with a huge cat in her arms. It was all white except for a few black and red spots, and had a small stub for a tail.

“This is Kunta,” Mari explained. “He's a
mi-ke,
which means ‘three colors.' He usually
lives in Midori's room—he's kind of her cat. He really misses her.”

At the mention of Midori's name, Kunta let out a loud, pathetic howl.

George stroked him under the chin. “Poor Kunta,” she cooed.

Mari set Kunta down and brushed her hands together. Bits of cat fur fluttered through the air. “Speaking of Midori's room, Nancy—you said that you wanted to go through it, right? You want to do it now?”

“Sure,” Nancy said, standing up.

The three girls made their way upstairs. Kunta followed, rubbing against their legs and purring as he went.

“He's a sweetie, isn't he?” Mari called over her shoulder as they entered Midori's room. “My sister found him in the street five years ago and—”

She stopped abruptly and gasped.

Nancy, who was right behind her, looked around quickly. Midori's room was a mess. There were papers and books scattered all over the peach-colored carpet. A chair had been knocked over.

“Her room didn't look like this last night,” Mari said in a low voice. “It was neat.”

“Are you saying—” Nancy began.

Mari turned to Nancy, her eyes wide. “I think someone's been in here.”

Y
OU MEAN
, like a burglar?” George said incredulously. “But what could anyone have wanted in here?”

“Mari, is anything missing?” Nancy said quickly.

“I'm not sure,” Mari replied. “But I'll check.”

“Try not to touch anything if you can,” Nancy told her gently. “If we have to call in the police, they'll probably want to dust for fingerprints.”

Mari nodded and began circling the room. Her eyes swept over Midori's bookshelves, dresser, and vanity table. While she did this, Nancy glanced around. The room was very Midori. Art posters covered almost every inch of the walls, and there was an easel in one corner with a half-finished pastel drawing.

“All her good jewelry's in the safe downstairs,” Mari told Nancy and George. “And I know she keeps whatever money she has in her purse.”

Mari continued to circle the room. Then she stopped at Midori's desk.

“Her diary,” she said suddenly.

“What?” Nancy said.

“Midori's diary,” Mari said urgently. “It was on top of her desk last night—right there.”

“What does it look like?” George asked.

“It's about this big,” Mari said, holding up her hands to indicate a book about four by six inches. “And it has a light purple cover with a flimsy gold lock. I am not sure where Midori keeps the key.”

“What on earth would anyone want with her diary?” George said, frowning.

“I don't know,” Nancy admitted. She went over to the window and noted that it was locked from the inside. “Listen, Mari. Before we go any further, let's get your parents up here to make sure they didn't take the diary.”

The Katos were as surprised as Mari had been by the state of Midori's room.

“Neither one of us has been in here since yesterday morning,” Toshiko said, wringing her hands.

“That settles it, then,” Nancy said firmly. “We should call the police.”

Tadashi shook his head vehemently. “No police,” he said. “I'm sure this is Midori's doing.
She's always been absurdly devoted to that diary. She probably came to the house in the middle of the night and sneaked into her room to get it. Of course, she was too ashamed to face us.”

“Midori wouldn't have come home and not told us, Tadashi,” Toshiko insisted. “We are her family.”

“After what Midori did yesterday, nothing she does should surprise us,” Tadashi retorted.

“You honestly think
Midori
took the diary, Mr. Kato?” Nancy asked, puzzled.

Tadashi shrugged. “Why not? Nothing else in the house is missing. I myself opened the family safe not an hour ago, and everything was fine.”

“Maybe you're right, Tadashi,” his wife said slowly. “After all, we have bolt locks on both the front and back doors. How could anyone get in without a key?”

Nancy thought about her own lockpicking kit, which she always carried with her, but didn't say anything. She made a mental note to check both locks.

“But what about this mess?” George asked Tadashi, waving her hand at the books and papers strewn all over the floor. “Midori would have known where her diary was—she wouldn't have needed to rifle through her stuff.”

“Maybe she could not find her way in the dark,” Tadashi suggested. “To be perfectly frank, until Midori apologizes, what she does or doesn't
do is of no concern to me.” He turned and walked out of the room.

“Tadashi!” his wife cried out, following him.

Mari stared dejectedly at Nancy and George.

Nancy laid a hand on her arm. “It's okay, Mari. We'll find your sister.”

George nodded encouragingly.

Nancy walked over to Midori's desk and gazed at it thoughtfully. “The trouble is, we've only got a few things to go on,” she said. “The gold cord from Midori's kimono, Yoko Nakamura telling us to drop the case, the fugu delivered by a guy with a crew cut—and now the missing diary.”

“So what's our next move, Nan?” George asked, plopping down on Midori's bed.

“Let's finish searching here for clues and check the front and back doors.” Nancy suggested.

• • •

Nancy and George ran into the subway car a split second before the doors slammed shut.

“Whew, that was close,” Nancy said. She glanced around the crowded car. “There are two seats over there.”

They sat down next to two guys. One of them gave the girls an appraising look, then began speaking to his companion in a low voice.

“I think we're being checked out,” George whispered to Nancy.

“I don't know about you, but I don't need any more men in my life,” Nancy joked.

George frowned. “Speaking of too many men, is Mick bringing that Gil person along to the festival tonight?”

Nancy studied George with concern. “Is he that bad?”

“No, he's not
that
bad,” George replied dryly. “If you like geeky guys who talk your ear off about stuff like superconductors and the role of the Japanese art market in illegal political contributions.” She broke into a grin. “Hey, don't sweat it, Nan. You've got enough to worry about, with the case and everything.

“Oh, right—the case,” Nancy said, sighing. “To tell you the truth, this diary thing has me stumped. And searching Midori's room turned up zero.”

“It's weird, isn't it?” George said. “We inspected all the doors and windows at the Katos', and none of them had been tampered with. So how did the thief get in?”

“And what did he or she want with Midori's diary?” Nancy added. “Did Midori write something in it that someone wanted to find out about?” She shook her head. “I'm beginning to wonder if Mr. Kato is right. Maybe Midori
did
come back and take it.”

“If you ask me, Mr. Kato's too mad at Midori to think straight,” George remarked, leaning back in her seat. “I mean, you'd think he'd be more worried than angry, wouldn't you?”

“The Japanese expect a lot from their children,” Nancy mused. “And being shamed and dishonored in public—they take it pretty seriously.”

Two stops later, Nancy and George got off the subway and headed for Takeshita-doori, the main strip in the Harajuku district. It was a narrow street crammed with inexpensive-looking boutiques and restaurants. It was mobbed with leather- and denim-clad Japanese teens. Rock music blasted from outdoor speakers, adding to the mood of chaos and excitement.

“This is wild,” George declared.

“Definitely,” Nancy said. “If we weren't so busy with this case, I'd love to check out some of these stores.” She paused and looked around. “I don't see Explosion, do you?”

“No,” George replied, stepping aside to avoid bumping into a guy with blue spiked hair.

As they walked, Nancy said, “I hope this Hana Endo lead pays off. The more I think about it, the more Midori's disappearance seems linked to her time at Senagawa Art College. All the business about her changing, keeping secrets from her family, drifting away from Ken—it's pretty suspicious.”

She halted suddenly and pointed at a neon green building. “Hey, there's Explosion. Come on, George.”

Nancy and George blinked as they went
through the door. The inside of the store was almost pitch-black, except for the high-tech track lights that illuminated the racks of clothing. A synthesizer piece that sounded like clanking machinery was playing in the background.

Nancy proceeded to wander around the store, stopping occasionally to look at the clothes. Most of it was black and made of unusual fabrics—vinyl, plastic, rubber, fake fur. Along the way she passed several customers, but no salesclerks.

Then she almost bumped into a girl holding an armful of fringed black miniskirts. She had very short hair and was chewing gum loudly. She wore a skeleton earring in one ear and a silver H in the other. This could be Hana, Nancy thought excitedly.

“Hi,” she said. “Do you work here?”

“Yeah,” the girl replied in a bored voice. “You want to try something on?”

Nancy looked at the miniskirts. “One of those,” she said quickly. “I'm not sure about Japanese sizes. What do you think I'd wear?”

The girl sorted through the bundle in her arms and handed Nancy two skirts. “Try these,” she said. “You know where the dressing room is?”

“I've never been here before,” Nancy said, then added, “A friend of mine told me to come here—Midori Kato. She said it was a great store.”

“You know Midori?” the girl repeated, sounding interested.

Bingo, Nancy thought. “You know her, too?” she said innocently.

“We went to Senagawa together for a while,” the girl explained.

George came up to them. “Hi,” she said uncertainly, her eyes moving from Nancy to the girl and back to Nancy again.

“This is my friend George,” Nancy explained. “I'm Nancy. And you're—”

“Hana,” the girl replied. “If you see Midori, tell her I said hi. I haven't seen her in a while.” She pursed her lips, blew a bubble, and popped it before adding, “Not since her totally uptight parents pulled her out of school.”

“Really?” Nancy said. “Actually, I haven't seen her in a while, either. I was hoping to run into her.”

Hana shrugged. “You might try Café Vertigo—she used to hang out there a lot. But I doubt she'll be there.”

Nancy remembered the miniskirts she was holding. “I'm starving all of a sudden. Maybe George and I will head over to Café Vertigo, then come back to try these on.”

Hana took them from her. “Suit yourself.”

After thanking her, Nancy and George headed for the café, which was just around the corner. It was a small, dark, cavelike place with colorful murals on the walls. There were a dozen teens sitting around a few mismatched tables and drinking tiny cups of very black, bitter-smelling
coffee. Most of them were wearing ripped denim shorts, torn T-shirts, and combat boots.

“I get the feeling we don't fit in here,” George whispered. “Our clothes have no holes in them.”

“I know what you mean,” Nancy whispered back. Then she noticed three teens—two girls and a guy—sitting in the corner. The guy was wearing a Senagawa Art College T-shirt like Midori's.

Nancy approached the table. The three teens stopped talking and looked up at her. “You lost?” the guy asked coldly in excellent, unaccented English.

Nancy forced herself to smile. “Sorry, my mistake.” She nodded at one of the girls. “I thought you were Midori Kato. I guess I was wrong.”

“Midori!” the girl exclaimed. “She no longer comes in here.”

Nancy watched the three carefully. None of them was reacting suspiciously to Midori's name—they merely seemed curious.

George walked up to the table holding two cups of espresso. “Here,” she said, handing one to Nancy.

Nancy took the cup. “I was wrong,” she told George meaningfully. “I thought this girl was my friend Midori, but she's not.”

“Oh!” George pretended to study the girl's face. “She's definitely not.”

“Midori's probably off getting married to her rich Prince Charming by now,” the guy muttered.

“Ken Naka-something,” the second girl spoke up. “I ran into him and Midori once. He is very handsome.”