“Sweetheart…” She reached forward and patted my hand. “I could tell you were struggling at your jobs in the city. You tried so hard. I didn’t want to tell you because I was afraid I made it all look too easy, you know? I’ve been blessed. Never once have I had to borrow money. Even in the years the crops weren’t good, we were able to save and buckle down for the next year by dipping into our stores in the barn. I sold things, but I always stayed afloat.”
I stared out into the restaurant full of people, sipping at iced tea or drinking beers, laughing over beautifully plated food or asking for the check. I imagined the chef I met yesterday cooking in the kitchen, happy at his job and pleased with the prosperity of his restaurant. Every single person in this room was, no doubt, successful or content. Everyone but me.
“It looks like it’s a thriving business. Is it always this busy in here?”
Mom nodded and followed my gaze into the main area. “It is. Yasahiro-san has done well for himself. He used to work in the city at a restaurant but wanted to move to the countryside and open a slow food restaurant of his own.”
“Slow food. I’ve heard of this. All locally bought produce and meat, right?” I was not a foodie. As someone who ate almost exclusively fast food, slow food lived far outside of my realm of existence. But it was hot and trendy. All the celebrities swore by it. The movement was hard to miss.
“Yasahiro-san buys produce from the farms around town, mine included, and fish from a broker at Tsukiji. He has a farmer who raises and slaughters cows, pigs, and chickens, too. All local, all organic. That’s why he does so well. This place was written up in The Japan Times and Tokyo Metro Magazine, and he has a Michelin star. Now, he often sells out of food, he’s so busy.”
“Are you talking about me, Tsukiko-san?”
We both jumped and laughed. Yasahiro stood at our table, in chef’s whites, his hands clutching two plates of appetizers. We leaned back as he placed them on the table.
“I have some summer rolls for you today,” he said, clasping his hands in front of him. I didn’t know him at all, but he seemed nervous, the way his eyes darted between Mom and me. But Mom was one of his investors, and I had been abrasive to him yesterday, so I could imagine why he’d be apprehensive about approaching us. He probably expected me to be mean and bitchy.
I tilted my head and looked at the summer rolls. Finely chopped greens, carrots, cilantro, avocado, and radish were enclosed in a translucent rice wrapper with peanut dipping sauce on the side. I braced myself to hate it but still smile.
“And I’m sending out the hot pots soon. I hope you enjoy the mizuna greens, Mei-san. I, uh, feel bad about what happened yesterday.”
“Don’t mention it,” I mumbled. “It’s my fault. I should have known you were joking.”
I picked up the summer roll, dipped it in the sauce, and took a bite. I expected it to be bland and awful, but everything crunched, bright and fresh, and the spicy sauce zipped across my tongue.
“Mmmm,” I said, my voice rising. “It’s pretty good.”
Yasahiro laughed. “Don’t act so surprised. Did you think I was trying to poison you?”
“No.” I huffed, offended by his brusqueness. “I expect this organic food nonsense to be devoid of taste.”
Mom kicked me under the table. “Ow,” I hissed at her.
I had never fallen for the organic food hype, and it showed.
Yasahiro’s face fell, his good cheer leeched out of him by my careless words. “If anything, all of this food is better tasting than anything you can get at a chain restaurant in the city.” He pushed his glasses up his nose and glared down at me.
“Oh really? Do you think you could win me over with your slow food haute cuisine?”
“Mei…” If Mom could have, she’d have grabbed my ear and dragged me out of the restaurant right then. She’d probably had enough of my attitude over the years. If I felt threatened about anything, I needed proof that I was wrong and the other person was right. I had challenged hundreds of people over the years, lost many and won a few, but it never stopped me from challenging another person to prove their viewpoint to me. What could I say? I liked empirical evidence.
Yasahiro cocked his head to the side, tapped his finger against his lips, and narrowed his eyes at me for a moment. I got the distinct feeling I was being sized up. What did my opinion matter to this man? He didn’t know me at all. But I glanced across to my mom and her face displayed the epitome of polite amusement verging on horror. This restaurant meant something to her. Yasahiro’s opinion meant something to her, and I was acting like a rebellious teenager. Something about being home in Chikata made me revert to my bad habits. At twenty-six years old, I should’ve tempered myself.
“Forget it,” I said, waving my hand in front of my face. “I don’t want to embarrass Mom. I’m sure your food is very delicious. Just look at all the people here.”
“No, no, no. I love a good challenge. Please, let me win you over with my ‘slow food haute cuisine.’” He laughed at his own air quotes. “That’s the first time anyone’s ever called it that to my face. Give me a week to prepare, and then I want you to come here every day for lunch for a whole week. I’ll save this table for you. After the week is up, you can tell me what you really think. I promise I won’t hold it against you, whatever the outcome.”
Mom cleared her throat politely.
“Or against you, Tsukiko-san. Ladies, enjoy your meal.”
He backed away from the table, rubbing his hands together. I inserted a thought-bubble over his head that read, “Muahahaha. She will be defeated by my awesome skills and delicious food. Just you wait. Just you wait…”
Mom sighed as she picked up the summer roll and dipped it in the sauce. “Mei-chan, you are going to be the death of me, I swear.”
“What?” I asked, feigning ignorance.
“Eat your food,” she responded. “And you’re grounded.”
Chapter Nine
Chiyo’s “new” bathhouse was actually the oldest bathhouse in Chikata. For the last fifty years, it had been run by the Murita family, a staple family in this small town. Otsuka Murita had even run for office a few times and served on the town council. He had worked hard and saved his money from the bathhouse to pay for college in the United States for his two sons. Funny how that one decision changed his life. The sons turned out to love America. They had both married American girls and decided to settle down outside of New York City, where they each had two kids. Murita’s wife didn’t want to miss out on her grandkids’ lives so she persuaded Otsuka to sell the bathhouse and move to the U.S.
Chiyo was in the right place at the right time. She was shopping one day when she heard Otsuka’s wife talking of their impending move to the States, and she offered to buy the bathhouse right away before anyone else could. She didn’t need to see the place or even have it inspected before she bought it. As one of only a few bathhouses in town, we had been there hundreds of times for soaks in the baths and gossiping. It was a regular Saturday tradition when I was growing up.
Outside the door to the bathhouse, a sign that read “Opening Soon!” flapped in the breeze and a new name placard with the kanji for “Kutsuro Matsu” (“relaxing pine tree”) hung next to it. Mom rang the bell and waited for someone to come and let us in.
“Tsukiko-san! Mei-chan!” Kumi smiled and beckoned us inside. She was a year younger than me, and we were in the same school together growing up. I’d always liked her and was pleased when she married Goro. Their wedding was the talk of the town! They made an excellent pair, and my mom happily confirmed that for the last few years. “It’s so good to see you both! Mei-chan, you look gorgeous. I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Oh, stop. You look gorgeous yourself,” I replied, and we both giggled at each other like kids and then laughed because we’re adults.
Kumi slid the door shut behind us, locking it. “People keep trying to come in even though the sign says we’re opening soon. It’s like they don’t
believe it or something.” She shook her head. “I know the bathhouse has been around for ages, but everyone here knows it’s under new management. We open in two weeks. They can wait. Come in, come in! Take a look around!”
She wiped her paint-covered hands off on her jeans as Mom and I looked around at the place. Wow. They’d done a lot of work! They replaced the old cubbies with new wooden ones, lacquered a dark brown. LED lights shined bright in the front vestibule and the payment desk had been torn out and a new standing desk had been situated in its place.
“We just installed a new payment system,” Kumi said, showing me the iPad register. “We also have our own loyalty card people can load up with money for a discount. It’s really fun.” She smiled tapping through the screens. In high school, she programmed apps for everyone’s phones and even made a dating app once where you could date different members of a famous manga. She was the perfect person to have running a business. I could never do that kind of stuff. I loved my phone, but I had no idea how it worked.
“I just updated the website, and I’m getting ready to start up the social networks for this place.” She rubbed her hands together, and Mom nodded at her. I could see why Mom invested in the bathhouse. With someone handling all of the business and bringing the place into the twenty-first century, it’d be even more successful than it used to be.
They didn’t change the basic layout of the bathhouse. The men were to the right, and the women were to the left. To the rear of the front desk, a set of stairs led up to the observation loft. Up there, Chiyo would sit and watch both sides of the bathhouse, making sure both men and women behaved themselves. This was common, and I loved watching foreigners freak out that someone observed them while they got naked, washed, and sat in the baths. I’d only seen it a few times, though, because I only frequented sentōs where I knew the staff or they knew my family. I had to be careful because I had been kicked out of bathhouses before. I shrugged my shoulders to move my bra strap across my back and tried to push the memories from my head.
We ducked into the ladies’ side of the bathhouse. Here, Chiyo directed two younger men, helping them install new mirrors at each of the bath stations. I was about to compliment her on the new decor when a reflection in the mirror caught my eye.
I turned and found my giant painting of Mount Fuji up on the opposite wall, over the baths. I suddenly began to sweat. I’d never displayed my work anywhere but home, and now, one of my paintings hung in a bathhouse with my name right next to it.
“See?” Chiyo said, coming up beside me. “I told you it’s perfect for this space. Most bathhouses have Fuji-san painted straight onto the wall. And remember there was that dreadful painting of the Tokyo skyline in here?”
I nodded my head, remembering it. I used to stare at the mural and wonder if the original painter had been on drugs. It was horrible.
“I had it painted over and your painting hung in its place. It’s wonderful!” Chiyo threw her arms out at the painting and sighed. She’d always been this way, a bit starry-eyed and gushing over everything. “I was wondering if I could commission a new painting from you.”
I began to sweat buckets, and I pumped my shirt a few times to get cool air to my body. “Chiyo-san, you’re so kind, but I haven’t painted anything in five or six years. I don’t even think I could paint anything if I wanted to. All of my supplies are so old —”
“Nonsense,” she exclaimed, interrupting me. “I’ll pay you up front so you can buy the supplies. The bathhouse’s new name is ‘relaxing pines’ so I’d love a pine forest for the men’s side.”
“What was on the wall there before?”
She frowned. “A painting of Tokyo Harbor.” She sighed, shaking her head. “I don’t know what they were thinking when they decided on that.”
“I’m sure it was as bad as this side.”
I took a deep breath and studied my original painting. One of my more inferior works, it was messy and discordant. At the time, I had been studying color theory and blending, and many parts of the landscape and mountainside were downright sloppy. I wanted to take it down and throw it away. I imagined sneaking in in the middle of the night, taking it off the wall, and leaving a pile of money in its place. But it was huge, just over a meter wide. I could never carry it. The materials for it alone set me way back. I spent New Year’s money on the canvas and paints for it, but once I completed it, I never framed it. I just left the painting in the loft in the barn. It was probably pretty dirty and worn when Chiyo rescued it. But she’d already shown the canvas and framing some love by cleaning it up.
Guilt blanketed me from head to toe. I couldn’t believe this awful painting hung here in Chiyo’s new bathhouse.
“What’s the matter?” Chiyo asked, glancing between me and Mom behind me.
“You should take it down.” I shook my head and backed away from it. “It’s just so… amateurish and embarrassing.”
“It is not,” she said, stomping her foot. “It’s lovely. I love it. And it’s mine now. I will not take it down.”
“At least take down my name? Please?” My voice cracked, my whole being overwhelmed with how much I hated it. My breathing came in short bursts, and I felt like I was drowning.
“I’ll do no such thing. This is something you should be proud of, Mei-chan. Stop being so hard on yourself.”
I turned my back to it and exited out of the bathing area to the front desk. Kumi followed me out and touched my shoulder.
“Hey, it’s okay. It’s never easy looking at your own work like that.”
I folded my arms across my chest and paced around the waiting area.
“Oh yeah? What makes you an authority on this?” I stopped and closed my eyes against my loose tongue. “Sorry. That was mean.”
She laughed. “Well, I do graphic design on the side to make extra money, and you wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve drawn or colored something only to hate it the moment it went online. People would comment and say it’s brilliant or whatever, and I’d immediately delete it. Then I’d put it back a day later.” She waved her hand in the air. “Repeat as necessary. I do it all the time. It’s like a sickness. But all creative people are like that. Very few actually like what they produce. Most of them hate it.”
Huh. I hadn’t known this about Kumi. Sure, she was the girl with pink hair and doodles all over her notebooks, but I didn’t think her artistic talent went anywhere after that. How she managed to marry a cop was beyond me.
“Next time you come, you should just go in there and stare at it for a while. Get used to it. Mom loves it. It’s not going anywhere.”
The front door bell rang and Kumi went to unlock it. Goro entered, his police uniform absent, wearing jeans and an old rock concert t-shirt. The two of them kissed and embraced, and I turned my head to give them space.
“Mei-chan, it’s good to see you again.” Goro said his usual greeting. “Are you here to see your painting up in the washing area?”
Kumi patted him on the chest. “Don’t stir up bad conversation. Mei-chan isn’t used to seeing her work on the wall. She would probably burn it if she could.”
“Indeed,” I said, and Goro eyed me suspiciously. “Honestly, though, I would never commit arson on this place. You know how I feel about fire.” Visions of me standing outside and chopping it into a pile of wood danced through my head. That would’ve been acceptable.
“Good,” he said, nodding in my direction, and I pictured him again, the last time I saw him, taking Akiko in for questioning.
“Hey, I hope this isn’t out of line, but I was wondering what’s going on with Akiko-chan?”
Kumi grabbed her phone from the front desk. “I’m going to get coffee. Anyone want some?”
We both shook our heads and she left Goro and me alone.
“Akiko-chan will be fine. We were just checking on her alibi and whereabouts. The usual stuff. What do you think happened?” I loved this about Japanese police. They were helpful and fine with the community pol
icing itself, nothing like cops in American dramas I watched online. Goro’s inquiry was typical. The police were the protectors and arbiters of our world, not our antagonists.
I bit my lip and shrugged my shoulders. “She’s my best friend. I can’t believe she would kill her father.”
Goro stared at me without saying anything.
“Look, I’d like to help out.”
“You? Help out? You think you can do better than us?” Goro cracked a half-smile and folded his arms across his chest. He was goading me, and I laughed.
“You know it’s our duty to help out, right? At least, that’s what I was taught growing up.” Chikata was small potatoes. They didn’t have a huge police force with detectives and forensics experts, so they relied on the community to gather evidence.
“You’re not insulting my wonderful mother, are you?”
“Absolutely not.” I cracked a smile.
“Do you know the last time we had a genuine crime here?”
“No clue.”
“Way before my time.” He released his arms and shrugged his shoulders.
“It’s an easy guess it has to do with all the new improvements in town,” I said, sitting on a bench near the cubbies. “The grocery store? The Midori Sankaku greenhouse? The new restaurants and stores? Suddenly this town is getting a ton of attention.”
He leaned against the wall. “We’re just talking, right?” Meaning: “You’re not going to go around telling people I’m talking about this, are you?”
I opened my arms and swept them in front of me. “Just chatting. We’re old friends who are concerned about Akiko-chan.”
“And Tama-chan. Don’t forget he’s being questioned, too.”
“This is insane. There’s no way either of them would kill their own father.”
Tama’s words as he yelled at Akiko rang through my head. “Mom and Dad treated me like dirt…” Which I couldn’t believe. Both Akiko and Tama were fawned over as kids. But Tama did have a huge chip on his shoulder. Always had.
The Daydreamer Detective Page 6