He tossed his garbage into the dumpster and came straight to me. I started to shiver. If I had kept moving, I would have stayed warm, but the rain seeped into every seam of my jeans and coat, poured down my legs, and filled my boots.
“Mei-san!” Yasahiro put his umbrella over me and bent down to make eye contact. “Come inside now. You can’t stay out here like this.”
I couldn’t argue despite wanting to bolt and head to the police station. I was in no shape to show up there. So, I nodded and followed him into the kitchen.
Chapter Twenty
“What were you doing out there?”
I stood in the doorway of the kitchen, dripping a flood of water onto the ceramic tiles. I must’ve looked like a drowned rat with my hair soaked and coat stuck to me. The kitchen was not as busy as I expected, only a few guys washing dishes and no one at the stoves.
“What time is it?” I hadn’t even noticed the time when I ran out of the barn and across the street to Akiko’s house. I doubted it was past noon.
Yasahiro worked the buttons of my raincoat and peeled it off my shoulders. “It’s almost 14:00. I figured you’d be here in about twenty minutes. Are you going to tell me what happened?”
“I… I don’t know.” I looked down at my jeans plastered to my legs and sighed. “I’m soaked. I didn’t realize it was raining so hard.”
Each of the guys in the kitchen threw sidelong glances my way, and I dipped my head to avoid eye contact. I decided I better keep my mouth closed and not broadcast to everyone that I ran through the streets on a cold, rainy day. What had I been thinking? That I could run after the police car, pull Akiko out, and take her home? There were days when I believed I was a smart person. Today was not one of those days.
I grabbed at my raincoat before he took it away. Reaching into the pocket, I groaned as I extracted my soaked phone. The lake’s worth of water in my pocket had sent it to its grave, and it wouldn’t even turn on.
Yasahiro took my phone from my hands, brushing his long warm fingers against my freezing cold skin. “I’ll put this in some rice. Maybe it’ll turn on tomorrow.”
He set it on the counter, grabbed his chef’s coat from the hook next to an office door, and bundled me in it. Then he grabbed a clean kitchen towel. “Here. For your hair.”
I flipped my head over and wrapped up my wet locks into a turban.
“I should call Mom and let her know I’m not at home anymore. I kind of ran out without saying goodbye.” I had screamed at the house as I ran across the street, but I didn’t think she heard me. She may have been napping or in the bath.
“Here.” Yasahiro handed me his phone. “Your mom’s number is in my address book.”
I took the phone with a shaky hand and dialed mom’s mobile.
“Yasahiro-san, I hope you’re well.”
“No, Mom. It’s Mei.”
“Mei-chan, where are you? Are you calling me from the barn on Yasahiro’s phone?”
“No,” I said, sighing. “I’m actually in town at Sawayaka. I was in the barn, and then I looked out the window and saw police cars pulling up to Akiko’s house. They took her in for questioning.” Tears started to fall down my face, so I turned my back to Yasahiro. “She says her patients can’t remember if she visited them the day her Dad died, and Tama-chan is telling the police all types of lies about her mental state. Why would he do something like that?”
Mom paused on the other end of the phone for a moment. “Something strange is going on between those two. I think we’re going to need to do some digging, and it won’t be pretty. They’re definitely hiding something. Isn’t it pouring rain outside? My car is in the driveway so you must’ve walked.”
I squished back and forth in my soaked boots. “I’m a little wet, but I’ll be fine.” I turned around and Yasahiro gestured that he’d drive me home. “Yasahiro-san will drive me home in a little bit. Don’t worry, but my phone is soaked and won’t turn on. So don’t try to call.”
“Oh no, Mei-chan. I hope you have a backup.” Of course, I didn’t have a backup phone. I was too poor for something like that. “We’ll talk about this when you get home.”
I hung up the phone and gave it back to Yasahiro. The kitchen was now empty, the lunch hour over, and everyone had left for their break before the dinner rush.
“It’s a good thing I was making miso soup for lunch today. Come over here and have something to eat before I take you home.”
I took two steps in my squishy boots before he placed his hand on my shoulder and stopped me. He directed me to a stool at the kitchen island and sat me on it. Squatting down, he removed each of my boots and looked inside.
“There’s a bucket full of water in each of these, and where are your socks?” His fingers trailed up my jeans, stopping at the splats of paint. Taking my right hand in his, he smiled at my blackened fingertips. My face caught fire, burning at this sudden intimate contact. I stared at our hands together, not believing he was touching me. Yesterday, I pushed him away, and today, he was closer than ever. How could I let that happen? I tried to snap my fingers back, but he held them tight between his hands, pressing warmth into them.
“You were painting.” He raised his eyebrows at me, and after a moment of strong eye contact, he let my hands go. I held my breath and let it go slowly as he grabbed my boots and dumped the water from both into the sink.
“I was painting, yes.”
I smudged the paint on my jeans with my index finger, watching it blend with the rain and spread through the fibers.
“Mei-san, that’s great! I’m so happy for you.”
I rolled my eyes at him and sighed.
“What?” His face fell into a frown. “I am happy for you. This may be the start of something important for you.”
“Please.” I injected extra sarcasm into my voice. “It’s just painting. It’s nothing special.” I paused as I gauged how upset he was with me. Judging by the set of his jaw and the way he narrowed his eyes, hugely upset. I wondered if I could dial that up even more. “Honestly, I was going to paint, get cleaned up, come here and never mention it. I guess, I don’t see why you even care.”
He sighed, setting my boots by the door. “Of course I care. What do you have against me knowing you’re an artist?”
He turned his back on me, grabbing a bowl from a stack of clean dishes, spooning miso soup into it, and sliding it across the kitchen island to me.
“I’m not an artist. I try, and sometimes I like what I do, like what I make, but everyone always hates it, including me.”
“Didn’t Hokichi-san buy your painting for 60,000 yen? It seems to me that if she hated the painting, she wouldn’t have bought it.” He spooned hot steaming rice from a rice cooker into two bowls and set them aside.
I leaned over to smell the soup, letting the steam warm my face. I tried not to be annoyed that he knew all of these details about me that I never told him, but his knowledge of my life slowly chipped away at my patience. Damned small towns. And this was why we couldn’t become involved. I needed to build a good reputation if I stayed here for the next year. Already most people suspected I had been fired from my last job, and I was back home, penniless, which was the truth, but something I couldn’t admit openly. If we dated and he broke up with me because I’m a loser, which would surely happen, that would be the end for me. Everyone would find out, and I’d be laughed at until I couldn’t leave the house.
“Chiyo-san has never said a bad thing about anybody ever in her life. She bought the painting because she felt bad for me. She knew I needed the money. No other reason.”
Yasahiro handed me a spoon, grabbed a stool, and sat down next to me. “You’re so hard on yourself. This is a common thing amongst artists. Did you know that?” I tried to ignore him, hoping he’d change the subject, but he went on. “It’s common amongst successful people, too. Imposter syndrome. Trust me. I get it all the time. I look at the rave reviews of my restaurant, my work, the stuff I do, and I don’t believe any o
f it. Yet, people come here to eat. They take pictures of my food and put them up online. I receive constant calls to return to France and teach new students the techniques I’ve been learning. And I keep thinking, ‘Why me?’”
I sipped the soup carefully and shivered as the warm broth defrosted me from the inside out. “Because this is the best miso soup I have ever tasted. Wow. It’s a lot like Mom’s but… There’s something else.”
“I use two kinds of bonito. Your mom only uses one.” He laughed before sipping his own soup.
Imposter syndrome? That sounded about right. I’d felt like an imposter my whole life. I believed my good grades were a fluke and any success I had I didn’t deserve. Then I fell into a depression the past few years as I watched all of that come to fruition.
“Do you really feel like an imposter? After all the success you’ve had?”
He adjusted the kerchief he kept around his neck in the kitchen. “Sure. Every day I stand outside the restaurant and believe it’ll be the last day I’m successful. That someone will finally point their finger at me and call me a fraud, and everything I’ve worked for will be over.”
He said this matter-of-factly, like he always felt this way. Warmth grew inside of me, my earlier resolution to keep him away from me waning. I desperately wanted to reach over and hold his hand and remind him of his talent.
Why was I such a hypocrite? I wanted to do that for him but not let him do that for me.
We shared a moment of silence punctuated by soup slurping, and it felt comfortable and easy. It also felt soaking wet, but only to me. I shouldn’t have been so hard on myself, or him.
“I’ve been so… lost.” Confession time. I didn’t know Yasahiro that well yet, but he felt familiar, like someone I could trust. He wanted to know more about me, and I could do that without letting it get romantic. I reached down into my gut and pulled up some courage. “I put my painting away years ago, determined to give it up. And then I was eliminated from every job I’ve had for the last five years.” Tears crept into my eyes and my voice cracked. “I’m a complete failure. And now Akiko-chan is in trouble…”
Yasahiro, to his credit, didn’t freak out about seeing me cry. The last guy I dated two years ago, the last time I got laid in fact, would stand up and walk away every time I cried. He didn’t know how to handle emotions. Yasahiro placed his warm hand over mine on the kitchen island and squeezed.
“You’re not a failure. You’re only just beginning. I promise. Now, did I hear you say Akiko-san was arrested?”
“No, they brought her in for more questioning.” I shook my head, forcefully, my tears launching every which way. He tugged on the sleeve of his chef’s coat I wore and indicated I should use it to dry my eyes. I dabbed at my face with the corner of the cuff.
“She takes care of all these old men and women, in their homes, as a visiting nurse. I’m not surprised they’re horrible witnesses what with their bad memories. The police questioned them, and two can’t remember her being there. And Tama-chan says she’s been depressed the past few months.” The last time she came into the city, she was bummed about her Dad, but we had a great time and had talked on the phone and on Skype several times since then. Plus, she always went to work. If she had been depressed, it wasn’t debilitating. Lots of people led day-to-day lives while depressed. It didn’t mean they were murderers.
“Hmmm,” he said, rubbing at his chin before getting up from his seat, opening the oven, and taking out a pan of cooked eel in brown sauce. He must have prepared that earlier and kept it warm for me. He placed the eel on the rice, added bits of seaweed, and served it to me. “I know Tama-san. I see him most nights at Izakaya Jūshi.”
“Really? He was never much of a drinker when I knew him.”
“Well, that’s not the case now. He always seemed like a pleasant guy to me, and we’ve talked on a few occasions. He’s dating Haruka-san from the hair salon up the street.”
“Yes. I know,” I ground out between clenched teeth. Yasahiro eyed me but didn’t ask. I relaxed my jaw. “I guess things have changed a lot since I’ve been gone.”
“That may be true of the town.” He sat next to me again with his own eel and rice bowl. “But I can tell you one thing. Your spirit has always lived on in your home and your mother’s love for you has never wavered. Not one bit.”
“What?” The change in conversation startled me enough that my chopsticks rolled out of my hand and hit the floor. Yasahiro calmly got up and retrieved me a new pair.
“I’ve been here for over a year now, learning from your mom, and opening the restaurant. She would often have me over to your house for cooking lessons, especially during the summer when she was busy on the farm and couldn’t come to my place or the community center. She caught me a few times looking at the family pictures on the wall.”
I blushed five shades of crimson, knowing the photos on the wall at home: baby pictures of me and my brother, graduation photos when I was still super awkward, and some candid shots Mom had taken over the years.
“Your mom always bragged about you — how smart you are, where you went to school, your jobs and an apartment in the city. She was always happy about how much you had accomplished, showing me photos on her phone or telling me stories about things you did. I probably know you better than you think I do. Sorry.” He averted his eyes and stared at his food while I panicked inside. How much did he know? “She never mentioned the painting though. It’s as if she knew how you wanted to leave it behind.” He shook his head as he ate a bite of rice and eel. “I would never have known if I hadn’t met you.”
I didn’t believe it. “Surely, Mom bragged more about my brother than me. He’s the one with the successful business in Osaka, the wife, and kid.”
“Nope. You’re the only one she talks about.”
Tears welled up in my eyes again. I had the best mom on the planet.
I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. I liked being with Yasahiro, and I both didn’t want it to end but felt it would someday soon.
“So, you ran into town with no umbrella, and apparently no socks, to try and rescue Akiko-san from the police?”
I laughed, mopping up my face again with the sleeve of his coat. “Yep. Some days my brilliance knows no bounds.”
He laughed too. “I like your sense of humor. No one ever understood me growing up. It wasn’t until I lived in France that I realized I was sarcastic.”
“I learned sarcasm from the internet, hours of YouTube videos and some show called How I Met Your Mother.”
“I love that show!” He backed away from me briefly to scan me from head to toe. This time his gaze was appraising, and I warmed with the attention. “No one here has ever seen it.”
“I know.” Those hours of alone time in my apartment in Tokyo in my pajamas with ramen noodles and a pint of ice cream were spent watching tons of internet TV. I didn’t have much of a life in Tokyo.
“I heard from the town gossipers that you have a bet with Goro-san? On which of you can solve the murder first?”
“Yeah, but I’m doing a horrible job of it. I’m sure I’m going to lose.”
Yasahiro took my empty miso bowl and refilled it. “Well, if you want, we could go to Izakaya Jūshi tomorrow evening and see if Tama-san is there. We could casually ask him about what’s going on and see if he gives us any information.”
Interesting. A night out with Yasahiro? But it wouldn’t be a date, it would be an information gathering session. I could be okay with that.
“Okay, yeah. Let’s do that. What time do you get off work?”
“23:00. Is that okay?”
I guffawed in an unladylike manner, and he quirked a smile at me. “Yikes. I’m an old timer now, and I go to bed ridiculously early.”
He smiled, squeezing my hand again. My heart soared with the contact. Stupid heart. “Take a nap or something. You can meet me here at 22:30 and I’ll make you a pre-outing cocktail.”
“You mix drinks too?”
> He blew on his nails. “I do a lot of things, Mei-chan. You haven’t seen anything yet.”
It didn’t escape my notice he switched to -chan from -san. An important step-up in the order of things.
“Okay. Deal. I’ll be here.”
He stabbed his finger into the air. “But don’t miss lunch tomorrow! I have something special planned.”
I couldn’t wait.
Chapter Twenty-One
Being warm and dry again never felt so good. I was back home, and I never wanted to run in wet rain boots again because my feet stung and had acquired blisters. I taped them up, got dressed, and got moving anyway. After telling Mom everything that happened, we drove to the police station, and in true Mom fashion, she walked in and everyone cheered, smiled, and bowed to her. My mom was more popular than I was.
I glanced at the man talking to her, and based on the way he commanded the room, I guessed he was in charge. Good. She went straight for the top. But first came all the pleasantries of how’s your family, how’s work, how’s your health, et cetera, et cetera, and I nodded and smiled the whole time, hoping we would see Goro soon. Goro said we could come by and help out, and I wanted that to be the truth. I wouldn’t take no for an answer, and I had Mom to back me up. She’d known everyone in this town for decades, and even babysat plenty of the people in the police force when they were kids. They were unlikely to tell her no unless it’d get them fired.
“Now, we are here to see Akiko Kano. We’ve known each other for a long time, and I’m sure you can let us in to see her.” Mom folded her hands and waited. People behind the supervisor nodded their heads, but he stood firm, rigid and unable, or unwilling, to help us.
“Yamagawa-san, you know police procedures. We’re just questioning her, and she came in voluntarily. If we can clear her and establish her alibi, she’ll go home. She wants to stay and get this taken care of.”
The Daydreamer Detective Page 14