“Do you have any idea where this tray came from?” Nancy asked.
Mrs. Ito nodded. “About twenty minutes ago, I let a delivery boy in to take this food to you. He said you had phoned the restaurant to order it. Our guests often order food, so I did not think anything of it.”
“Which restaurant was he from?” George asked.
“I did not notice,” Mrs. Ito replied, bristling slightly. “The boy was unfamiliar to me, but I had no reason to be suspicious of him.”
“What did he look like?” Nancy said.
Mrs. Ito shrugged. “He had a crew cut. That is all I remember.”
Nancy nodded, then pointed at the fugu. “Mrs. Ito, can you tell if this has poison in it?”
“Of course,” she said. “My father was a fugu chef.”
She peered at the spiky fish closely. Then she poked at it with a pair of chopsticks.
After a moment of inspecting it, she gasped. “This fugu is full of poison!” she announced.
Nancy paled slightly, thinking of how close she’d come to taking a bite. “How do you know?”
“The liver has not been removed, and it is one of the most toxic parts of the fish!” Mrs. Ito said. “I am most distressed. Who would do such a terrible thing?”
Nancy didn’t reply, although Yoko Nakamura’s name came immediately to mind. Would Ken’s mother have resorted to murder to keep Nancy from tracking down Midori? she asked herself.
• • •
Nancy and George were twenty minutes late meeting Mick. He was waiting for them on a bustling street corner, in front of a small building with no sign or windows.
“Hi,” Mick said, waving. He was dressed in jeans, a white T-shirt, and black linen jacket. “I was starting to wonder if you had been kidnapped . . .” His words trailed off when he saw the expressions on the girls’ faces. “What’s wrong?”
Nancy watched a group of Japanese teens enter the building and said, “It’s kind of a long story. Let’s go inside, and we’ll fill you in.”
Just inside the entrance a doorman took Mick’s passes. He was wearing a black vintage tuxedo and yellow baseball cap. “Welcome to Puppy Love Live,” he said to them.
“Puppy Love Live?” George repeated, glancing at Mick. “What does that mean?”
Mick smiled and shrugged. “Who knows? The Japanese are great at coming up with weird names for things.”
The interior of the club was part Gothic, part Arabian fantasy. The cavernous space was split into individual rooms, separated by wispy chiffon curtains that hung from the ceiling. Each room was furnished with velvet and satin settees in brilliant golds, purples, and reds. The air was sweet with the smell of patchouli incense.
In the center was a large dance floor, lit from above by an enormous antique chandelier. At the moment the floor was mobbed with teens dancing to a British rock tune.
A young girl passed by Nancy and her friends carrying a basket of daisies. She gave one to each of them, then moved on.
“What a fun place,” George remarked, tucking her daisy into the pocket of her black silk shirt.
“Isn’t it?” Mick said. “I asked a friend from work to meet us. I think I see him sitting over there.”
Nancy and George followed Mick to one of the chiffon-shrouded rooms. A short guy with curly brown hair and glasses rose to greet them. He wore jeans and a T-shirt that said: “I’d Rather Be on Star System 434-CL.”
“Greetings,” he said, giving the girls a nervous little wave. “Gil Armstrong, at your service.”
“Gil’s a fellow Aussie and Nakamura intern,” Mick explained, then introduced Nancy and George to him. “Let’s all get comfortable, shall we?”
He put his hand on Nancy’s elbow and pulled her down on a velvet settee. That left George to sit with Gil, across from them.
“Mick tells me you’re an athlete, George,” Gil said, flashing her a toothy grin.
George threw Nancy a helpless look, as if to say, “Is this guy supposed to be my date?” Then she turned to Gil and said, “Um, sure, I guess you could call me that.”
While the two of them were talking, Mick moved closer to Nancy and said, “Is this a good time to tell me what happened to you earlier tonight?”
Nancy nodded, then filled him in on the case. She ended with an account of the near deadly fugu incident.
“On our way down here, George and I checked out all the restaurants in our neighborhood,” Nancy finished. “It was a real dead end. None of them serves fugu, and none of them could identify our delivery guy.”
Mick frowned. “Somebody really wants you out of the picture—permanently,” he said, concerned. “Do you think it’s Yoko Nakamura?”
“I don’t know,” Nancy admitted. “She’s the only suspect I’ve got. But it’s really hard for me to believe she’d kill me to keep Ken and Midori apart.” She paused, then said, “My instincts tell me there’s more to Midori’s disappearance than we thought—something major enough to make someone want to kill me. I just have to figure out what it is and who’s responsible.”
Mick leaned forward and touched her cheek lightly. “Well, you know you can count on me,” he murmured. “I’ll do anything to help.”
“Thanks, Mick,” Nancy said. His touch made her feel awkward. “Hey, why don’t we dance?” she suggested.
“Sure,” Mick said, standing up. “Gil? George? You want to join us?”
“I’m really not much of a dancer,” Gil replied quickly. “Besides, George and I are having a great talk about Japanese politics.”
George’s eyes widened skeptically at this remark.
Nancy followed Mick through the chiffon curtains. “I hope George is having a good time,” she whispered.
“Oh, sure,” Mick whispered back. “She and Gil seem to be getting along fine.”
The dance floor was still packed, and Nancy and Mick were pushed together as they tried to move to the music.
“Popular place,” Nancy remarked, raising her arms to let two dancers pass.
A moment later the music shifted to a slow number. Mick held out his hand to Nancy. “I’m game if you are,” he said.
She smiled and took his hand. “Sure.”
A second later they were holding each other and swaying slowly. “Will you be mad if I tell you that this reminds me of old times?” Mick whispered in her ear.
Nancy felt her breath catch in her throat. “No,” she whispered back. She hated to admit it, but it was comfortable being in his arms again. She felt herself moving imperceptibly closer to him.
Just then a warning light went off in her head. She stepped back and shook her head.
“What’s wrong?” Mick murmured.
Nancy looked up at him. “Listen, Mick,” she said seriously. “You know I’m with Ned now. I can’t be more than friends with any other guy.”
Mick was silent for a moment, then said, “I understand, Nancy. If you just want to be friends, that’s fine with me.” He grinned. “On two conditions. I get you for the rest of this dance and you go to the festival with me tomorrow night.”
Nancy laughed softly. “You drive a hard bargain, Mick Devlin.”
Without any further words Mick took her in his arms and they began dancing again. Nancy closed her eyes and put her head against his chest. As the slow, romantic song played on, she willed herself to enjoy the moment and not think about the past or the future. Or Ned.
• • •
“You went to Puppy Love Live last night?” Mari said. “I’m so jealous. Isn’t it great?”
She, Nancy, and George were sitting in the Katos’ backyard enjoying the morning sun. From inside the house, Nancy could hear the sounds of Toshiko Kato chopping vegetables. Her husband was in the front yard trimming the hedges.
“We had a terrific time,” George replied. “And we really needed it, too, especially after—” She hesitated and glanced at Nancy.
Mari stared at George, then at Nancy. “What?” she said anxiously.
Nancy took a deep breath and told her about the fugu. By the time she’d finished, Mari was paler.
“I don’t get it,” Mari murmured. “You don’t think it had anything to do with Midori, do you?”
“It has to,” Nancy replied gravely. “And until we figure out who’s behind it, we’ll all have to keep our eyes open and be very careful.”
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.”
Chapter
Seven
YOU 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?”
“T
he 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 Runaway Bride Page 4