The Bride's Kimono

by Sujata Massey

  “Let’s move on,” Detective Harris said. “I want to establish Miss Shimura’s real link to the dead woman. I have a little theory,” he said, looking closely at me. “It’s that you and Hana were in the same line of work, and you killed her—or you know who did. Maybe she took your kimono because there were drugs sewn into it. That’s why you asked the hotel staff to get it back for you, but weren’t too quick to contact us.”

  “You’ve got it all wrong,” I said, feeling hollow. “Hana wasn’t a prostitute. She’d come to the U.S. intending to have a fling with someone—but it was entirely for pleasure, not for pay. I tried to talk her out of it, because I thought it could be dangerous—now I know I was right.”

  “Miss Shimura, have you ever been arrested?” Cowboy asked in a fake conversational voice.

  “Of course not,” I snapped. “I’ve never even gotten a traffic violation.”

  “Well, there’s something we have here in the judicial system called a plea bargain. You squeal, you walk. Or at least you don’t do quite as many days in the big, bad American jail. There are some prisons with pretty tough chicks in them. Chicks who’d want to do a lot more than kiss and embrace.”

  “Plea bargains are something I will deal with later, when I’m in court, not sitting around a conference room with you and your rude friends having a so-called conversation.” I was so angry now that I’d regained a bit of courage. “I came here because I wanted to help you identify a woman who died. You seem to put that pretty low on your list of priorities.”

  “Consider this,” Detective Harris said. “Since you weren’t straight with us about things from the get-go, that makes your credibility as a witness less than stellar. We’re going to attempt to get the ID made by the woman who was supposedly rooming with Hana Matsura.”

  “Kyoko Omori,” I said. “But she’s in California, about to go home to Japan—”

  “We found her. She’s now in the process of arranging a flight back to Dulles. She’ll get in this evening. She’s bringing a man who says he was engaged to marry Hana. He’s coming from Japan via L.A.”

  I shook my head at that. “What about Hana’s parents?”

  “Whaddaya mean, what about her parents? Not everyone is able to travel when they get news about a possible death in the family.”

  “I can’t believe her parents didn’t come. That’s so—unloving,” I said, thinking about my own parents coming to see me. Suddenly I was reminded of my father waiting downstairs. “I’ve got to go.”

  “You know the drill, Miss Shimura. Don’t leave Virginia without telling us.”

  “I’m just talking about going downstairs to see my father. You gave him a terrible shock when you unfairly accused me of a crime.”

  Detective Harris said, “Well, if you’re innocent, you can always bring in this guy you say is your close friend.”

  “I won’t. He has a right to privacy—”

  “I thought you’d say that,” Detective Harris said, without smiling. “It’s the standard excuse given.”

  “You won’t believe anything I say. I shouldn’t have bothered opening my mouth.”

  “Yeah, should have kept those luscious lips zipped on the train,” Cowboy said. “That’s where you made all the trouble for yourself.”

  I found my father sitting on a bus-stop bench on Chain Bridge Road.

  “What did they say?” he asked anxiously.

  “Oh, not too much,” I lied. “Like I told you, it was a simple misunderstanding. They have these cameras in the Metro sometimes, and the camera photographed me sitting close to someone—a friend I hadn’t seen in a while.” I was striving to make everything sound as cool and non-sexual as possible. “Because of the differences in our gender, and my style of clothing, it aroused the police’s interest. You see, not many women travel the Metro wearing kimono. They thought I was an illegal alien.”

  “‘Prostitute’ was the word they used. But I knew it couldn’t be true—just as I received terrible news yesterday and couldn’t believe it.”

  “I didn’t want you to see the video. Not having seen it myself, I had no idea what they would present me with. As it turned out, the video was accurate; it just showed a little hugging and kissing—about as much as you and Mom did this morning,” I added, to reassure him.

  “So, what’s your friend’s name? Was it someone you knew in college?”

  “I didn’t know him in college, but I’ve known him for a while—a couple of years.” I paused. “The less I say about it the better.”

  “Rei-chan, that doesn’t sound good.”

  “It’s just that—there are some complications in my personal life. I’d rather sort them out myself.”

  My father gave me a long look. Then, in a gentle voice, he said, “You know, even though we’ve been together for a few hours, I realize that I haven’t yet asked you how you are. I wonder if you’re sleeping well at night.”

  “No. How can I, with the murder and the kimono theft?”

  “What about money? Do you seem to be spending more than usual?”

  I goggled at him. Did he know about the shopping spree my mother and I had gone on? Then I thought a little more and realized that my father was probably checking for psychiatric mania. My uncharacteristic promiscuity must have made him worry.

  “I’m not doing anything out of the ordinary, Otosan. I am suffering stress, but I’m also aware that stress is part of life, and things are bound to improve.”

  “I don’t like to meddle in your life, Rei, but I wonder if I could meet this—friend—of yours. I don’t think all the blame for the incident should rest on you. He was a partner in it as well.”

  “I prefer that he keep a low profile—it just makes good sense,” I said. I couldn’t possibly tell him the other reason I wanted to stay away from Hugh. I’d realized it when I was watching the video of Hugh rapturously kissing the base of my throat while I mouthed words that I’d never said to Takeo. I love you. The feeling had been buried so deeply inside me that I thought it had gone away. But it had just been lying dormant, like a virus buried in the spine, waiting for the right time to reemerge. I was in crisis, so I was back in love with Hugh.

  21

  Back in Room 605, my mother was lying on the bed, paging through catalogs she’d picked up at the Washington Design Center.

  “So, did you have fun?” she asked.

  I exchanged glances with my father. To my surprise he said, “It was all right.”

  “If you’d come with me, you’d have had a better time. Did you do what you hoped for: identify that poor dead girl?”

  “No. The police said that Kyoko Omori, the woman who was Hana’s roommate, is flying back to do it. She’ll have Hana’s fiancé with her.”

  “Oh, dear. Her fiancé. He must be devastated,” my mother said.

  “What I’m wondering about,” I said, “is why her parents didn’t want to come. You decided to travel the instant you heard a woman had been found dead with my identification in her pocket.”

  “People react differently to shock,” my father said. “I wanted to come so I could prove to myself it wasn’t you. Your mother wanted to come because she couldn’t bear the thought of you being alone and dead, without us there to care for you. I imagine Hana’s parents might be so stressed by the idea of death as well as foreign travel that they feel unable to fly.”

  My parents’ endless concern—even after knowing what the police thought of me—touched me so much that I felt weepy. I struggled to control my voice as I said, “I’m grateful to you for being willing to come see me. I only wish I could live up to your expectations. Unfortunately, I don’t think I can.”

  “Rei!” My mother was rushing toward me, arms open, as I backed toward the door.

  “I need some time alone,” I said, trying hard to control my voice. “I have to go to my room. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

  Allison had called, leaving a message that she hoped I felt all right after my untimely departure the
previous evening. The message was recorded around one P.M. I figured that meant the rest of the Morioka kimono collection hadn’t been stolen. There was also a terse message from Hugh. Where was I, and when could he see me again.

  I called Hugh back at work, and again the receptionist with the Miss Moneypenny voice put me through immediately.

  “Are you with someone?” I asked when he said hello.

  “No, I’m just doing research. Can you come to see me? I’m missing you terribly.”

  “Not at the moment. I’m afraid things are really bad. I went to see the police, and instead of talking to me about Hana, they presented me with a videotape from the time we were riding in the Metro.”

  “We changed trains in Metro Center.” Hugh paused, and I could sense him thinking. “Was the videotape from before or after?”

  “After. What’s really awful is that the cops think we engaged in an act of prostitution. I mean, I was the prostitute and you were the client.”

  “What a load of rubbish! That kind of accusation will never stand up in court. I’m sorry you went through this alone, but now that it’s over, take a hot shower and don’t let it bother you—”

  I wanted to shake him. “The camera caught an image of you offering me money. I sat next to you and took it, and then the rest happened. Tell me, why were you buckling your belt at the end? I don’t recall doing anything really X-rated.”

  “You unbuckled my belt because it was getting in the way of your, um, movements. But nothing really raunchy happened. It was a snog, not a shag.”

  “Good,” I said, wondering what the police would make of his bizarre British slang. I didn’t think it would help us.

  “Does the camera show much of my face?”

  “Actually, you lucked out because the camera mostly caught the back of your head. Not a hair out of place,” I added sourly. “And they’re clueless about your identity. They’ve somehow assumed you’re an American guy called John, and I haven’t done anything to change that misconception.”

  “How d’you think that came about?” Hugh sounded almost amused.

  “Well, when I tried to explain that I’d given you the money for a fare card, they said why would someone like me give money to a strange American. And later one of the officers said that I accepted payment from John.”

  “A john. That’s the word for someone who solicits prostitution.”

  “Really? I guess I’ve been out of the country so long I don’t know all the slang.”

  “It’s an old word, Rei.” I heard Hugh chuckling on his end.

  “I don’t think they can arrest me, or they would have done it earlier. Still, unless you want to have an embarrassing interview with the guys in blue, I think you should definitely stay away from me. Besides, things are crazy here. My parents arrived and Hana’s roommate Kyoko is coming back tonight to look at the corpse—along with the guy Hana was planning to marry. If the police hammer at her with the same accusation of prostitution that I received, she’ll be completely mortified. I can’t imagine what he’ll think—”

  Hugh snorted. “I can. He’ll think he walked onto the set of a Junzo Itami comedy.”

  Despite my unhappiness, I half smiled. I’d taught Hugh about all the best modern Japanese cultural references. It was tragic, though, that Japan’s greatest comedy director had dropped to his death from a high building a few years earlier. Rumors swirled about the tragedy, but nobody really knew for sure whether it was murder or suicide. Well, I wouldn’t let false rumors shadow Hana’s reputation. She hadn’t been a prostitute. I’d make sure that was known.

  My parents and I wound up eating Tex-Mex that night. It was a compromise because all three Shimuras had different ideas about the best place to eat. My mother wanted to try Kinkeads, while my father wanted to eat at Asia Nora. I was the lone voice for Austin Grill at the Nation’s Place mall, and because it was closest, I won.

  My mother groused the whole time that Mexican food wasn’t worth eating anywhere east of California, but my father and I ate our enchiladas and smiled at each other. The place was definitely a big chain, but the mole was terrific.

  When we returned to the Washington Suites, there was a slight commotion at the front desk. A young Japanese couple was trying to check in. Brian at the desk was shaking his head repeatedly, as if he wouldn’t accommodate them. When I caught sight of a familiar suitcase and a Burberry raincoat, I knew to hurry over.

  “Kyoko-san! You’re back,” I said, taking in her worried face. She looked at least five years older than when I’d last seen her.

  “Rei-san? I can’t believe you’re still here.” Kyoko’s face now held a hint of suspicion.

  “Yes, my assignment is not done. And now my parents are here, too.”

  “Oh, your parents! I must not disturb you.” Kyoko glanced in the direction that I waved and made a slight bow to my father and mother.

  “Don’t worry about them,” I said. “Have you been to see the police already? If not, there’s something I’ve got to warn you about. They think we’re a couple of—”

  There was a slight coughing sound coming from someone nearby, and I looked over to see the slim Japanese man who must have been engaged to Hana. He was just as Hana had said: five feet ten inches tall, and he looked fairly nice, with his hair cut in the super-short style that was now fashionable, and wearing a North Face jacket open over a soft red sweatshirt and khakis. He looked good, like the healthy, energetic Japanese male models in advertisements for cars, or houses, or banks.

  “I’m sorry. You must be…” I stopped, unable to remember his name. He’d formed a very small part of my airplane conversation with Hana.

  “Watanabe Yoshiki,” he said, bowing slightly. “You can call me Yoshi.”

  “Shimura Rei.” I introduced myself, putting my last name first, as he’d done. “How I wish we were meeting under happier circumstances. Hana-san would be touched to know that you’d traveled so far for her.”

  Yoshi ducked his head, but didn’t say anything. I wondered how close he’d gotten to her. Their introduction had been arranged, but they had been dating. Staying in love hotels and singing karaoke were the main activities I recalled Hana mentioning.

  “We go to see the body tomorrow morning,” Kyoko said. “And then we hope to fly back to Japan in the evening. However, it seems we can’t even get rooms here. I didn’t think to book the hotel in advance. I was just so confused and troubled, it was all I could do to find a flight.”

  I wondered if she’d paid her own way for the last-minute fare—or if Hana’s parents had helped her pay. Somehow, the situation of Kyoko and Yoshi, the friend and the fiancé traveling to make the ID, seemed even more sad.

  I tried to get back to the issue of shelter for Kyoko and Yoshi. There was a Holiday Inn nearby, but I also sensed that going to an unfamiliar hotel, at such a trying time, would be hard. I could give Kyoko my room; moving into my parents’ suite wouldn’t be that difficult to do. But that still left the issue of where Yoshi would sleep.

  “Let me introduce my parents,” I said, suddenly mindful of my mother and father in the background. My mother smiled and said hello in Japanese, which made Kyoko gasp with admiration. My father spoke Japanese to them, too. I suddenly found myself struggling to recall whether I’d explained to my parents about Yoshi having been engaged to Hana, since my father was talking to both young Japanese as if they were a couple. Yoshi didn’t seem to notice, but Kyoko’s complexion had pinkened.

  I went to the front desk and asked about the room situation. Brian Hunter, who was looking just as waiflike and wasted as ever, muttered there was a single room available as well as a “family suite,” which was essentially two bedrooms joined by a bath. For both rooms, the prices were more than double what we’d paid as part of the tour.

  “You know, this is really an emergency situation,” I said.

  Brian blinked rapidly and said, “It’s because of the dead lady?”

  “Uh-huh. It’s really bad publici
ty for the hotel, don’t you think, that a guest died nearby, and the parties who’ve come to cooperate with the police can’t even be sheltered?”

  The young clerk nodded and went into the back room to consult with someone. He came back and offered a 30 percent discount on the suite, and 10 percent off the single room.

  I joined Kyoko and Yoshi again to explain the choices of rooms. “One of you could easily take my room for the night—it will only take me a few minutes to move into my parents’ suite, where I can take the couch. On the other hand, you could stay in a two-room suite, though I think that could be a little bit awkward—”

  “I wouldn’t want you to have to go to the trouble of moving your things,” Kyoko said. “Maybe Mr. Watanabe can take the single room, and I’ll stay in another hotel.”

  “This is my first time in America. I am nervous alone. I don’t mind sharing the suite, if she is willing.”

  “Of course you should do that,” my father said. “It’s best to stay together!”

  “Very well, then,” said Kyoko, sounding miserable. “Mr. Watanabe and I shall check in.”

  My parents and I followed the two of them to their suite, which was on the same floor as theirs, and after seeing that everything was in order, we said good night.

  “So, what was the reason you wanted them to split up? Rei, it seemed a bit unkind,” my father said when he, my mother, and I were back in Room 605.

  “Dad, they’re not a couple. Yoshi was engaged to Hana. It’s totally inappropriate for him to share a suite with Kyoko.”

  “As inappropriate as a public display of affection on a subway train?” my father asked coolly. “I think not. And no matter what the prior circumstances were, I sensed those two needed to stay together.”

  “Misery loves company, you mean?” my mother said.

  My father shook his head. “There were a number of subtle cues that showed the existence of a relationship: the way that Yoshi paid for the room entirely on his charge card, and carried all Kyoko’s baggage himself. The two were holding hands when we came into the lobby—she dropped his hand when she saw you, Rei. Didn’t you notice?”