by Vicki Vass
“It’s so strange,” I said. “Every day I deliver Bob’s mail. You know Bob, he’s on oxygen, and he lives two doors down from me. He can’t make it out to the mailbox. I asked Gary to bring it to his door but you know how lazy Gary is, I mean was. He tried to stuff everything even packages into the mailbox anything to avoid getting out of the truck. Bob never said that anything was missing.”
“Gary knew that you were delivering Bob’s mail everyday so he made sure he didn’t miss Bob’s delivery,” Chief Krundel said.
“Most of the mail I saw seemed to be junk mail. Looked like Gary was too lazy to deliver it and dumped it at the abandoned house,” I said.
Chief Krundel said, “It’s a federal offense if it’s shipped through the mail whether it’s the coupon saver or a diamond ring. Doesn’t matter now anyway.” The postal police pulled the chief away.
Walking back outside, I went back to the front of the house. “Hello Agent Peabody,” I said as the federal agent stepped out of his standard issue sedan. He was wearing a different suit today. When he saw me, he reached around the back of his collar to double check and make sure the price tag wasn’t on it.
“Mrs. Kustodia,” he said.
“Jan, please call me Jan, Sherman,” I said.
He appeared surprised that I knew his first name. “Jan, yes Jan, tell me what happened.”
“The postal police are here. I don’t know if I can tell you anything.”
“Jan, I’m a special agent of the FBI, you can tell me everything,” he said.
I thought about it for a moment. Then I told him about Sassy and the mailbags. I did leave out the part about Mr. Hiro’s mysterious package that I found in the hidden wall in the dead postman’s basement. It was now safely upstairs in the cabinet under my sink. It's not that I didn’t trust Agent Peabody. He seemed like a nice boy. It’s just where I come from we don’t involve the authorities in neighborhood business.
Once the crime scene was under control, I headed back home. Other than the array of official cars, the street was quiet. I nodded at Helen who was walking Jake. It was almost dinnertime. Valerie and Bill planned to go out for dinner. I was on my own but food wasn’t on my mind. I couldn’t stop thinking about the package. I’m not one for taking things that don’t belong to me but I had my doubts about Mr. Hiro. I needed to know what was in the package before I could get a neighbor in trouble with the police.
After I walked upstairs, I took the package out from under the sink. The brown paper was held together with twine. I set it on the table and stared at it. The return address was from a city I recognized, Gotemba. That was a short distance from Mount Fuji where Gino and I lived.
I grabbed a butcher knife and hacked away at the twine. I tore open the brown paper like a little kid on Christmas morning. Inside was an ornately carved bamboo box. On the lid was a carved image of the peace pagoda from Gotemba. It looked valuable and old. I couldn’t see any latch or way to open it.
I poured myself a glass of vino as I pondered the box. I went over to my kitchen sink and gazed out the window. Dark clouds gathered overhead, dark clouds also gathered in my head. I couldn’t shake the feeling of dread. I saw Anne in her backyard, chasing Sassy. Serves that cat right, let her stay out in the rain and get wet. Cats hate that.
“Anne,” I said out loud, putting my wine glass on the sink and running out to the porch. “Anne,” I yelled again from the top deck. “Anne, do you have a minute? Can you come see something?”
Anne grabbed the twenty-pound Persian under her arm. I could see Sassy was not pleased. She opened her back screen door and deposited the cat inside. She went through the side yard and came to the back. “Jan,” she said huffing, climbing up the stairs.
I was worried about her. I offered to help her move the treadmill from the garage up to the house but she refused. “Jan, what’s up?” She asked.
“Anne, are you still doing that antique hunting stuff?” I asked, opening my screen door.
“Yeah? Do you have something you want to sell? Or, are you looking for something?” Anne’s face lit up when I mentioned antiques.
“Come here, I want to show you something.” Anne followed me into my kitchen. She stopped to admire the triple tier cookie tray I filled earlier for bingo and then continued to the kitchen table. “Jan, where did you get this?” she asked as she picked up the box and admired it. “Do you know what this is?”
“No, I was hoping you could tell me.”
“This is an 19th century Himitsu Bako,” Anne said. At my confused look, Anne continued, “It’s from the Hakone region of Japan. It’s a secret box. It usually holds a good luck charm. These boxes are quite tricky as they have secret moving parts designed to keep people out.” Anne examined the corners looking for any part she could squeeze or twist. “I’ve seen several of these. Some were easy to open, others not so much. This one is very elaborate and valuable. There must be something precious inside.” She turned the box over. On the bottom were elaborate carvings of graceful koi. “This is interesting. Usually the boxes are carved with geometrical shapes or lanterns. I’ve never seen one carved with koi. The peace pagoda carving means it has been blessed by Buddhist monks.”
I could see Anne’s intensity increasing. She was anxious to solve the puzzle and reveal the contents.
“Look, Jan, when I press on this blue and white koi, one of the most treasured colors for koi, it pushes in.” Anne demonstrated. “I think the koi are a combination lock.” She pressed the other fish, they all pushed in. ‘Oh, dear, it is a combination. We have to press them in order.”
“I’ll make some tea,” I said. After I put the tea on to seep, I brought over the tray of cookies. I could see Anne was very pleased. We worked late into the night. I missed bingo but this was a matter of great urgency. As Anne tried different combinations, I wrote them down on my scratch paper. Finally at 2 am. the box clicked open.
“That’s it, that’s it, Jan,” Anne exclaimed. The top of the bamboo box popped up a half inch. Anne slid it out through the grooves. We both stared inside waiting to see the lost treasure. What we found was a bag of fine white powder. Anne looked at me. “Where did you get this box?”
I thought to myself, oh, no. Mr. Hiro’s a drug dealer. He’s smuggling narcotics into the country and Gary must have found out. I needed to let Anne know. “It was addressed to Koji Hiro at the end of the block.”
“How’d you wind up with it?” Anne asked, setting the box down.
“Anne, I don’t want to get you involved. Don’t worry about that.”
“I’m already involved. We have to give this to the police.”
“I can’t. How do I explain how I have it and how we opened it?” I said.
Anne thought for a moment and then said, “Let me take it to the lab and test it before we get the police involved and get Mr. Hiro in trouble.”
“Could you do that for me?” I asked her. I knew Anne worked as a chemist so it would be easy for her to test the powder. We made a little cut in the bag and I gave Anne a sample to take with her. We both were tired so Anne headed home, carrying a paper plate loaded with cookies. I finished the bottle of Vino.
I sat in what I call my thinking chair. It is an old burgundy leather wingback chair. I brought it with me to every home I ever lived in. It was the first piece of furniture Gino and I bought together for our apartment on Taylor Street. From there the chair traveled to the little Georgian in Melrose Park, our first house together, where Valerie was born. Then it finally stopped here in Woodland View, and that’s where the chair will be long after I’m not sitting in it anymore. Sometimes I think I can still smell Gino’s cigar smoke if I sniff deep enough into the leather. It was old and worn but sturdy just like me.
It’s the chair that I held Valerie in when we brought her home from the hospital, and where I read her her first book. It was the chair where I sat as we watched Walter Kronkite tell us our beloved JFK was assassinated. When Neil Armstrong walked on the moon. The U.S. H
ockey team won the gold medal. It’s where I sat the day my heart broke, where I learned my Gino was murdered.
Chapter Sixteen
The next evening, I waited on my porch for Anne to get home from her job at Ebbort Labs. I heard her car from a block away. She needed a new muffler but seemed to have other priorities. Her green Mercury Mystique pulled into the driveway, dripping oil onto the street. I couldn’t see her head through the pile of junk that filled her car but I didn’t want to bring that up today.
She got out of the car and came over to me. “Hey, Jan, how are you?” she asked.
“Good, Good, Anne. What did you find out?”
“Sea salt and ginseng.”
“Sea salt and ginseng,” I repeated, not understanding.
“High-grade sea salt and ginseng but that’s it,” Anne repeated.
“What would you use that for?” I asked.
“I believe because it was sent in an expensive box that was blessed by monks, it is meant to be used for holistic healing,” Anne said shuffling from foot to foot.
“Mr. Hiro looks so healthy. He’s always working in his garden or on his beautiful koi pond,” I said.
“Koi pond?” Anne thought out loud. “That’s right, I remember it’s in the backyard,” she said. Anne thought for another moment and then said, “Sea salt is a holistic cure for sick koi. Even a small percentage in the water kills a lot of harmful bacteria and heals their scales. The ginseng improves their immune system. They must be sick if Mr. Hiro imported a blessed salt from Japan.”
“Oh, dear,” I thought, “What have I done? I’ve killed his beautiful koi.”
“We have to get this to him,” Anne said.
“We should go talk to him,” I said. I got up from my chair. We walked down the street to Mr. Hiro’s. I held the puzzle box and its precious contents. How would I explain the unwrapped box to Mr. Hiro? Anne trudged behind me.
We knocked on the door. Mrs. Hiro answered, wearing her purple silk kimono with her jet black hair tied in a bun. She bowed gracefully, said nothing and ran retrieving Mr. Hiro. She whispered in Japanese to him, bowed and took off. Mr. Hiro was wearing flip-flops and board shorts and a t-shirt with a surfboard on it. He looked at me and then at Anne. “Trouble with the cat again?”
“Mr. Hiro, I am so sorry. I received this package by mistake and I wanted to return it to you.” I handed him the unwrapped package.
He took it, raised his eyebrows and said. “It seems you saved me the trouble of unwrapping it.”
I was too embarrassed to answer.
“It’s a remedy for my sick fish,” he said, holding up the bamboo box.
We stood silent on his porch. “Mr. Hiro, I saw the pond but I didn’t see the fish. May I see them?” Anne asked.
He nodded. As we walked to the back of the house, he seemed very pleased to show off his work. Around the yard’s perimeter, Japanese pagoda and cement lanterns were scattered among the shrubs that Mr. Hiro called Japanese barberry and weigela. Japanese irises and azalea were nestled in between the shrubs. Lush, green moss danced through the stepping stones.
He pointed out the Asiatic lilies that he planted along the dry riverbed lined with river rocks. It ran the length of the lot from the evergreens to the backwoods. Dotted along the edges were yellow tickseed and meadow sage. A small bamboo bridge traversed under the bloodgood Japanese maple. As we followed him on the stone path by the Zen garden, Anne marveled at a stone statue of a graceful and elegant kneeling woman with her hands clasped in prayer. Anne stepped toward her. Mr. Hiro grabbed her and pulled her back before her foot touched the sand. Anne was shocked.
He took his finger and shook it in front of her, motioning, “No.” He said, “I’m so sorry but that is very disrespectful. My wife takes great care with her garden.”
“I apologize. I wasn’t paying attention,” Anne said. “I wanted to see the statue. She’s fabulous.”
“That statue is a Ishi no Koe. It means voice of the stone. It’s a way to honor our departed ancestors,” Mr. Hiro said.
“For Italians, it’s Mother Mary in a bathtub,” I said. At Mr. Hiro’s confused expression, I explained, “It’s a homemade shrine to the virgin using an old claw foot bathtub. You put the bathtub upended in the ground. It makes an arched alcove. The inside of the bathtub is usually painted sky blue with clouds. You place the statue of the virgin Mary in her little house and plant flowers around to complete the shrine.”
“I’ve seen those statues,” Mr. Hiro said. “Our tradition is called Satori. It’s the Japanese word for enlightenment. We believe the Zen garden should be used for reflection and meditation which brings us to enlightenment. This helps us understand who we are and our place in the world.”
“That’s a very lovely sentiment. I find enlightenment through appreciating antiques. Holding an antique is like touching history,” Anne said, gazing around her surroundings. “Your yard is very beautiful, Mr. Hiro.”
“Please Koji,” he said interrupting. “Thank you. My wife would be very honored that you say that.”
“My friend in St. Charles is very interested in Japanese culture and has traveled there several times to study Zen gardens. She designs and builds authentic gardens for her clients here in the U.S. She would be very impressed by your work. May I take pictures? I’d love to show her this,” Anne said.
Now Koji was smiling ear to ear. He nodded his permission. Anne snapped pictures with her phone. She walked onto the bridge as the koi circled and splashed around her like playful children. Koji spoke, “Since the early spring rains, my koi have not been well. You can see some of their scales are falling off. Their tails have tail rot. I’ve increased the filtration. I’ve given them more fresh vegetables with lots of Vitamin C to build up their immune systems. The water is clear. I hoped the blessed salt would kill whatever is hurting my fish.”
Anne reached down into the water and petted one of the larger koi. “Yes, I see the scale damage, Koji. Have you tested the water?”
“Just for the pH and alkaline levels. Temperature, everything is good.”
“Do you mind if I take a sample to my lab?”
“Please, please,” he said with a bow.
I handed Anne a little plastic baggie from the stash that I always carried in my pocket. She filled it with pond water. As Koji and Anne talked, I noticed Mrs. Hiro peeking out the kitchen window at us. She saw me notice her and closed the curtains quickly.
“Koji, I could ask my friend from St. Charles to look at your fish. She’s wonderful with koi. In fact, people call her the koi whisperer,” Anne said. “She has a sanctuary where she heals sick koi.”
Koji smiled and bowed again. I thought to myself. This is a man who respects life, not one who would take a life.
Anne and I left Koji’s home. We stood in front of his house, I hugged her, and she headed back to her house. I heard shouting coming from the other direction. I ran towards the noise. A rusty tan van with the name Blue Chip Varmint Control handwritten on the side was parked in front of North Linden Jan’s house. Her back yard gate flew open, and Jim Reeney came running out followed by a broom-wielding North Linden Jan. She was on his heels swatting him and cursing. Her two little terriers, Sherlock and Holmes, barking and chasing behind her. Jim Reeney ran to his driver’s side door. He pulled on it, it was locked. He peered inside. “Damn, I locked my keys inside again.”
Dropping the tranquilizer gun, it fired and shot him in the calf. Hopping on one foot, he turned around to face the music as North Linden Jan landed the edge of the O’Cedar sweeper on the side of his face. His jaw quivered from the impact.
“Jan, what are you doing?” I yelled. I pulled her off before she could swat him again. Sherlock and Holmes danced around, nipping at the varmint hunter’s ankles. “Jan, what’s going on?”
“This idiot was in my backyard,” North Linden Jan said.
“I saw a raccoon run into your backyard. I heard your dogs barking. I thought they could be in danger,” J
im Reeney said, clutching his leg. A bit of drool dripped from the corner of his mouth. He appeared rabid.
“The only danger was from you.” She swatted at him again with the broom. The terriers hopped and barked and nipped.
Jim Reeney’s eyes started to close, his legs got wobbly. I grabbed him by the arm. “You better sit down.” He slid down the side of the van, landing on the curb.
“It was a really big raccoon. It was the one that trapped me in the cage in the woods. He’s had it out for me since day one. He’s the leader, you hear me?” He slurred his words and tipped over. He was out.
For the final insult, Sherlock and Holmes lifted their legs and marked Jim Reeney. I turned to Jan and said, “You better call 911.”
Chapter Seventeen
It was a perfect summer morning but I could tell it was going to get hot. It was already in the mid 70s. I made my newspaper deliveries and saw a raccoon slinking along Helen’s curbside evergreens. They were getting bolder. They usually weren’t out at this time of day. The sneak thief stood up on its hind legs and hissed at me. In its claw was a piece of meat. Its mouth was all crusty and bloody. I thought the blood was from whatever it was eating but then it fell over dead.
Jim Reeney was back in Alexian Brothers, recovering from his last tranquilizer dart battle. I wouldn’t call him anyway. I went home, got a shovel and a black garbage bag. I shoveled the raccoon into the bag, tied it up tight and threw him in my Saturn’s trunk. I drove to the animal clinic, which was adjacent to the dog park. I didn’t want to leave the raccoon on the sidewalk. I was worried the kids might touch it on their way to summer camp.
I left the raccoon in the trunk and went inside the Woodland View Animal Clinic. “Hi Audrey,” I said to the veterinary assistant. I met her during the annual pet lover’s fair the park district holds every fall. The fair features demonstrations, animal adoption booths and local pet-related crafts. I felt a little hypocritical wearing the t-shirt “I heart PAWs,” but I liked helping out at community events. “Is Dr. Grover available? I have an emergency.” I asked her.