The Daydreamer Detective

by S. J. Pajonas

  Her eyes glazed over as she stared at the wok of oil. “I’ve always wanted to run a bathhouse… And Murita-san is moving to America to be with his sons. I signed the papers four weeks ago, and I’m going to run it with Kumi. We’ll have a blast.”

  Lucky Kumi! I hoped to see her soon. We weren’t close, but I liked her a lot, and I wanted to hear more about this.

  I opened the envelope again and thumbed through the money. 60,000 yen.

  “You gave me 60,000 yen, but you only paid 50,000 for the painting.” I tried to pull out the extra 10,000 yen bill, but her eyes widened in panic.

  “No! It’s bad luck to give an odd number of bills. Take the extra 10,000. It will keep away the evil spirits.”

  A chuckle leaked out through my clenched lips. Chiyo, superstitious until her dying day.

  “Thanks for the newspaper clippings and the sweets. You know I love to keep tabs on what everyone’s doing around here.” I winked at her because it was so far from the truth, it might as well be in space. I’d distanced myself from the town the last five years because I believed my life would be in Tokyo.

  I tried to keep my depression away while looking through the clippings. Chiyo kept tabs on everything going on here in Chikata from the Midori Sankaku opening, to their buy-up of local land, to the merits of local elementary and high school scholars, and weddings and birth announcements. I’d have to look them over sometime soon.

  Akiko’s father’s obituary would be in the paper before long. My face fell into a frown remembering Akiko’s tears and the way she squeezed me last night. My heart broke for her.

  While everyone was cooking and otherwise occupied, I dug into my purse to find my phone. Looked like I’d be able to pay off a few bills and keep my phone for the time being! Thanks, Chiyo! And thanks to Mount Fuji for being such an inspiring image, I suppose.

  I texted to Akiko, “I stopped by earlier to see how you’re doing and Tama said you were asleep. I hope you’re okay.” I left it at that, not pumping her for information about Tama and Haruka, and why no one felt the need to tell me about anything happening around here. I didn’t know about Tama. I didn’t know about Akiko’s father’s failing health. I didn’t know about this whole grocery store business and the land being sold to them.

  “The Midori Sankaku is opening on Friday. Are you going to the sales?” One woman in the row in front of us asked the woman next to her. I didn’t recognize either of them. They were maybe ten years older than me.

  “I got the flyer in the mail,” the other woman responded, a smile on her face. “So many discounts. Of course I’m going.”

  “Me too. We should meet up and go together.”

  “I’m not going,” an older woman in the next row chimed in. “I’m going to support the smaller farmers selling at the farm stands.” She nodded her head and glared at the two women, beaming shame on them from a meter away.

  “But Midori Sankaku supports local farmers. They have someone who’s in charge of local goods.” My mother stopped her demonstration and cocked her head at the woman who planned on boycotting. “They’ve come by my farm several times to see if I’m interested in selling with them.”

  “Will you be selling with them?” I asked, surprised again that this was the first time I was hearing of this.

  Mom set down her cooking chopsticks. “I hadn’t decided yet. I would have to increase production and hire more people. It’s a big undertaking. I already sell most of my produce to the local grocer and to Suga-san at Sawayaka.”

  “Isn’t that the new restaurant in town?”

  “It is,” a low male voice said from the doorway. All the heads in the room whipped around and zeroed in on the tall, lanky man. Hello. Who did we have here? He shrugged as he smoothed out his hair, brushing it forward on his head with the palm of his hand, and then pushing his wire-rimmed glasses up on his nose. My cheeks heated reflexively as he looked straight at me since I had spoken last. I was also the youngest person in the room, by a long shot, and he couldn’t be more than a few years older than me.

  “Suga-san!” my mother cried, looking from me to him and back again.

  Uh oh. I had seen this look before, the I’m-meddling-for-your-own-good look.

  “I’m so glad you made it. You remember my students from last week, right? Class, please welcome Yasahiro Suga again.” All the women smiled and nodded or bowed, the two younger women tittering behind their hands. I rolled my eyes at them. Ridiculous. He was just a guy!

  I glanced at him again and what he was wearing: skinny jeans, a short-sleeve button-down shirt with a tiny print on it, and shined shoes that came to a sharp toe. Well, he did know how to dress, whoever he was.

  “I got your mizuna today, Yamagawa-sensei, and I was thinking about how to use it.” He came to the front of the class and plucked off a bit of the greens at Mom’s station, bringing them to his nose and sniffing. I blinked my eyes, trying to focus. I got it, fresh food was in. It was hot. But why was this man asking my mom about mizuna greens? And why was he calling her “sensei,” teacher?

  “Ah, class, Suga-san has dropped by again to talk about our local delicacies. Last week we discussed lotus root and where it comes from locally. We stir fried it with sesame and green onions most of us already grow in our gardens, and this week we’re deep frying them with sweet potatoes we also grow around here. But mizuna is coming in as well this time of year. It grows in both the spring and the fall and has a mustard bite to it.”

  My mouth puckered in response, and he laughed at me. “Not a fan of mizuna?”

  I covered my mouth and lowered my eyes. Caught.

  “Not really. It’s kind of bitter. I’m not a fan of fresh greens in general, though.”

  “No salads for you? I thought all women loved salads.” His lips quirked in a half smile, and my heart rate zoomed to dizzying heights.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He blanched at my vehemence, frowning, his shoulders dropping. “I’m sorry. It was a joke.”

  I folded my arms across my chest and shot a deathly stare at him. Hey, I spent years in Tokyo trying to prove that women could be just as productive and reliable as men, working hard at jobs I hated, staying out to drink with colleagues, and sacrificing vacation days to work in the office. Even these little stereotypes about women bugged the heck out of me.

  Everyone in the room froze in silence, avoiding looking at either of us. Awkward.

  Mom cleared her throat. “Mei-chan enjoys mizuna in hot pots, though, so she’s not a total loss.”

  “I do,” I muttered, some of the other women nodding in agreement.

  “Then I’ll cook up a hot pot for tomorrow’s lunch special.” He smiled warmly at me, and I looked away. “You’ll have to come by and check it out.”

  I thought about my meager stash of cash now, thanks to Chiyo, and there was no way I would blow it on fancy food from this guy.

  I didn’t respond. I knew better than to open my mouth right then.

  Mom and Yasahiro proceeded to show how to use mizuna greens but my phone buzzed, mercifully saving me from making a further spectacle of myself.

  “Can you come by tonight? I’m a little better and would love to see you,” Akiko wrote. Oh good. I blew out a long breath, glad she was feeling better.

  “I’ll come by with food around 17:00. See you then!”

  I turned off my phone and lifted my eyes to the front of the class. Yasahiro was busy with Mom making a salad. Despite how I had acted, I watched him closely, the strong cut of his chin and keen eyes made my heart do a dance it hadn’t done in a long time.

  Don’t even think about it, Mei. No attachments. You’re going back to the city!

  I made eye contact with him and his lips jerked in a meager smile. Something told me I ruined his plan for a salad recipe for the class.

  I was such a jerk.

  Chapter Six

  I arrived at Akiko’s home around 17:00, just like I promised. I was hopeless with money
and terrible at sales, but I was always on time. Punctuality was one of my strongest traits (unless I hated my job and then it took everything in my power to show up on time). Mom had packed a basket of food, tempura from class, salad, hot rice straight out of the cooker, and bottles of water, and I hefted it into the crook of my arm as I crossed the road and approached her house on foot. A number of cars were parked in her driveway, making me wonder about the other visitors she had today.

  My mind wandered as I walked up the driveway. I remembered us running and playing outside as kids, racing across the grass and into the fields. Six years older than us, Tama was never around until we were in our teens, always out with friends or avoiding home. We had started dating when he was commuting to college, and I was in my last year of high school. The heady lust of years gone by knocked me sideways for a moment and I paused to catch my breath. We had dated in secret for the longest time before telling anyone. The loft in the barn was our favorite make-out spot. I lost my virginity there to him, though I wished I hadn’t.

  I slowed down as I passed each vehicle in the driveway, a blue BMW and a black Toyota, both nondescript and clean with no bumper stickers. I had a thing for cars; I loved them. A new model would catch my eye on the street and my head would turn of its own will and follow it. I wondered if I’d ever be able to afford a car.

  At the front door, I hesitated, listening to the voices inside. Several male voices filtered through the closed door, arguing with each other.

  “But this makes no sense!” Akiko’s voice rose above the others in the room.

  I cleared my throat and knocked on the door. Everyone inside fell silent as someone approached the front door, their shadow eclipsing the glass in the top half.

  “Mei-chan, what are you doing here?” Tama asked, a frown on his face. He had definitely gotten some sleep since I saw him last, showered, and shaved, but that didn’t erase the dark circles under his eyes or the weight loss he’d experienced, probably in the last few months.

  “I promised Akiko I would stop by with food. I have enough for all three of us.” I strained my ears, hoping to hear more voices from the other room.

  His frown twisted, obviously not ready to let me inside the house.

  “She’s expecting me. We texted a few hours ago.”

  He sighed and stepped to the side, allowing me entrance. I glanced around as I slipped my shoes off in the genkan, the entrance hall where all the dirt of the outside was left before entering a home. The place seemed sad and dark. The blinds were pulled on the windows and the screen doors throughout the house were closed. Incense burned in the corner shrine Akiko’s father used to pray at every day, the image of Buddha staring out at the entire room. In the past, Akiko’s father and mother opened up the front of the house during the summer, all the way back to the kitchen and garden, to allow movement of air and keep the house cool. During the winter, they would get out the heavier doors and bring out the kotatsu, a heated floor table, and floor cushions.

  Now the place felt deserted and vacant, even with people here in the room. On the right, at the Kano’s usual low table, sat two men I didn’t recognize sitting across from Akiko.

  “Oh, excuse me. I’m sorry to interrupt.” I bowed to them and Akiko rose from the table to come to me. I thought she’d been crying, but anger flushed her cheeks, her jaw set and her eyes clear.

  “That’s okay. I’m done talking to these people,” she said, grabbing my elbow and pulling me to the kitchen. Her fingers dug into my skin, painful shocks reverberating up my triceps to my shoulder. I tried to twist away but she had me firmly in her grip.

  “Akiko, be reasonable,” Tama pleaded, and she stopped in her tracks, turning slowly to face him.

  “Be reasonable? This house, this property, should belong to me. I’ve lived here all my life.” Her vehemence punctuated every word with a growl. “I took care of Dad every day while he was sick. I cooked and cleaned and worked hard to keep this place functioning. It belongs to me.”

  Tama shifted on his feet, while the men at the table dropped their gaze from Akiko.

  “Can you believe this?” she asked, turning to me. “Dad said I would get the house and the land when he passed away, since Tama is getting married, has a job, and a house of his own on the other side of town. But no!” She threw up her hands. “I just found out earlier today Dad never changed his will, and now Tama gets everything.”

  My temper, steadily rising throughout her missive, boiled over. “That’s crazy! You deserve this house.”

  “I do,” she said, pointing her finger at the men at the table. “You are not getting my land.”

  “Akiko…” Tama pleaded once more, but she stopped him with a deathly glare.

  “Who are these guys?” I whispered to Akiko, but they overheard me, standing up to face us.

  “Yamagawa-san,” the older, graying man said, addressing me, and I pulled back in surprise, “I know your mother. I’m Shin Tajima, the mayor, and this is Fujita Takahara, regional manager of Midori Sankaku.”

  I swallowed past the lump in my throat. These men, dressed sharp and ready for business, sat here in Akiko’s home, on a Saturday evening. This couldn’t be good.

  “We came to offer our condolences and speak with Kano-san about our offer to buy the land and sell it to Midori Sankaku. Her father hinted he might be amenable to our plan before he died.”

  Ah. Now everything came into sharp focus. Mom said most of the land on this side of the road was sold to Midori Sankaku to build their state-of-the-art greenhouse. They must have been eager to buy up the rest so they could get on with business as usual.

  “Never. Going. To. Happen.” Akiko punctuated each word with a stab of her finger. “I will fight for this in court if I have to.”

  Both men hardened, looking sideways between them, their shoulders sharp angles.

  “Please think about our offer before you do anything else. It’s just an offer, not a threat.” Tajima stood from his spot and Takahara followed. “We’ll give you some time to think about it and come back next week after the funeral.”

  Akiko glared at them as they slipped on their shoes and headed out the front door.

  “You’re acting crazy.” Tama pushed past her, huffing, his face red and angry.

  “I’m being crazy? You loved this house growing up. Just six months ago, you were talking about moving back here with Haruka-chan once you had kids. And now you want to sell it to those people?”

  “I did not love this house, and it’s Haruka-chan who would love to live here, not me. They’re offering a lot of money. We would never make the same amount selling it to other farmers.”

  I stepped into the shadows to avoid getting in the middle of this sibling fight. I fought enough with my older brother to know that fists can fly when people are angry enough.

  “But they’ll bulldoze the house, the land.” She swept her arm out to encompass the last of the family land. She still farmed part of the back acreage with help from my mom, but most of it belonged to the neighbor, who had probably already sold his portion to Midori Sankaku.

  Akiko’s hand covered her heart, and mine ached for her. This was all she had left.

  But Tama didn’t care.

  “Look, if you’re going to fight me in court, you know they’ll side with me. I’m the older sibling and I’m male. Property rights have always fallen to male heirs in this country. We don’t even let the empress rule without an emperor.”

  All the blood drained from my head, and I stopped myself from launching forward at Tama’s throat. What a ridiculous load of crap! Akiko obviously felt the same way because her face brightened five more shades of red. Most of the women in our generation were tired of being pushed around and marginalized in Japan. I could imagine Akiko up and leaving the country over this.

  “Tama,” she said, lowering her voice, “think about our mother. She would be so disappointed if this were to happen.”

  He bristled, shaking his head. “Mom and Dad treate
d me like dirt, so if anyone has any say here it’s me. I deserve it.”

  He whirled around and headed for the front door. Shame poured over me for witnessing such a personal, family dispute. Their parents had been hard on Tama, but I never suspected he would hold a grudge big enough to kick Akiko to the curb.

  Tama swung the front door open and police lights reflected into the room. Both Akiko and I leaned forward to look out the front door and found Goro exiting his squad car in the parking lot as Shin Tajima and Fujita Takahara drove away in the BMW.

  Goro hiked his belt up and straightened his tie as his female partner came around to meet him. They both stared into the house at us and Tama frozen in the doorway. He didn’t have the time to beat a hasty retreat from the argument.

  My neck began to sweat, dread welling up in my belly as I studied Goro. His face was set in stone, his shoulders straight, and his gait confident and precise. His whole demeanor said, “On duty.”

  I set the basket of food on the kitchen island and followed Akiko out into the main room. Goro and Tama spoke in low tones and Tama invited him into the genkan. Japanese sensibilities being of the utmost priority, Goro didn’t come in any farther or else he’d have to remove his shoes.

  “Tama-san, Akiko-san,” he said, nodding to both. “Mei-chan, I hope you’re well.”

  I nodded, unable to speak through the lump in my throat.

  “Tama-san, we need to bring you and Akiko-san down to the station with us. We’d appreciate it if you got your shoes and coats on.”

  “What’s the matter?” Akiko’s voice was so soft, Goro had to lean forward and ask her to repeat it. She turned her pale and sweaty face to me, looking for reassurance.

  “We’d like to discuss it down at the station.”

  “Are we under arrest?” Tama asked, his voice rising.

  Goro cleared his throat. “Well, the autopsy came back on your father, and we have questions about his health and his last day here in the house.” Goro glanced at his partner, obviously uncomfortable. I could imagine arresting friends you grew up with would be difficult for anyone.