Chapter Twenty-Two
“Itadakimasu!” Yasahiro and I pressed our hands together in prayer position and bowed to our food.
“I hope you enjoy lunch today. This is my family’s secret curry recipe. If you can guess what’s in it, I have a special dessert set aside for today.” Yasahiro smiled at me as he lifted his spoon and ladled a serving of rice and curry into his mouth. I watched it go past his lips and wondered what it would be like to kiss him. I got a flash in my brain of a dark night full of laughter and kissing on the sidewalk in a secluded spot. I’d never done that before, and I drew in a quick breath to halt my heart from galloping away.
At Yasahiro’s request, I arrived at Sawayaka a little earlier today, catching the end of the lunch hour because he wanted to train a new sous chef this afternoon. With the new sous chef in the rotation, he could have a few more hours off per week. He was excited to finally get to this point in his business because it meant he could relax and think about his next venture.
I picked up my spoon and prepared to be dazzled by his newest dish. When the rice and curry hit my palate, I was immediately won over.
“Mmmm. This is delicious! I’ve never had curry like this before. I think it has… A little bit of sweetness to it.”
“Very good,” he said, his eyebrows raised. “What do you think is the secret ingredient?”
I tasted the curry again, letting the flavors slip over my tongue and down my throat. This was so different from the fast food curry I ate often. It was refined yet had the essence of home cooking with large chunks of vegetables and meat.
“Honey? Maybe?” Honey wasn’t a usual ingredient in Japanese food, so that was a wild guess.
Yasahiro shook his head and laughed. “No. Try again.”
One of the tables near the front of the restaurant burst into laughter. I turned to glance at them, but no one facing me looked familiar. I tasted the curry one more time and pondered the complex flavors.
“Maybe it’s the kind of pork you’re using? I don’t know. I’m terrible at this,” I said, laughing behind my hand covering my mouth.
“I do love the local pork we get. The farmer takes good care of his pigs, and the meat has a certain sweetness about it. But that’s not the secret ingredient.”
“I give up!” I threw my hands up in the air, before reaching for a glass of wine he had put on the table. This was the first time I’d had alcohol at lunch this week, and the crisp white wine perfectly matched the spicy curry. “You’ll have to tell me.”
“Okay. I made you try to guess at least twice, so I’m willing to give away the secret.” He leaned across the table and whispered, “Apples.”
“Really?” I would never have thought to add apples to curry. I’d heard of people adding honey or maple syrup but not apples. But then again I wasn’t up to date on cooking trends.
“And I’ll admit, I slipped in eggplant.” His eyes twinkled with mischief, knowing I told him that I hate eggplant.
I looked down at the curry and laughed. I laughed so hard I could barely catch my breath. Yasahiro laughed too, and how could he not? He’d pulled one over on me.
“I can’t believe you slipped in eggplant!” I pushed the curry around with the back of my spoon but I didn’t see any in there.
“It dissolves in the sauce and adds some depth of flavor to the dish. You won’t find any chunks.”
“Mei-san, how are you doing?” I blinked as I looked up to find Fujita Takahara standing over us at our corner table. I dropped my spoon on the bowl, and it clanged and startled me.
Yasahiro, seeing my clumsiness for the tenth time now, reached over and retrieved my spoon from the floor. “Let me get you a new one.”
I cleared my throat as he stood up and headed into the kitchen.
“Takahara-san, I didn’t know you were here.” I turned around to see most of the men at the rowdy table standing up and slipping their coats back on.
“I was here with the Midori Sankaku staff. They’ll all be working in Chikata on the new greenhouse.” He slipped his hands in his pockets and flashed a winning smile at me. My insides squirmed, uncomfortable that he was talking to me or acknowledging me at all, considering I saw him last on the side of the road when he followed me home. I suppressed a shudder.
“That’s nice.” I cleared my throat again. “I hope they enjoy working in Chikata.”
“Many of them are moving here in the next few months. I expect business to be booming in no time.”
Yasahiro arrived back at the table and brushed past Takahara. “Excuse me. Here, Mei-chan.” He slid a new spoon onto the table next to my bowl and sat down.
“It’s good to hear business is expected to pick up,” Yasahiro chimed in, turning his face up to Takahara. “My restaurant can always use more customers.”
“You make excellent food, Suga-san.” Takahara bowed to Yasahiro and he nodded back. A frosty wind from the front door curled around my legs under the table.
Takahara cleared his throat and ran his hand through his hair. “So, Mei-san, I was hoping to meet you for drinks sometime soon. I’d love to discuss the greenhouse and anything else you may have concerns about. We could even go out for dinner, if you like.”
All the blood left my head as both men looked straight at me. What the…? Was Takahara asking me out… on a date? Yasahiro’s eyes narrowed. I could tell he certainly thought so.
“Uh, wow, that’s generous of you, Takahara-san,” I squeaked out, wishing I could gulp down the wine on the table. “I think, though, I have all the information I need right now. But, um, I’ll keep your offer in mind.” I hoped that didn’t sound too committed nor too bitchy.
He bowed, graciously. “You have my number. Call me anytime. Have a good lunch.” Nodding to us both, he stepped to his table, grabbed his coat and large scarf, bundled up, and left without looking back at me.
I turned around and Yasahiro was watching me, his elbows on the table and hands clasped together.
“Looks like you have an admirer,” he said, and I winced from the slight tone of hurt in his voice. Everyone in town knew what a player Takahara was, a wealthy and handsome player, but a player none the less.
I sipped the wine and composed myself. “Takahara-san is trying to butter me up so I’ll stop giving him a hard time about Akiko-chan’s land. It’s nothing.” I waved at him, but he didn’t relent his stare.
“It didn’t look like nothing to me. He wants to go on a date.”
Did I detect a note of jealousy? I wasn’t sure. Maybe he was just acting like a big brother would.
“Well, I’m sorry, but I don’t really like him all that much. Honestly, I think he’s arrogant. I’ve googled him and seen the flashy women he dates. Anyone who goes out with gorgeous, famous women for arm candy is a bit too big-headed for me.” I nodded my head, confident that I’d put that issue to rest. See, Yasahiro? I wasn’t into guys like that.
“I see,” he mumbled, returning to his curry.
I opened my mouth to further assure him but stopped. Something had changed about his mood, and I couldn’t put my finger on it. He went from jealous to sullen so quickly I had whiplash. What did I say?
“Do I still get dessert?” I asked, and he burst into a short laugh. “I didn’t answer your challenge correctly, but I love desserts, and I picked winter squash and ran 3k this morning. I could eat this and probably everything left in the kitchen.”
“Of course, Mei-chan. I would never deny you dessert.” He relaxed a little, his shoulders falling. Good. I said the right thing. He took a deep breath and sighed. “Don’t forget about tonight. Cocktails here and then over to Izakaya Jūshi for a little sleuthing of our own.”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” I said, raising my glass. He raised his and we clinked them together, but his mood wavered the rest of lunch.
I left the restaurant doubting everything.
I woke up from a nap, drowsy and warm in bed, unwilling to leave. Mimoji-chan slept against my hip, purring away, and I wanted to go
back to sleep for a while if it wasn’t too late already. I reached to the side of the bed for my phone to check the time and my hand rubbed against the tatami mat, nothing near my fingertips. Right. My phone was still in rice at Yasahiro’s restaurant. I wondered if it would ever turn on again, and if it didn’t, would Mom buy me a new one? I hated that I was at this stage in my life, twenty-six years old, and I was living at home, getting an allowance from my mother.
I pulled the covers up over my head and tried to daydream myself back to Tokyo. Only, it didn’t stick. I concentrated hard to remember my apartment, my coworkers, and the convenience stores I went to all the time, but they remained fuzzy and indistinct. I’d been away from the city for less than a month and it was already a distant memory for me? How did that happen?
I threw down the covers, rolled over, and grabbed my laptop, disturbing Mimoji-chan in the process and ousting him from the bed. He slunk off with his tail held high.
Opening the computer, I saw that it was just after 17:00. The sweet smell of onions cooking invaded my room as my door slid open at Mimoji-chan’s insistence. Mom must have been making dinner. I had some time to relax before we ate, so I went to my Documents folder and opened the file where I kept my notes on Akiko’s investigation. I went back and forth between my paper notebook and my computer as I added details about each person copied from news articles I found online or photos I snagged off Google Images.
“Tama Kano: Son of the deceased. Was bitter and angry last time I saw him. Wants to sell land to Midori Sankaku. Was at school all day when father was killed.” I erased the last statement and added, “Have Goro double-check Tama was at school the day Kano was killed.” Because if Senahara said Tama came to see his father often during the day, then how had the school never complained about his absences from classes? It didn’t add up. But he still didn’t have much of a motive besides not liking his father. It wasn’t as if Tama had to live with him or anything. Tama also had a job and a fiancée. He could easily have waited out his father’s death.
“Shin Tajima: Mayor. Wants what’s best for Chikata. Will be voted out if he doesn’t get the job done. Possible kick-backs from Midori Sankaku?” I crossed this off the list. Tajima couldn’t do anything harmful to Chikata. He loved this town like he did a family member.
“Daichi Senahara: Neighbor. Thought he would kill to protect his land but no. He’s as innocent as anyone.”
The visit we made to him the previous night replayed in my head. He’d always loved Kano.
“Fujita Takahara: Midori Sankaku Regional Manager. Wants land for the greenhouse and administrative buildings. Will probably get a raise and accolades if he gets what he wants. Secretary accounts for his whereabouts the day of the crime. Doesn’t seem like the killer type.”
I stared hard at Takahara’s line in my document and remembered his proposal today. I couldn’t believe he asked me out right in front of Yasahiro! Who did that? But perhaps I’d done a good job of telling the whole town, through all the gossip channels, that I wasn’t interested in Yasahiro. That we weren’t dating. We were just having lunch.
I opened up my browser and headed to Google. A search for Fujita Takahara showed he attended some movie premiere earlier this week with new arm candy. His smile shined like a million yen and the woman with him was dressed in a slinky, gorgeous silver dress. How did he date these women? They all looked way too good for him. But further digging showed that he came from a prosperous family. His mother earned her fame as a moderately famous fashion designer and his father was a banker. That explained a lot. Money followed money.
Hmmm, I remembered Yasahiro saying he was a farmer’s son. I wondered what his family was like. I typed in his name and hit enter.
The screen filled with photos and my jaw dropped. Oh. My. God. I squinted and leaned into the screen, rubbing my eyes to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. The page displayed photo after photo of Yasahiro standing on red carpets with a knock-me-over gorgeous woman on his arm. She smiled for the cameras, her hair cascading in waves down her side, her hip jutted out, accentuating her curves. I swallowed, trying to keep the bile in my stomach where it belonged. My hand shook as I clicked one of the photos, and I was taken to a French entertainment website. I couldn’t read this! I copy and pasted the URL into Google Translate and read, “Amanda Cheung and boyfriend, Yasahiro Suga, attend the Cannes Film Awards, 2013.”
“What the…?” I began frantically clicking on anything I could find on them. They had been dating for four years in Paris where Yasahiro was an up-and-coming chef and she was a B film star. She spoke four languages and knew karate and taichi. She was working on her first novel about the Chinese-American experience and had three apartments in New York, Los Angeles, and Paris. Now, she was filming action movies in Hollywood, and he’d opened his own restaurant in Saitama prefecture, just outside of Tokyo. Amanda and Yasahiro had been engaged to be married, but he called it off when she didn’t want to move to Tokyo. The tabloids said they were both single but had been spotted together six months ago in Hong Kong.
Sickness overcame me, the world spinning around my head on a tilted axis. In all my daydreams of him living in Paris, I hadn’t expected this. I never saw him with a girlfriend. I never even dreamed he’d have been dating anyone, let alone someone famous — someone talented, well-traveled, and gorgeous. I covered my mouth as I retched and the wave of nausea receded. Deep down, I suspected that he had dated before, of course. I expected him to have exes. But I figured they were ordinary women. No one I’d ever feel like a tiny ant next to. Ugh.
I groaned and bent forward as I remembered what I said at lunch. “Anyone who goes out with gorgeous, famous women for arm candy is a bit too big-headed for me.” I pounded the bed several times with my fist, picked up my pillow, and screamed into it.
Mei! What were you thinking?
I hadn’t been thinking, obviously. And his reaction to my statement, the way he mumbled into his curry? Suddenly it made perfect sense. I flat-out told him I didn’t date guys like him. I inferred that he was big headed and arrogant. If I ever thought that maybe, just maybe, I’d had a chance with him, I completely blew it.
I glanced at the screen again and flipped through the photos of them together, posing at movie premieres, on the beach in Ibiza, eating at a café in Paris, shopping in Venice, Amanda showing off the gorgeous engagement ring. This was way beyond me. Way. We couldn’t have a relationship because he would measure me next to Amanda, and let’s face it, I was nobody compared to her. The more I thought about it, I became sure I never had a chance anyway. He couldn’t look at me, scrawny, dirt-under-my-fingernails, and crazy-haired Mei, and find me attractive after he dated her. He probably thought of me as a good friend and was disappointed when I inadvertently criticized him.
Not only had I been reading into every one of his kind gestures and thinking they were romantic, but I also possibly killed our friendship. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I needed to salvage our friendship somehow and tell him I still liked him for who he was, despite my comments about Takahara. I didn’t know how I would bring it up, but I should.
“Mei-chan! Dinner’s ready!” Mom called from the kitchen.
“Coming!” I yelled back, slamming my computer closed.
Too bad the photos of Yasahiro and his ex-girlfriend had burned into my retinas. There’d be no shaking those images now.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I changed my outfit twice before heading out to Sawayaka. First, I put on a slinky black dress, did my hair for real with my favorite sleek and shiny hair products, taming the frizz to the maximum level possible, and applying a generous layer of makeup. Then I looked in the mirror and freaked out. I wasn’t in Tokyo anymore. I was in tiny little Chikata, and a dress and makeup like this would attract a dumb amount of attention. I ripped off my dress and added it to the pile of clothes in my room, popped open a moving box, and dug deep for my skinny jeans. All my other jeans were now farming clothes, but I saved my dar
k-wash skinny jeans for when I didn’t want to look like I’d been wallowing in the dirt for the past year.
Pulling them on, I went to snap them closed and I had a few centimeters clearance all around my waist. Huh. Looked like the hard labor paid off, even with the rich lunches Yasahiro had been feeding me. I added a loose, long-sleeved, black t-shirt, and bangle bracelets to the mix and retrieved a belt from my closet. In the bathroom, I wiped off most of the makeup and clipped back my hair to give it a more casual appearance. There. Much better. I may not have been as pretty as Amanda, but at least I’d fit in around here.
I immediately hated myself, closed my eyes, and counted to ten. I couldn’t get her out of my head. Now that I knew she existed, I couldn’t go back to my daydreams of Yasahiro helping little old ladies in Paris. Instead, he and Amanda made out under the Eiffel Tower, and I wanted to puke. I tried to imagine myself in her place, and I couldn’t. I sat down on the toilet and talked myself out of crying before I left the bathroom. I could have handled any kind of ex but the famous and gorgeous kind. Why did I keep stepping in bad luck over and over?
Mom was already asleep when I headed out the door, so I grabbed the keys to her car and drove into town. I parked in the municipal lot not far from the community center where I could pick it up tomorrow since I never drive drunk. Walking to Sawayaka and breathing deep, I repeated my mantra over and over. “Everything’s fine. Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s fine. Nothing’s wrong.”
The night, crisp and cold, wrapped around me, and my breath fogged in the air as I approached the restaurant. I knocked on the window and waited, peering into the main room, the tables empty and chairs overturned onto each. Slipping my hands into the pockets of my wool coat, I hopped back and forth, trying to keep warm. I hated waiting, especially in a public place all by myself. I always wondered if people thought I was a delinquent. A couple passed me on the sidewalk, eyeing me and the darkened restaurant, probably wondering what I was doing. I knocked on the window again and cursed my stupid waterlogged phone. If it had worked, I could have called Yasahiro on the restaurant’s main line.
The Daydreamer Detective Page 16
