The Kizuna Coast: A Rei Shimura Mystery (Rei Shimura Mysteries Book 11)

by Sujata Massey

  “Yes, but Rei-san says we have to give back the animals who had just moved in.” Miki sighed dramatically, and then added, “However, if we make the rooms a little bigger, my Totoro could fit.”

  “Yes, and my daruma doll,” Keiko said.

  “Don’t forget about Pikachu,” the third girl chimed in.

  As the girls carried on playing, I opened my hand to show Michael the mouse inro in it. But his eyes didn’t widen until I opened the backpack that was full of even more lacquer pieces still wrapped in tissue.

  “Unbelievable,” Michael said in English. “Could it be the Kimura family’s lacquerware?”

  “This is a Coach brand backpack just like the one Mr. Ishida says Mayumi owned, and what’s inside fits his description of the lacquer collection. Apparently the girls found it atop a heap of trash.”

  “Have you checked for anything else in the backpack?”

  “Let’s do it together.”

  Michael slipped his hand in and explored. Eventually he came out with a lavender wand-style lip gloss. “A Shiseido brand luminizing lip gloss in a color called Cool. Aside from this, there’s nothing.”

  “I know it was Mayumi’s backpack.” I lowered my voice and added, “The best part of removing it from a trash heap means we’ll never have to negotiate for it with gangsters or Mr. Morioka. For all they know, it was lost in the tsunami.”

  “That’s right,” Michael said. “These are lost family possession that have been found and are being returned.”

  Miki’s friend Keiko was the one who’d picked up the backpack. She was the saddest about giving up the animals and insects. She slumped down, not looking as I carefully rewrapped everything she’d found. I talked to her parents about what was going on, so they didn’t think we were stealing.

  “Please take it. How wonderful that you know the owners!” Keiko’s mother said. “This is a good experience for the children. It will give them the belief that others will bring back their own toys when they are found.”

  “Here you go, Keiko,” Michael said in Japanese. She blinked as he pulled a supersized American Snickers bar out of the pocket of his windbreaker. Then he whipped out the pocketknife he always carried in the front pocket of his jeans and cut it into thirds for the girls.

  Not as good as the toy animals, but it sweetened the parting.

  An hour later I was in the kitchen, dropping noodles in the stockpot. As service began, I stood over it with a ladle. Dishing out bowl afer bowl of miso-carrot-onion ramen, I pondered the incredible luck of Miki’s invitation to see the dollhouse. If Michael and I had refused and gone straight to chat with Mr. Morioka, we would have missed the girls playing with the lacquer animals.

  After dinner was cleaned up, Michael caught up on his e-mails, and I sat nearby, placing a call to announce the find to Mr. Ishida.

  “Are you sure it is the Kimuras’ lacquer?” he pressed. “Almost every Japanese household has some lacquer treasures.”

  I gave him exact descriptions of all the pieces. At the end, I added, “And I know they’re very old. There’s a patina and clear evidence the pigments are natural, not synthetic.”

  “That sounds correct. However, I don’t know why anyone would put such spectacular antiquities in a trash heap.”

  “A volunteer must have found the backpack and thrown it on, not knowing what was within,” I said. “I asked during the dinner hour if anyone remembered finding a clean Coach backpack and transferring it to the heap, but nobody had.”

  “In any case, it’s great news. The question is what will you do next?”

  “My priority is to get the lacquer back to her parents. Michael’s already arranged direct transportation through a military contact to their shop in their village, Kinugasa, tomorrow morning. If I’m back in time that afternoon, I’ll visit Miki’s father in the hospital with her. Michael and I hope to do some volunteer work for Helping Hands the day after that… and then it’s back to Tokyo.”

  “I hope you’ll have some time to relax a bit. How many days have you been in Japan?”

  I counted backward. “Twelve. I’m really down to the end of my allotted leave. I should go back on Tuesday. My boss is expecting me to come back soon—”

  “Yes, you’ve told me about Mr. Pierce. He sounds like a kind man, though.”

  “He is. But I don’t want to take too much advantage of that kindness.”

  After one night back on the hard floor, all the restorative therapy of sleeping in real beds was undone. My back ached, and I knew that I was moving like an elderly woman. Michael rubbed my spine as we sat together on a bench outside the shelter. The sparkling morning light showed that yellow asters had sprung up next to the rubble heaps. They hadn’t been there last week. Despite the earth’s crack-up, it was still shooting out spring flowers.

  Michael took his hands off me to look at his watch. “The jeep should be here soon.”

  “Okay. You know, we haven’t talked about what we’re going to say to the Kimuras.” I put my face in my hands. “Imagine this. You’re grieving the loss of a child who’d caused a great upset in the family by stealing its heritage. The treasure comes back. Do you really want to know the specifics about the treasure’s return? Or would you rather believe it was your child’s final gesture?”

  Michael sighed. “I’d never want to hear lies.”

  “Here’s how I plan to do it,” I said. “When we get to the shop, I’ll apologize for disturbing them and immediately present the backpack with the lacquer. After they’ve happily accepted it, I’ll tell them it was found on the street in Sugihama. Then I’ll say that we visited Mayumi’s apartment and removed her possessions to the custody of Mr. Ishida. I’ll finish up by saying that we’ll mail them home, if they want that. But I don’t know what I should say beyond that.”

  “I don’t either.”

  The jeep came at last; it was a half hour after the time Michael had been promised, and the driver, an American southerner, was flustered. “Sorry, sir, I got stuck behind a supply convoy. But the road to Kinugasa is not that bad. I went past there yesterday. I think we can get there in an hour.”

  Sir? I mouthed silently at Michael, who shrugged. The soldier’s tone made me think he believed Michael was still an officer. With his marine haircut and crisp blue anorak worn over a polo shirt and jeans, he had a kind of bearing that wasn’t exactly civilian. I’d gone for the upscale folk-arts shopper look, wearing indigo skinny jeans and a white silk blouse with my green boiled-wool jacket. I’d tied a multicolored shibori-patterned silk scarf around my neck. The only thing marring my appearance was the gauze nose-and-mouth mask that I felt was necessary to keep from vomiting at the smells around us.

  Calling the road clear was an exaggeration; there was still plenty of waste that the driver cheerfully slalomed around. The young private chatted to Michael about being stuck in mud on three separate occasions earlier in the week. When I asked how he’d got the jeep moving again, he’d laughed and said, “Kitty litter. But now the commissaries are all sold out of it. We’ll have to keep our fingers crossed.”

  Fortunately, as we proceeded inland and uphill, the trash and mud became more sporadic, as well as the dead fish. I took off the mask, put on some lip gloss, and smiled at Michael.

  “Isn’t it gorgeous?”

  We’d moved past the wave’s reach and were in the familiar, rolling Tohoku countryside of TV dramas and postcards. The town of Kinugasa was small and charming. A narrow road was lined by small shops on either side, many of them advertising pottery or lacquer. Hamlets like these usually were packed with tourists’ cars during the spring sightseeing season. Today there were few cars with out-of-prefecture plates. I guessed that it would be a long time until tourists came back to Tohoku and Fukushima, even to inland towns like this that hadn’t been touched by the wave or radiation.

  “Kimura Lacquer!” I said, spying the kanji characters on a modest brown building a few yards ahead on the right. “This is the right place. ”

/>   “Did you say liquor?” the driver joked. “The guys and I could use something.”

  “Lacquer,” I clarified. “Wooden objects painted with a kind of natural shellac. They are really gorgeous.”

  “Not that this is a shopping trip,” Michael said tightly. Probably he didn’t want any rumors arising about the misuse of official transportation. We were lucky to have had the ride, especially since we didn’t even know if the Kimuras would let us in the door.

  Fortunately, the blue noren curtain was fluttering over the door, signifying the business was open. I opened the door and went in first, holding Mayumi’s backpack. Mrs. Kimura was behind a counter, going through a pile of receipts. Her shoulders were bent and her face drawn and tired-looking.

  “Hello? Sorry for disturbing you—” I began.

  As if operated by machinery, her head came up and she chirped out a welcome.

  She hadn’t recognized me with the new hairstyle and city clothes. I said, “We met before in Sugihama.”

  Now she took off the glasses she’d put on to do the accounting and stared at me. “Are you Shimura-san?”

  “Yes. And this is my husband.”

  “Mr. Shimura?” Her eyes goggled at him. “Truly?”

  “My name is Michael Hendricks,” Michael answered with a grin in his American-accented Japanese. “My wife enjoys keeping her Japanese family name.”

  “I don’t think my husband wants to see you. It’s a difficult time, I’m very sorry—”

  “Yes, it is a difficult time. But won’t you please look at what we’ve brought?”

  I put the backpack on the counter before her.

  “What is this?”

  Belatedly I remembered Mayumi had bought the backpack on sale in Tokyo. Her mother must never have seen it. “This is Mayumi’s backpack. Some children found it yesterday, and there are some special things inside.”

  Slowly Mrs. Kimura pulled the zipper. She pulled out the first tissue-wrapped object. “This paper is from our shop.” In a palm that was suddenly trembling, she unveiled a tiny grasshopper inro.

  “This was made by my husband’s great-great-grandfather.” She looked at me. “Where did you find it?”

  “Some little girls playing in Sugihama’s business district came across Mayumi’s backpack on a pile of rubble. They were so excited, thinking the netsuke and inro were toys—”

  “Yes,” she said with a wistful half smile. “Mayumi wanted to play with the inro when she was young. I told her no, they were too special. But now, I wish I hadn’t.”

  “We can’t fully understand what our possessions mean to others. I think about that often when I work with antiques.” I paused. “I’m grateful for the chance to see you again. I apologize to you and your husband for troubling you with the details of Mayumi’s death. That was too painful right after learning she was gone.”

  She shook her head. “Please don’t be sorry. We were so rude because we were upset. But I think we can feel peace again, if not today, sometime soon. I’m sure that she meant to bring the lacquer home. It means she never stopped loving our family.”

  She had given me the answer about what not to say. I wouldn’t explain that Mayumi preferred her new, adventurous life in Tokyo, and in fact had intended to sell the lacquer so she and her girlfriend could set themselves up. I wouldn’t say it, because I had no intention of giving these people sorrow that they didn’t need.

  “Is your husband here as well? We would like to pay our respects,” Michael said.

  “Yes, and he will want to thank you. I’ll fetch him from the studio. Just a minute, please.” And Mrs. Kimura hurried out the door, still holding the grasshopper in her hand.

  Mr. Kimura arrived still wearing an apron over heavy canvas work pants. He nodded at Michael and me before going straight to the backpack. Each piece was pulled out, unwrapped, and studied.

  At last, he spoke. “Thank you for bringing this. Everything is here. But I would like to say something else.”

  “Of course, Kimura-san.” I was glad that at least he was speaking to us.

  “You were correct that she did not die from drowning.”

  “Oh,” I said, completely caught off guard. “Did you learn something new?”

  “The death probably came because of a fall. She had bleeding inside her brain.”

  “Sorry?” Michael said, who’d missed a few words. Quickly I translated for him.

  “She had bleeding inside her head,” Mr. Kimura repeated. “This is what the policeman who called us said. The likely way to have such bleeding is if the head is impacted—like falling down.”

  “Did you ask the police to investigate?” I asked.

  Mrs. Kimura glanced at her husband, who nodded. Then she spoke. “As you know, the funeral happened three days ago. There was a delay for Mayumi’s cremation until yesterday because of so many people requesting such services.”

  This was a grisly situation I didn’t want to ruminate much longer about. I was glad when she continued.

  “During the time we were waiting, one of the doctors at the Sendai Community Hospital phoned the police. He said there was some irregularity in our daughter’s death report…. He was willing to make an x-ray. The crematorium staff brought her in the casket. We were too upset to attend, but later the police telephoned and explained the doctor’s findings. Apparently the added check showed that she had died by falling. They thought we’d appreciate knowing this.”

  “I’m sure,” I agreed, knowing that Sendai Community Hospital was where Tom was moonlighting.

  “I had a new wave of sadness knowing this,” Mrs. Kimura said. “For Mayumi to have survived and then hurt herself so badly that she died…”

  “We only hope she wasn’t in great pain,” Mr. Kimura said.

  I heard the industrial beep of Michael’s cell phone.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “I’ve just got word about the boat-moving project. I had to text that I’d be at the right place soon for a meeting.”

  “Our daughter really liked to text message,” Mr. Kimura said. “She found it more convenient than speaking aloud.”

  “We will be in Japan a few more days,” I said. “I’ll help Mr. Ishida mail the rest of Mayumi’s possessions to you right here. We brought them out of the apartment where she stayed. But unfortunately, there’s no phone with it.”

  “I wouldn’t expect that,” Mrs. Kimura said. “She surely brought her phone on this trip. But it’s a shame not to have it, isn’t it?”

  “Do you know what I think is a shame?” Mr. Kimura said to his wife.

  “No.” She looked anxiously at him.

  “I wish we had saved the buttons from her coat.” Mr. Kimura shook his head. “I was too upset to think of asking for those when she was being prepared for the funeral. They could have become part of our heirloom collection.”

  “But there are more buttons,” I reassured them. “I found a box of them in her closet. You will see them. They’re wonderful.”

  “Oh, that is a great gift,” Mr. Kimura said. “We would not have known they still existed if you hadn’t gone to her place. We are so grateful. I’m sorry about the other day. I just didn’t understand that you cared.”

  “Yes,” I said softly.

  “I’m sorry, but we must go now.” Michael’s voice cut in gently. “It’s an issue with our transport. Again, we offer our sincere condolences about your daughter.”

  “You know, the last year was quite hard for us. Everyone around us thought we had a bad daughter. It was easier to only speak to her about getting the lacquer back. But what we really needed to make things right was—just her.”

  “Don’t leave yet,” Mrs. Kimura said, going back to the counter and reaching into a drawer. She came out with a ribbon-wrapped box. “This is for the little girls who found the lacquer collection. It’s a group of kokeshi dolls. Five of them. They are lacquered, not painted, which is a bit unusual.”

  “Oh, I’m sure they would be delighted.” These so
unded like extremely beautiful, high-end dolls that would impress the girls—and their parents.

  Mrs. Kimura said, “I would like to give you a gift as well. Do you care for lacquer?”

  “Of course, but I don’t deserve anything. I only wish I had come here many years ago when I lived in Japan and met you two with your daughter. Maybe at one of those craft shows—that’s my kind of thing.”

  Mrs. Kimura glanced at me, as if assessing my sincerity again, and then reached into a drawer. She leafed through some envelopes and came up with two wallet-sized snapshots. She handed me the two pictures of a smiling Mayumi about fourteen years old. Her hair was braided and she wore a nautical-style black-and-white school uniform. Before she met Akira, I thought. When there was still peace at home.

  “Are you sure you can spare these sweet pictures?” I asked.

  “We have many copies of this school picture,” Mrs. Kimura said. “One is for yourself, and the other, for Ishida-san. I want you to know how she was when she was still a little girl.”

  “She’s very lovely. I will treasure this picture, and so will Mr. Ishida.”

  Chapter 33

  We didn’t say much on the way back. Mr. Kimura really didn’t strike me as the one who’d sent threats to my cell phone. And his wife had freely shared information about Mayumi’s head injury. It nagged at me, though. While a fall could cause internal bleeding, so could a heavy blow.

  But Mayumi’s body had been cremated. There was no chance to take anyone’s questions further.

  Michael asked the driver to take a different road as we approached Sugihama. “See those grounded boats up ahead?” he said to me. “Those are the ones finally getting moved.”

  “Well, how’s that going to happen?”

  “A combination of a crane and flatbed truck. The text I received said to look out for a special kind of tow truck with a flatbed attached. The driver will leave me to wait for it to arrive.”

  “Hmm. I don’t like the idea of you hanging here all alone.”

  “I have to sign for it,” Michael said with a shrug. “Don’t worry, nobody’s stalking me. I’d rather have you return to the shelter now so you can still visit the hospital with the Hanedas.”