As we sat down to dinner, I surveyed the crowd. The restaurant was about two-thirds full, again with many underdressed people. I couldn’t imagine dropping $150 on dinner while wearing a pair of khaki shorts and sandals, but apparently many Washingtonians could.
Like the diners, our entrées seemed slightly off-kilter. My tuna was cooked to a light gray color, and the scallops Norie ordered had an overpowering taste of lemon. I’d gladly suffer the small indignity of tuna cooked totally through, but other diners might not. So after our dishes were cleared, when Norie decided she wanted to visit the kitchen to say her good-byes, I decided to go along as well.
I made my way over to Jiro, who was bustling about. “Ah, Rei, Marshall told me you would be here. I have the check for you in the office. Let me finish the direction of this tuna dish, and I’ll get it for you.”
“Thank you.” I was pleasantly surprised.
“Do-itashimashite,” he replied. You’re welcome.
Norie dug her elbow into me after he spoke. In Japanese, she murmured, “Rei-chan, come with me to say good-bye to the other staff.”
It was unlike her to drag me off like that, so it had to be important. I followed, and sure enough she whispered in my ear. “Do-itashimashite. Did you hear him say it?”
“Yes. I guess he is trying to show that he’s happy to give me the money. I feel a bit bad for having demanded it now that I’ve learned the restaurant’s not doing well.”
“Do-itashimashite! It means ‘You are welcome.’ Don’t you see? A Japanese would never say that!”
With a sinking feeling, I realized that my aunt was correct. A Japanese would rather say ie, meaning “no,” because he wanted to make it clear that he wasn’t worthy of something as special as thanks. Do-itashimashite was an expression more commonly used by Japanese-speaking foreigners, who liked to use phrases that lined up with similar expressions in their own language.
“There could be a special reason he used the phrase,” I said. “He might have been here so long he now thinks in English. Or maybe he said it because it actually is a sacrifice for the two of them to pay me.”
“You believe in him.” Norie sounded surprised. “You—the pearl diver!”
“What do you mean?”
“You go to great depths to look for beauty and truth. He’s just a chef!” Norie exploded. “He could easily have escaped detection throughout his whole career. Chefs cook, they don’t talk!”
“Hello to you both, Shimura-san and Rei-chan. What is the matter?” Jiro had come up behind us and spoke in Japanese.
Norie jumped about a thousand miles, and I hurried through my mind for a quick excuse. “Actually, I wanted to warn you that my tuna was overcooked. My aunt was saying you were so busy cooking, you probably didn’t have time to talk to anyone in the dining room about how the tuna turned out.”
“Ah so desu ka.” Jiro looked grieved. “I am sorry about that, Rei-chan, but the dish has changed. There was a health department inspector who visited, and we were told to cook the tuna until there is no more pink.”
“But—but how could that be? You serve sashimi, right? That’s raw. Lots of people serve sashimi in this town.”
“I agree. This was a very strange situation. But one learns quickly not to argue with the health inspector. Especially when he might be in a gangster’s pocket.”
“You mean Ken Chow, the man who owns Plum Ink?”
“Don’t say the name.” Jiro’s eyes burned into mine.
What Detective Burns had talked about, this rivalry between the two restaurants, now came to mind. “Jiro, I’m so sorry. And by the way, I will wait to cash the check if that’s helpful.”
“Don’t worry about that. Marshall has signed it. Come, I’ll get it for you now.”
“Rei-chan, I am going to the bar to say good-bye to that nice Vietnamese boy,” Norie said.
I told my aunt that I’d meet her in a few minutes. The chance to follow Jiro into Marshall’s office gave me a better opportunity to ask him some questions. “Where is Marshall tonight, anyway?”
“He is at Mandala.” Jiro handed me the check. I almost dropped it when I read the amount on the dollar line, because it was for just the cost of the framing of the two pictures. Marshall still owed me almost ten thousand dollars for my work.
“How’s business at Mandala?”
“Not so bad,” Jiro said. “In fact, we’ve been using our gains at that place to prop up everything that’s going on here.”
“Do you think Bento will close?” I asked.
He looked at me dead-on. “We have that expression in Japanese, gambaru.”
“Yes, to fight on. To try one’s hardest.” So that’s what they were doing. They would put off paying every bill they possibly could, to keep the place afloat. Could I blame them?
“Right now, I still believe in this restaurant. If only more people would come and spread the word. Now that Andrea is back in front, I am very happy. She has a new attitude, and she knows just how to place people around a room.”
“I noticed that the people who come here seem quite casual, and I’ve overheard some complaints about the prices,” I said. “Have you thought about creating a few entrées under twenty dollars?”
“We can’t lower our prices much.” Jiro frowned.
“What about liquor?” I asked. “The bar is really popular.”
“Yes, it is, but this is a restaurant. It is about food.”
Jiro’s reputation was based on the food becoming a hit. However, liquor was a big profit item. If they could drop prices anywhere, it was in the bar. But would that be worth it? I thought for a minute. “Jiro, I have an idea. You could sell every bottle of wine at half-price one or two nights a week. Slow nights, when you want more people to come in.”
“They’ve done that at some other restaurants in the neighborhood, Andale and the Caucus Room,” Jiro said slowly.
“And what about having a prix fixe menu for early birds—say the five-to-seven crowd?”
“Because they are afraid to come at night?”
“Yes, exactly.” I was charging forward with my idea. “You could call it a pretheater supper, because the National Shakespeare Theatre is not very far away.”
“I admire your ideas.” Jiro sounded thoughtful. “Of course, I will have to talk to Marshall. But thank you for the ideas. We need some change to make this place work.”
I almost said, “You’re welcome,” but that reminded me of Aunt Norie’s obsession. “Oh, Jiro, just one more question.”
“Of course.” He seemed considerably more relaxed than when we’d started talking.
“Where were you born?” I smiled as I spoke. It was an innocuous question, after all.
“Why do you ask that?” His face seemed to freeze.
“Oh, you know, regional cooking styles and all that. I was just curious.”
“I learned my cooking in the Kanto area. I thought I mentioned that to you earlier. Tokyo, neh?”
But he still hadn’t told me where he’d been born. “Were you, ah, born in Tokyo?”
“Just outside. Sorry, I’ve got to check on the stock for the yosenabe. It’s that new menu item inspired by your aunt’s.” And he was gone.
29
Just outside could mean a nearby town, or another country. But I couldn’t push him further without being obnoxious, I thought, as he veered away from me. But as I walked out of Jiro and Marshall’s office along the route through the kitchen that led back into the dining room, I realized that strangers were on the premises: an older man with close-cropped, graying hair and a very young man in an oversized T-shirt and baggy jeans. As the younger one turned, I instantly recognized him as Davon, Andrea’s half-brother, and then the identity of the older man, his father, slid into place.
The Nortons had come to Washington. It was a surprising move. And they were making it obvious, letting themselves be seen by so many witnesses.
I moved closer so I could hear the words spoken by Robert N
orton to Alberto. It sounded as if he’d asked a question that ended with the word “tonight.”
“Yes, yes. She is in front,” Alberto replied. Robert and Davon seemed uncomprehending.
I chose that moment to enter the conversation. “Hello, may I help you?”
“You—you were at the house.” Robert Norton looked at me as if I were a nightmare that had returned.
“And the diner,” Davon added. “You’re everywhere!”
“I just finished dinner,” I said, remembering all of a sudden that they thought I was a Japanese tourist. I couldn’t let on that I was a quasi-restaurant worker. “Andrea-san gave my aunt and me a very nice table for supper. But we are finished. Are you here to see Andrea-san?”
“I want to ask her why she sent a carload of cops come by to see me,” Robert Norton said. “They wanted to talk about a burglary at her place. But you know as well as she does that I gave you the papers you wanted. They were supposed to be in your care, in your hotel room.”
“Let’s just step outside, please,” I said, mindless of the fact that this was where Kendall had been snatched. From the way the line of cooks had stopped chopping and sautéing, I knew we had become too much of a distraction.
Davon had a bit of a swagger as he walked out next to me, but Robert Norton showed his old injuries, moving slowly, and faltering as we passed the dishwashing station. Toro, the bull-like dishwasher, stepped back to avoid being tripped over and I caught Robert by the arm. I’d remembered his bad back and knees.
“Who’s that guy?” Robert asked once we were outside, standing on the old cast-iron platform that had a few steps leading down to the Dumpster and the parking area. The parking space was filled, I noted, with a shiny black Mercedes that I knew belonged to Jiro and a silver Honda with Virginia plates. I could guess that the Honda was Lorraine’s car. I looked at the trunk. Could I fit in it? Yes, without question.
“Alberto is the name of the Brazilian cook who was talking with you,” I said.
“No, the dishwasher. Who’s that?” Robert asked.
“I don’t know,” I said, wondering if Robert was trying to trap me into revealing that I worked at the restaurant and wasn’t a Japanese tourist at all. “Are you all right, Norton-san? I was worried about your almost falling when we were leaving the kitchen. How is your health?”
“You didn’t have to hold my hand like that when we were leaving. I’m not a cripple.”
“Sorry,” I said. “When somebody appears to be falling, I reach out to help.”
“Even if you think that person is a burglar?”
I felt my face get warm. “I never said to anyone that I thought you were a burglar. It’s just that since Andrea and I saw you, a couple of things have happened that probably wouldn’t have happened if we hadn’t gone to get those papers.”
“So she got ripped off last night.” Robert Norton sounded tired. “What’s the other thing that happened?”
I looked at him coldly. “I was kidnapped on April twentieth by some men who threw me in the trunk of their car. I escaped near Quantico. They’re still at large.”
“Whoa, Dad, we heard about that on the news,” Davon said excitedly. “I didn’t catch that it was you.”
“The cops asked us what we were doing on the night of the twentieth,” Norton said. “I told them that I had choir rehearsal with Lorraine. Davon was playing basketball with the county rec league. Then we picked him up and went home and to bed.”
I didn’t answer him immediately, because I was laying out the situation in my mind. Robert and Lorraine and Davon all would have had witnesses for the early part of the evening. But as far as bedtime went, they could only speak for each other.
“Why are you here?” I asked, although I could guess. Robert wouldn’t have driven the distance if he didn’t want to convince Andrea he was innocent of the theft in her apartment.
“We came to tell you both to get out of our business,” Davon said fiercely. “Our family was fine until Andrea and you-all showed up. Now the cops are all over us, and Momma’s crying all the time.”
“Settle down, Davon,” Robert said. “And, Miss Shimura, I’m truly sorry about what happened to you.”
“Thanks.”
“You speak English pretty well for someone from Japan,” Robert said after a beat.
I didn’t answer. I’d forgotten about my fake accent for a moment.
“Davon, there’s a map I need from the car.” Robert handed him a key ring.
“What?” Davon said.
“Go find me the D.C. map. It’s in the trunk or something.”
Davon made an irritated face and trailed away to the car. I wished I was right behind him, so I could see if a rope lay inside. No, I told myself. That was dangerous. I shouldn’t even be standing outside with them, I knew.
“Now listen here,” Robert said in a low voice, when Davon was out of hearing range. “You and my daughter have got to stop looking into things. It’s not safe. It didn’t work out for my late wife, all right? You don’t want to end up the same way.”
Now I felt really sick. The man I’d decided was no risk was threatening me. Trying to maintain a relaxed demeanor, I said, “It sounds as if you don’t think she committed suicide.”
He nodded slightly.
“What do you think happened?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve said that a million times—”
“I know about the men. The ones who came around to the apartment and scared her nearly to death.”
“How did you hear about that?” He looked at me intently.
“We read the letters. Sadako wrote to her sister about the men who wouldn’t leave you alone. Who were they, old Marine Corps guys from your time at Sasebo?”
He shook his head.
“What were their names?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“You mean you won’t,” I said.
“If you knew, you wouldn’t be safe.” He spoke emphatically.
“If you think they killed your wife, for God’s sake, why didn’t you go to the police?” I spoke quickly, because Davon had shut the trunk and was ambling back. “Was it because you were secretly glad they erased a problem for you?”
“No.” His body had started to tremble very slightly.
“I understand now.” I remembered what the Naganos had told me. “After you settled in Virginia, the honeymoon was over. Sadako became a burden. Not to mention a new baby who’d cry at night and needed all kinds of attention.”
“Don’t talk to me about babies.” There was a hint of wetness at the corners of Robert Norton’s eyes. I’d gotten to him. He furiously brushed at his cheek as Davon came up.
“I got the map. Where we going to next?” Davon demanded.
“I just want to get out of here,” Robert said in a low voice.
“Didn’t you want to see Andrea?” I reminded him.
“I changed my mind,” he said.
The conversation wasn’t over yet. “Hang on. I’ll go to the reception area and ask her if she can meet you after she’s done. It’ll be after midnight, but maybe there’s a place where you could get a cup of coffee—”
“I don’t think so.”
“Just let me ask.” If I lost him before Andrea even had a chance to see him, she would never forgive me.
I hurried back through the kitchen and out front, through the dining room. Norie waved at me from the bar. I’d forgotten about her again. What kind of niece was I? I gave her a just-a-minute signal with my hand, and hurried on to catch up with Andrea, who was returning to her stand after seating customers.
“I just had the nicest talk with your aunt. I can’t believe she’s going to Kyushu for me! What’s up with you? You look like you ate something bad.” Andrea didn’t break stride as she continued toward the restaurant’s foyer. Her words were as brisk as usual, but her expression was radiant. She was obviously happy to have her old position back.
“Your father and Davon are he
re,” I said.
Now Andrea stopped and turned to stare at me. “I didn’t see them come in.”
I spoke quickly, because I could see new customers coming through the door, people Andrea would have to tend to in a few seconds. “They’re out in the parking area behind the kitchen. I talked to them for a few minutes, and I think maybe you should talk to them, too.”
“No kidding.” Andrea sucked in her breath.
“Your father’s upset about our—digging into things. But I think you should talk to him, maybe. That is, if you feel safe doing it.”
“Of course I do,” Andrea said. “But talk about bad timing. I’m in the middle of my shift. I don’t think I’ll be done until midnight.”
She glanced at the foyer. A cute young couple wearing Lacoste polo shirts and, yes, shorts, had halted at the tall wooden pedestal table in the foyer and were looking around like hapless foreigners at the underground train station in Narita Airport.
“I’ve got to get back to my station. But tell him to be at Plum Ink around midnight.” Andrea had already hurried off to meet the new patrons.
This time, instead of going through the whole dining room and kitchen, I went out the front door and around the back to see the Nortons. I didn’t want my aunt to waylay me before I’d relayed Andrea’s message.
But when I reached the parking pad, the Honda Accord was gone. I was alone with the Dumpster and a couple of rats scrabbling about in the twilight.
I dragged myself and all my regrets back into the kitchen. Alberto called out to me from his sauté pan.
“What is it?” I asked.
“You don’t look so good, Rei. I’m worried. It can’t be the tuna.” Alberto slapped a breast of chicken on its other side, sending up a plume of fire.
“No, it’s not,” I said.
“What you doing going outside with those fellows?”
“Just talking,” I said. He was too nosy.
“You shouldn’t stand out there in the dark with them. You know that’s where your cousin got took. After what happened to you, too, I can’t believe you’d do something like that.” Alberto raised his spatula toward me, shaking it for emphasis.
The Pearl Diver Page 25
