The Daydreamer Detective Braves the Winter

by S. J. Pajonas

  “I hope I can go talk to Hisashi soon. If the police will let me. And I’ll do what I can to protect Etsuko and her family, too. I promise. I don’t know how much of a role I’ll play in this investigation, but I’ll do my best.”

  Kumi nodded and hugged me again. This time, I melted into her warmth for a long moment. I was so rarely hugged, I took what I could.

  “Come sit with me and tell me what you’ve been up to until these people leave. I know you don’t want to bathe with too many strangers.”

  “Great,” I said, sighing in relief. “Oh, and I need some help with fliers and business cards. I’ve started my own business! But I have no money for these things.”

  She squeezed my waist as she directed me to her computer. “No worries. I can work miracles.”

  Chapter Ten

  Eating lunch in the kitchen at Sawayaka, surrounded by bustling chefs, sizzling pans, and cracking plates, was not what I had planned for today. I sipped on hot noodle soup with fish and pork, trying to eat slowly, so as not to shock my system. The bowl contained at least three meals in one, and my body only had the custard for breakfast. I’d be lucky if I were able to eat all of it. I became full at the slightest provocation nowadays. I used to be able to eat an entire bowl of ramen in one sitting! Not anymore.

  I could’ve browsed on my phone and read articles online or read my book while I ate, but I opted for watching Yasahiro cook and work his way around the kitchen. He had such an ease about him like he was born to run a kitchen. When I thought of the cooking shows I watched on television (when we actually turned on the TV), they were about wives making bento lunches for their husbands. “I can’t wait to get married and have my wife make my lunches every day,” said one coworker looking longingly at his friend’s lunch. I usually turned the channel right then. I always believed men should make their own damned lunches, and women should work right alongside them. Japan could be so backward sometimes. And I was a horrible cook and afraid of setting things on fire for the obvious reason that I was pushed into a fire pit as a kid and now have scars along my back.

  Imagine my surprise when Yasahiro asked to date me. Me! Of all people. Me who can’t cook. Me who had no job. Me.

  The last of the cooked orders were delivered out the door, calming the action in the kitchen, and the staff settled into the last thirty minutes of lunch. Ana, the hostess out in the main area, wouldn’t do any more seatings, and everyone would start cleaning and winding down.

  Yasahiro came over and stood next to me, leaning his lower back on the island.

  “How’s lunch?” He checked my bowl, frowning. “Do you not like it?”

  “I love it,” I said, covering my noodle-filled mouth with my hand. “I’m eating slowly. It’s a lot of food.”

  He ran his fingers down the length of my arm to my free hand. “You’ve lost more weight,” he whispered. “Keep eating.”

  “It’s fine—”

  “It’s not fine. You’re half the size you were when I met you two months ago.”

  He had noticed, and I was stupid enough to think I could hide my skinny body behind baggy clothes. I blushed as I caught one of the dishwashers looking at us. “Please, Yasa-kun. Not here.”

  He cleared his throat. “What do you have planned for this afternoon?”

  I sighed, grateful he’d moved on. “I thought I’d stay here and work on my computer for a bit. I was going to submit some resumes and do research on other places to apply for a job. Then I have to go over to Etsuko’s old building and meet up with Murata-san.”

  “She’s one of your new clients, right?”

  I nodded as I slurped up more noodles and ate a slice of juicy, sweet and savory pork. I closed my eyes and savored every bite. Why did I have to become a starving artist to appreciate good, traditional Japanese cooking? I wished I could slap my past self for being an idiot and eating the junk I ate before meeting Yasahiro.

  “Then I have an idea. Not that I don’t love spending time with you here, but I have some end of year work to do. Why don’t you come back to my place with me and stay there?”

  My blood pressure dropped and my vision tunneled. What? Back to his place? I must’ve turned a sickly shade of white because his face dropped in confusion.

  “Do you not want to take this step, Mei-chan?” His voice plummeted to a whisper as he reached into his chef’s coat and pulled out a single key on a red cat keychain.

  My heart beat so fast I had to press my hand to my chest. I was grateful the kitchen was too noisy for anyone to notice my distress.

  “I wanted to give you this key tomorrow on our date, but it’s been burning a hole in my pocket all day.”

  I stared up at him, at his searching eyes, the tiny scar in his eyebrow, his broad chin, then at the key. Wasn’t this what I’d wanted for the past few weeks? But it felt like cheating, like cutting in a long line, by being handed the key without ever even having been there.

  “Bye, Chef-san!” The men and women who worked in the kitchen filed out the door, waving and calling goodbye, and walking through the empty restaurant. I caught a glimpse of Ana buttoning her coat to go outside before the door swung closed.

  Yasahiro waved to them and turned back to me. He sighed, and brushing his fingers on the side of my face, said, “Here come the clouds.”

  “What?” I was breathless every time he touched me.

  “There’s a famous photographer, I’ve forgotten his name, who took thousands of photos of Mount Fuji throughout his entire life. He used to say he was in love with Mount Fuji, going so far as to call it Fuji-ko, like the mountain was his wife.” Yasahiro pulled over another stool to sit next to me, and I turned to face him. “He would say, ‘I married such a fickle woman because I can never tell what mood Fuji-ko will be in today.’” Yasahiro’s lips quirked. “I saw that painting of Mount Fuji in the bathhouse, and I just knew that you painted that fickle mountain because you identified with it. Cloudy and misty one moment. Clear and bright, shining like a diamond another.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  He took my hand in his. “It’s a compliment. I like complex women. I like that you keep me on my toes, that you don’t take anything for granted. I never know what to expect with you, at least not yet. I hope to have lots more time to learn all your little quirks.” He leaned into me, and I stayed very still, absolutely shocked by his words. I’d never been compared to Mount Fuji, our greatest national treasure, and I didn’t feel I deserved that kind of a compliment. He dragged his nose along my cheek to my ear and kissed to my jawline. I scrunched up and smiled, giggling at the contact.

  He pulled away and smiled at me. “I want you to have the key. I want you to have access to me, whenever you want it. Access to my space. I have a computer there, food, internet, a comfortable couch, a big screen TV, everything you could want, and it’s in the center of town, so it’s a good place for you to go during the day between your elderly clients. If you’re there, it gives me an excellent excuse to come home more often too.”

  He slipped the key into my hand, and I rubbed my finger along the cat charm, my mind in a drastic unbelieving state.

  Whatever I did, I must be careful to never overstay my welcome or take too much advantage of this. This… This was a gift from the gods. I should pray at a shrine.

  “Say something, Mei-chan. I’ve never seen you so quiet.”

  I huffed a laugh. “I talk too much sometimes. I’m speechless. I’ve never even been to your place, so I can’t believe you’d just give me a key like this.”

  “I know,” he said, standing up and grabbing our coats from the hooks by the door. “So we’re going to go there now. Grab your bag. I’ll give you a tour, and we’ll spend the break there, then you can go on to take care of Murata-san.”

  I was nervous the whole drive to his apartment, though we were in the car for only five minutes. He pulled his hatchback into the tiny parking spot, and my stomach flipped over, realizing I was about to go inside, not just
bypass the building to go to Izakaya Jūshi.

  “The key unlocks both the outer door and the inner one. If I ever end up renting out the bottom space, I’ll change the lock on the outer door.” He gestured to me to open it, so I stuck the key in and turned. The door swung open and a light came on. The space inside the door had a cement floor and painted red walls with dark wood stairs that led up. A gray steel door to the right must have led to the retail space.

  I climbed the stairs to a large landing where Yasahiro stored a bike hanging from the ceiling and a shovel and snow boots against the wall opposite the door. Snow would come any day. A set of stairs led away and up another level.

  “That leads to a deck. It’s perfect in the summer. You can see Mount Fuji.” He smiled at me, and I looked away.

  I slipped the key into the lock and opened the inner door. A light came on inside, and I caught my breath. Akiko was right. His place was stunning.

  “Go on,” he said, prompting me to step foot inside. The stone floor right inside the door was dark, almost black slate. I took off my boots and my socked feet on the floor were warm.

  “Ah! The floor is warm!” I hadn’t felt a warm floor in months. My feet were blocks of ice at home.

  “Radiant heating. The warm floor in the bathroom is fantastic in the winter.” He took my coat, opened a cabinet over a row of cubbies on the wall, and hung up my coat. I felt like an uneducated farm girl gawking at his loft apartment like I’d never seen luxury before.

  To the right, windows faced the street and a large couch wrapped around the space in front of a giant flatscreen TV mounted on the wall.

  “This here raises and lowers the window screens, if it gets too sunny or you want privacy.” He pointed to a flat panel on the wall to the left of the cubbies, a home control system with a touch screen. He navigated to a screen labeled “Window Screens” and lowered them down halfway.

  My mouth must’ve been on the floor because he laughed. “Heat, lights, screens, all of that is in here.”

  To the left was a massive kitchen with red painted walls a shade darker than the hallway. Pots hung from a contraption over the island around a hood and a giant stove. Cabinets and a sink were on the opposite wall with a dishwasher. A dining table covered the space between the couch and the kitchen island. The perfect place for someone like him to entertain a dozen guests.

  He took my hand and dragged me towards the kitchen. “Stove with the built-in grill and microwave are here. Dry foods are in these cabinets,” he said, waving his hand over the dark cabinets to the right of the sink. “Plates and glasses are here.” He waved to the left of the sink. “This is the pantry.” He opened an entire room off the kitchen, and the shelves inside were filled with food. I nearly burst into tears but caught myself with an intake of breath. “Help yourself to whatever you want. The fridge…” was next to the pantry. He opened the door and it was well-stocked, but not too much. He knew how long vegetables and meat kept.

  “Now, here’s the bathroom.” He opened the door to the right of the kitchen and the spa bathroom Akiko boasted about was dark, stainless steel, and masculine. It was clean, too, which was unexpected. The bathroom even had its own closet for linens. Our bathroom at home was barely the size of a small closet. But this had a deep tub, shower, toilet, double sinks, the works.

  “My bedroom is through here.” He pointed to the door adjacent to the bathroom. “You can enter it via the bathroom or the other door in the kitchen.”

  I hesitated for a moment before turning the door handle and stepping into his private space. He had a queen-sized bed with a fluffy duvet, a large closet, another TV mounted on the wall, a dresser, and bedside tables. Over the bed hung framed prints of Paris. I scanned the photos in the room, cities I knew he’d been to: Amsterdam, Singapore, San Francisco, New York, Rio. I was grateful there were no lingering photos of Amanda. Had he thrown them away? Or were they never there to begin with? I wasn’t sure, but I believed he had this place renovated after they broke up, so my guess was she had never been here, in photos or otherwise.

  “Wow,” I whispered.

  He nodded, pursing his lips. “Okay, I’ll take ‘wow.’” He opened the door and walked out to the kitchen, setting his wallet on the island and opening the fridge. But I stayed in his room and sat down on his bed. I wanted to climb in and bury myself under the covers.

  He returned with a glass of water for each of us.

  “You look stunned.”

  “I am,” I said, sipping and glancing around the room again. “How does the son of a soy farmer afford a place like this? Especially after owning a restaurant.”

  He sat down next to me. “Investments. Lots of them. Real estate is my other hobby. I’m almost thirty, and I’ve sunk every yen I’ve ever had into real estate, buying and selling until I had enough money I didn’t know what to do with it. Amanda used to just help herself to whatever she wanted from me.” He plucked at the fabric of his pants. “And honestly, I didn’t mind. I loved her and I wanted to see her comfortable and happy.” Sipping from his glass, he was silent, thinking. “I want the same for you. I’ve never seen anyone deny my help as much as you do, which only makes me try harder.”

  “I’m sorry I’m so difficult—”

  “Don’t apologize.”

  “Don’t interrupt. I wasn’t finished.” I smacked him on the arm, and he laughed before putting on a mask of mock seriousness.

  “I was taught from childhood never to impose, never to show my needs to others. It’s a hard habit to break.” I stopped and opened my mouth again to tell him about the state of my home, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t confess without Mom’s permission. And once again, I felt like a traitor — to Mom for wanting to blab and to him for not saying something.

  “Paris and France taught me a lot, broke me of some bad habits. My parents are always aghast at my actions.” He laughed again and shook his head.

  “Doesn’t that bother you?”

  “Not anymore.” He nudged my arm with his elbow. “Go. Get a feel for the place. Get comfortable.”

  I started in his bedroom, ambling through the photos on his dresser, opening the closet doors, and lifting up the sheets on the bed. He watched me as I made my way into the kitchen.

  “No tatami anywhere?” I twirled around once, my socks and the shiny hardwood floor making it easy to dance.

  “Nope,” he said from the bedroom. “I like European modern.”

  I began to hum and then sing the latest pop song stuck in my head, opening the cabinets in the kitchen, finding the utensils, glasses, and dishware. I took the glass he gave me and refilled it with water from the fridge. I was thirsty again now that I was warm from my head down to my toes. In the bathroom, I grabbed a towel from the linen closet and added it to the towel bar next to his. That one was mine.

  “I didn’t know you could sing,” Yasahiro called from the bedroom. “You have a beautiful voice.”

  I stammered as I thanked him, and I was glad he couldn’t see me from where he was. “I’m a blast at karaoke, but it’s been forever since I last went.”

  In the living room, I stood and looked out the window. He had a view of the street and people out and about. A convenience store was just down the block, a grocer, and a dry cleaner. Plus Izakaya Jūshi was in the opposite direction.

  I glanced at the clock and the readout read 14:30. I had thirty more minutes to enjoy the heat and quiet of Yasahiro’s apartment, so I needed to pick the best way to do that. I searched around the couch and found a basket of blankets on the far side.

  Picking up a soft, heavy blanket and holding the warm fabric in my arms, I stood so he could see me from the bedroom.

  “Come join me?”

  It was the right idea. His face split into a smile, and he padded across the apartment to meet me. I gestured to the corner of the couch, he sat, and I sat between his legs, pressed my back to his front, and pulled the blanket over us. Reaching back, he fit his fingers between mine, and I cradled his ar
m to my chest, laying my head into the crook of his shoulder. He was so warm, and the beat of his heart was strong and steady under my ear.

  “Mmmm. Good idea, Mei-chan. But it’ll be hard to leave this. You know, if you want to stay the night with me, you can, anytime.”

  I smiled because I was ready to take that leap. I cared for him, and I trusted him to take good care of me.

  “Soon. We have thirty minutes. Tell me more about Italy. Do they really drink alcohol all day there?”

  He sighed in flashback ecstasy. “They eat and drink all day long if they can.” He pulled my arm up and ran his fingers down the length of it, resting my hand on his neck. “Let me tell you about the time I spent in Florence…”

  Chapter Eleven

  Murata’s apartment was warm and stuffy as I sorted through the first pile of magazines and newspapers she directed me to. In anticipation of a large amount of recycling, Murata had handed me the recycling guidelines for Chikata as I walked through the door. Of course, I knew them by heart, but it was sweet she thought I needed them.

  Trash and recycling in Japan were a serious business. We were an island nation, and we only had so much space to put waste. Everything was either recycled or burned. Thankfully, Murata had many of the required recycling bags, but I’d have to pick up more the next day before coming over. They were sold in the local convenience stores, and she’d cover the cost. I had to bag her old magazines and newspapers and bring them all downstairs to the paper bins for her apartment building.

  “I would have done it myself,” she said to me as I sorted through her paper collection. “But they were so heavy. I used to drag them down the stairs, but the bags ripped too often. So I gave up and just let them pile up.”

  “Why don’t you stop the deliveries?”

  “Crazy girl! I actually read them, you know?” She smacked me playfully on my shoulder. “I don’t have a computer so this is the only way I stay up to date on anything.”

  I knelt down as there was a knock on the door. “Do you want me to get that?” I gestured at the door but she shook her head. “They’ll stop distributing paper eventually, though, Murata-san. You can’t deny technology forever.”