The Daydreamer Detective Braves the Winter

by S. J. Pajonas

  I nodded to Takahara, and he smiled, his charm turned to full.

  “Mei-san, it’s good to see you. How have you been?”

  “Fine. And you?”

  He frowned, an unnatural expression on his placid face. “All right. I was sad to hear of Etsuko’s death. I often went to the izakaya and got to know her these past few months.”

  I absorbed this information as everyone else did in line. He should have dropped his voice, but he’d never been any good at caring about anyone other than himself. Hearing him say something nice about someone else was like hearing a dog meow.

  “She was a very wonderful and kind person,” I replied, nodding my head and moving forward with Yasahiro to pay our respects. I spoke quietly with Etsuko’s mother, father, and brother, expressing my deepest condolences and taking Etsuko’s mother’s hands in my own.

  “I heard you’re helping Goro-san and the police to find evidence about Etsuko’s death,” her mother said, and several people in line behind us murmured between them at this news. My face warmed. “I could never believe Hisa-kun would hurt her,” her mom whispered to me. “It pains me that he won’t be here today to say goodbye.”

  “Mei-chan is always like this.” Yasahiro squeezed my shoulders. “I’ve only known her a few months, but she’s always looking out for others, even at her own detriment.”

  If I could’ve poked him in the ribs, I would have. He was goading me.

  “I’m not sure how I can help, but I will.” I bowed to Etsuko’s mother before following Yasahiro to pray before Etsuko’s body and then into the next room where we’d eat lunch and drink saké until it was time to leave.

  I draped my coat over the back of a chair, dropped my purse on the table, and sat beside Yasahiro. People around the room stared at us, but I tried to ignore them. Yasahiro, though, waved in their direction and the people averted their eyes and talked amongst themselves.

  “It’s like we’re animals in the zoo some days,” he whispered to me.

  “It’s my fault—” I began to say and then Goro dropped into the seat next to me.

  “Look at you two. Still dating, I see?” Goro grabbed saké cups from the middle of the table and set them in front of us, opening a bottle with a crack of the metal cap.

  “I give you Exhibit A,” I said, waving to Goro. This is why people were staring at us. Because no one could believe Yasahiro would date someone like me.

  “Yes, we’re still dating.” Yasahiro took my hand under the table. “In fact, Mei-chan is going to live with me through the winter. A little trial to see if she can stand me for more than an hour or two at a time.”

  I huffed a laugh at the ridiculous lie. I was there because otherwise I would freeze to death. But I took a moment to stare at Yasahiro, and I believed he actually felt that way. I narrowed my eyes at him and he shrugged his shoulders.

  “It’s the truth.”

  Perhaps he was as nervous about our relationship as I was. I squeezed his hand as happiness lightened my chest.

  “No. Really?” Goro asked, filling our cups.

  “Yep. You can find me at his place for the next few months,” I said, confidence ringing in my voice. Just then, Takahara passed right behind me, walking to an empty table on the other side of the room. He glanced at us but kept going.

  “Then drinks are in order.” Goro lifted his cup to us. We clicked cups, said “Kanpai,” and drank. Kumi sat down a moment later, her face streaked with tears, and Goro turned to hug her and calm her down.

  “It feels so surreal. We talked about growing old together. I never thought she’d die so young.” Kumi cried into a handkerchief and blotted her eyes.

  Yasahiro and I drank, since that was the only thing we could do.

  Akiko arrived and I introduced her to Yasahiro again. They had met once in the hospital but that was a long time ago. While those two were making small talk, I got up and walked around, stretching my legs and allowing the alcohol to loosen me up. I didn’t think Etsuko’s murderer would come to her funeral, but I betted I could pick up some gossip about her if I listened hard enough. I pretended to look at email on my phone while standing behind a group of people eating and drinking at a table far from mine, but they talked about the cold weather and lack of snow, avoiding gossiping about the dead.

  At the buffet table, I lingered next to a group of women talking about how Etsuko was too young to die, and how if they died, they didn’t want a Buddhist reception. They wanted to be cremated and put into the family grave. “No one should have to look at my dead body,” one woman said, shuddering. She glanced at me, and I returned to filling my plate with food. They headed off for a table to continue talking about death in a completely detached fashion, and I was left to stand next to Takahara. Damn. I had been hoping to avoid him.

  “So, Mei-san, I haven’t seen you around town.”

  “Uh, nope. I’ve been at the house or at Kutsuro Matsu, Hokichi-san’s bathhouse. Do you know it?”

  “Yes, yes. I’ve sent many visiting coworkers there. They love it.”

  I took a long look at him, his fancy suit, expensive watch, perfect hair, and straight smile. There were lots of women in town that found him handsome, but ever since I had my run-in with him over the Midori Sankaku greenhouse, I found him unsettling. No one that slick had any business in Chikata as far as I was concerned. I didn’t care how much business he brought to the town.

  I speared some ham and popped it into my mouth, wondering how long I’d have to make small talk before I could excuse myself.

  “Great. I’m sure they’re happy for the business.” I nodded my head a few times, unsure what to do with my body or gestures.

  “I think they’re planning to add in a massage service in the spring.”

  “I’ve heard this as well. I’m looking forward to it.” This was painful small talk. Kill me now.

  “I can’t believe this is the second funeral I’ve been to here.” He shook his head, but I couldn’t tell if his sorrow was genuine or not. I didn’t have a high opinion of him, so I wasn’t the best judge. “My own father is in the hospital near death. This may not be my last funeral for the year.” He stared off into the distance, avoiding the looks of other people in the room.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I whispered, gently placing my hand on his arm. “I hope he makes a miraculous recovery.”

  “Thank you, Mei-san.” He patted my hand, but his cold skin on mine made me shudder so I returned my hand to my side. “I was wondering if you had time to go out, get dinner? A few drinks?” he asked me, and my heart stopped. Not this again. “I’d love to talk with you about the town and Midori Sankaku’s plans here for the future.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

  He nodded with a quirk of his lips, and a shiver ran down the back of my legs. This was the second time he had hit on me in Yasahiro’s presence. Why?

  “Of course. I think we’d make an excellent team, you and me.”

  “An excellent team of what?” I stepped away from him, but he closed the distance again.

  “You can’t really be dating Yasahiro-san,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I know you’re set to inherit your land from your mother when she passes. You and I, we’d make a powerful couple. You’re a trusted member of this community, and I’m running all the new business into town.”

  I had to think hard to shut my open mouth. “You can’t be serious.” I was dumbstruck. Who did this? At a funeral?

  “I am. Come on. How about tomorrow night?” A vision of the two of us together flashed through my head, and bile climbed up to my mouth. Gross.

  “How about never.” I turned away from him and stalked to my seat. The nerve of that guy.

  He smiled at me as he returned to his table.

  “You all right?” Yasahiro asked, turning away from his conversation with Akiko.

  “I’m fine.” But as Takahara made eye contact with me across the room, I felt far from
fine.

  Something was just not right, and I couldn’t put my finger on what.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Turn, fold, push.”

  Murata worked dough on her counter space, pushing the dough forward with the heels of her hands, turning the lump ninety degrees, folding it in half, and pushing it with the heels of her hands again.

  “See? Now, you try.”

  I tried to mimic her hand motions, but I failed and the dough barely moved.

  “No, no. Push harder. Put your back into it.” She smacked me between the shoulders, and I laughed as I pushed the dough. “That’s better. You know bakers have good muscles. Didn’t you say you were dating a baker?”

  “A chef.” I turned the dough, folded and kneaded again. “He owns Sawayaka.”

  “Eh? Suga-san? You’re dating Suga-san?”

  “Yep.” I pushed, turned, and folded. “We’ve been dating since the beginning of October.”

  “How can that be? I’ve heard he’s the most eligible bachelor in town. He lives right behind me, you know?”

  “I do,” I said, stifling a laugh. “I’m living with him for a little while until our pipes unfreeze at home again.”

  “I don’t believe it,” she mumbled, and I shrugged my shoulders at her. This didn’t surprise me one bit.

  “How long do I knead this? And why do I knead it anyway?”

  She picked up the dough and slowly pulled the molded ball of wheat, water, and yeast apart into two chunks. “See how the dough is becoming elastic and sticking together? Kneading develops the gluten into long strings. Without it, bread would be a rock. Kneading and resting the dough over and over makes it rise and become light and airy.”

  She took over for me, kneading the dough a few more times, rolling it into a huge ball, and holding it in her hands for a moment. “See how it holds its shape now. If it falls into a lump, it’s not ready.” Plopping the dough into a metal bowl, she covered it and put it in the warm oven. “I heat the oven a little and then turn the light on. That’s usually enough to be warm for dough to rise.”

  There was no way I could do this at home — it was too cold — but I could try making dough at Yasahiro’s. I wondered if he would mind.

  “So you let it rise until it doubles in size. Then you punch it down, knead it again for a short time, and then bake it. This is my super easy recipe. A child can make this. It’s not the best bread but tastes great with butter and jam or cheese.”

  Murata hobbled to the kitchen table and placed her hand on a stack of paper. “I copied these for you. It’s my favorite bread recipes, and your money for today is right next to it. Don’t forget it, okay?”

  “Okay.” I washed off my hands and grabbed the sponge. “I’ll clean up here and take out the recycling.”

  She filled up a glass of water and sat down at the kitchen table.

  “You’re really dating Suga-san? You’re not joking around with me?”

  I laughed and nodded my head. I should have been annoyed by these people who didn’t believe we were dating, but how could I when I barely believed it myself? I sprayed down her counter and scrubbed with the sponge, being sure to lift everything and clean underneath.

  “Yes, I’m really dating him, and yes, I’m living with him right now. He’s a good man. I’m very fortunate.”

  “I would think he’s fortunate to have you, dear. You seem very sweet and compassionate. Not many people want to help an old lady like me. You reach a certain age, and suddenly, you don’t exist anymore.”

  “Well, I do like hanging out with older people because I love hearing the stories you have to tell. I always got along better with people older than me growing up. I was a terrible babysitter because I didn’t like kids.” I rinsed out her sponge and got started on the dishes. “But I’m happy to help now, and I’m glad I can make a little money too. At least until I get a full-time job.” I hummed as I soaped up and rinsed out a glass. Looking over my shoulder at Murata, she was studying me with her eyes narrowed. “What?”

  “Have you ever considered doing this full time?”

  “This? Taking care of the elderly? I’m not a nurse.”

  “No. Not as a nurse. You know, the community center used to have more activities for the elderly, but they cut back when the recession hit. Attendance was low because the center is on the edge of town. It’s hard to get to.”

  I knew the community center was hard to get to as that was where Mom held her cooking classes.

  I finished up washing dishes and turned to face her, drying off my hands with a towel. “Would something closer to the center of town be better?” An idea formed in my head of a place where people could gather and do activities all day for a small fee.

  She waved her hand and dismissed the idea. “Maybe, but who has the time for something like that? Have you heard anything more about Etsuko?”

  My mind, having gone all the way down the first path she mentioned, imagining a little tea shop or home with people gathered, playing card games, talking and eating, throwing birthday parties, came to an abrupt halt. Who had time for that? Maybe me?

  I was beginning to believe I’d been going in the wrong direction my whole life. I loved to paint and help other people out and those things had nothing to do with my business degree and Tokyo office life as a project manager or saleswoman. I was at the fork in the road, reading both signs. One read, “Back to Tokyo — to your unfulfilling corporate cycle of dead-end jobs.” The other read, “Stay in Chikata. Start something new!” Yasahiro held out his hand to me on the Chikata path, but my feet were planted to the ground like concrete.

  I returned to putting the bread ingredients away. “Etsuko was a model daughter and wonderful person,” I said, returning to the conversation. “She showed up to work on time. She seemed to have a passion for bento boxes and collecting DVDs. She had a loving boyfriend who’s devastated she’s dead, but he’s the only suspect because she had no run-ins with the law, paid her bills on time, went to work, and visited her family. Goro-san said they have no information about who could have possibly killed her but Hisashi-san, which I don’t believe. I saw his love for her with my own eyes.”

  “She always seemed lonely to me, though. Said she missed him while he was gone. Whenever I talked to her, she would complain about how empty her apartment felt. How there wasn’t anyone to come home to, like her brother has with his wife and kids.” Murata drummed her fingers on the table. “She paid her bills on time with that waitress job she had? What about all the trips she went on? I can’t imagine she had much spending money.”

  “Trips? What trips?” This was news to me.

  “About once every other month, she would leave with a rolling bag and catch a cab outside. She even said she was jet lagged once or twice, and I saw duty-free bags. I figured she was traveling with Hisashi, but she never spoke of her trips at length. Perhaps she was meeting someone else?”

  That was a good guess. I filed away this new information to give to Goro as soon as I talked to him next. I placed the flour in her cabinet and the yeast in the fridge. “Did she ever date anyone else?”

  “She and Hisashi-san went through a rough patch two years ago and she dated a guy briefly, but he moved away. Got a job in Hokkaido. She talked about the guys she tried to date online.” Murata shook her head. “Young people these days. I don’t understand you. In my day, you got an omiai if you needed to get married.” I smiled and resumed tidying up. Omiai were traditional Japanese matchmakers, and Murata would’ve been scandalized if I told her there were websites that do that now too. “She said most of the people on dating sites are women anyway. Young men just want to work and don’t care about having a family. Then she and Hisashi-san made up and became even more devoted to each other.”

  I finished up by cleaning her sink and wiping up the floor too.

  “Do you think she dated anyone from these sites recently? Maybe she was seeing someone on the side?” My stomach churned with the idea, but I supposed a sec
ret lover wasn’t out of the question. Lots of people (people that were not me) cheated or hedged their bets. Perhaps she’d thought Hisashi would never come around and move to Chikata.

  “I’m not sure,” Murata said, yawning. “She tried group dates and speed dating too. Seemed to me an awful way to spend your time.”

  I wondered if I could find her profile on any of these websites. Maybe if I found one, Goro could look into it on her computer and find out if anyone contacted her. I knew they had her computer and were going through the email. He probably already knew more than I did.

  Murata rose from her chair, looking beat.

  “Are you going to nap?” I brought her cane to her.

  “Yes. Lock up when you leave?” She had complained that she was sleepy when we went out for a walk earlier. The air was cold and she was yawning puffs of steam, but the walk had woken her up long enough to teach me to make bread.

  “Of course.”

  I helped her to her room and closed the door behind me before putting on my coat, grabbing my purse and the recycling, and locking the door. I glanced at Etsuko’s apartment and imagined her coming and going from an international flight or saying goodbye to someone she met online right at her door. But that didn’t seem very safe. I didn’t know many women who would invite a strange guy into their house on a first or second date. If she had done any dating, it was out in the open, and Kumi would’ve known about it because they were best friends.

  Then who were the men Murata witnessed?

  I dropped off the recycling downstairs and headed out into the cold, early evening. The sun had set and the block was dark and quiet. I remembered the way Takahara propositioned me at the funeral — how bold he was even though Yasahiro was seated two tables away. He had seemed to think I would consider his proposal because we’d make a good match somehow. But I had seen the women he dated, and I couldn’t imagine why I would be any better than them. He was a playboy, dating any woman with a pretty face and a solid bank account. That did not describe me one bit.