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

  “To do that kind of party right,” Michael said, “it takes time. Wouldn’t it be better if we returned during Christmas?”

  “But there’s a unique opportunity now,” Aunt Norie pleaded.

  “What?” I asked skeptically.

  “So many events have been postponed because of earthquake problems. So there are last-minute openings at all kinds of hotels. The Yokohama Grand, that historic hotel with charming water views, has surprising availability. This would be our gift to the two of you.”

  “How generous! We are truly grateful. May we think about it some more?” Michael said, a properly subtle deflection.

  “Rei, surely you want this lovely party as much as your husband does,” my aunt said.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know that I’d be okay with another wedding reception now—or even later. Especially given the troubles of so many people, it seems selfish to hold an event where people will feel pressured to bring a cash gift of thirty- to fifty-thousand yen.”

  “People give that much at weddings?” Michael looked stunned. “I also wouldn’t be comfortable raking in those kinds of amounts.”

  “Why don’t you give any financial gifts to tsunami relief?” Aunt Norie suggested.

  “May we give you our answer after the Tohoku trip is finished?” Michael asked. “I’m sure some kind of party to show support for Tohoku would be welcome. That is, if Rei can get a few extra days off from her job.”

  My aunt nodded. “I’ll just wait. But take the catering menus to study on the train, please.”

  Chapter 31

  In Tokyo, I’d washed my body and hair with a whole system of green tea-lemongrass cleansing milk, shampoo, and conditioner. But as we disembarked in Sugihama, having taken a bus from the JR Ichinoseki Station, those pleasant aromas were quickly overpowered by the harsh odor of dead fish.

  Michael’s face was so motionless that it appeared he’d stopped breathing. My own insides heaved, and I started shallow nose breathing while I got the small gauze face masks out of my backpack and gave him one.

  “How far to the volunteer shelter?” Michael asked.

  “I have no idea. This bus stop wasn’t operational before, so I don’t know the area. But don’t worry. Akira should be picking us up soon.”

  When Akira arrived with his truck, he greeted Michael with an enthusiastic bow followed by a firm handshake. Looking confidently into his eyes, Akira said, “I am glad you came along.”

  “Thanks very much, Rikyo-san.” Michael spoke politely, but I knew he was still going to be wary of Akira until we’d resolved some outstanding questions. “I’ve been here once before, but I didn’t know the way to reach the volunteer shelter.”

  “Yes, it’s a bit uphill. Some roads are gone, but I have an idea how to get around it. By the way, please call me Akira, like Rei does. We are the younger generation, neh?”

  “What are you and your father working on today?” I asked. “I hope getting us wasn’t a major interruption.”

  “We were roofing. Not much fun, but it’s necessary,” Akira said. “I’m just surprised you’re back. I didn’t know that I would see you again, since you got the information you needed about me from my boss, right?”

  How had he known I’d called human resources? I wondered if Akira had wanted to pick us up so he could figure out what we were still concerned about. I imagined Michael was thinking the same.

  “I did get it, thanks,” I said.

  “My parents would like to see you two this evening for supper. We have a generator that allows for some lamps in the evening. And kerosene heaters for warmth.”

  “Actually, the circumstances are not good tonight.” Michael trotted out the rote turndown a little too quickly to sound sincere.

  Akira looked from Michael to me, shaking his head slightly. “It’s no trouble for me to drive over and bring you this evening. There is hard work ahead of you. You should have something that is better than miso stew. We have plenty.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. We truly are looking forward to coming sometime soon.” I wanted to soften Michael’s rejection. “But my husband is right that we need to spend time checking with the shelter staff about our responsibilities before we make plans.”

  “Why are you back?” Akira asked.

  “I wanted a chance to volunteer,” Michael said.

  It was an awkward ride, with as many bumps in the conversation as there were in the twisted road. I was sandwiched between Michael and Akira, who was driving as if it were possible to hurry through mud. I stared out the windshield, reversing my thoughts that the cleanup process was going well. Yes, there were plenty of workers here—but where would the mud go, the debris? It seemed as impossible as our own attempt to clean up the rotten end of Mayumi’s life.

  Mr. Yano was hauling some boxes into the shelter as Akira pulled up. He turned around and recognizing all of us, grinned. “Welcome back!”

  “Well, see you,” Akira said, his tone suggesting that we had in fact offended him by refusing to come over that evening.

  “Bye, Akira-san. Thank you so much for the ride,” I called, waving as he drove off, looking straight ahead.

  “How was the train journey? My goodness, Rei-san, that is different clothing than we are used to seeing you in,” Mr. Yano said in English.

  “Michael teased me about it, but I didn’t want to dress like a woodsman during the long train ride—I’d overheat,” I said. I was actually wearing a Missoni sweater dress with tights and ankle boots—not what anyone would expect to see these days in Sugihama.

  “And what about that fine red down jacket you wore last time?”

  “It’s in the bag for when I really need it. But the weather’s so nice today.”

  “Isn’t this what you Americans call sweater weather?”

  “It’s very good weather,” said Michael, who’d already shrugged off his foul-weather anorak and was in fact wearing one of his favorite aged L.L.Bean sweaters. “Yano-san, although my wife and I have some unfinished business in town, I want to help with the cleanup, too. I hope our plans won’t be an… imposition.”

  “Of course not. And I’m sure you could be of help in a seaside town—perhaps with maritime issues. Rei-san told me you were once with the navy.”

  “Yes, but it was more than ten years ago. I do know some officers working in the area, though. They’ve come up from Yokosuka to help.”

  “Well, maybe they can help us. Mayor Hamasaki hopes to move some boats that ran aground back to the water. We are having some trouble connecting with the Japan Maritime Self-Defense Force about this. They are incredibly busy, especially because of Fukushima.”

  “At least the Reactor Four fire is out,” Michael said, and I could see from his relaxed stance leaning against the shelter wall that this was a tremendous relief, despite how much he muttered about continuing risks of radiation. “A few days ago I met a Navy officer who is a liaison to the JMSDF. I’ll call her today—how are the phone lines? And can you tell me if any towns nearby have harbors that are still standing?”

  As Michael and Yano-san continued discussing the intricacies of moving the landlocked boats, I was suddenly thrown backward by someone grabbing my waist and hips. Regaining my balance, I turned around and saw that the surprise attack hugger was the small person I’d suspected.

  “Rei-san! Your dress is so pretty and zigzaggy. You smell”—Miki inhaled deeply—“of oranges. But why is your long hair gone? I miss it.”

  “Um, it was a sudden decision. How’s your father doing?”

  “He’s still in the hospital. Remember, you promised you’d visit him?”

  “I did promise, didn’t I?” And I knew that was where Tom was working and sleeping. If I went to the hospital to see Miki’s father, I’d have a chance to catch up with my cousin. “What about tomorrow?”

  “A minibus goes to the hospital every day after lunch. Come then,” she implored.

  “Okay, I will do my best to be on the bus with you. B
ut first, there’s some work I need to do in this town.”

  “I’ve been working outside, too. When it’s not study time, we walk outside and look for toys and other important things. Somebody found my school bag with my stuffed Totoro inside. He was all wet and smelly, though. Like a lot of the stuff we find.”

  “Are you Miki-chan?” Michael crouched down and spoke in slow English to my young friend.

  Miki covered her mouth with her hand and looked at me sideways. She whispered, “Who is that gaijin? Does he speak any Japanese?”

  “Not as well as she does,” Michael answered in Japanese, putting an arm around me. She gasped.

  “His name is Michael Hendricks. He is my husband,” I said to Miki, who was now laughing quite hard. “I found him in Tokyo and brought him back here.”

  “Tokyo’s a funny place to find a gaijin. I would go to America if I wanted one.”

  Yano-san said, “I know you are happy to meet them, Miki-chan, but right now they must go next door to put away their luggage. I’m sure they will be back for the meal tonight.”

  “Rei-san, are you cooking again tonight?” Miki asked.

  “Probably. Do you think miso stew’s on the menu?”

  “Yes, I chopped carrots for it earlier. But before we make supper, I’m going back to the shelter to check on my mother. Please come right away. She’ll explain about riding to the hospital.”

  Miki was as firm as if she were my own mother. I smiled and said, “Of course. But first Michael-san and I will go upstairs to leave our bags.”

  Michael followed me up the temporary staircase to the volunteers’ dormitory. After we’d stepped through the window opening, I waved Michael toward the men’s side of the space.

  “I’m not supposed to go past that line of boxes, but call if you need help,” I advised him.

  “Rei, just a minute!” As Michael touched my arm, I felt his anxiety.

  “Honey, your Japanese is fine. Just tell them you’re here to help, and they’ll accept you. Really, don’t worry.”

  “I’m not worried about fitting in,” Michael whispered. “I’m concerned about all you’re agreeing to do. We’ve got to make finding Morioka-san a priority. You’ve been talking about cooking, visiting folks in the hospital, and who knows what else is next.”

  “Morioka’s within walking distance. We may still be able to slip out today. But we’re part of a group. This means visiting Akira and his parents, plus Miki’s father in this hospital, and doing cleanup with Helping Hands who, you have to realize, are generously letting us sleep here, because there’s no other place to bunk in town.”

  “I don’t intend to take advantage of their hospitality. I’m just pleading with you not say yes to anything more.”

  “Plead a little harder,” I said, jokingly motioning toward my boots. When he didn’t get on his knees, I sighed and said, “I’ll get behind those boxes now and change my clothes. After that, I’d love for you to come along and meet survivors in the shelter. They might be interested to know the real story behind the fire in Fukushima. So little information is in the news. People aren’t sure what to believe.”

  “Okay. I’ll drop off my stuff in the guy zone on the other side of that box wall and go back downstairs.” Michael’s voice was sincere—as were his eyes when he leaned forward to kiss my cheek. Now that so much of my hair was gone, his breath warmed my ear. It was better that he’d be on the men’s side; lying chastely next to him at night would be too frustrating.

  In the women’s sleeping section, I met a few new female volunteers attempting to clean clothes with antiseptic wipes. A stylish girl I remembered seeing in the recent lineup for the bus was flat on her sleeping bag, exhausted, another woman whispered, from shoveling mud.

  After I’d changed into jeans, a sweater, and boots, I went downstairs. I waved as I passed Michael, who was talking intently on the phone. From the acronyms he was using, I guessed he had reached a military person. “Go ahead,” he mouthed at me, waving his hand. I was disappointed, but if he was this busy, it could mean something positive was happening.

  In the survivors’ shelter, numbers were diminishing, although Miki’s family remained in the same cardboarded area as before.

  “Welcome back, Shimura-san,” Mrs. Haneda greeted me. “Miki said you might come to say hello. I do like your new hairstyle.”

  “Well, it’s a bit short. But that’s easier, isn’t it?” I answered, properly deflecting the compliment.

  “How clean you look,” she gushed. “Is that makeup you’re wearing or just the effects of soap?”

  “Both, I think. How is your husband’s recovery?”

  “The infection is healing, but he still needs to remain in a very clean place, which is why he’s being kept at the hospital. The girls miss being with him. I remind them how much more fortunate he is than most patients in the hospital.”

  “How is that? I thought being trapped like that was about the worst story I heard.”

  “At least he didn’t witness others dying. A teenage boy was moved into my husband’s ward. He survived hanging on for his life atop the jungle gym, but he saw his friends slip into the wave.”

  “That’s awful.” As I spoke, I remembered the playground near Takara Auction House. It had been a school once, somebody had said. “Was he at the playground near the auction house?”

  “Yes, because the auction house once was a kindergarten. The playing space remained because the city legislators decided to keep it. Even older students enjoyed meeting each other there.”

  The playground was where Akira had told me Mayumi had met him when she’d visited Sugihama as a seventeen-year-old. Surely she had passed by this playground when she arrived on March 11 to the auction house.

  “Miki’s on the other side of the shelter,” Mrs. Haneda informed me. “She is near her friend Keiko’s family’s space. The girls invited her to play with some toys they found outside in the mud—I’m sure the mother had them cleaned.”

  “It’s nice the children are allowed to look for things outside,” I said to Mrs. Haneda. “It keeps them active. I heard somebody found Miki’s school bag and returned it to her.”

  “Yes, she was excited to have Totoro back—but not her math book,” Mrs. Tanaka added with a laugh.

  Miki was in a circle of three girls, all with neatly brushed hair that spoke of the good care they were still receiving amidst chaos. Their heads were bent over what looked like a rough dollhouse they’d made from parts of cardboard boxes. Each girl had a figure in her hand and seemed intent on finding the best place for it in the cardboard home.

  “The mouse sleeps downstairs in the kitchen,” Miki, always the organizer, said to her companions. “Keiko, you can put the old man upstairs in the ofuro. He will have a long bath because he got cold from the tsunami. And Mariko, use your handkerchief to make a bed for the little lady. She’s just glad to be back in her own place, where there’s peace and quiet.”

  Play therapy, I thought. A psychiatrist like my father might say that Miki was processing her trauma. But as I bent closer, still unobserved, I found myself stunned at the sight of the mouse Miki was twisting back and forth in her hand.

  The mouse was made from wood, exquisitely carved with tiny ears, and a long tail that wrapped around his form. He was a stunningly polished deep gray color; a finish so smooth it looked like lacquer. Very old lacquer.

  “Miki,” I said, squinting hard at the object in her hand. “May I see your mouse?”

  “Of course.” She tossed it up to me and I caught it with trembling hands. I ran my fingers over the smooth little carved figurine, which was not a toy. It was an inro. Attached was a red silk cord that ran to a clasp shaped like a tiny kitten. This was the lacquer artist’s humorous touch: making a mouse inro that was too big for the kitten to catch.

  But I’d caught the joke—and also the realization—that these two exquisite items might be a piece of lacquer. As I turned the mouse over in my hand, the lacquer seemed to shi
mmer, and not just from the patina of age. It was a beacon of something that I realized might be the truth.

  Chapter 32

  “Did you find more any more pretty toys like this?” I was striving to sound relaxed, when all I wanted to do was jump up and down. After all, Mayumi had saved the lacquer; she’d got it back from wherever Daigo had brought it.

  “Yes. In there.” Miki pointed to a black leather backpack. “There are all kinds of toys in there. Nothing was wet or dirty. You can play, if you like.”

  I looked inside the bag and caught my breath. Numerous pieces of shining lacquer: among them a black netsuke-inro set decorated with lucky golden cranes, and a red lacquer box with a beautiful lady on it, and another set ornamented with a gold-leaf grasshopper. These were all things I remembered Mr. Ishida mentioning, and more. “I think I know whose toys these are. Oh, this is just wonderful.”

  “We have to give them back?” whined Miki.

  Reaching out to stroke Miki’s hair, I said, “I know the owners. I’m sure they will be very grateful to you for finding their precious treasures. Where was this backpack?”

  Miki frowned, still clearly disappointed. “I don’t know. I didn’t find it. Keiko did.”

  Keiko looked at me nervously. “We were near the old Family Mart. It was in a pile of stuff outside there.”

  “Did you dig very far down in the pile?” I asked, looking at the Coach backpack, which appeared rather clean.

  “No. We had to climb up to get it. The backpack was right there, lying on top.”

  “Why don’t you play a few more minutes, but carefully?” I wanted to be fair so the girls didn’t come to equate telling the truth to adults with automatic loss.

  “Oh, there’s your gaijin husband. I think he’s looking for you,” Miki said.

  “What a beautiful house you’ve made,” Michael said in Japanese when he’d reached us and saw what the girls were doing.