Claws of the Cat by Susan Spann Read Free Book Online

grain.
    As Mayuri turned, Hiro noticed a scrap of paper caught on the back of her kimono. The trailing end of her obi had trapped it just above the hem. Hiro bent and plucked the paper from her dress, slipping it into his sleeve as he straightened. He said nothing. Teahouse culture valued neatness and beauty above all else. Mayuri would have been mortified to learn she was trailing scraps, and, although Hiro didn’t care about her feelings, he also saw no reason to cause her unnecessary embarrassment.
    Mayuri led the men to the first door on the western side of the large common room. As she knelt she said, “You may speak with Sayuri here, but please do not take too long. I have priests coming to purify the house.”
    Father Mateo entered the room as soon as Mayuri opened the door, but Hiro paused just long enough to ask, “You will tell me when the other girls are ready?”
    Mayuri’s mouth pressed shut in a very thin smile. “Of course.”
    Hiro stepped over the threshold and joined the Jesuit inside.
    The room was identical to the adjacent one except for a welcome lack of blood and the absence of a corpse. An unspoiled vase of hydrangeas adorned the tokonoma. The flower arrangement showed more skill than the one in the room where the murder occurred. Hiro recognized it as a master’s work. The spoiled arrangement was likely the work of a student.
    Sayuri knelt in front of the alcove, facing the door, with her back to the vase of flowers. She had bathed and changed into a simple kimono of patterned silk. Without her makeup, she looked younger than before, and also more beautiful.
    A shamisen lay on the floor to her right. The lack of ornate decoration suggested a practice instrument, something to pass the time.
    “Make a useful comment,” Hiro said in Portuguese.
    Father Mateo recognized the coded cue at once. “What something would you have me say? Do you need more than this or have I said enough already?” He kept his voice even so the questions would sound like statements.
    “That will do.” Hiro turned. Mayuri knelt in the doorway as though she intended to stay.
    “I apologize for the foreign exchange,” Hiro said. “Father Mateo does not know the proper words for his request.
    “His religion has a rite called ‘confession,’ in which an accused person speaks confidentially with a priest. Father Mateo requests permission to have confession with Sayuri now.”
    Mayuri frowned. “Is privacy required?”
    Hiro nodded. “A translator may assist if necessary, but no one else is permitted to remain.”
    Mayuri looked at Sayuri. To Hiro’s surprise, the girl nodded in agreement.
    “Very well.” Mayuri sighed. “I have business to attend to anyway.”
    Hiro remained by the door to ensure that her shadow disappeared.
    Sayuri burst into tears the moment the door closed. “I’m sorry. This is my fault. I would not have asked you to come if I thought Nobuhide would kill you too.”
    “Don’t worry,” Father Mateo said. “Hiro and I will find the real killer.”
    Sayuri stopped crying and looked up through her tears. “Do you really think you can?”
    Hiro fought the urge to laugh at her attempt to manipulate the priest until he realized, with dismay, that it had worked.
    “Of course we will,” Father Mateo said, “but we need you to tell us what really happened last night.”
    “I already did. I woke up and Akechi-san was dead.”
    “I don’t think that’s true.” Father Mateo’s unexpected firmness made Hiro wonder if the Jesuit saw through Sayuri’s performance after all. “Are you scared to tell the truth? Has someone threatened you?”
    “Of course not,” she said, a bit too quickly for the truth. “A shinobi must have killed him.”
    “Who would want to assassinate Akechi Hideyoshi?” Hiro asked.
    Sayuri looked at him, wide-eyed. “I don’t know. Akechi-san was a good man. Mayuri says he always paid his bills.”
    “He was wealthy?” Hiro asked.
    Sayuri thought it over. “He