The Flower Master (Rei Shimura #3) by Sujata Massey Read Free Book Online
Authors: Sujata Massey
wrinkled linen and talking to the National Police Agency inspector in a voice too low for us to hear. I wanted to ask Tom if he knew Takeo, but there wasn't a chance. He was busy shepherding his mother into the waiting taxi for an insulated, expensive ride home.
Chapter 4
The Chiyoda Line was jammed with evening rush-hour commuters. Just twenty minutes, I promised myself. Twenty minutes and I'd be home. The afternoon before, people on the subway had steered clear of me because of my armload of cherry blossoms. Now I had been contaminated by murder, but there was no outward sign. Office ladies and salarymen were molded into my back, while schoolchildren filled the spaces under my arms. Following subway etiquette, we pretended not to be aware of how closely we were touching. Nobody noticed me as I silently began to cry.
Outside Sendagi Station, I wiped my damp eyes with some tissues given to me by a young woman hawker wearing a doctor's coat similar to Tom's, but in the style of a minidress.
"Cherry blossom allergies, neh?" the hawker commented sympathetically. "These tissues are distributed with the compliments of Nezu Natural Medicine Clinic. Please give the clinic a try!"
I sniffled a thank-you and began my walk up Sansaki-zaka into Yanaka, the Edo-period village that had survived World War II bombings with many of its buildings, and almost all of its charm, intact. I adored my neighborhood, where there was a traditional cracker or tofu shop on almost every street, and the residents decorated the narrow pavement with potted plants and unchained bicycles. Yanaka had security and warmth and history like no other place in Tokyo.
Once inside my apartment, I double-chained the steel door and turned two deadbolt locks. Despite the safety of the neighborhood, I couldn't shake patterns that I'd learned growing up in San Francisco. I curled up on my futon couch and gazed around the room, lit only by two paper-shaded lanterns. They filled the room with shadows, a look I used to think romantic. That night it felt spooky.
Even though the police had let us go home, I knew that my aunt's future was not secure. Norie was the one who had bought the ikebana scissors that had been in Sakura's neck. We'd been in the school just fifteen minutes before the pruners had found their way into her throat.
How could my own flesh and blood be a killer? It was unfathomable. Still, I hadn't seen what had happened when Norie first stepped into the classroom and found Sakura. My father had told me that a person suffering a psychotic break could commit acts and not have any recollection of what had happened. When Aunt Norie finally spoke a few words to the police, she'd moaned about not being able to remember everything that had happened inside the classroom. She also had not mentioned her argument with Sakura. I doubted that would stay secret after the other flower arrangers had talked to the police.
I felt too shaken to make dinner, so I drank a cup of green tea and took a few bites out of a sembei. The salty-sweet cracker soothed my stomach and made me crave another. Before long I had finished the five-pack and walked into the closet-like space that qualified as my kitchen to throw away the wrapping. The blinking light on the answering machine stopped me, and I pressed play.
"Rei? This is Lila Braithwaite, from icky-bana." She was mispronouncing the word for flower arranging the way many North Americans did, instead of using the phonetic "ee-kay-bah-nah." I listened as Lila continued in her brisk, happy voice. "I'm glad you called, and I'd love to talk with you about antiques. I'll be at home tomorrow morning until eleven. I live in Roppongi Hills, number seven-oh-two. Call me if you can stop in for a visit."
Obviously she had made the call before Sakura died. I wrote down the apartment number but not the street directions. Roppongi Hills had been my last address. No doubt her apartment was even larger than the comfortable two-bedroom model I'd
Chapter 4
The Chiyoda Line was jammed with evening rush-hour commuters. Just twenty minutes, I promised myself. Twenty minutes and I'd be home. The afternoon before, people on the subway had steered clear of me because of my armload of cherry blossoms. Now I had been contaminated by murder, but there was no outward sign. Office ladies and salarymen were molded into my back, while schoolchildren filled the spaces under my arms. Following subway etiquette, we pretended not to be aware of how closely we were touching. Nobody noticed me as I silently began to cry.
Outside Sendagi Station, I wiped my damp eyes with some tissues given to me by a young woman hawker wearing a doctor's coat similar to Tom's, but in the style of a minidress.
"Cherry blossom allergies, neh?" the hawker commented sympathetically. "These tissues are distributed with the compliments of Nezu Natural Medicine Clinic. Please give the clinic a try!"
I sniffled a thank-you and began my walk up Sansaki-zaka into Yanaka, the Edo-period village that had survived World War II bombings with many of its buildings, and almost all of its charm, intact. I adored my neighborhood, where there was a traditional cracker or tofu shop on almost every street, and the residents decorated the narrow pavement with potted plants and unchained bicycles. Yanaka had security and warmth and history like no other place in Tokyo.
Once inside my apartment, I double-chained the steel door and turned two deadbolt locks. Despite the safety of the neighborhood, I couldn't shake patterns that I'd learned growing up in San Francisco. I curled up on my futon couch and gazed around the room, lit only by two paper-shaded lanterns. They filled the room with shadows, a look I used to think romantic. That night it felt spooky.
Even though the police had let us go home, I knew that my aunt's future was not secure. Norie was the one who had bought the ikebana scissors that had been in Sakura's neck. We'd been in the school just fifteen minutes before the pruners had found their way into her throat.
How could my own flesh and blood be a killer? It was unfathomable. Still, I hadn't seen what had happened when Norie first stepped into the classroom and found Sakura. My father had told me that a person suffering a psychotic break could commit acts and not have any recollection of what had happened. When Aunt Norie finally spoke a few words to the police, she'd moaned about not being able to remember everything that had happened inside the classroom. She also had not mentioned her argument with Sakura. I doubted that would stay secret after the other flower arrangers had talked to the police.
I felt too shaken to make dinner, so I drank a cup of green tea and took a few bites out of a sembei. The salty-sweet cracker soothed my stomach and made me crave another. Before long I had finished the five-pack and walked into the closet-like space that qualified as my kitchen to throw away the wrapping. The blinking light on the answering machine stopped me, and I pressed play.
"Rei? This is Lila Braithwaite, from icky-bana." She was mispronouncing the word for flower arranging the way many North Americans did, instead of using the phonetic "ee-kay-bah-nah." I listened as Lila continued in her brisk, happy voice. "I'm glad you called, and I'd love to talk with you about antiques. I'll be at home tomorrow morning until eleven. I live in Roppongi Hills, number seven-oh-two. Call me if you can stop in for a visit."
Obviously she had made the call before Sakura died. I wrote down the apartment number but not the street directions. Roppongi Hills had been my last address. No doubt her apartment was even larger than the comfortable two-bedroom model I'd
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