down until she was through the gates. Then she turned to face me.
“Thank you for showing me the house. It is more beautiful than I could have imagined.” Then she turned and walked out the gate, through the shadow of the archway. At the sidewalk, as the sun illuminated her again, she bent low into a formal bow. “I will see you again, as I promised.”
What did that mean? I watched her walk across the cobblestone street. She never looked back.
There was a loud clunk behind me—the gates were closing.
“My backpack!” I darted through the shrinking gap and then slowed to a walk. I’d barely reached the front stairs when I heard the roar of the wave.
I spun in time to see it rush over the hedge, bending the trees as if they were blades of grass. It hit me and I flew backward. Then it was gone, leaving me breathless and flat on my butt in the garden.
Mr. Sugimoto came around the front of the house about then. His straw hat flew off as he ran toward me—he moved fast for an old guy in rubber boots.
“Junya, are you all right?” He reached out and pulled me onto the pathway without effort. He was in his late fifties, but bulging muscles showed through his damp work shirt.
“I’m not sure.” I was trying to steady myself. “I hope I didn’t hurt your plants.” I always got nervous when I spoke Japanese with a man. I worried that I sounded like a girl because I listened to Okaasan so much.
He looked around, poised and alert. “What happened here?”
I hesitated. “There was this big gust of wind … It knocked me over.”
“I felt something, too … but that wasn’t the wind.”
“Then what was it?”
He took in a deep breath. “It was like a door opened.” He paused and an odd expression twisted his face. “And a breeze came through … a very pleasant breeze.”
He touched one of the sharp, menacing-looking tools that hung from his belt and looked at me with interest. Then he walked away.
I got my backpack out of the hall closet and stood for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. I couldn’t explain that wind, that wave of energy. At least I’d stopped Shoko from getting the journal, but I still didn’t understand why she wanted it or how her mom could have known my grandpa.
I will see you again, as I promised.
A sinking feeling overtook me. I dropped my backpack and climbed the stairs.
When I sat down in the chair, the leather was still warm from her body, and there was a small shoe print on the dark wood of the desk. When I reached to wipe the print off, I noticed she’d left the bottom drawer open a crack. My heartbeat quickened as I stared into the thin dark space. Finally, I pulled the drawer open. Inside was a row of thin red file holders, each labeled in Grandpa’s handwriting. But at the back of the drawer, so far back I had to open the drawer all the way to see them, were five blue folders. Inside each were thick manila envelopes. I leaned closer. There was one folder, the third from the back, that hung at an odd angle. Its contents had stretched it wide. I reached in to straighten it.
A lead weight dropped into my stomach. The file folder was empty.
She’d taken the journal.
Chapter 7
CHAPTER
7
They made Grandpa stay in the hospital another night, which must have driven him nuts. Grandpa’s driver offered to pick me up after school Monday and take me straight to the hospital, but no way was I getting into a Bentley in front of my classmates. I’d stick with the bus.
I sat near the front with my backpack on the seat beside me. I felt like crap. What was I going to tell Grandpa? Hey, I let some strange girl into your house and she stole your journal. My bad.
Grandpa’s staff had taken over the waiting area. Two bodyguards stood at the end of the hall, and Walter Roacks was off in a corner with a phone pressed to his ear.
I headed to the bathroom to wash my hands. I’d barely finished when some guy in his early twenties barged in.
“What are you