Read Online Claws of the Cat by Susan Spann - Free Book Online Page B

coincidence.
    “What’s that?” Father Mateo asked.
    “A scrap I retrieved from Mayuri’s kimono. It seems to be part of a ledger.”
    “From her kimono?” The priest leaned forward for a better look. “That’s strange.”
    “More than you know,” Hiro said. “We need to go back to the teahouse. Immediately.”
    “Why?”
    Hiro offered the paper. “To find out why Mayuri destroyed her ledger this morning.”
    “Destroyed it? Are you sure?” Father Mateo examined the paper. “Maybe it was an old one?”
    “The date at the side indicates this year,” Hiro said, “and the smudge on the corner looks like ash. Curious, since Mayuri burned her hand in a fire this morning.”
    “Why would she burn a ledger?”
    “More importantly,” Hiro said, “why would she burn it today?”

 
     
    Chapter 11
     
    The d ō shin in the teahouse yard barely acknowledged Hiro and Father Mateo upon their return. Hiro had no objection. He preferred disregard to harassment.
    When Mayuri answered the door, she didn’t even bother with a greeting. “How will I prepare for guests with you coming and going all day?”
    Hiro hadn’t expected a warm welcome, but the woman’s lack of manners still surprised him. The teahouse culture frowned on rudeness, and Mayuri should have welcomed help to prove Sayuri’s innocence—and her own.
    “Are you entertaining tonight?” Hiro asked.
    “Unless Nobuhide’s d ō shin chase our visitors away.” She paused. “Akechi-san’s death is unfortunate, but I have a business to run.”
    “We have no objection to your business,” Hiro said. “Father Mateo has come to pray with Sayuri.”
    “And you?”
    “I would like to speak with the other women.”
    Mayuri smiled without humor or warmth. “As I told you, I spoke with them earlier. Everyone but Sayuri was asleep when Akechi-san was killed.”
    “Then I will not need to ask them many questions.”
    Hiro preferred not to draw attention to himself, by rudeness or otherwise, but subtlety would not find Hideyoshi’s killer.
    Mayuri threw up her hands in exasperation. A white silk bandage covered the left one all the way to the wrist. She flinched and lowered the injured hand to her side.
    “Very well,” she said, “follow me.”
    She took Father Mateo to see Sayuri and then led Hiro to the opposite side of the central common room. She knelt and slid open a door, using only her right hand.
    “Wait here.”
    Hiro entered the room and knelt before the tokonoma in the northern wall. The alcove held an empty vase, narrow at the bottom but bulging near the top and with a mouth just large enough to hold a few flower stems. White glaze coated the porcelain and blue, hand-painted leaves flowed around the sides.
    The door rustled open. Hiro heard feet on the tatami and a soft rattle as the paneled door slid closed again. Kimonos swished as the women settled on the floor a few feet away. No one spoke. Entertainers would not interrupt a visitor’s meditation.
    Hiro let them wait.
    After a couple of minutes he turned around. Three women knelt in a line before him. Their plain but expensive kimonos were made of silk. The woman in the center wore dark purple, while the ones to her sides were clad in pale pink and blue. The women’s faces looked strangely pale without their elaborate makeup, but their features remained as emotionless as masks. Even their eyes revealed nothing.
    All three women were older than Sayuri, Hiro guessed in their twenties or early thirties.
    “Thank you for meeting with me,” he said.
    The women on either side looked at the one in the center. She seemed more confident than the others, and she alone met Hiro’s gaze without faltering. Even before she opened her mouth, Hiro knew she would speak for the group.
    “I am Okiya,” she said. “You have questions about last night?”
    “Did you hear the killer, or anything else unusual?” These women were trained professionals. Hiro saw no reason to treat them as delicate