Read Online The Floating Girl: A Rei Shimura Mystery (Rei Shimura Mystery #4) by Sujata Massey - Free Book Online
Authors: Sujata Massey
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given is helpful, but I’ve got to see the man and speak to him one-on-one.”
“Normally that would be easy. He comes here daily to pick up his mail, but he hasn’t been in today. The last time I saw him was about three days ago.”
“Do you think he left town?” I asked. “The phone number for his company has been disconnected.”
Chiyo shook her head. “No, he would never leave without telling me. And besides, he just recently came back from a trip to his parents’ hometown. He came in that morning—the time I mentioned, a few days ago—with a box of souvenir sweets from there. He said that he was tired of travel and was going to stay in Tokyo for the rest of the summer, concentrating on his art.”
“So maybe he’s in some kind of artistic retreat at his apartment?” I put down my empty sherry glass with a feeling of regret. “I still don’t understand why, if he’s got a place, he wanted to use your address.”
Chiyo’s attention was elsewhere. I followed her line of vision and saw that one of the schoolgirls had knocked over her orange soda and was frantically trying to mop it up.
“Nicky,” Chiyo barked, snapping her fingers, and the handsome host in the shirtless tuxedo, who had been hovering within a discreet distance, went to clean up the table.
Onstage, Marcellus had been replaced by a light-haired man who was a younger, better-looking version of Prince William. He was wearing country tweeds, minus a shirt, of course, although he was swinging a necktie. This had to be Windsor Naughty. It was amazing, this little world I had stumbled upon, where men danced, served, and courted women. Strangely enough, I had stopped feeling guilty about looking at the dancers. With the warmth of the sherry, a strange sense of entitlement had flooded me.
“Have another drink. My treat,” Chiyo said, as if sensing my mood.
“It’s getting kind of late.” It was after seven o’clock. I thought guiltily that Takeo was waiting for me while I drank surrounded by half-clothed men.
“Very well,” Chiyo said. “If you give me your phone number, I can have Kunio call you when he finally comes in.”
Ordinarily I would have been quick to give my number, but I hesitated.
Chiyo had taken personal information about me in the past and used it to try to hurt me. I thought we were on the same side now, but I couldn’t be sure.
“Could you have him call this number?” I wrote down the phone number for Takeo’s beach house. Chiyo raised her sharp eyebrows when she saw the area code.
“So you’re a country girl now,” she said.
“That’s right,” I said, wondering whether I’d be able to make the next train departing Shibuya Station. I was eager to get out of there and tell Takeo what I had learned.
Chapter Eight
I missed the express train, so I had to take one that made numerous local stops, trying my patience. I attempted to telephone Takeo from the train platform to tell him to expect me in about two hours time, but he didn’t pick up. His answering machine did. I listened to the recording of his voice telling callers to leave a message, and found myself comparing Takeo’s cool tone to the breathy warmth of the men working at Chiyo’s club.
Marcellus and Nicky’s solicitous air had to do with the money they were being paid. I supposed it was natural. I’d behaved cordially to Chiyo, a woman I disliked intensely, because I needed something from her. Now I wondered if I should have asked her for more—to give a more complicated message to Kunio, to tell him that if he called me, I could help him start making money from his art. From the moment I’d seen his mural, I knew Kunio Takahashi’s historic interpretations deserved a major art exhibition. I could represent his work, selling it all over Japan and perhaps getting commissions for him to do similar large-scale paintings in restaurants and office buildings.
Was it a conflict of interest for me to first write about his work and then
“Normally that would be easy. He comes here daily to pick up his mail, but he hasn’t been in today. The last time I saw him was about three days ago.”
“Do you think he left town?” I asked. “The phone number for his company has been disconnected.”
Chiyo shook her head. “No, he would never leave without telling me. And besides, he just recently came back from a trip to his parents’ hometown. He came in that morning—the time I mentioned, a few days ago—with a box of souvenir sweets from there. He said that he was tired of travel and was going to stay in Tokyo for the rest of the summer, concentrating on his art.”
“So maybe he’s in some kind of artistic retreat at his apartment?” I put down my empty sherry glass with a feeling of regret. “I still don’t understand why, if he’s got a place, he wanted to use your address.”
Chiyo’s attention was elsewhere. I followed her line of vision and saw that one of the schoolgirls had knocked over her orange soda and was frantically trying to mop it up.
“Nicky,” Chiyo barked, snapping her fingers, and the handsome host in the shirtless tuxedo, who had been hovering within a discreet distance, went to clean up the table.
Onstage, Marcellus had been replaced by a light-haired man who was a younger, better-looking version of Prince William. He was wearing country tweeds, minus a shirt, of course, although he was swinging a necktie. This had to be Windsor Naughty. It was amazing, this little world I had stumbled upon, where men danced, served, and courted women. Strangely enough, I had stopped feeling guilty about looking at the dancers. With the warmth of the sherry, a strange sense of entitlement had flooded me.
“Have another drink. My treat,” Chiyo said, as if sensing my mood.
“It’s getting kind of late.” It was after seven o’clock. I thought guiltily that Takeo was waiting for me while I drank surrounded by half-clothed men.
“Very well,” Chiyo said. “If you give me your phone number, I can have Kunio call you when he finally comes in.”
Ordinarily I would have been quick to give my number, but I hesitated.
Chiyo had taken personal information about me in the past and used it to try to hurt me. I thought we were on the same side now, but I couldn’t be sure.
“Could you have him call this number?” I wrote down the phone number for Takeo’s beach house. Chiyo raised her sharp eyebrows when she saw the area code.
“So you’re a country girl now,” she said.
“That’s right,” I said, wondering whether I’d be able to make the next train departing Shibuya Station. I was eager to get out of there and tell Takeo what I had learned.
Chapter Eight
I missed the express train, so I had to take one that made numerous local stops, trying my patience. I attempted to telephone Takeo from the train platform to tell him to expect me in about two hours time, but he didn’t pick up. His answering machine did. I listened to the recording of his voice telling callers to leave a message, and found myself comparing Takeo’s cool tone to the breathy warmth of the men working at Chiyo’s club.
Marcellus and Nicky’s solicitous air had to do with the money they were being paid. I supposed it was natural. I’d behaved cordially to Chiyo, a woman I disliked intensely, because I needed something from her. Now I wondered if I should have asked her for more—to give a more complicated message to Kunio, to tell him that if he called me, I could help him start making money from his art. From the moment I’d seen his mural, I knew Kunio Takahashi’s historic interpretations deserved a major art exhibition. I could represent his work, selling it all over Japan and perhaps getting commissions for him to do similar large-scale paintings in restaurants and office buildings.
Was it a conflict of interest for me to first write about his work and then
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