The Salaryman's Wife(62)

“What more can I say? I told you everything. I don’t really want to think about it, I just want to be safe again.” She slumped slightly, and Richard was quickly at her side.

“Rei, you have no sensitivity.” He shot me an indignant glance.

“I don’t want what happened to Setsuko to recur,” I told them both. “Mariko, think about who’s been in the bar lately—”

“I talk to a lot of men, and sometimes they get angry when I don’t want to see them privately. There are so many, at least twelve on a slow night and up to twenty when it’s busy…I can’t keep track. It’s also hard to think when I’m hungry,” she said in a little-girl voice.

“Okay, we’ll have breakfast.” I went into the kitchenette and started chopping shtake mushrooms and one limp scallion. I would make a six-egg omelet and cut it three ways.

“Rei, you need to get a better knife. Look how unevenly it slices things,” Richard nagged, as if he ever did more in the kitchen than pop the top off a beer.

“My knife is fine.” I gave him a dirty look. “When the sharpening man comes around again, I’ll go to him. By the way, Mariko, there are a stack of newspapers by the futon, articles I’ve saved about your aunt’s death. You might want to read them.”

She glanced at the Japan Times and put it down. “I can’t read much English. I’m pretty stupid, I guess.”

“That’s not true! You’re smart enough to speak your mind and finally leave that hostess bar.” I would have gone on, but Richard shut me up by offering to translate the Japan Times article into Japanese. Mariko quickly agreed, moving over so Richard could lounge next to her on my futon. They made a cozy pair, Richard stumbling over the occasional phrase in his translation and Mariko snickering. He was making her feel good about herself. I liked that, although it could mean trouble later on.

She could be trouble herself. As I flicked on the gas burner, I thought about how Mrs. Yogetsu had been killed at Minami-Senju station at eleven o’clock, after Mariko had left Club Marimba. If she’d gone straight from the bar to Narita, she could have called me around eleven. Instead she had waited till two-thirty.

“This guy in the picture, he’s been in the bar!” Mariko interrupted my uneasy digression by waving a newspaper at me.

“How can you be sure? Foreigners all look alike.” I didn’t want to hear her rip into Hugh Glendinning. I threw mushrooms in the pan and concentrated on sautéing.

“She’s talking about Mr. Nakamura,” Richard said sharply.

“This was old Seiji? Disgusting!” Mariko’s long white fingernail jabbed through the paper.

“Easy, it’s my only copy,” I begged. “When did you see Mr. Nakamura?”

“Let me think.” Mariko paused. “The first time was about two weeks before New Year’s. He came back last Friday. Both times he spent about an hour talking with Kiki. I was ticked off because if he didn’t go to anyone’s table, none of us could earn a commission. I went up to him and flirted a little, to see if I could encourage him to join me. Kiki yelled at me to mind my own business”

“Kiki’s the Mama-san, right? What was he saying to her?” Richard asked.

“I couldn’t tell. She made me sit in the back.”

“She probably wanted to keep you from getting in a situation where he might grope you—or do you think he knew you were his niece?”

“He paid no attention to me. He seemed nervous.” Mariko sounded thoughtful.

“Did you ever hear anything about Setsuko having a child?” I went back to the stove.

“Are you crazy? She doesn’t like children at all! When I was little, I never saw her. She only became interested in me when I was around fifteen. All of a sudden she wanted to dress me, fix my hair, teach me the right way to talk. I was annoyed at first, but then she started bringing me stuff and I figured she was pretty cool.”

Pretty cool. By no stretch was that a declaration of love. How far would she go to avenge Setsuko’s death? I lowered the flame and put a lid on the pan.

“Mariko, I need to ask you to do something with me.”

“I’ll wash the dishes, okay?”

“Please don’t worry about housework.” I would treat Mariko like a queen if she’d do what I wanted. “Would you take a look at Setsuko’s address book? I’m hoping you can tell me if there are names you recognize.”

“Okay. That’s easy.” Mariko pondered the book while I made toast. At the table, munching away, she told me what I’d already figured out—that most of the names and addresses were stores. It was more a shopaholic’s record than anything.