The Salaryman's Wife(74)
“Oh, yes. It was tragic.” Miss Yokoyama looked over her shoulder at the other salesclerk, then back at me. “Did you go to the tsuya? What was she wearing?”
“The casket was closed because of the autopsy.” I was surprised at her question before remembering she was in the business of selling clothes. “I’m here because I had a few questions about her shopping. I’m putting the family finances in order.”
“Oh?” Miss Yokoyama sucked air between her teeth. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“You waited on her when she came in, didn’t you? I know she used to spend a lot.”
“I don’t know about that.” Miss Yokoyama’s answer came before I’d stopped talking.
“This is confidential, so please don’t worry about anything.” I fingered a sweater, marveling at the price of one hundred percent acrylic. Antique silk kimonos went for less at the shrine sales.
“I’m sorry, but I really don’t think I have anything to say.”
“Can I meet you in the ladies’ room or somewhere like that?”
“No breaks allowed until one o’clock.”
“I’ll wait for you!”
“Will you buy something from me?” she asked suddenly. “If anyone asks what we’re doing so long together, I can explain you had a problem deciding.”
“Okay.” I’d have a horrendous Visa bill this month, but so be it.
“Get a T-shirt,” she advised. “It’s cheaper, and I think I can find something that will fit you. You’re small enough.”
“What do you mean?” I wasn’t that flat.
“It’s a style! Tiny, tiny T-shirts show off the bosom. You’re a foreigner, aren’t you?” Miss Yokoyama beckoned me to follow her into the pre-teen department. “No wonder Setsuko-san was friends with you. She liked foreigners.”
“You met Mr. Glendinning?”
She nodded, blushing a little.
“What did they buy?” I asked.
“Oh, anything. A dress if she had a party to attend. Spanish porcelain figures. She liked English china, too.”
“But I don’t understand. If you sell only children’s clothes—”
“I worked in customer service before.”
“Ah. Mariko didn’t say that.”
“You know Mariko-san?” Miss Yokoyama smiled briefly. “That crazy girl. So different from Setsuko-san.”
“Did Mrs. Nakamura try to get her into Chanel?”
“Oh, yes. But Mariko-san always preferred bodikon. You know, the clothes that fit like a glove.”
“So who won?” I shook my head at the preppy-looking Elle T-shirt she held out.
“Mariko-san,” Miss Yokoyama smiled, showing her teeth. “Those clothes were never returned.”
“Not returned?” I was confused.
“Setsuko-san often changed her mind.” A veil seemed to drop over Miss Yokoyama’s face.
Setsuko often changed her mind. Even if you paid for something with a credit card at a Japanese department store, you could usually get a cash refund without question. If Setsuko returned most of what Hugh bought her, she could have profited.
“I’ve got to get back to work. Just take this one, it’s on sale.” Miss Yokoyama held out a white top decorated with two kissing cats and the slogan LOVE CATS FRIENDSHIP, QUALITY CLOTHING SINCE 1981 WE MAKE FOR YOU.
“You made sure she was able to return everything she bought, didn’t you?” I smiled as I spoke, hoping not to frighten her.
“I knew it was a bad idea, but now it’s all over. Please don’t say anything.” Miss Yokoyama looked ready to jump out of her skin.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve told you all that I know.” The salesclerk hurried off to the register near her colleague with the T-shirt and my credit card in her hands. Walking downstairs a few minutes later, I realized the price of information had worked out to a whopping 3,200 yen plus tax. But, I could return it. Just like Setsuko.
The next people on my list were Taro and Yuki Ikeda. I arrived at our meeting point in Omotesand a little early and decided to look around. Just like Roppongi, the stores were packed with luxury imported goods, and this was reflected in a residential mix of wealthy Japanese and company-funded foreigners.
Outside Tokyo union Church, I watched foreigners arrive for the multidenominational English language service. My attention was caught by a silver-haired man in a long overcoat, with a flashy-looking older woman at his side. Joe Roncolotta and Mrs. Chapman. Joe had seemed mildly courteous to Mrs. Chapman during the Trader Vic’s dinner. I was stunned they were dating. I hurried toward them.