“As long as you remember to vacuum and dust.” I was determined that he clean along with me. When I came back half an hour later, my work in the kitchen done, I found him making faint dusting gestures around a tansu.
“Come see what’s in this chest.” He slid open the ornamental front panel to show a steel safe.
“Can’t you open it?” I asked.
“I’m not that kind of spy.”
“Wait a minute.” In my handbag, I had a scrap of paper with the code Mariko had found in Setsuko’s address book. I elbowed Hugh aside and tried it three times without success.
“What was that all about?” Hugh’s voice was impatient. “There’s nothing more we can do in here. I have to hurry if I’m going to find the discs.”
“Try Mr. Nakamura’s study. End of the hall, to the right.”
“Thanks.” He hobbled away and I went into the room where the coffin had been. All funeral trappings were gone, and a low table was in the center, stacked with a few magazines and photo albums. I set aside the one with the oldest-looking pictures to look at later.
Upstairs, I started in a small bedroom that was probably designed for a child—or husband, judging from the single bed that was unmade. I changed the sheets and straightened up before attacking the bookcase. I paged through some Japanese classics and thrillers I decided were Mr. Nakamura’s books, and the ones I guessed were Setsuko’s: international and Japanese travel guides, Shizuko Natsuki mysteries, and a few books on Japanese art and antiques. I began methodically going through her collection, shaking each book open to look for hidden papers. When I found a book of wood-blocks by Utamaro, the foremost painter of courtesans in the Edo period, I paged more slowly. I paused at a picture of a lovely young woman with a glass of sake in one hand and a steamed crab in the other. The translated title was something like “Young Hussy Viewed Through the Moralizing Spectacles of Her Parents.” I smiled.
“This isn’t a library.” Hugh spoke in my ear, making me jump.
“You’re finished downstairs?” I slammed the book shut.
“Yes madam. I found a cache of discs, none labeled the way Yamamoto had described, but I’ve copied it all to go through at home.”
“I’ve found a lot of travel books on California, Florida, the East Coast…also England and Scotland. Were you planning to take Setsuko back to the UK?”
“No! How many times must I tell you we weren’t together?” Hugh sounded irate.
“There are also a couple of American phone books from Dallas and San Diego. Maybe she was looking for someone in America,” I quickly said.
“But you told me she knew her father.” Hugh took the Dallas book from me and looked at the spine. “Damn it, these were taken from the TAC library. They’ll have my head.”
“Maybe her father’s name is inside…or some other family members?”
“Well, there’s no time for reading now.” He loaded the books into an opaque trash bag.
This master bedroom was utterly Setsuko, furnished only by a bed set on a black lacquered platform and covered in mauve silk. A long, gilded screen painted with butterflies and summer grasses hung over the bed, which was flanked by a couple of low tansu chests. Very Zen, very elegant. A thin layer of dust over the furniture and the tucked-in covers told me Mr. Nakamura probably hadn’t slept there in a while.
I went through the chests, finding toiletries and Setsuko’s undergarments, soft swirls of silk and nylon that were a lot nicer than anything I owned. We surveyed the closet. Nakamura’s side was obvious: suits, shirts, and golf clothes. A black lace teddy was tucked in with them which Hugh pulled out with a flourish.
“You think he’s a cross-dresser?” Hugh asked.
“Too small. This is practically my size,” I said.
“But the fabric’s too cheap to have been something of Setsuko’s, and her unmentionables are in the chest.” Hugh eyed me as I sniffed at the underarms, which bore traces of a powdery deodorant. When the telephone rang, we both jumped.
“Maybe it’s someone from the neighborhood, checking.” Despite the cold, I felt myself start to sweat in the black polyester uniform.
“The answering machine should kick in,” Hugh said.
It didn’t. I counted six peals before the caller hung up.
“We should get out of here,” I said, but Hugh continued as deliberately as before, moving on to Setsuko’s side of the closet. I watched his hands move gently through the pale silk blouses and the delicate knit suits. As if they were still a part of her, I thought with a sick lurch in my stomach.