Sakura's face, and right underneath it was a photo of Aunt Norie posing next to a flower arrangement that had won Best in Show at an exhibition in 1996. The story jumped to an inside page, where there was a recent photograph of Takeo and Natsumi Kayama in formal dress and a year-old snap of me with shorter hair than I had now, wearing an equally short evening dress. How could I have dressed like that? The dress was no longer fashionable, and looking at it now made me feel half naked. Since I couldn't read much of the story, I returned to Yanaka and stopped in at the Family Mart. Its owner, my friend Mr. Waka, had enjoyed so much success with his first convenience store in Nihonzutsumi that he'd opened a second one in Yanaka.
"Shimura-san, welcome!" my friend called when I stepped through his spotless glass doors decorated with cheerful green and yellow cartoon figures. No matter where you went in Japan, Family Marts were all the same, bright and sparkling and filled with comic books and good things to eat. The difference in this particular shop was a proprietor who ate half of the candy display when he was bored, giving rise to his gently rounded stomach.
"Oh, the wide worlds ways. Cherry blossoms left unwatched even for three days!" Mr. Waka said when I came up to the counter.
"Is that another cherry blossom proverb?" I asked.
"No, it is a haiku by the poet Ryota. It means that when a cherry tree is not observed for a few days, the blooms will disappear. Just as a person who has been away from one's eyes can also suffer great change. In the short time I have not seen you, you have come close to the face of death."
"You know a lot about poetry," I said.
"My surname, Waka, literally means 'poetry.' Perhaps that's why I have a fondness for the literary form." Mr. Waka beamed.
"Well, I came to ask you about news articles rather than poetry," I confessed, holding out the
Asahi
that I couldn't read.
"You look hungry as well as unhappy," my friend said gently. "Go to the candy shelves and choose something sweet to perk up the afternoon."
I came back with a box of Pocky and chewed the chocolate-covered pretzels slowly as Mr. Waka translated. The Asahi reported that "Sakura Sato, a high-ranking teacher at the Kayama School, had died of knife wounds. Police investigation was proceeding at priority speed. The death had been reported by Norie Shimura, a flower-arranging student, to the police."
"My aunt is a teacher, not a student," I objected.
"Miss Rei Shimura, a civilian homicide investigator, assisted Lieutenant Hata of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police at the crime scene. The niece of Norie Shimura is of mixed Japanese and American blood. She is permitted to live in Japan because she has a cultural work visa. Her antiques-buying business had a gross of two million yen last year."
I didn't know what to be more upset about, the ridiculous labeling of me as a civilian homicide investigator, or the revelation that I'd made less than fifteen thousand dollars in my first year of business. I had thought it was a decent start—at least I wasn't losing money—but the small figure might turn off some of my well-heeled clients. Then I shook myself. What was I doing worrying about business when I was caught up in murder?
"In a related story, witnesses report both Shimura women were involved in a savage altercation outside My Magic Forest, a trendy flower shop in Roppongi. See inside page for details.'" Mr. Waka turned the page. "The headline reads, 'Terror at My Magic Forest Is a Prelude to Murder.'"
The reporters had worked hard, interviewing almost everyone on the scene. A salesclerk at My Magic Forest recalled that Aunt Norie and I argued over a pair of ikebana shears, which Norie purchased with her credit card, taking the time to request a proof-of-purchase stamp on her frequent- buyer card. Outside the shop, Stop Killing Flowers director Che Fujisawa alleged that Aunt Norie had waved the scissors in a threatening manner at
"Shimura-san, welcome!" my friend called when I stepped through his spotless glass doors decorated with cheerful green and yellow cartoon figures. No matter where you went in Japan, Family Marts were all the same, bright and sparkling and filled with comic books and good things to eat. The difference in this particular shop was a proprietor who ate half of the candy display when he was bored, giving rise to his gently rounded stomach.
"Oh, the wide worlds ways. Cherry blossoms left unwatched even for three days!" Mr. Waka said when I came up to the counter.
"Is that another cherry blossom proverb?" I asked.
"No, it is a haiku by the poet Ryota. It means that when a cherry tree is not observed for a few days, the blooms will disappear. Just as a person who has been away from one's eyes can also suffer great change. In the short time I have not seen you, you have come close to the face of death."
"You know a lot about poetry," I said.
"My surname, Waka, literally means 'poetry.' Perhaps that's why I have a fondness for the literary form." Mr. Waka beamed.
"Well, I came to ask you about news articles rather than poetry," I confessed, holding out the
Asahi
that I couldn't read.
"You look hungry as well as unhappy," my friend said gently. "Go to the candy shelves and choose something sweet to perk up the afternoon."
I came back with a box of Pocky and chewed the chocolate-covered pretzels slowly as Mr. Waka translated. The Asahi reported that "Sakura Sato, a high-ranking teacher at the Kayama School, had died of knife wounds. Police investigation was proceeding at priority speed. The death had been reported by Norie Shimura, a flower-arranging student, to the police."
"My aunt is a teacher, not a student," I objected.
"Miss Rei Shimura, a civilian homicide investigator, assisted Lieutenant Hata of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police at the crime scene. The niece of Norie Shimura is of mixed Japanese and American blood. She is permitted to live in Japan because she has a cultural work visa. Her antiques-buying business had a gross of two million yen last year."
I didn't know what to be more upset about, the ridiculous labeling of me as a civilian homicide investigator, or the revelation that I'd made less than fifteen thousand dollars in my first year of business. I had thought it was a decent start—at least I wasn't losing money—but the small figure might turn off some of my well-heeled clients. Then I shook myself. What was I doing worrying about business when I was caught up in murder?
"In a related story, witnesses report both Shimura women were involved in a savage altercation outside My Magic Forest, a trendy flower shop in Roppongi. See inside page for details.'" Mr. Waka turned the page. "The headline reads, 'Terror at My Magic Forest Is a Prelude to Murder.'"
The reporters had worked hard, interviewing almost everyone on the scene. A salesclerk at My Magic Forest recalled that Aunt Norie and I argued over a pair of ikebana shears, which Norie purchased with her credit card, taking the time to request a proof-of-purchase stamp on her frequent- buyer card. Outside the shop, Stop Killing Flowers director Che Fujisawa alleged that Aunt Norie had waved the scissors in a threatening manner at
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