Death of a Jaded Samurai (15 page)

"Walter's death must have really shaken him up. He looks awful." She wiped her forehead, releasing the wet bangs plastered to her skin. "Could I get a glass of water? I've been running all over town doing errands and still have to get to work."

Gilda poured Marion a glass of cold water. "You're right. I don't think I've ever seen Mick so frazzled."

"Especially after you decided to show up for class last night anyway. I think he's actually going gray."

"That's not my doing. He's got things going on that have nothing to do with me."

Marion gave her a hug. "Whatever you say, hon. I'll see you later. Call me after the funeral and tell me everything that happens. I mean everything. You do know I'm peeved you didn't call me last night, right?"

"Yes, I know." Gilda sighed. "I'm sorry. I was a mess. Thank you for the basket. That was sweet. I'll probably bring it to the school to share."

"Don't you dare. You enjoy it, especially those truffles."

"Thanks, but…" She really didn't have anyone to share it with except Marion, which might have been part of the plan all along, and Gary, who was already parked out front. She'd have to set aside a box of chocolates to thank him for all his help. "Thanks."

Once Marion left, Gilda locked the door and brushed all thoughts of Gary under a mental rug. She'd ask Marion about him after the funeral. All she could think of now was Mick's and Marion's impressions of him.

A wave of emotion swept over her, and she suddenly felt more alone than ever. To ward off the sadness, she relit the candle and sat on the cushion to finish her meditation. Even after ten minutes, her Zen-like state remained out of reach as her monkey mind did somersaults.

Mick. Razi, Xavier. Erik. Walter. Yoshida. Why did it surprise her that none of the black belts were what they seemed?

Gilda wore her black shift for Walter's funeral since it was the only dress in her closet she could pull on with her muscles so sore. Her mother's mantra "every girl needs to own a little black dress" always came back to haunt her on occasions like this. Years of living on her own still hadn't silenced the echo of her mother's fashion advice.

Given the option, Gilda preferred the pastel blue suit and black silk blouse hanging next to the black dress. She sighed then added a colorful lace shawl to the boring black dress. "Take that, Mom."

She slipped into her favorite black sandals—flats to appease her screaming calves—and shuffled down the hall. Everyone she knew would be at the funeral, including the remaining black belts. She had a zillion questions, the biggest being "Which one of you idiots killed Walter, and what the hell were you thinking?"

Someone rapped on her front door as she reached for the black clutch on the counter. Who couldn't wait long enough to see her at Dunn's Funeral Home in ten minutes? She grabbed the clutch and made her way over to open the door.

"Hey, Sherlock." Mick nodded from the other side of the red door. Black shoes, black fitted slacks, black dress shirt open at the collar, and a black mark on his face from the cut he got the night before at the workshop. He looked like a long piece of bruised licorice.

Gilda ignored the flutter in her chest and got straight to business. "What do you want?"

Despite the occasion and the bluish hues on his face, the corner of his mouth twitched into a near grin. "I thought I'd escort you to the funeral home. I know this whole ordeal has kind of rattled you. Facing Yoshida last night didn't help matters. I'm really sorry about that. I never should've let things get that far."

"How thoughtful." And self-serving. "Isn't your girlfriend going with you?"

"She couldn't get the time off, and I didn't want to walk into the funeral home alone." He looked away to the street as Gary put his car in gear and drove away. "Speaking of Chloe, why is her dad parked across the street?"

"He saw me leave the school last night and took pity. I guess he's still keeping an eye on me." She followed him out then locked the door, even though she'd never felt the need to do so before. "So why the escort? Were you worried I wouldn't show up?"

"When Thayer told me you thought Xavier tried to poison you, I was worried."

"Thayer?" She followed him to the sidewalk. "I thought you two hated each other. How come he's suddenly telling you my life story?"

Mick sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Because he heard what happened in class last night. He also found out Xavier had brought me a coffee that morning too and wanted to know if it tasted bad or if I got sick."

"And did you?" Her eyes widened.

"I never drank it," he said. "I dumped it out later because I'd already had three cups of coffee that morning. Did you drink it?"

"I pretended to sip it until he left, and then I brought it to Thayer."

"Clever girl. Impulsive and suspicious, but clever." Mick turned. "Come on. We don't want to be late."

Thoughts tumbled like puppies in Gilda's head. What would Xavier have to gain by poisoning her? Unless he killed Walter and had a lot to hide. She hadn't started to ask questions about the murder until afterward.

She blew out a sigh and followed Mick into the funeral home already filled to capacity. Gary nodded then turned away and chatted with Mrs. Watson, who owned the consignment store. The three strangers in the room were probably Walter's kids from his first marriage.

Mick led her toward Xavier, Erik, Razi, and Yoshida, whose gaze seemed focused on something or someone across the room. Yoshida took a quick glance at Gilda and frowned as though she wasn't quite the right shades of black or blue for his liking.

"Geez, Mick, you look as bad as Gilda," Erik said. "It's about time you two showed up. We thought you were going to leave us here alone to answer questions."

Mick nodded. "I wanted to make sure Gilda got here okay. Excuse me. I'm going to pay my respects before the service."

Yoshida's face darkened even more. "She better not be here to cause trouble."

Gilda bit the inside of her cheek and fought to keep her mouth shut. The last thing she wanted was another bout with Yoshida, particularly in public.

"You never know. I guess you'd better keep an eye on her." Mick waved a hand then strolled over to hug Jade.

"Excuse me." Yoshida turned and headed toward the casket in silence.

Razi stood, feet shoulder width apart, and surveyed the crowd. "How are you, Miss Wright?"

"Alive and kicking. So far." Probably the wrong thing to say under the circumstances, but the others seemed to echo her sentiments with a round of nods.

"Amen to that." Erik walked past Mick and exited the room.

Yoshida followed him at a distance.

Gilda sucked in a sharp breath then took a step to go after them.

"Miss Wright." Jade Levy, jaw tight, blocked her path. She'd foregone the geisha look for a tailored black suit and a touch of makeup to lighten the dark circles beneath her eyes.

Xavier and Razi said their condolences then made hasty excuses and shuffled away from the women toward the casket.

"Nice of you to come," Jade said. "I hear you have been asking questions to help find my husband's killer."

Her face warmed. "Walter was a friend. I just want to help."

"So you said before." The widow stiffened. "Please do us both a favor and leave things alone. You do not want to get in over your head."

"Is that a threat?" Gilda gave a nervous laugh and wished Mick would return soon.

"I am not a killer. However, I would like you to stay away from the ones I love. It is most unpleasant when bad things happen to good people." She brushed something off Gilda's shoulder.

Lint? Black widow spider? Gilda shivered, not used to such paranoia. "What will you do now?"

"If the police approve of my plan, I will go to New York with my family, then decide what to do next," Jade said. "I do not wish to cause anyone further trouble."

The fine hairs on Gilda's arms rose. "I'm sure a change of scenery will help."

Jade grasped her arm. "I know you want to help, Miss Wright, but none of the people you deal with are what they seem."

"But Mick—"

"Especially Mick," she said. "Be careful. You have no idea what those men are involved with." Jade left the scent of jasmine in her wake as she walked away.

Gilda stood alone with her mouth agape.

Mick nudged her lower jaw upward. "Trying out for a job as a fly catcher?"

"No, I—" She paused, glancing to the casket. "I'm going to say my good-byes."

He grasped her arm. "You really don't look so good. What did Jade say?"

"Nothing," Gilda said. "I'm in pain, and I hate funerals."

"Not many people enjoy them, especially the guy in the box." Mick held her elbow and steered her to the casket. Was he afraid she'd make a dash for the French doors? No worries there. Even Mrs. Watson could have run faster than her today. "Notice anything odd about him?"

She studied Walter, touching her fingers to her lips to keep from crying. His hair had never looked tidier. "He's not wearing a
gi
?"

"Try harder."

"Give me a hint."

"His jacket. Breast pocket," Mick murmured against her hair.

The pocket of Walter's suit bulged with a white napkin folded with double points. Nestled beneath it was a piece of darker fabric rolled into a scroll. "What is that?"

"Pretend to cry," he said.

"What?" She stared. "Why?"

He nudged her ribs with his elbow and dug into a large bruise. "Just pretend to cry."

Gilda bowed her head, tears welling in her eyes from the sharp pain. When her gaze fell on Walter's heavily made-up face, she forgot about Mick. Her tears fell as reality crashed in. Walter was dead.

"Are you okay, Sherlock?" Mick put one arm around her and pulled the dark fabric from Walter's pocket. He scrunched it in his hand.

"No, I'm not okay. He was my friend too." She dabbed at her eyes. "Are you nuts?"

An elderly man cleared his throat. "Please be seated. The service is about to begin."

Mick led Gilda to a seat and hushed her when she tried to ask questions. He stuffed the fabric scroll in her purse then rested his hands in his lap.

She found it hard to concentrate through the service, more focused on the swatch of cloth than on the minister's words and sentiments. How had Mick known to look for something out of place? The material seemed so familiar she itched to pull it out of her purse for a peek.

While everyone else drove out to the cemetery after the service, Gilda stepped into the sunlight not sure which direction to point her shoes. Her hands shook, and her legs were weak. She needed to find somewhere to spread out the cloth and figure out what made it so significant.

Mick placed a hand on her lower back and steered her toward Café Beanz. "Come on. You need some caffeine and a large dose of sugar."

"Are you a doctor?" Gilda sniffled.

"Just a concerned friend."

"Since when?" she asked. "Since you shoved the cloth from Walter's pocket into my purse? You do know we could both go to jail for tampering with evidence."

"You're right." He slid one hand around her waist. "I felt bad I let you down, since I didn't believe you when you started snooping around. I want to help."

"You didn't believe a man with a sword in his chest was murdered?"

"Ouch. That was uncalled for." He stared. "No, I didn't believe someone I knew could kill him. Idle threats are one thing, but to follow through takes something I can't fathom."

"That makes two of us."

Mick opened the door to Café Beanz, led her to a corner booth, then ordered coffees and two slices of peach pie. "All right, fork it over, Sherlock."

Gilda pulled out the roll of rust-colored fabric and spread it on the table. In small letters on one edge of the cloth, someone had painstakingly written
first, not last.
A shudder ran through her, and her stomach sank. That sounded a lot like a threat. "It's the first Japanese symbol from the missing scroll. Whoever killed Walter must've taken the scroll. Why would they cut out the kanji and put it in the casket?"

Mick crumpled the cloth into his hand like a used napkin and sat back.

Seconds later, the waitress arrived with their coffees. "Be right back with that pie."

"No rush." He smiled. Once she'd winked at him then left, he leaned forward and lowered his voice. "No one else would have known it was there but the killer. The police would never notice it. Not our police, anyway."

Gilda sighed. "They're not all incompetent, just Thayer. You have to give Fabio and the others some credit."

Mick grunted then handed the piece of cloth to Gilda, his fingers brushing hers. "I think you'd better hang onto this since you're the local P.I."

"I wouldn't go that far," she said.

"You notice things other people don't." He shrugged. "I never even noticed the scroll was missing or that there was a dent in Xavier's fender. Look, Gilda, I'm not sure if you trust me or not, but we all need to stick together."

"That means you have to trust me too. I didn't know about Walter and Jade's history or that Erik wanted to leave the school or that Xavier—"

Mick drew a hasty line with one finger across his mouth.

"What are you…?" She frowned then turned to see what he was looking at.

Xavier strolled toward them, his suit rumpled and tie askew. His face was red and his left eye puffy with angry, red knuckle marks embedded in his flesh. He ordered a coffee on his way past the waitress, then slid onto the bench seat next to Gilda. "I see you guys didn't go to the cemetery either."

"I've already said my good-byes." She moved closer to the window.

"I wanted to make sure Gilda was okay. I thought she might pass out when she saw Walter." Mick shot her a warning glare.

She raised her eyebrows. She'd spent a lot more time with Walter's dead body than Mick had. What was he up to?

Xavier patted her knee beneath the table, and his hand lingered for a couple seconds longer than she was comfortable with. "It's okay, babe. For the record, I don't even want to go to my own funeral."