Ink and Ashes (26 page)

Mika and Avery’s date pitched in, but I couldn’t see Monet anywhere. Nicholas didn’t seem to care. We’d need to find a way to make things up to them.

“Hey, Ashley,” I said, struggling to catch my breath. She pulled away from Fed and turned around. “Thank you so much for your help. Really. And I want to explain everything, but I’m hoping it can wait because I’m about to keel over.” That was not a lie. My breaths were almost too ragged to speak. I hadn’t been working out since being off the team this last month, and it showed right now.

I was about to make something up to get her out of there when Fed said, “I want to go check out the scarecrow before they take it down.” He led her in that direction. “Do you wanna come?”

They left, and the words started to pour out. Everyone circled around me, Forrest at my back. “It’s him. Mr. Tama’s the one who broke into my room,” I said. “Underneath Mr. Tama’s desk—It’s not his real name.” I bent over and caught my breath. And then I explained what we’d found.

“Lionel Bart has rants all over the Internet because he believes he was convicted unfairly, and he blames my father,” I said. I’d read so many articles about him. How did I never match the pictures from the trial in the news reports to my nice history teacher? He was at least a decade younger in the pictures online, and he’d definitely gained a few pounds since then, but still . . . I should have made the connection.

“What about Dad?” I asked.

Avery’s eyes narrowed. “We don’t say anything until we have more information,” he said across from me.

So many things didn’t make sense, but Dad made the least sense of all of them. Didn’t he love us? Was he lying to Mom too?

“Agreed,” Parker said, and placed his hand on Avery’s shoulder.

To the right of me, Nicholas nodded, but I could tell he wasn’t thrilled about it. “I’ll tell Fed.” He motioned for us to go to the other side of the gym. “We should help clean.”

Before I pitched in, I found Ashley, we exchanged clothes, and by the time we returned, the police had arrived.

I sidled next to Forrest and hugged his waist. Even though I was happy we’d found who was behind everything, prickles of fear still ran through me. This wasn’t over yet until we were sure he was behind bars. Forrest put his strong arms around me, holding me up, and kissed the side of my head. Exhaustion started to settle in, but there was still work to be done. Forrest and I added to the efforts by peeling off cardboard pumpkins taped to the walls and piling them into a nice stack so they could be reused.

We had almost finished taking everything down when I saw the police talking to our principal. She pointed in our direction and motioned for my mom and dad to join them. My parents crossed the gym toward me, Mom’s eyebrows knitted in puzzlement and worry, Dad’s face contorted into something intense but not quite readable. Anger? Fear?

Two officers I didn’t recognize brought a yellow manila envelope over. On the front was Takata written in black marker. “This was taped underneath Mr. Tama’s desk,” a tall officer with dark features said to my parents. He opened the flap and pulled out pictures. Nicholas and me at the watermelon-eating contest. All of us together at Lake Powell. Forrest and me at the county fair. My family with Grandpa in Hawaii for his birthday. Every photo was one that had originally hung in my locker.

He showed us a few more, and I bit down on my fist. Since Mr. Tama was a teacher, he would’ve had no problem getting my locker combination. “Those were stolen from me,” I said. “The corners are ripped because someone tore them from my locker.”

My stomach turned. Crosshairs had been drawn on all of our faces with a red marker.

“Do you mind if we ask her some questions?” the other officer asked my parents.

Dad rested a hand on my shoulder. “Go ahead.”

The officer nodded and asked, “Does the name Lionel Bart mean anything to you?” He was almost as tall as his partner but had fair skin and pale gray eyes. I told them I recognized Mr. Tama’s real name, and explained the connection to my father.

“Do you know why he would keep these here?” the officer asked.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Maybe he thought it was the last place someone might look because it was the most obvious place to look.” Mr. Tama hadn’t seemed like he’d be that stupid, but I had misjudged a lot of people lately and the lies they were capable of telling.

The officer nodded. “Well, thank you for your time,” he said. “We’ll be keeping these for evidence.”

In the hallway, Mr. Tama argued with a different pair of officers. First he denied everything, but eventually he let them lead him away for questioning at the station.

The police told Dad they’d be issuing a warrant for Mr. Tama’s home. They’d let us know if there was anything we should know, and said they might need to contact us if they had more questions.

Forrest pulled away from my side. “I’m so happy, I could do something crazy.” He balled his hands into fists. “Or beat up a shark or something. I’m so happy this is over.”

I reeled him back to me. I closed my eyes and felt the beat of his heart against my ear, the rise of his chest with each breath. “Can you hold me like this forever?” I asked.

He kissed my head again. “Only if you promise to trade dresses permanently with Ashley.”

NORMALLY WE WOULD
have all crashed in the family room after the Halloween dance, but we were exhausted, and Forrest and the Russo boys wanted to change out of their wet clothes.

Forrest promised to call me when he woke up the next day, but I jolted awake at 5:30 
A.M.
With Mr. Tama locked away, I should have felt safer, but I didn’t. And I probably wouldn’t until I had answered all questions about my father.

I considered the GPS. Should I leave it in Dad’s briefcase? If I did, we would have a better idea where he was. But if he found it, would he be able to trace it back to Fed? I had no idea what my dad did or what resources he had. I could be putting Fed in danger. The best decision seemed to be the one that kept Fed safe. I could always place the GPS on a case-by-case basis if we felt we needed to.

The house was silent. If I was going to get it out of Dad’s briefcase, there probably wouldn’t be a better time. I crept with light feet down the stairs and into his office. To help me see, I used my phone as a flashlight rather than turning the light on. The briefcase was at the base of his desk, where it always was. Crawling to reach it, I slipped my fingers behind the piece of paper in the luggage tag to slide out the disk. Pulling the disk out was much harder than it had been to slide it inside. I wedged my fingers underneath and wiggled it side to side until it flew out, high in the air, taking the piece of paper with it.

The disk hit the chair and bounced. I stood and shined my phone’s flashlight to find where they had landed. Both the disk and the paper were closer to the door. I moved to the front of the desk and clipped the disk back on my necklace, but when I picked up the paper, it had the name Nobu Yamasaki. That was not the name I’d seen when I tried to get the GPS. I flipped the paper over. George Takata.

A big lump rose and fell in my throat. What was going on? Who was Nobu Yamasaki? I sat right there on the office floor and did a search on my phone. Too many links came up. I did a search with the name and added “Los Angeles.” My dad’s picture appeared in two of the images that resulted. I didn’t know if I wanted to click on the link. This was a man I loved. Did I really want to know, or could I pretend none of this had ever happened? I knew what I needed to do.

I clicked the picture. A man named Tony Akiyama had posted a picture on a social media site of him and my father at what looked like a birthday party held in a bar six months ago. In the background, a woman in a string bikini held a tray of drinks. He’d tagged my dad as Nobu Yamasaki. Tony looked much younger than my father, maybe midtwenties. He had a black leather jacket and sunglasses. Dad was in his suit, also wearing sunglasses. I clicked on the other image and found Tony Akiyama had tagged my dad again as Nobu Yamasaki on the day Dad was supposed to be in Phoenix.

This couldn’t be happening. How many lies were there?

The picture showed the two flanking another man in the middle, who hadn’t been named. This man was about the same age as my dad, dressed similarly in a dark suit and sunglasses. Above was an arched metal sign that read Santa Monica Pier. Tony wore a black short-sleeved T-shirt. I enlarged the image. Peeking out from the collar of Tony’s shirt were tattoos. They were hardly noticeable, and if he hadn’t had his arm around the man in the middle, his shirt might not have pulled in a way that would have shown them. The man in the middle had his arms folded, a pinky missing from his left hand.

What was Dad doing with these men? Especially with Tony? I clicked on Nobu Yamasaki to see where the tag would take me, and it revealed a simple profile with basic information. Nobu had a profile picture that was definitely my dad, but he had listed himself as a single man, divorced but no children, living in West Los Angeles. Was Dad dating other women while he was out there?

I thought I might throw up. Was Dad in the yakuza? Did he have something to do with my father’s death? Had Dad been working with Mr. Tama? Could this have anything to do with what happened to me? He was supposed to love me. He was supposed to take care of me.

My throat felt closed off almost completely, and I could barely breathe. I tried to slow the thoughts pinging in my brain. What did this have to do with me? What would Dad have to gain if I were gone? He could have killed me at any time. Was there a reason to drag it out? Why me and not my brothers? The only thing that made me different was I was a girl. Why did that matter?

I was a girl.
That
was the difference.

In my father’s notebook, he’d written an entry on how I was his only daughter. My father had been an extremely traditional man, and he had written about how he had put away money in my name for a dowry. He didn’t say how much, but it might be worth killing me for, especially if it had been accruing interest for almost seventeen years.

If I was dead, I had to believe the money would go to my mom. And then, he could kill off the rest of my family, and he would walk away with whatever money was there.

But why all these events? Was it to throw suspicion onto someone else?

Before I could think of an answer to that, the office light flipped on.

I screamed and fell to the ground, my phone and the luggage tag paper tumbling to the floor next to me.

Dad stood at the door, pointing a gun at my head.

HIS FACE WAS
gnarled in an angry expression, and then recognition seemed to set in as he realized it was me.

“What are you doing in here?” He lowered his gun.

I scrambled backward in a crab walk as fast as I could until my back hit one of the leather chairs, pushing it aside, and then the desk. My heart beat against my chest, pounding so hard it rang in my ears. “I know who you are,” I said, my body shaking.

“I’m your dad.” He slowly put the gun in his waistband at the back of his pajama pants. “And whatever you’re thinking, I’m sure you’re wrong.” He took a step in my direction.

I tried to back up, but there was nowhere to go. “Don’t come any closer!”

Dad held his empty hands up in surrender position. “I’m not going to hurt you, Claire. I promise. I love you.”

A tear rolled down my cheek. I choked back a sob. “You’ve been lying this whole time. Why would I trust you now?”

He took another step closer.

“Stop!” I screamed, hoping to wake someone up.

Mom came running, eyes wide. “What’s going—” She stopped when saw me on the floor. Her focus moved to the small of Dad’s back where he’d placed the gun.

“I don’t know exactly what she knows, but it’s probably best if I handle this by myself.” He waved her away.

She nodded, put her hand to her chest, and started to back up. How could she trust me with this man?

“Mom, don’t leave me.” I stared into her eyes, begging, pleading.

“You’ll be okay,” she said. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I have a guess. Just trust your dad.” She nodded at Dad and continued backing into her room.

Was she in on this too? “Why did you send her away?”

Slowly, he lowered his hands to his sides. “Because this is about my relationship with you.”

I reached for my phone, but his eyes caught me.

“Don’t,” he said, holding out a hand. “You need to trust me.”

I stared into his dark eyes. “If you want me to trust you, you’d better start answering my questions, or I will call the police. I swear I will. And then I’ll find a way to contact Tony Akiyama, and I’ll tell him who you really are.” The luggage tag paper was within reach, so I snatched it and waved it at him. “Does he know who you are? Does he think you’re single? How many people are you lying to?”

Dad’s eyes closed and his brows pinched together. He massaged the wrinkles on his forehead. “Go ahead. What do you want to know?”

Now that I had my chance, I didn’t know where to start, didn’t know if I really wanted to know what he would say. I’d been in this same position before, asking questions about my father, wanting to know more. Could I even trust him to tell me the truth?

“Do you have any tattoos?” The question wasn’t the one burning at the front of my mind, but I needed to wade into the water slowly to see how deep I was willing to go. As much as I had loved my father, I knew the answers my dad might give me had the potential to rip my heart in ways that couldn’t be fixed.

“I do. One on my hip.”

No wonder I’d never seen it. “What kind of tattoo?”

“The Takata mon.” He reached around his back and steadied his gun with his left hand. With his right, he tugged down the waistband of his flannel pajama pants and boxers to reveal our family crest, about two inches in diameter, low on his hip.

Relief washed over me, allowing me to steady my nerves. “Have you ever killed anyone?”

Dad paused for much longer than I expected. My sinking feeling plunged somewhere even deeper and darker. Too many times, my gut had told me all of his business trips didn’t make sense, but I could never come up with a realistic answer for why that would be. Thinking he was a member of the yakuza still didn’t make sense to me either, but what other explanation could there be?

“You don’t deal in antiquities, do you?” I asked at last. He never seemed to bring any antiquities home. For all I knew, he’d never dealt with the Copper Cactus at all.

He didn’t say anything. He only shook his head, confirming what I’d known all along but never voiced, never truly wanted to know. My father and Dad, both involved in nefarious schemes. At least my father tried to right his wrongdoings. What kinds of horrible things had Dad done? But I was done asking questions. I knew all I needed to know.

Dad reached out slowly and grabbed the back of one of the leather chairs, sliding it closer to him. He glanced through the glass of the french doors, and then pulled them closed.

My heart thundered. I stared at my feet, and hugged my knees to my chest, the paper wilting in my hand. A stabbing pain tore through me. I had loved and trusted a man I’d never really known at all.

He perched himself at the chair’s edge and scooted it closer to me. “Claire, I need you to look at me.”

My shaking body stayed frozen in the same spot, but I let my eyes drift up.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

I swallowed hard. “I thought I did, but I don’t know,” I said and shifted my focus to the floor.

“Do you know that I love you?” His voice was soft, and his expression sincere.

In the past, I’d known and never questioned it. I still wanted to think he loved me, but too much had happened. “I don’t know.”

“Claire, look at me.” He said each word as if it were its own sentence.

I forced myself to raise my eyes until they met his.

“Do you
feel
that I love you?”

There was a slight tremble in his voice.

Whether he deserved it or not, I knew I loved him. Could I trust myself to see what was really there rather than what I
wanted
to see?

Dad rested his hands on his knees, and his face was soft, crinkles at the corners of his eyes. When I bored my eyes into his, trying to glimpse his soul, I couldn’t ignore the warmth that swelled inside of me. “Yes. I feel you love me.”

He pointed to the other leather chair. “Then come sit next to me.”

My legs wobbled as I stood. What was I doing? If I felt his love, did that also mean I trusted him? I slid the chair to its original position, and let myself sink into the leather.

Before he started to speak again, he eyed my closed fist and held out his hand. I gave him the scrap of paper with both names on it, and he set it on his lap. “I deal with some very dangerous people,” he said in a soft voice. “People who trust me and consider me a friend. People who would hurt me and our family if they knew I wasn’t who I say I am.”

A small tear rolled down my cheek. “Who are you?” I asked in a voice that was barely audible. My knuckles had gone white from gripping the sides of the chair. “Who is Nobu Yamasaki?”

He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.

I thought of the autopsy report, and how my father had died. I hadn’t let myself really
think
before about how something was suspicious with his death, and how even though the cause of death was listed as a heart attack, the manner of death was undetermined, which meant something else must have caused the heart attack, and it could’ve been medicine that caused it, or it could’ve been something he did on purpose.

Or it could have been
someone
.

My heart raced and my voice trembled. “Did you kill my father?”

He reached over and put his hand on my arm. His grip felt strong. “No,” Dad said. “Claire, I loved your father. I love your mother. I love you and your brothers. I would never hurt any of you.”

The room felt as if oxygen had become scarce. I tried to breathe, but my throat was too tight.

“Did someone else kill him?”

“Yes.”

I had to ask again. I needed him to say it out loud. “Who—who are you?”

“I’m your dad.” His voice was hushed. “And that won’t ever change.”

Some of the knots in my stomach began to loosen. I fixated on the trees outside the window. The sun had begun its rise, but it was still so dark. Every now and then the wind rustled the fading night, and a silhouetted leaf glided gently to the ground. I focused on a falling leaf, focused as if it was the most important thing in the world. My eyes traced the descending path, and by the time it fell below my view, I could breathe again.

His hand remained steady on my arm. “Claire, when your father died,” he said, “I vowed to take down the man who did it. I had already been working with the government, but when he died, I switched divisions, and I am in very deep with the organization behind your father’s murder. As far as they know, I roam between L.A. and San Francisco. To them, people like Tony Akiyama, I am Nobu Yamasaki. But if they found out who I really am, it would be bad for all of us.”

He lifted his hand off my arm, took the crumpled paper tag from his lap and stared at it. “As Nobu, I am single and childless so no one tries to get to you to get to me. It’s one of the ways I keep you safe. Your mother is the only other person who knows.” His fingers curled around the tag until it disappeared in his fist. He raised his eyes to capture mine with a tight expression. “I need you to promise you won’t say anything to anyone, including your brothers.”

“I promise,” I said. “Why are you only telling me?”

Dad moved his grip from my arm and rotated my chair so I was directly in front of him. He took both of my hands into his on my lap. “Because your brothers are content in their ignorance, but you are a much higher liability when you don’t know something.” He shook his head. “A real pain in the ass.” He smiled. “I like to think you got that from me.”

I bit my lip, then returned the smile. “I am your daughter.”

“I’ll tell your brothers soon,” he said. “When the time is right.”

I sat for a moment, taking in what Dad had said, my hands still in his. Could I believe him? My intuition said I could—that he’d never do anything to hurt us. And when I looked into his eyes, there was something there, even if I didn’t have proof, something told me he loved me even though I had doubted him. Even though I’d made mistakes. That had to be proof. And it wasn’t like the CIA had badges . . . did they?

The heaviness in the air lifted. If Dad wasn’t working with Mr. Tama, then we should be safe.

“Dad, this should all be over, right? Now that Mr. Tama’s been arrested?” I asked.

I noticed Dad’s eyes were red and his face sagged. He sighed. “I hope so, but I’m going to make sure I check out any other possibilities to make sure he wasn’t working with anyone.”

I let the chair swallow me. As I sank, I stared at the light on the ceiling, counting the dead bugs caught in the domed glass.

Mr. Tama could have been behind the cheating accusation. Maybe there had never been a student involved in the accusation in the first place like he’d suggested. Was he trying to ruin my life in every way possible? He must have known I wouldn’t be allowed to play soccer if that happened, and when he saw how easy it was, he probably moved to the next thing. I’d already concluded getting into my locker would have been easy for him. In fact, I remembered it was his first day there, and he was late to class. He could have stolen my pictures before he’d gotten to the room.

On the day I received the eyeballs, he’d actually stopped me on the way in and said he wanted to speak to me. That’s probably when he slipped the box into my backpack—probably a little trick he learned in prison. He’d seen me take off running after class. Maybe he thought I was already on to him. Had he left school and chased me down in the black SUV when I hadn’t met him in the faculty lounge? And then run me down in the white car later? Obviously he broke in to my room and started the fire because that’s what led me to him in the first place. It seemed possible he could have done everything by himself, although how would he know about all the Japanese superstitions? How did he choose the Japanese song?

A thought made me bolt upright. “Do you think he had ties to the yakuza? Maybe he met someone in prison. How else would he have known about all the Japanese stuff?”

Dad had reclined in the seat next to me and stretched out his legs to the side of my chair. The back of the chair supported his neck, and his eyes were half closed. “If he had ties, I would have known about it because he would’ve been on my radar a long time ago.”

I sat up and folded my legs under me in the chair. “How could the school even hire someone like that?” Weren’t there laws to protect us—to make sure this exact thing didn’t happen?

Dad stayed in the same position but scrubbed the sleep from his eyes so he could look at me. “He did everything he was supposed to do. He was only eighteen when he was arrested and charged for credit card theft.” He gestured with his left hand, up and down, in a chopping motion. “He was sentenced to three years, but he worked with a group called the Waiawa Circle of Friends, who helped him petition the governor to get a pardon, and after that his record was expunged.”

I gazed out the window. The sun had moved higher. The sky was gray, washed with pockets of pale blue. I expected to feel happier, knowing the man who had stalked me and sent me such nasty “presents” was behind bars. But something wasn’t right.

I couldn’t stop questions from poking at me. I rose from my chair and wandered to the window. “So if my father is dead, why come after me? Why now, and why me, and not my brothers?” I asked, glancing back.