Strawberry Yellow (21 page)

Mas stopped and turned. “Whatchu say?” He pictured the Ford, its hood scrunched like an accordion.

“We wouldn’t want another mishap on Hecker Pass.”

Mas felt like he couldn’t breathe and clutched at the base of his throat. The bandage over his incision for the breathing tube was still there. Did Jimi cause the Ford to crash? “You. . .” he whispered. Seeing Mas’s expression, Jimi took a few steps back.

“You!” He pushed out the word and flew at the old man,
tackling his legs and knocking the knife loose. Jimi went down like a felled old tree but didn’t give up. He pulled first at some withered rhubarb leaves and then some dirt. Chunks of dark dirt were being pressed into Mas’s eye sockets, his nostrils, his mouth. He struggled and squirmed, blowing soil out of his mouth and attempting to rub the dirt from his eyes. He still hung on to Jimi’s leg, causing him to cry out in pain.

Mas then felt someone pulling him off of Jimi, actually lifting him up in the air.

It wasn’t just one man, but three Jabami farmworkers wearing bandanas, as well as the field manager who Mas had seen earlier. “What the hell is going on here?” the manager asked no one in particular.

Jimi closed his fists and closed his mouth, silently vowing not to speak to anyone about poisoning Shug Arai. Mas Arai could have all his theories and accusations, but Jimi would provide no confessions. A confession would make it too easy. He would be whisked away in a police car; maybe even driven by Robin Arai. He could not let that happen, especially as long as Ats was alive.

After separating the two old men, the field hands and Jimi’s manager gave up and walked away, obviously figuring that the conflict was rooted in a past they didn’t understand.

Mas didn’t have time to wash his face. He wiped himself with a rag, which only served to spread the dirt more evenly. He knew he looked a mess, which was confirmed when he entered Minnie’s house again.

“Mas, what happened?” she cried.

“Minnie,” he replied, “you’zu betta sit down.”

M
innie, at first, didn’t believe Mas. “Jimi Jabami? But he’s an old man.”

They all were old, but it was true. Jimi was even older than them.

“But how?”

“Poison. Rhubarb pie.”

“I remember when Ats made that pie, long time ago. But none of us died.”

“Dis time heavy duty,” Mas said. It was the perfect crime, actually. He didn’t know if the report Minnie was waiting for would be able to spot rhubarb poisoning.

“But why did Jimi want to kill Shug?”

“Jealousy. Jealousy ova new strawberry. Jealousy ova everytin’.”

“This doesn’t make any sense. After all these years, all these years of practically living side by side, going to temple together, Jimi secretly hated us? And what about Ats? She was like a sister to me, way back when.”

“When Ats getsu sick, everytin’ changed.”

Minnie was quiet for a while. “I know Shug and I didn’t go over there much. Is that why Jimi was mad? Because he thought we abandoned Ats?”

Mas shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t make no sense. Heezu mad.” And maybe if he were in Jimi’s shoes, he’d be the same way. “Heezu want you to
kuro
.”

“Suffer? But why?”

“Their family suffer, so Arais should, too.”

“We’re all going through hard times, Mas. I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it.”

Mas had a hard time accepting this as well. But Jimi had not only poisoned Shug, but he’d also destroyed the Ford in an attempt to destroy Mas. What Mas needed to figure out was what Jimi was going to do next.

Minnie peered into her half-empty coffee mug. Her shoulders drooped, just like her husband’s once did. Perhaps she’d secretly hoped the killer was a stranger or maybe a business associate, a competitor. Not a fellow Nisei whom they had known for more than fifty years.

Jimi never really understood women like Minnie Arai, whom he knew as Minnie Nakamura before and in camp. They were the ones who always smiled, despite the dust blowing through the holes in their barracks or the coffin in front of them at a funeral.

His own mother released her list of discontents freely, so they flew out and formed a buttress, a wall between her and the outside world. He realized later that this was atypical for a Japanese woman of his mother’s generation. Most of them buried their hurts and losses so deeply that sometimes their faces were sucked of all expressions of joy or even sadness.

But to mask that all with a smile? Wasn’t that a bit demented? Jimi was afraid of those women. He did not trust them. He was convinced that they were quite dangerous,
but how could he defend himself from them? He didn’t own a gun, even a hunting gun. Ats had insisted that he get rid of all his weapons after they got married. When she was a girl, a seven-year-old neighbor boy was playing with his father’s pistol while alone in the house. He accidentally discharged the gun, and Ats was the one who had found the boy’s body, soaked in blood.
That would not happen to any of her children
, she said. No matter how much Jimi argued with her, the image of the boy could not be erased from her mind.

So there were no guns in the house. But there were plenty of kitchen knives, sharpened so meticulously that they could instantaneously slice a piece of paper. If that Mas Arai had opened his mouth—and he probably had—then the smiling widow would be coming after Jimi soon.

The closing of the front door woke Mas up. Then the sound of a deadbolt being slid into place and the running of a car engine. The digital clock on the dresser read two a.m. Mas put on a pair of Shug’s pants and pulled down the blinds. Minnie’s car was missing from the driveway. What was she up to? There weren’t too many businesses in Watsonville that were open at that hour.

“Minnie,” he called out, just to make sure. No response.

Walking in his stocking feet, he tried the front door. Wouldn’t budge. He needed the key for the double lock, and when he went to the kitchen where the keys were hooked on the wall, he discovered that all of them were missing. Shug’s
Lexus key, Minnie’s Camry key, the extra house keys he was borrowing.

Mas shook his head clear of the nighttime cobwebs. No, no, it couldn’t be. He rushed to the back door, but found the same thing—the deadbolt lock held him prisoner.

Why was Minnie keeping Mas captive in the house? It could only be one reason. He went into Shug’s study and opened his desk drawer, the drawer that had held the gun. Of course, it was gone, too.

Mas considered calling Jimi. But why? That would only pave the way for Jimi to hurt Minnie with cause. Robin? He had her business card somewhere, but again, would he want to involve the police? Wouldn’t that make it more difficult for Minnie?

Sonofagun. Mas circled the house, looking for somewhere to break out of the house. The double-pane windows made it difficult, plus it would leave such a mess, but he couldn’t worry about that now.

He’d seen some golf clubs stored in a corner of Shug’s study. He grabbed a nine-iron and went to the back, where a pretty window box displayed a row of violets. Not even bothering to remove the plants, Mas took a clean swing. The window shattered immediately, sending the pots of violets outside onto the ground. Grabbing some towels, Mas brushed away large pieces of glass and ducked his way outside.

Running around to the front, he surveyed his transportation options. He couldn’t make it on foot. And then he remembered what the neighbor boy, Victor, had said—whenever you need a car. Mas went to find out if the offer was any good.

He saw her before she saw him. He was sitting at the kitchen table when he saw the glow of her car’s headlights. The fog was thick that morning, so the beam had soft edges, like that of a distant star’s, and then it shut off. She was coming.

Her hair was disheveled, and she wore a man’s hunting jacket, maybe Shug’s. He waited for her to ring the doorbell. Three times.

“Jiiimii,” he heard Ats murmur down the hallway.
Ats, we will almost be there. Together, in nirvana.

When Minnie drew out a gun in the open doorway, Jimi was not surprised. He had hoped for this.

He raised his hands instinctively, like they did in the television shows.

“Why? Just tell me why?” Jimi had always thought that Minnie was an attractive enough woman, but now he could see every line, crease, wrinkle. Not even Minnie was immune to the ravages of time. At least she wasn’t smiling any more.

He silently backed away from Minnie and the gun, which he could see was shaking in her age-spotted hands. The skeleton hands and fingers with the prominent diamond ring. “Where is she?” she said, and then louder, “Where IS SHE?”

It became obvious to Jimi that Minnie wanted retribution. To avenge the poisoning of her husband, Minnie would shoot Ats. That was fine with Jimi, as long as he was next.

Walking backwards, he led her down the hall to Ats’s bedroom.

The gun began to sag, and Jimi was afraid she would drop it. “Both hands, both hands.”

She looked confused, yet she steadied the gun with both hands, as he suggested.

When they entered the bedroom, Minnie kept the gun on Jimi but turned her attention to Ats, who lay helplessly in her bed. She was awake but didn’t seem to comprehend what was going on.

“Ats, oh, Ats. I haven’t seen you in so long.” The nose of the gun was aimed at the floor.

Just shoot her and then me.
The mortgage insurance, while not covering suicides, would be applicable in a double homicide. “Shoot her,” Jimi murmured and then louder, “Shoot her.”