The Salaryman's Wife (35 page)

Hugh was using soap in the tub, something I had never seen done in Japan. Thin swirls of old soap floated in the water, ghosts of unlawful baths past. I shuddered, thinking of the damage he had done to his bath’s heating mechanism.

“You’ll look like a boxer tomorrow.” Hugh turned on the cold water tap briefly to refresh the wash cloth before returning it to the bruise under my eye. He hadn’t exaggerated about being the king of sports injuries. He’d made sure the nurses gave me an ice pack for my face during the time I’d waited for Tom to come out of surgery, shoot Hugh an accusing look, then take it all back when he heard the story.

“I still haven’t figured out how you knew Mrs. Chapman was the one.” I settled back against Hugh’s chest, resigning myself to the fact I would allow him the soap and anything he wanted that night.

“I broke out of that damn hospital at four
A.M
.
and went home to have my first decent sleep in a half-week,” he said, beginning to massage my shoulders. “When I woke up, Winnie and Piers were there. They made me watch a videotape of news footage showing you leaving my building the morning after you stayed over. Piers was nattering on about the unsuitability of our relationship as I lay there, eating up the vision of you looking so lovely in my shirt. Then I had a nasty shock.”

“That I stole the old man’s taxi?” I leaned forward, enjoying the feel of his fingers on my back.

“No, darling. In the background I spotted somebody tall and foreign. I backed up the tape and recognized our dear old friend. I started quizzing myself about why Mrs. Chapman, who likes you so much, would have watched you without making herself known.” His voice was rueful. “I fell asleep again. I was taking Demerol for my ankle, which thanks to your four flights of stairs, is now even worse.”

“Poor Hugh,” I said, stroking his left thigh. From knee to foot he was encased in a fiberglass cast, carefully elevated along the side of the tub. Getting him in had been a rather complicated maneuver I worried about repeating; we’d have to drain the bath before he could stand up.

“It must have been hours later that the telephone woke me, and I had a chat with Mr. Naruse.”

“Who?” I touched my aching head. Hugh’s crutch had knocked against me in his wild drive to pinion Mrs. Chapman, and although there was no concussion, I had a monster bump.

“Mr. Naruse is the private investigator I put on
your street. Richard and Mariko told me about your mishap at the train station, so I decided you needed someone to follow you, given that I couldn’t.”

“There was a man stalking me through the neighborhood last night. If you mean to tell me that was him—”

“You called the cops, he reported. I thought you realized I’d hired him and were enraged. That’s why I asked Winnie to help me leave the hospital.”

“Did you know she re-recorded your answering machine message? She’s moved in and taken over your life!”

“Don’t distract me from the story.” He kissed my wandering hand and folded it into his. “Mr. Naruse called to report the morning’s activity. Various people came and went, but at one o’clock an older
gaijin
woman entered the building. With his binoculars, he was able to track her entering your apartment. For a variety of boring legal reasons he was unwilling to go inside, so I drove over myself.”

“Mrs. Chapman, I mean Smith, must have waited until Richard and I were gone to ring the doorbell,” I said. Mariko probably figured because she was an older foreign woman, she was safe to let in.”

“I wonder.” Hugh sighed. “I wish I could have been in the room where Marcia Chapman-Smith gave her confession. You could have interpreted for us again.”

“Nope. This is Tokyo, where the police do things professionally.” I stretched against him, thinking about how good it had been to sit together in the police waiting room and give our statements. Captain Okuhara
had arrived and bowed deeply to Hugh and me, asking what he could do to atone for his oversight.

“Press conference,” Hugh had ordered with a grin.

Mariko hadn’t been so cheerful about things. Once the tape has been removed from her lips, she had choice words for us, the police, and the pack of press who’d tagged along.

“This woman killed my mother and tried to kill me. I don’t want anything to do with her people and I don’t give a damn about what’s in her husband’s will. I wouldn’t take a dollar if they handed it to me on a silver tray,” she shouted, tossing her dreadlocks for the camera.

But there was Setsuko’s secret savings account at the post office—money I was sure she would have wanted her daughter to have. I’d make sure Mariko got it, and if Mr. Nakamura didn’t see my point, Hugh, back in power at Sendai, would help.

Mr. Nakamura had decided to testify against Keiko regarding her blackmail plot, so Sendai would get back the half-million yen that he’d given her. Club Marimba would close, and Mariko would be in the market for a new job.

“You’re too quiet, Rei. I’m not used to it.” Hugh interrupted my thoughts.

“I’m plotting.” I smiled at him.

“So am I. We’d best go to bed early, I think.”

“Very early,” I agreed, heart beating a bit faster.

“Yes, we’ve got one long Sunday to get through,” he said, surprising me with his train of thought. “Up at seven so I can make you a proper Scottish breakfast.
Winnie laid in some eggs and sausages—oops, scratch the meat. Eggs and toast okay?”

I nodded, and he continued. “If I’m still ambulatory, I’ll hobble after you to one of those Sunday morning shrine sales you’re always going on about.”

“You’d go shopping with me?” I was touched.

“All the better if you find another bauble worth over a million yen and bring it to the twelve o’clock press conference. Or so Joe Roncolotta suggested. He’s invited us to brunch at TAC after we’re done with the police.”

“So my
gaijin
escorts are getting along?” I shifted around to face him.

“Let’s say we care deeply about the same investment, albeit for different reasons.”

“I’m going to let that ridiculous comment pass on account of my headache, but watch it,” I warned.

“Relax, it’s just a figure of speech. Continuing with our schedule, we’ll lunch and drive to your flat to pick up the clothes Richard promised to have ready: the few decent things you own, in his words.”

“What are you talking about?” I was suddenly worried. “Captain Okuhara said I didn’t have to go to Shiroyama after all.”

“You’re moving in with me, aren’t you? Richard said you wanted to.” Hugh’s voice had a tenderness I never would have expected.

“That was because of your injury and problems with police. I wanted to be with you for the little time we had left. But now that there are no extenuating circumstances, I hardly think it’s necessary—”

He held up a hand to stop me. “Let’s be practical,
then. I could provide you with a great business address. All I ask is that you collect me every night along with your faxes.”

A great wave of laughter swept over me then, and I looked into his green-gold eyes, warm with something I had seen before but finally realized was all for me.

“You’re incorrigible,” I said. “A capitalist Scot who’s far too proprietary—”

“But you want me anyway?”

Water sloshed over the side of the tub as I landed on him, giving my answer.

SUJATA MASSEY
was born in England to parents from India and Germany. She studied writing at Johns Hopkins University and worked as a reporter for the
Baltimore Sun
before moving to Japan, where she taught English and began writing mystery fiction. The Rei Shimura series starts with
The Salaryman’s Wife
, which won the Agatha Award for the best first novel of 1997, and continues with
Zen Attitude
,
The Flower Master
, and
The Floating Girl
. Having returned to Baltimore, Massey continues her study of ikebana and raises flowers and vegetables in an organic garden.

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W
INNER OF THE
A
GATHA
A
WARD

“Sly, sexy, and deftly done.”

—
People
(page-turner of the week)

“An impressive first novel.”

—
Baltimore Sun

“Massey has, in this evenly paced novel of suspense ideal for a beach weekend, presented a near pitch perfect voice in modern-day Japan.”

—
Japan Times

“Sujata Massey’s hip, female Asian American twenty-something protagonist spins the story from Japan’s mountain ranges to the backstreets of Tokyo in a riveting, page-turning style that will make readers late for work.”

—
A. Magazine

“A terrific first book…. One can just about feel the cold draft blowing through the traditional house as Massey walks us through a foreign culture…enlightening and entertaining.”

—
Washington Times

“The mystery glides along, but it’s the meddling, mixed-up, manipulative Rei Shimura who supplies the real interest. Too bad she’s fictional—she’s the urban survivor we’d all like as a pal in Tokyo.”

—
Pacific Stars and Stripes

The Bride’s Kimono

Zen Attitude

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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HarperCollins
Publishers

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New York, New York 10022-5299

Copyright © 1997 by Sujata Massey

Cover photo composite © 2000 by Douglas Paul Designs from photographs by Photonica

ISBN: 0-06-104443-1

THE SALARYMAN’S WIFE
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EPub Edition © SEPTEMBER 2013 ISBN: 9780062325259

Version 11012013