A cleaning rag was the cause of it all.
At the end of last year, Naoya got home from work one day to find Suzue sulking in the shop. “Where’s Maki?” he asked.
“No idea,” came the curt reply.
Sensing that something had happened, Naoya went upstairs to their bedroom. There he found Maki in a flood of tears, a cloth clutched in her hands. “What’s wrong?” asked Naoya.
She spread the cloth in front of him.
“Look.”
One glance was all Naoya needed to realize what had happened and to grasp the gravity of the situation.
The rag was made from several pieces of toweling chopped up and sewn together. Naoya immediately recognized the original white towel with the Hello Kitty pattern. Maki was a Hello Kitty fan and an avid collector of the branded merchandise. The towel had been part of her collection. She’d never have turned it into a cleaning rag; Suzue had to be the guilty party.
Naoya went back down to his mother and held the rag in front of her. “Why did you do this?” he demanded angrily.
“Why not? We’ll be needing lots of rags for the big end-of-year cleanup.”
“That’s not what I mean. I’m asking you why you had to use this particular towel. It’s not like we’re short of towels here.”
“Not just any old towel will do. Old, well-used towels make the best cloths. They’re the ones I need.”
“But, Mother, this was Maki’s favorite towel. You know you shouldn’t have used it.”
“We just got some new towels as presents. A new one will be much better for her.”
“That’s not the point. Maki loved this Hello Kitty towel. It meant a lot to her.”
“Oh, will you shut up! What is Hello Kitty anyway? Just some idiotic cartoon cat. What’s an adult woman doing kicking up a fuss about something so infantile?”
Suzue didn’t feel guilty and wasn’t inclined to apologize. Had Maki decided to let bygones be bygones, things might have calmed down. But Maki had no intention of backing down. She told her husband that she wouldn’t address another word to his mother until she apologized. When Naoya relayed this to Suzue, she stayed firm. “She’s free to do whatever she likes,” she declared.
Naoya’s married life, which had been sailing along so smoothly, was suddenly buffeted by storm winds.
2
Maki returned to the china shop with a bag from the supermarket. She was dressed in a T-shirt and ripped jeans. Although the rips were part of the design, Suzue had trouble grasping the concept of deliberately distressed clothing. A couple of weeks ago, the two women quarreled when Suzue criticized the jeans for being shabby.
“It’s boiling outside.” Maki was fanning her face with her hand as she came in. “I started sweating the minute I left the supermarket.”
“You poor thing.” Naoya aimed the electric fan directly at her.
“There’s not a breath of wind,” Maki said, turning her back to the fan and enjoying the play of air on her sweat-beaded neck. “Must be why the famous Yanagisawa wind-chime’s so quiet today. Eh?”
“Oh... uh... yeah.”
Did you really need to say that? Naoya thought. Maki’s remark was aimed squarely at Suzue.
“I think I’ll go sort out the payment slips,” Suzue announced. “Having to rearrange everything on the shelves was a chore, especially when there’s a meeting of the local shop owners’ association tonight. Some people seem to enjoy making work for other people. I just don’t know.”
Maki scowled. Without so much as a glance in her direction, Suzue slipped off her sandals and vanished into the room behind the shop.
“What was that about redoing the shelves?” asked Maki.
“Mother was making a fuss about the sweet fish plates. Something about the white Iga ware being mixed in with the black Bizen ware.”
Maki screwed up her face as if she had bitten into a lemon. “Who cares if they’re white or black? I went to a lot of trouble to make an attractive display.”
“There’s no accounting for tastes.”
“Except that you said I could redo the display in line with my taste.”
“I know, but just for today, why don’t we be nice and let Mom have her way.” Naoya placed his hands together in a beseeching gesture.
Maki pouted back at him.
“That reminds me, what about the air-conditioning? We should get a unit installed before summer arrives in earnest.”
Naoya flinched. Not that again!
“I’m thinking about it.”
“What do you need to think about in this heat? Or have you sided with your mother?”
“No.”
Unable to come up with a better riposte, Naoya was mentally squirming when a man called out, “Hello there.” A customer! Naoya thanked his lucky stars.
“Good afternoon.”
The man wore a pale blue shirt over a black T-shirt. He looked to be in his early thirties.
“You must be Mr. and Mrs. Yanagisawa?” the man said, looking first at Naoya, then at Maki.
“That’s right,” Naoya replied. “How can we help you?”
“Mrs. Maki Yanagisawa?”
“That’s me.”
The man smiled and pulled out a business card.
“This is me. I’d like you to help us.”
Maki’s eyes widened as she read the card. “You’re from the police?”
“What!” exclaimed Naoya.
Maki handed him the card. Their visitor was a detective from Nihonbashi Precinct by the name of Kyoichiro Kaga.
“Do you know a woman named Mineko Mitsui?” Kaga inquired.
“Mitsui? No, never heard of her,” answered Naoya, glancing over at Maki.
After thinking for a moment, Maki asked hesitantly:
“Does she live in Kodenmacho by any chance?”
“She does, she does.” Kaga nodded his head several times. “So, you do know her?”
“She shops here from time to time. Has something happened?”
Kaga’s face stiffened slightly. He looked at each of them in turn.
“I’m sorry to say she’s dead. It happened two days ago.”
Maki gave a shocked gasp. “How, why?” she murmured.
“She was strangled. We’re treating it as murder.”
“Murder!” Naoya exclaimed, then looked back at his wife. Her jaw had dropped and she gaped back at him.
“You said she came here ‘from time to time.’ Can you give me a clearer idea of what you mean? About once a week?”
Maki shook her head.
“More like once a month.”
“When was the last time she was here?”
“Let me think.” Maki consulted the desktop calendar beside the cash register. “Probably about a week ago.”
“Do you remember how she looked?”
“I do. Completely normal.”
“Did you talk to her?”
“I did. Only a little, though.”
“What about? If you don’t mind.”
“What did we talk about?” Maki paused. “She’d come to buy some chopsticks. A present, she said. We didn’t have the set she wanted in stock, so she left empty-handed.”
“Do you know who she planned to give the chopsticks to?”
“It wasn’t really my place to ask.”
“The chopsticks she wanted — are you still out of stock?”
“I ordered them right away, but they haven’t come in yet. I can show you the catalog page.”
Kaga’s eyes gleamed. “Could you?”
“Let’s see now,” said Maki. She pulled out a catalog that was squeezed up against the cash register, opened it, and showed the detective. “It’s this set here.”