Final Settlement (15 page)

“Eric Thompson, the curator at the Westerly Art Museum, suggested that I get in touch with you. He said that he told you I was in the area?”

Darby gave an inward groan. So this was the person Eric Thompson had met at a cocktail party, the one he thought could shed some light on the red lacquered box’s journal.

“Yes, Eric did mention you. But he said he would call me with your contact information.”

“I’m afraid that’s my fault. I stopped into the museum shortly after you were there, and I persuaded Eric to let me get in touch with you.” He paused. “I’ve been trying to reach you for a few months now.”

A few months?
Darby thought back to late summer. Hadn’t her office told her of a Japanese man trying to contact her in California?

“I work with Hideki Kobayashi,” he explained. “At Genkei Pharmaceuticals.”

Another silent groan. Darby remembered glancing at a message from a senior vice-president of the mega-company headed by Mr. Kobayashi, a client she’d helped to purchase a large Florida estate.
I threw that message away
…

Finally she stepped aside. “Come in. It’s a crazy night for anyone to be out.”

Kenji Miyazaki gave a self-conscious laugh and dusted the snow off his shoulders. “You’re right about that. I was foolish to go anywhere in this storm.” He stomped off his boots and stepped into the house.

Darby closed the door behind him. “Let me take your jacket.”

He was surprisingly tall—about six feet—with neatly cut black hair, an athlete’s trim muscular physique, and an open, friendly face. “Thank you. I promise I won’t stay long, and I’m so sorry for interrupting your evening.”

Darby hung the dark blue jacket on a nearby hook. “Where are you going from here, Mr. Miyazaki?”

“I’ve got a room on the mainland.” He glanced at his watch, a jet black timepiece with an etched black dial and luminous silver hands. “I’ll catch the ferry at five.”

“Have a seat by the fire. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“No, thanks, I’m fine.” He gave a little nod and Darby was reminded of her mother. A small gesture, but one she used to do as well, here in this very house.

Darby took a seat. “Why have you been trying to reach me, Mr. Miyazaki?”

“Please, call me Ken.” He gave a self-deprecating smile. “As I mentioned, I work closely with Hideki. He asked me to contact you, which is why I left messages at your office.” He paused. “I’m in California quite often. On my last trip I stopped in at Pacific Coast Realty and tried to see you.”

“And now you’ve tracked me to Maine?”

He laughed, showing straight white teeth. “Yes, that’s right. I’ve been hunting you down, Darby Farr.” His grin was boyishly attractive. “Actually, it’s pure coincidence that I’m here at all. I was in a snowboarding competition over the weekend.”

So Kenji Miyazaki was an athlete. Darby dimly recalled her new sales agent Claudia mentioning something about some sort of competition, but that had been months earlier. “Weren’t you competing in an event in California, too?”

He nodded. “Hang gliding, out on Point Loma. I’m afraid I’m an extreme sports junkie. I like the adrenalin rush, so whenever I have time, I indulge.”

“I see.” She looked into his face, so open and guileless. “We’re several hours from the mountains here on Hurricane Harbor. What brought you to the coast?”

“I have a retired friend in Westerly, and I decided to pay her a visit. She took me to a little cocktail party, and there I met Eric Thompson. We talked about Japanese translation. I gather from what he said that he told you about me.”

“Yes.” She’d forgotten about the contents of the red box. Was Kenji Miyazaki here because of the journal, the little Buddha, and the lovely kimono sash? Or did his visit have a darker intent, one having to do with Darby’s grandfather’s past?

As if reading her mind, Kenji Miyazaki said, “Hideki told me you were quite upset to learn about your grandfather’s involvement in northeast China during the war. It must have been a terrible shock.”

Darby flashed back to her time in Florida. She felt the same sinking feeling she’d experienced when kindly Mr. Kobayashi had laid out the fearful facts. Her grandfather Tokutaro Sugiyama, a scientific officer for Genkei Pharmaceuticals, had been sent by the Imperial Japanese Army to a remote part of China where secret experiments in biological and chemical warfare were conducted against civilians.

“Do you have information about him?”

A slow nod. “I have been trying to find you, to set the record straight.”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but I’m listening.” She looked down at her hands, steeling herself against whatever awful stories she was about to hear.

“I believe your grandfather was an innocent man, Darby.” Kenji Miyazaki’s eyes searched her face. “He knew that the so-called research was terribly wrong, and he risked his life trying to stop the experiments.”

Darby’s head jerked upward.

“How do you know this?”

“I discovered archives of the statements from scientists who were questioned. They admitted that there were a few men who refused to participate in the Unit’s activities. I think that your grandfather, Tokutaro Sugiyama, was one of them.”

“But you don’t know for sure.”

“No.” He gave a small shrug. “It’s more of an instinct at this point. But the answer may lie in the diary he kept, if that’s indeed what you found.”

Darby felt her heart pound.
Perhaps my grandfather wasn’t complicit after all. Perhaps he’d tried to stop whatever human suffering he could.

“I’ll get the journal.” She hurried to her bedroom, picked up the jewelry box, and brought it back into the living room. She swallowed, conscious that her mouth was dry.
I’m an emotional wreck
, she thought.
These events took place more than sixty years ago, and yet I am trembling.

Kenji Miyazaki placed his hands on the lid, grazing her own as he did so. “May I?”

She nodded. “It’s nearly four-thirty, and I know you need to make your ferry. How long are you staying in Maine?”

“I’m flying back on Sunday.” He smiled as he removed the box’s contents: the grinning Buddha, lustrous kimono sash, and the other items. “I tried to find a room on the island, but everything was booked. Some sort of wedding tomorrow.”

“Yes. That’s my friend Tina.” Darby glanced out the window at the storm. The snow was piling up quickly, nearly drifting against the glass. Getting Kenji’s car out of the driveway would mean starting to shovel immediately. And then when would she learn about the journal’s secrets?

He opened the book and scanned the pages. “I can tell you right now, it’s a daily record of his time at the camp. I wish I had time to read it. I believe these entries hold the answers we need concerning Tokutaro’s involvement in China.”

Darby exhaled. She hadn’t appreciated how desperately she wanted to know of her grandfather’s innocence until that moment. Should she give Kenji the journal to take with him and translate at a later time? She didn’t like parting with such an important piece of her family’s history. And yet she couldn’t bear the thought of waiting to know of her grandfather’s involvement any longer.

She took a breath. “Kenji, I have a very strange request.” She felt her face flush as she continued. “Would you consider spending the night here so that you can translate the journal? I have a guest room, and I’d be happy to fix us both dinner.”

She braced herself for some sort of lewd grin. Instead, Kenji lifted his gaze, his face serious and striking at the same time.

He held up the diary. His black watch caught the firelight, reflecting sparks that danced on his wrist. “This means that much to you?”

She nodded. “I need to know the truth, one way or another. If my grandfather’s journal holds any information at all, I want to know what it is.”

“I see.” He rose from the chair, placing the book on the coffee table in a careful fashion. He thought for a moment. “I understand how you feel, but I do not think my staying here would be appropriate. Perhaps we can meet when I am on the West Coast for business?”

Darby rose as well, disappointment so palpable she could taste it. “Alright then. We’d better go shovel.”

EIGHT

T
HE WHEELS OF
D
ONNY’S
truck gripped the snow-covered road as he turned slowly into Tina’s driveway. He parked behind a big SUV with Massachusetts plates and climbed out and into two feet of fresh snow.

Tina’s split-level ranch was lit up like a Christmas tree. Donny trudged through the drifts, making a narrow path to the front door that would be gone in ten minutes. Man, it was snowing hard, the flakes piling up so fast the plows were having trouble keeping up. The wind was howling, too, heaping piles that took an unsuspecting driver by surprise with their depth.

He knocked twice on the door and then entered. The twang of country music—most likely the Dixie Chicks—met his ears, along with the sound of lilting female voices floating just above the melody. He grinned. Tina was never happier than when she was with her kid sister, Trixie.

He found them in the kitchen, a huge, half-full bottle of white wine on the counter. Plates holding colorful salads waited to be eaten, but the women were too busy catching up to pay their dinner much mind.

Donny cleared his throat so as not to scare them, but both women shrieked just the same.

“Donald Duck Pease! You scared the living crap out of me!” Trixie Ames squealed. “Get yourself over here so I can give you a giant hug!”

“What the heck, Donny, are you trying to give us both heart attacks?” Tina was laughing as she asked the question, holding her sides as if she would burst. “What’s that you’ve got in your hand?”

Donny bear-hugged Trixie and then turned a triumphant face to Tina. With a flourish he pulled an exquisite pair of white stilettos out of the plastic bag.

“Just some old shoes I happened to find.”

More high-pitched squeals of delight from the women.

“You rascal! Where in the world did you get your hands on them?” Tina reached for the heels.

“The bartender at The Eye, the new guy, Earl. He says he came across them on the sidewalk but I don’t believe him one bit. Deputy Allen’s gone over there to search. I wouldn’t be surprised if he finds a lot more stolen goods.”

“Earl is the Name Brand Bandit?” Tina ran a hand over the stiletto heels and turned to Trixie. “Darby came up with that. Catchy, huh? Wait until she hears we got these babies back.” Tina jumped up from the table, pulled off a pair of heavy wool socks, and slipped her feet into the shoes. “Oooh, Trixie! You can’t believe how amazing these feel.”

Donny shook his head at his wobbly bride to be. “Can you walk in them? You don’t want to break an ankle for our trip to Beach Lady.”

“Don’t you worry, Donny Pease,” Tina said, making her way to his side on unsteady legs. She towered over him in the heels and had to bend down to drape her hands over his sloping shoulders. “I will not let anything get in the way of having a wonderful time with you down in Mexico, not even my jitters over flying.” Abruptly she did a little spin and faced Trixie. “Guess what? I’m starting to look forward to this trip!”

Her sister laughed. “Well of course you are, silly! Everyone likes a vacation, especially to a nice, warm, beach!” She pointed at Tina’s feet. “Are those the ones that Terri gave you?”

Tina pulled away from Donny and yanked off the shoes. “Darn right. Don’t let her know anything about them being stolen, okay?” She put the shoes on the kitchen table and turned to Donny. “Terri’s getting her little one settled at the inn, then she’ll head on over here. Your timing, Mr. Pease, is perfect.”

Trixie lifted the shoes and scrunched up her nose. She was a shrunken-down, more voluptuous version of Tina, petite and curvy, with the same wild curls in a delicate strawberry blonde hue. “They are kind of pretty, aren’t they? I like the sparkly buckles. But I can’t believe they cost hundreds of dollars.”

“Uh-huh.” Tina snorted. “Like a thousand bucks. Believe me, I’m glad I don’t have to replace them.” She turned to Donny. “You are so amazing! Finding these for me, and catching a thief in the process! I’m going to have to give you a kiss.”

She leaned forward and planted one on his lips, making a loud, smacking sound.

He blushed and shook his head. “You girls are a little tipsy, I can see that.” He leaned back on his heels, trying to regain control of the situation. His own buzz had worn off after he’d crashed to the floor of Earl’s stockroom. “Speaking of Darby, I thought she would be here?”

Tina waved a hand in the air. “A mysterious visitor stopped in, so she bagged out on us.”

“Miles? I thought the airport was closed.”

“No, not Miles. He’s stuck in Chicago, poor thing.” She shook her head. “This is some Japanese guy named Ken. Darby didn’t go into details.”

Donny frowned. For some reason he couldn’t quite name, he did not like the sound of that.

_____

The painting was finished. Alcott Bridges stood back and surveyed it with a critical eye. A decent composition, yes, anyone could see that, and his command of brush strokes and shading were superb. Technically this canvas was one of his best works. But did he feel the emotion?