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Authors: Parnell Hall

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BOOK: The Puzzle Lady vs. the Sudoku Lady
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Minami took one look at the cotton top her niece tried on in the mall Gap and declared, “You are not wearing that!”
Michiko looked betrayed. “
She
was wearing it.”
“She is a grown-up. You are a little girl.”
“I am
not
a little girl.” Michiko stamped her foot. “Little girls play with dolls and are afraid of frogs. I am a
big
girl. I need big girl clothes.”
“You are not that big.”
“I am not that little.”
Minami was unmoved. “It is too tight. It makes you look like a lady of the street.”
“Lady of the street?”
“You are a big girl. You know what I mean.”
“Make up your mind. Am I a big girl or a little girl?”
“You are a big girl in a little shirt. It does not fit you.”
“It is stretch material.”
“It is stretched very thin. It is not decent.”
“Fine!” Michiko glared at her aunt, grabbed a wine red pullover, and stamped off toward the dressing room.
Minami walked over and examined the pile of shirts from which it had come. She picked one up, exhaled sharply. It was skintight
and
scoop-necked.
Michiko left the store semi-victorious in low-rise jeans and a purple tank top. She was quite pleased with herself until another girl wearing exactly the same thing caused her to reevaluate the situation. The girl was too young, not particularly attractive, and had no sense of style. Which was certainly not the fault of the clothes, though how the girl had fallen into them was beyond Michiko.
She
looked good.
Minami stopped in front of a Rite Aid drugstore. “I must go in here.”
Michiko waved her hand. “Go.”
“You will come, too.”
“I will be in there.” Michiko pointed to the Virgin Megastore.
Minami was not quite sure what a Virgin Megastore was. She didn't like the sound of it but didn't want to show her ignorance. “But nowhere else.”
“I just want to look at CDs.”
“And you will be in the store and nowhere else.”
“Yes, yes, nowhere else,” Michiko cried impatiently.
Minami, who'd felt a headache coming on ever since they got to the mall, went off in search of Advil.
Michiko, happy and free in her new American clothes, trotted into the Megastore. She headed for the wall where the top-fifty
albums were displayed, pulled on a headset, and began listening to that new Pink CD she knew her aunt wouldn't like.
Michiko was on the second track when she looked up to find someone smiling at her.
The young man had long hair like a rock star. His white shirt was open at the neck, and he had removed his tie. His cocked head, which made his hair hang down at an angle, gave him a raffish, appealing look. Michiko wondered if he practiced it in the mirror. She smiled nonetheless.
“Hi,” he said.
Her aunt had told her not to talk to strangers, a clear invitation to do so. “Hi.”
“Pardon me, but I know I've seen your mother somewhere before.”
Michiko made a face. “She is not my mother.”
“Oh?”
“She is worse than my mother. She is my aunt.”
“Why is she worse than your mother?”
“She tells me what to do. And gets mad if I do not do it.”
“How is that worse than your mother?”
“My mother does not tell me what to do.”
“Why not?”
“She is not here.”
He smiled.
She stuck her nose in the air. “You are laughing at me?”
“I'm not laughing
at
you. You made a joke.”
Michiko pouted. “I am glad it is funny for you. It is not funny for me. It is like being in jail.”
His eyes twinkled. “Have you ever been in jail?”
“No.”
“Then how would you know?”
He was teasing her. Michiko didn't like being teased. “My aunt said I shouldn't talk to strangers.”
“I'm not a stranger. I know your aunt. I just don't know from where.”
“She is famous.”
“Oh?”
“She is the Sudoku Lady.” Michiko made a face. “Big deal. I cannot go anywhere that people do not think they know her. You do not know her. You just think you do. Because she wears a silk kimono. Like a costume.”
“At least she doesn't have a big red
S
on her chest.” Michiko looked puzzled. “You know. Like Superman. We have our own superhero in town. The Puzzle Lady. Did you know that?”
“Of course. My aunt came to see her.”
“She did?”
“Yes. All the way from Japan. And I have to come along.”
“You didn't want to come to America?”
“Not to be a babysitter.”
“Your aunt has children?”
“No. To babysit her. I am looking out for her. She thinks she is looking out for me. It is so stupid.”
“Why does she need looking out for?”
“She thinks she can do anything. A woman fell and hit her head. Everyone says it was an accident. She says it was murder.”
“Really?”
“If I do not watch her, she will get in trouble. And—”
“Michiko!”
Minami was glaring at her from the doorway.
“Oh. Gotta go.” She hurried to rejoin her aunt.
“Who is that man?”
“No one.”
“You're not supposed to talk to strangers.”
“He is not a stranger. He knew you.”
“I do not know him. I cannot leave you alone for a minute.”
The two of them went out the door, the teenager whining about overprotective aunts.
Dennis Pride watched them go. Well, that was interesting. He wondered what two Japanese women were doing calling on Sherry and Cora. So she was the Sudoku Lady. Whatever that was.
Dennis had been in a funk ever since Sherry got married. Yes, she'd divorced him and, yes, he'd gotten married again, to her best friend Brenda Wallenstein. But that was different. Entirely different. He still cared for Sherry. Still wanted her. He'd gotten married because she didn't want him. But he was there for her. Always. Ready to pick up the pieces. His marriage meant nothing because it was no bar to his desire.
Hers was different. Entirely different. She hadn't gotten married
in spite of
wanting him. She'd gotten married because she
didn't
want him.
At least that's what she thought. Dennis knew it wasn't true—that sooner or later she'd come to her senses. Indeed, her marriage had given him hope. It was just the spur she needed to see that she was on the wrong path. Married life, Dennis thought, could soon sour her on that young reporter, a man not worthy of her in any way. She would see what a mistake she'd made, and she would want to fix it. When she did, he'd be there waiting.
And now this. A rival for Cora Felton. A Japanese counterpart. With a precocious teenage niece. That was good. That had to be good. Anything that stirred the waters, that created controversy. If there was a rivalry between the two, how sweet would it be if he could beat them both?
At long last, things were finally breaking his way.
Jason Fielding was somewhat overwhelmed. His wife was dead. He was a murder suspect. Now he wasn't, but his wife was still dead. The police had let him back into his house, and now he was in his living room with a Japanese woman who looked like a Japanese woman, in a colorful silk kimono, and a Japanese girl who looked like an American girl, in typical teenage attire. These two women, real or imaginary, were in his living room, the same living room where his wife had died, if she was indeed dead, if it wasn't an alcohol-induced fantasy dredged up from the deep subconscious of his being as a warning never under any circumstances to drink again.
The Japanese woman was talking, enumerating the very points of confusion in his mind. “I am sorry that your wife is dead. It is a tragedy. But I am glad that the police let you go.”
Jason blinked. “I saw you in jail,” he said. He wondered if it was true.
“And now you are out of jail. And now we can talk.”
That triggered another memory. “My lawyer told me not to talk to anyone.”
Minami smiled. “Your lawyer is Miss Rebecca Baldwin?”
“Yes,”
“She told you not to talk to the police. Because they might not understand, and then they would keep you in jail. She did not say you could not talk to me.” Minami nodded in agreement with herself, then steamed ahead as if there had been no digression. “The police believe you killed your wife. Now we must find out who did.”
Jason frowned. “Who did?”
“Yes.”
“No one did. It was an accident.”
“That would be nice. Not that she had an accident. But it would be nice if no one wished her dead.”
“Don't be silly. Who would want to hurt her?”
“That is what we must determine. What do you have that one might wish to steal?”
“Nothing.”
“No cash? No jewels? No coin or stamp collection?”
“No.”
“May I see your study?”
“Why?”
Michiko had twisted herself into a pretzel, was tugging on her foot. “Oh, let her. It's the quickest way to get rid of her. Just show her what she wants.”
Jason got up, led Minami and Michiko down the hall into his den. It was poorly furnished, with an ancient computer, a tiny TV,
a battered bookcase that held more assorted junk than books, a desk chair and an easy chair. There was no table or sideboard.
Minami glanced around. “So. Where do you hide it?”
“What?”
“Your alcohol. You do not have a bar. You like to drink. Your wife did not like you to drink. You hide it. Where?”
Jason started to flare up, then sighed, shrugged, pointed to the bottom drawer.
Minami jerked it open, pulled out a half pint of whiskey and a shot glass. “Ah. Like the American private eye.”
“So? No one broke in to steal my booze.”
“Of course not. What else do you hide?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? You do not have a safe in the wall?”
“Don't be silly.”
“Why is that silly? What else is hidden in this room?”
“I told you. Nothing.”
“I see.” Minami bent over, wrenched open the bottom drawer on the other side.
It was full of men's magazines.
“So. Your wife knew about these?”
Michiko pressed forward. “Let me see.”
“There is nothing to see,” Minami said, slamming the drawer.
“Is there, Mr. Fielding? Now, about what else did you lie?”
“Nothing.” Jason's face was flushed with embarrassment.
“That's enough. Please leave.”
Minami nodded. “Yes. I am done with this room.”
She went out the door, headed toward the back of the house.
“Hey! Where are you going?”
“This is the kitchen?”
“Stay out of there.”
“There is something you do not want me to see in the kitchen?”
“I don't want you in my house. If you don't leave, I'll call the police.”
Minami patted him on the cheek. “That would not be wise. There is a back door?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Because the front door is not damaged. There are two possibilities. Your wife let the killer in. Or the killer broke in through the back. We must see which is true.”
Minami swept through the pantry to the back door. It had a top lock with a sliding bolt. “You keep this locked?”
“Yes, I keep it locked. It is locked now; it was locked then.”
Minami unlocked the back door, inspected the lock on the knob. “There are no signs of forced entry. If the killer got in this way, it was because the door was open.”
“Well, it wasn't.”
“
You
did not leave it open. You cannot speak for your wife.”
Along one wall of the pantry was a freezer chest. Minami lifted the lid and peered in. “You do not have much food.”
“So what?”
“Such a big freezer. And you have only boxes of frozen peas.” Minami leaned over, inspected the bottom. “What is that?”
“What?”
In the frost built up in the bottom of the freezer was a reddish stain. “That looks like blood.”
Jason shrugged. “Some meat leaked.”
“You have no meat.”
“I have no meat now. I had it. It leaked. I ate it. Big deal.”
“Then why is there none? If you keep meat in the freezer to eat, why do you not have any?”
“It's out of season.”
“What?”
“Deer-hunting season.” Jason sounded exasperated. “In deer-hunting season, I fill the freezer with meat. When the meat is gone, I don't use the freezer until next season. Are you satisfied? Is that enough for you?”
“You hunt the deer?”
“Yes.”
“In hunting season?”
“Yes.”
“You have a gun?”
“I have a rifle.”
“Let me see.”
“No.”
“Do the police know you have a gun?”
Jason said nothing.
“If you do not show me the gun, then I must tell the police that you have a gun that you do not wish to show. They will want to see it and—”
“All right, all right.”
Jason led them to a hall closet under the stairs. He reached behind a set of golf clubs and pulled out a rifle. “There. You satisfied?”
“Let me see.” Minami grabbed the rifle, raised the barrel to her nose, sniffed. “This rifle has been fired.”
“Of course it's been fired. I use it to hunt.”
“It has been fired recently.”
“No. I …”
“What?”
“I do some target practice. Down at the dump.”
“They let you shoot at the dump?”
“No. Sunday. When the dump is closed. What difference does it make? My wife wasn't shot.”
“You are sure of that?”
Jason wasn't sure of anything. His head was coming off. Everything the crazy Japanese lady said seemed to make things worse and worse. Maybe he shouldn't be talking to her. Maybe it wasn't just the police. She was the one who said it was all right. What would his lawyer say? Did he have a lawyer? Was that part real? He fished in his pocket, came out with Becky Baldwin's business card.
Jason marched into the living room, picked up the phone.
“What are you doing?” Minami said.
“Calling my lawyer.”
Michiko's eyes twinkled. “Hah!”
“Well, we must be going,” Minami said, and herded her smiling niece out the door.
BOOK: The Puzzle Lady vs. the Sudoku Lady
13.02Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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