The Runaway Bride (5 page)

“Assuming that she wanted to lie low for a while,” Nancy went on, “she might have gone to a hotel or a
ryokan
someplace. Or she could be staying with friends.” She added, “Which reminds me—”

“Hmm?”

“Tomorrow morning I'd like to go by the Katos' house to search Midori's room,” Nancy said. “We might be able to find a clue. And after that we'll head over to Explosion and talk to Hana.”

“Sounds like a good plan.” George glanced at her watch. “Hey, we'd better get a move on if we're going to meet Mick at that rock club. We have to change, grab some dinner—”

“Good idea,” Nancy said. “I noticed a
yakitori
place around the corner.”

“Yakitori?”
George asked warily. “I was thinking more along the lines of a cheeseburger.”

There was a knock on the sliding door. “I'll get that,” Nancy said, rising.

She opened the door, but there was no one there. Instead Nancy found a tray of covered dishes lying on the floor of the hallway. On it was a white card with a hand-scripted message that read: “Compliments of the Sakura Ryokan.”

“What great timing,” Nancy said, carrying the tray into the room and setting it down on the lacquer table. “Wasn't it sweet of Mrs. Ito?”

George sighed. “I guess this means the cheeseburger's out.”

They sat down at the table. “I don't know what to try first,” Nancy said, uncovering some of the dishes. “Maybe I'll start with this one.” She pointed at a spiny fish that had been artfully arranged on a green glazed platter.

George made a face. “It's raw, isn't it?”

Nancy grinned and picked up a piece of the fish with her chopsticks.

“Is there anything
cooked
on this tray?” George grumbled.

There was another knock on the sliding door.
This time George got up to answer it. It was a young maid with fresh towels and two
yukata,
kimono-style cotton robes. She entered, bowed, then headed for the bathroom to drop off her load.

“Thank you,” Nancy called out, then turned back to her dinner. “You should try this, George. See, you dip the raw fish in this bowl of soy sauce and wasabi mustard—”

That was as far as she got. The maid, who was passing behind Nancy, froze in her tracks and dropped her towels and
yukata
. Then, before Nancy could react, the young woman shouted something incoherent and grabbed Nancy's arm.

N
ANCY'S CHOPSTICKS
dropped to the floor.

“What are you doing!” she cried out. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see George getting up to intervene.

It was unnecessary because the maid suddenly let go of Nancy's arm and began apologizing profusely.

“I am deeply sorry,” she murmured in stilted English, bowing over and over again. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

Nancy straightened up and ran a hand through her hair. She glanced at the maid, then up at George, who was hovering over them with an expression of total confusion on her face.

Nancy took a deep breath and turned back to the maid. “What was that all about?” she asked sharply.

The maid bowed again, then said, “I was trying to prevent you from eating that.” She indicated the piece of raw fish that Nancy had just dipped into the soy sauce and wasabi mixture. It was lying on the floor, along with Nancy's chopsticks.

Nancy frowned. “I don't understand. Why shouldn't I eat that fish?”

“That is no ordinary fish,” the maid explained. “That is fugu, or blowfish—a great Japanese delicacy. The fugu has several poisonous organs, which must be removed by a special chef. Anyone who even tastes improperly prepared fugu suffocates and dies within half an hour.”

“What!” George exclaimed.

The maid pointed to the white “Compliments of Sakura Ryokan” card lying on the tray. “I saw that as I passed behind you,” she told Nancy. “At the same time I saw the fugu. I knew something was wrong. We do not serve fugu in our kitchen.”

Nancy's eyes widened.

“Perhaps I overreacted,” the maid went on, blushing. “But when I realized that you were about to put the fugu in your mouth, I did not want you to take a chance.”

Nancy shook her head and put her hand on the young woman's arm. “No, you didn't overreact. You may have saved my life.”

The maid's instincts were right. When Mrs. Ito came up to their room to discuss the matter, the manager quickly confirmed that the Sakura
Ryokan did not serve fugu. She also explained that the tray of food was not from their kitchen.

“We do not offer complimentary dinners to our guests,” Mrs. Ito stated. “Just breakfast and tea in the afternoons.”

“Do you have any idea where this tray came from?” Nancy asked.

Mrs. Ito nodded. “About twenty minutes ago, I let a delivery boy in to take this food to you. He said you had phoned the restaurant to order it. Our guests often order food, so I did not think anything of it.”

“Which restaurant was he from?” George asked.

“I did not notice,” Mrs. Ito replied, bristling slightly. “The boy was unfamiliar to me, but I had no reason to be suspicious of him.”

“What did he look like?” Nancy said.

Mrs. Ito shrugged. “He had a crew cut. That is all I remember.”

Nancy nodded, then pointed at the fugu. “Mrs. Ito, can you tell if this has poison in it?”

“Of course,” she said. “My father was a fugu chef.”

She peered at the spiky fish closely. Then she poked at it with a pair of chopsticks.

After a moment of inspecting it, she gasped. “This fugu is full of poison!” she announced.

Nancy paled slightly, thinking of how close she'd come to taking a bite. “How do you know?”

“The liver has not been removed, and it is one of the most toxic parts of the fish!” Mrs. Ito said. “I am most distressed. Who would do such a terrible thing?”

Nancy didn't reply, although Yoko Nakamura's name came immediately to mind. Would Ken's mother have resorted to murder to keep Nancy from tracking down Midori? she asked herself.

• • •

Nancy and George were twenty minutes late meeting Mick. He was waiting for them on a bustling street corner, in front of a small building with no sign or windows.

“Hi,” Mick said, waving. He was dressed in jeans, a white T-shirt, and black linen jacket. “I was starting to wonder if you had been kidnapped . . .” His words trailed off when he saw the expressions on the girls' faces. “What's wrong?”

Nancy watched a group of Japanese teens enter the building and said, “It's kind of a long story. Let's go inside, and we'll fill you in.”

Just inside the entrance a doorman took Mick's passes. He was wearing a black vintage tuxedo and yellow baseball cap. “Welcome to Puppy Love Live,” he said to them.

“Puppy Love Live?” George repeated, glancing at Mick. “What does that mean?”

Mick smiled and shrugged. “Who knows? The
Japanese are great at coming up with weird names for things.”

The interior of the club was part Gothic, part Arabian fantasy. The cavernous space was split into individual rooms, separated by wispy chiffon curtains that hung from the ceiling. Each room was furnished with velvet and satin settees in brilliant golds, purples, and reds. The air was sweet with the smell of patchouli incense.

In the center was a large dance floor, lit from above by an enormous antique chandelier. At the moment the floor was mobbed with teens dancing to a British rock tune.

A young girl passed by Nancy and her friends carrying a basket of daisies. She gave one to each of them, then moved on.

“What a fun place,” George remarked, tucking her daisy into the pocket of her black silk shirt.

“Isn't it?” Mick said. “I asked a friend from work to meet us. I think I see him sitting over there.”

Nancy and George followed Mick to one of the chiffon-shrouded rooms. A short guy with curly brown hair and glasses rose to greet them. He wore jeans and a T-shirt that said: “I'd Rather Be on Star System 434-CL.”

“Greetings,” he said, giving the girls a nervous little wave. “Gil Armstrong, at your service.”

“Gil's a fellow Aussie and Nakamura intern,” Mick explained, then introduced Nancy and
George to him. “Let's all get comfortable, shall we?”

He put his hand on Nancy's elbow and pulled her down on a velvet settee. That left George to sit with Gil, across from them.

“Mick tells me you're an athlete, George,” Gil said, flashing her a toothy grin.

George threw Nancy a helpless look, as if to say, “Is this guy supposed to be my date?” Then she turned to Gil and said, “Um, sure, I guess you could call me that.”

While the two of them were talking, Mick moved closer to Nancy and said, “Is this a good time to tell me what happened to you earlier tonight?”

Nancy nodded, then filled him in on the case. She ended with an account of the near deadly fugu incident.

“On our way down here, George and I checked out all the restaurants in our neighborhood,” Nancy finished. “It was a real dead end. None of them serves fugu, and none of them could identify our delivery guy.”

Mick frowned. “Somebody really wants you out of the picture—permanently,” he said, concerned. “Do you think it's Yoko Nakamura?”

“I don't know,” Nancy admitted. “She's the only suspect I've got. But it's really hard for me to believe she'd kill me to keep Ken and Midori apart.” She paused, then said, “My instincts tell
me there's more to Midori's disappearance than we thought—something major enough to make someone want to kill me. I just have to figure out what it is and who's responsible.”

Mick leaned forward and touched her cheek lightly. “Well, you know you can count on me,” he murmured. “I'll do anything to help.”

“Thanks, Mick,” Nancy said. His touch made her feel awkward. “Hey, why don't we dance?” she suggested.

“Sure,” Mick said, standing up. “Gil? George? You want to join us?”

“I'm really not much of a dancer,” Gil replied quickly. “Besides, George and I are having a great talk about Japanese politics.”

George's eyes widened skeptically at this remark.

Nancy followed Mick through the chiffon curtains. “I hope George is having a good time,” she whispered.

“Oh, sure,” Mick whispered back. “She and Gil seem to be getting along fine.”

The dance floor was still packed, and Nancy and Mick were pushed together as they tried to move to the music.

“Popular place,” Nancy remarked, raising her arms to let two dancers pass.

A moment later the music shifted to a slow number. Mick held out his hand to Nancy. “I'm game if you are,” he said.

She smiled and took his hand. “Sure.”

A second later they were holding each other and swaying slowly. “Will you be mad if I tell you that this reminds me of old times?” Mick whispered in her ear.

Nancy felt her breath catch in her throat. “No,” she whispered back. She hated to admit it, but it was comfortable being in his arms again. She felt herself moving imperceptibly closer to him.

Just then a warning light went off in her head. She stepped back and shook her head.

“What's wrong?” Mick murmured.

Nancy looked up at him. “Listen, Mick,” she said seriously. “You know I'm with Ned now. I can't be more than friends with any other guy.”

Mick was silent for a moment, then said, “I understand, Nancy. If you just want to be friends, that's fine with me.” He grinned. “On two conditions. I get you for the rest of this dance and you go to the festival with me tomorrow night.”

Nancy laughed softly. “You drive a hard bargain, Mick Devlin.”

Without any further words Mick took her in his arms and they began dancing again. Nancy closed her eyes and put her head against his chest. As the slow, romantic song played on, she willed herself to enjoy the moment and not think about the past or the future. Or Ned.

• • •

“You went to Puppy Love Live last night?” Mari said. “I'm so jealous. Isn't it great?”

She, Nancy, and George were sitting in the Katos' backyard enjoying the morning sun. From inside the house, Nancy could hear the sounds of Toshiko Kato chopping vegetables. Her husband was in the front yard trimming the hedges.

“We had a terrific time,” George replied. “And we really needed it, too, especially after—” She hesitated and glanced at Nancy.

Mari stared at George, then at Nancy. “What?” she said anxiously.

Nancy took a deep breath and told her about the fugu. By the time she'd finished, Mari was paler.

“I don't get it,” Mari murmured. “You don't think it had anything to do with Midori, do you?”

“It has to,” Nancy replied gravely. “And until we figure out who's behind it, we'll all have to keep our eyes open and be very careful.”