Part 4 (1/2)

The teakettle began a high-pitched squall, and Soga got up. She saw his shoulders draw up tightly and then drop, a deliberate loosening. As he returned to the table, his face had smoothed into neutral. He poured the boiling water into the teapot.

”I knew he was sick.”

”Yes, he was. But he didn't die of cancer. He committed suicide.” She slid the letter in its plastic sleeve over to him. ”He mentioned you.”

Soga ignored the note lying in front of them like an accusation. He stirred the tea with a bamboo whisk, placed the lid on. ”It must sit for a few minutes.”

Her grandfather was deliberate in everything he did, especially tea. She wasn't surprised at his lack of reaction to s.h.i.+maoka's note-he always took time to adjust to things. He'd read it when he was ready.

Soga got up. ”I have something for you too. I was waiting for the right time to give it to you.” He walked out.

Lei took the simple handleless cups, with their translucent green glaze, off the tray and placed one in front of each of their places. She'd heard of the j.a.panese tea ceremony but didn't know anything about it, a.s.sumed her grandfather did.

He returned, carrying a large wooden box with a slanted top and handed it to her. ”This was your grandmother's writing desk. She kept some keepsakes of your mother's and photos in here. I thought you should have it.”

Lei felt her stomach clench. She might as well be holding Pandora's box. Her voice was pitched high as she replied. ”Wow. This is special. Thank you, Grandfather.”

”You're welcome.”

Soga set a strainer over Lei's small cup and, using both hands, carefully poured the tea into the cup. ”I would like to take you to j.a.pan sometime. Show you a real tea ceremony.”

”That would be wonderful.” Lei inhaled the delicate fragrance of the tea, scented with jasmine, and watched as he transferred the strainer to his own cup, poured, then set the teapot down on its trivet. Each movement was precise and economical.

She set the box of memories down by her feet and turned to face her grandfather, copying his movements as he folded his hands and made a slight bow to her; then they both picked up the cups and sipped.

The tea was hot and tasted like toasted flowers. ”Delicious.”

Her grandfather got up and fetched a small box of rice crackers. ”A little taste of something. We always try to balance the taste of the tea.”

”Thank you.” Lei took a cracker. It burst with the salty flavor of nori seaweed on her tongue. ”These sort of melt in your mouth.”

”Yes.” They ate and drank for a moment as Lei felt the stress of the day drain away in this peaceful setting. What did it matter whether the meeting took five or thirty minutes? She was with her grandfather in his world. Finally, when his tea was gone, Soga reached over and drew the note to him, turned it over. His face was stoic as he read.

”What can you tell me about Alfred s.h.i.+maoka?” Lei asked at last. ”Why do you think he mentions you in the note?”

”I knew Alfred for many years.” Soga poured himself another cup of tea, refreshed Lei's. ”He was a good man. A man of his word. He had an obligation to fix the lanterns, and he fulfilled it. He mentions me only because he wanted to be remembered that way, and it doesn't surprise me. He has no family, no children.”

”I know he was an architect. Tell me about his work.”

”He was a good architect. He worked for a big firm, Matsei and Company, for many years. He was very good at his designs. He retired when he got sick.” Soga ate a cracker. ”I will go to his house and bring the lanterns back here.”

”Not yet, Grandfather. It's still a crime scene for a little longer.”

”What do you mean? He died by his own hand.”

”Anytime there's a strange death, we investigate it. And there are oddities about his death.”

Soga looked up at her with eyes so dark they were almost black. ”Oddities?”

”I can't say more than that, and really there's nothing more to add. But did you know of anything in Alfred's life that . . . didn't fit? That would lead him to suicide?”

”No, other than he was sick with cancer and became withdrawn. He was in pain, but he disliked medicines. This does not surprise me, his choice.” Soga looked down at the note, but his hands remained in his lap. ”He would not talk about it. But he did not like medication.”

”Did you know his little dog, Sam?”

Soga smiled, a fan of creases folding from the corners of his eyes. ”Yes. So energetic, his dog.”

”Well, one of the oddities is that he just left the dog in the house. Did not give him away or have anyone care for it. It seems inconsistent.”

”Yes.” Soga picked up his cup with two hands, his gnarled fingers delicate on the rim. ”I think that's strange too. He loved that dog.”

”A neighbor is taking care of Sam right now, but she already has a dog. What do you think of adopting him?” Lei asked impulsively.

Her grandfather set down the cup. ”I have a quiet house. I don't have time.”

Lei looked around the spotless kitchen. ”He seems like a good, sweet dog. He'd shake things up around here a little, that's for sure. But I love my dogs. They keep me company, and I never feel alone with them around. Speaking of, I have to get home to them before they chew the house down. Is there anything else you can tell me about Alfred?”

”He had a computer. He spent a lot of time on that when he was home.”

Lei thought of the sleek black Mac they'd carried into IT and left in the lineup for Ang to look at. ”That's good to know. Did you know what he was doing on there? Did he ever say?”

”No. Only that he knew people through the computer. That he wasn't as alone as he seemed. Sometimes I would tell him he should find a wife; he was still young enough. That was before the cancer.”

Lei blinked, surprised at the sight of a tear making its way down Soga's impa.s.sive face. She fussed with her tea things to give him time to compose himself, and when she looked up the tear was gone. ”Well, thank you. For the tea, for grandmother's lap desk.” She picked up the wooden box. ”I'm a little afraid to look inside.”

”I hope it brings some happy memories and thoughts,” Soga said, rising to follow her as she walked to the front door. ”And that it helps you know your mother a little more.”

”I hope so too.” She leaned over and impulsively kissed his leathery cheek at the front door. ”I'll call you when Alfred's house is okay to enter. Do you know who his next of kin was, by the way?”

”A nephew. Saiki s.h.i.+maoka. He lives in Honolulu.”

”Thank you.” She carried the box out to the truck and set it as gently as a bomb on the pa.s.senger seat. In a way, that's just what it was. She turned the key, waved goodbye to her grandfather still standing in the doorway, and pulled away for home.

With herself and the dogs exercised, fed, and showered, Lei was finally ready to have a look at the contents of her grandmother's lap desk. Sitting at her little round Formica table with the orchid plant on it and a fortifying local-brewed Longboard Ale at her elbow, Lei lifted the glossy lid.

The smell of sandalwood wafted up from a pile of photos and letters lying in wait for her. The contents of the desk had probably been neatly stacked at one point, but they had become jumbled in transport. Lei took out some j.a.panese writing implements: a set of sumi paintbrushes with bamboo handles, bound with a fraying rubber band; a green jade stone with a well in it for mixing the ink stick she found in a little plastic bag.

A stack of thick, deckle-edged writing paper filled with j.a.panese characters and tied with string was next. Lei couldn't read j.a.panese. She felt cheated as she lifted her grandmother's correspondence and set it aside.

A pile of photographs greeted her next, and in them she recognized her mother's pale lily of a face, black hair long and straight, her clothing simple and immaculate. In the series of photos of Maylene that progressed from babyhood into high school, her mother's face was always serious, her posture demure.

A good little j.a.panese girl until she met Wayne Texeira, the wild paniolo cowboy, at that fateful long-ago rodeo.