Gasa-Gasa Girl

The two of them made quite a pair, Mas then realized. Both just a little above five feet tall, who would think that they were flat-out liars?

The chawan -cut woman, who introduced herself as Seiko Sumi, A

“A

Mas stared at Mari, but she instead was focused entirely on Seiko.

“Sit down, sit down.” She gestured to the couch. As Mas and Mari complied, Seiko began to ask, “Now, how do you-” Mas cringed as he prepared to hear the dreaded question.

“You have a lovely apartment,” interrupted Mari, leaping to her feet.

Mas took a quick look at the living room. Reminded him of any other Nisei house. Some Japanese sumi-e paintings of jagged mountains. A Japanese doll wearing a bright kimono in a glass box. A couple of papier-mâché tigers. Somebody there was obviously born in the Year of the Tiger. Mas followed Mari as she examined a special glass case in the corner. It looked like some kind of mini historic display with an old nursing uniform, old books, and a badge that read Seabrook Farms. Mas faintly remembered a gardener mentioning that he had worked back East on Seabrook Farms during World War II.

“Seabrook Farms,” Mari said. “I was the videographer for the fiftieth-a

“Oh, really? My mother was in Seabrook-she worked in the infirmary. She died some years ago, but I know that she would have loved to go to the reunion. Quite an event, I heard.”

Mari nodded. “Five hundred people. They have a museum, you know.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve even donated some of my mother’s belongings to them.” The chawan -cut woman paused, her eyes darting from Mas to Mari. “Well, you know A

“Ah, of course-” Mari stumbled on her words.

Seiko’s eyes thi

Mari seemed to know that they couldn’t keep playing this game. “I really don’t know A

Seiko’s mind seemed to be percolating. “But you weren’t at the memorial service.”

“Our three-month-old son has been ill. We’ve had to be at the hospital.”

“What is your name again?” Seiko asked.

“Mari Arai-well, Jensen now.”

“Jensen.” The tone of Seiko’s voice was sharp, like a bird whistle. “Is your husband Lloyd Jensen?”

Mari nodded.

“I read about him.”

Mas felt like folding his hands over his eyes. It was over.

“I don’t know what you want with A

The door to one of the back bedrooms opened. A hakujin woman who looked like an older version of actress Ingrid Bergman in the movie Casablanca stood in the doorway. A calico cat slithered through the woman’s legs. “Tama,” she called out. Mas was surprised. Tama was a Japanese name meaning “ball,” the same meaning as the name Mari. The cat sniffed at Mas’s right jean leg and then opted to go into the kitchen.

A

“These people lied to get in here. I’m going to call the security guard downstairs.” Seiko headed for the telephone in the kitchen.

A

“Please, just a few minutes of your time, Ms. Grady,” Mari implored. “We know that you sent Kazzy a note to meet him the evening he was killed.”

“How did you-” A

She spoke as if she was holding something in her mouth, and Mas detected a slight accent. Maybe this A

“But did you talk to the police about the gardenia?”

A

“Security’s coming,” reported Seiko, appearing from the kitchen, not a strand in her chawan haircut out of place.

Mari placed her business card on the couch and pulled at Mas’s jacket sleeve. “We didn’t mean to cause any problems,” she said. “But call me if you change your mind.” They quickly walked out the apartment into the hallway. Mari rushed to the elevator and furiously punched the Down button. Luckily there were two elevators, and the one that opened first only had a woman with a child in a stroller. They slipped in, and as the doors closed they heard the next elevator ring to a

They had effectively eluded the sole security guard and practically ran to the bus stop in the open plaza. Fort Lee looked nothing like its name, but Mas felt that they had dodged some serious bullets at the high-rise. He had no intention of coming to Fort Lee again.

The ride on the bus back to Manhattan was quiet. Mas dozed off as soon as he settled in a seat next to Mari. Transferring to the crowded subway at Port Authority, Mas and Mari had to grab on to a pole and stand. It was obvious that Mari had been thinking this whole time.

“I have a friend, a professor, who helps out at the Seabrook museum.”

Mas tried to follow Mari’s thinking. “You think this Seabrook has sumptin’ to do with Kazzy?”

“Well, I’m going to e-mail him when we get back to the apartment and see if he knows anything about A

Mas was dead tired by the time they got home. He didn’t bother to take a bath or change out of his jeans and sweater. He was, in fact, dreaming of cats, the Japanese kind with no tail, when he felt something pull on his shoulder. “Huh-” He looked up from the couch to see Mari in a fla

“My friend already e-mailed me back.”

Mas made two fists, one with his good right hand and the other with his bandaged left hand, and tried to rub the sleep from his eyes. “Sumptin’ on A

“Nothing on her, but listen to this: Kazzy went to the Seabrook museum six months ago, asking to see some documents on Asa Sumi.”

“Who dat?”

“Seiko Sumi’s mother.”

“Huh?”

“A

Mas’s mind couldn’t catch up with Mari’s words.

“I don’t know what’s going on with those two roommates, but it’s worth looking into. Do you know if Tug still has his rental car?”