The Floating Girl: A Rei Shimura Mystery (Rei Shimura Mystery #4) (27 page)

Any time you set foot on a Japanese bus or train, you’ll notice that the most popular form of printed reading matter are comic books. During my years in Japan—as I stood packed like sushi on crowded trains—I couldn’t help noticing the many comic books being devoured by my fellow commuters. I couldn’t read the words, but I couldn’t help seeing all the cartoon images that were alternately violent, sexual, humorous or sweet. The covers of the manga revealed they were aimed at specific groups: housewives, young children, sports fans, businessmen, foodies, fantasy-lovers. I was intrigued to find
manga
aimed at teaching people like me how to read Japanese. However, wasn’t until I watched some beautiful and emotionally powerful animated films by Hayao Miyazaki that I knew Rei would find some cartoon image so nostalgic and compelling that she would tumble into a mystery.

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The Floating Girl
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Sujata Massey was born in England to parents from India and Germany. She grew up mostly in the United States, where she studied creative writing at the Johns Hopkins University and worked as a newspaper reporter at the Baltimore
Evening Sun
. In the 1990s she left journalism to marry and move to Japan, where she worked as an English teacher while studying Japanese and starting a mystery series set in Japan. After Sujata’s return to the U.S., the first Rei Shimura novel,
The Salaryman’s Wife
, was published in 1997. Nine Rei Shimura novels followed this one, and a forthcoming book,
The Kizuna Coast
, will be published in Fall 2014 as an E-book and paper book from Ikat Press.

Sujata Massey also writes historical suspense novels, novellas and short stories set in India.
The Sleeping Dictionary
is a romantic saga about a young woman in late British Raj India that was published in August 2014 by Simon & Schuster USA and by Penguin/Random House India in June 2014.
The Sleeping Dictionary
will also be translated into Turkish and Italian.
Booklist 
called it “An utterly engrossing tale of love, espionage, betrayal, and survival… historical fiction at its best.”

The Ayah’s Tale
is a novella told in alternating voices of an Indian nanny and young English boy living in 1920s Bengal. It is published as an E-book across all platforms and also is forthcoming as a paper book. “Sujata Massey beautifully depicts the life of an Indian ayah and the complicated relationships that people in the employ of their colonial employers had to deal with. Even though Menakshi endures great hardships in her life, she finds love in these pages and a more hopeful future.”

Rei’s adventures in
The Floating Girl
continue in the fifth series book,
The Bride’s Kimono
. Check out Chapter One!

For most people, a telephone ringing in the middle of the night is a bad omen.

In my case, it is business as usual. The caller could be an overseas client ignorant of the time difference between New York and Japan, or he could be my best friend, Richard Randall, stranded after the subway’s close and in need of a place to crash. There is always a reason to fumble for the phone sandwiched between my futon and the old lacquered tray that serves as my nightstand.

“Rei Shimura Antiques,” I croaked, unsure if I was awake or still dreaming.

“Is this Rei?” The voice on the other end sounded like my mother’s, but she should have known about the time difference.

“Yes, Mom.” I sighed heavily, trying to give her the message that I’d been asleep.

“Actually, I’m not your mother—”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.” What I had caught on to was that I’d been fooled by the super-modulated, almost English, but really American accent. Flowing into my eardrum at two-forty in the Tokyo morning, it rang with a surreal clarity.

“My name is Allison Powell. I’m the textile curator at the Museum of Asian Arts in Washington, D.C. I don’t know if you’ve heard of us.”

“Of course I have,” I said, coming fully awake. I’d made a few visits to the museum near Embassy Row when I was a college student. I remembered the charming black-and-white marble-tiled foyer and a pleasant collection of Utamaro woodblock prints on the walls. There were other wonderful Asian antiquities, too: Chinese terra-cotta figures, Korean celadon-glazed pots, and Kashmiri shawls. It was the kind of place that had served as inspiration for my own fledgling business in Japanese antiques.

“Can you give me a few minutes? I have a proposition for you.”

I had a suspicion that all Allison wanted was a guided tour on her next trip to Japan. The previous month an unknown Los Angeles woman had landed on my doorstep and asked me to escort her round-trip to Kyoto—going Dutch, of course.

Trying not to sound too rude, I said, “Well, let me guess. You’re coming to Japan and need to be shown around? I can recommend a wonderful English-speaking guide—”

“No, I actually want to give
you
the chance to take a trip,” Allison said brightly. “You see, we are about to launch an exhibit on Edo-period kimono. I know it’s short notice, but I want you to join us for the opening festivities a month from today.”

“Are you sure that my mother didn’t put you up to this?” I was suspicious, because my mother had been badgering me to come home to the United States to visit her and my father for the last year.

“I don’t know your mother, but I do know about your expertise in Japanese textiles.”

“Thank you,” I said, still feeling paranoid. “I’m wondering who gave you my personal phone number, because it wasn’t in any of my articles.”

“A member of our advisory committee had the information. I do apologize for the short notice, Rei. We were supposed to have a speaker from the Morioka Museum, but he canceled at the last minute, so that’s why we’re so desperate to get someone like you. We can pay an honorarium, per diem, and your travel expenses.”

“Oh, really?” So I was a second choice. Still, I might as well hear about the money.

“Three thousand is what we were going to pay Mr. Nishio,” Allison purred.

“That’s barely going to cover the cost of a night in a place like D.C.—” Three thousand yen was about thirty dollars.

“Well, three thousand dollars is a bit higher than what an American courier would typically get for a ten-day visit. However, I know you’re not on salary from a Japanese museum, so I could see if I can swing an extra five hundred. Would that suit?”

She’d been thinking in
dollars
, not yen. I said, “I don’t understand. What is the money supposed to take care of?”

“Seven days’ worth of hotel, food, city transportation, and incidentals — we budgeted that at two thousand and were planning to give a thousand dollars in honorarium for two brief talks on kimono of the late Edo period. The plane tickets will be arranged out of a separate budget—”

“I can do that for you,” I said quickly. I knew I could get a much cheaper round-trip flight through my Tokyo connections.

“You could do that and keep the difference, if there’s any, as long as you fly business when you’re carrying the kimono. Economy class on the way back is fine. You see, the kimono will stay in the U.S. with us for three months. At the end of it, we could possibly hire you again to do a pickup of the goods, if you’re interested…”

Allison chattered on, but I was busy making my own happy, rapid calculations. Not even factoring in airfare, I was being offered a budget of $500 a day. It was an outrageous amount. I could do the Washington gig and profit.

“I’m going to have to check my calendar,” I said, snapping on the electrified antique lantern next to my bed. “Why don’t I write down your phone number right now, just in case we get disconnected—”
Or if I wake up and worry this was a dream.

“Certainly.” Alison rattled off a number with a 202 area code, then gave me her fax number and an e-mail address.

“Um, I don’t e-mail.”

There was a pause. “No e-mail?”

“E-mail came to Japan a little later than in the States. I haven’t signed up yet.” The truth was, Internet access in Japan was much more expensive than in the U.S., and the idea of communicating by e-mail, rather than by voice or letter, made me uncomfortable. It all seemed so—temporary. My boyfriend, Takeo, swore by it—he spent a couple of hours a day with his laptop, but he couldn’t get me to do more than glance at the thing.

“You sound like a real antiquarian.” Allison laughed lightly. “Never mind, I’ll send things to you the old-fashioned way. I think I have your fax number already.” She rattled it off, startling me. I couldn’t afford to advertise my antique shopping business in any international arts journals, so I could only assume Allison had a network of excellent contacts in Japan.

After hanging up, I was too excited to go right back to sleep, so I bounded out of bed to make a cup of chamomile tea. If I could get by spending only $500 for the week—rather than per day—I could bring back $3,000 to put in the bank. My savings account was quite low, because in the past year. I’d lost the steady income I’d had from writing an arts-and-antiques column for the
Gaijin Times
. I needed to cobble together all kinds of odd, antiques-related work in order to make my rent. Traveling overseas and speaking about Japanese antiques was something I’d never done—and I had to admit, despite my being the museum’s second choice, this would be a great boon.

I finally went back to bed and, two hours later, woke again when the fax machine in the corner of my bedroom started grunting. Allison had been true to her word and had sent a proposed agenda for my visit, as well as a contact name and number at the Morioka Museum in West Tokyo, which, the fax explained, was the institution that owned the kimono that I’d be carrying with me.

I blinked and read the line again. That’s right, she’d said very quickly when she was talking about timing that I needed to come early so that the kimono could be installed. She wanted me not only to speak, but to bring a small collection of Edo-period kimono on the plane. That’s why I was flying business class to America, and economy on the way back.

I knew that the transportation of museum pieces was something that took place daily at airports around the world—but I’d never done it. Would the Japanese museum trust me?

Looking into the mirror at my tousled early-morning appearance, I shook my head. No. Not this shaggy-haired, almond-eyed American citizen who had been around a few too many dead bodies. Add in the fact that I was twenty-eight and unattached; a rootless, untrustworthy woman who needed a cosigner for every financial or real-estate move she made. Allison Powell might be willing to give me a chance, but she didn’t know my full story the way people in Japan did. If she had known, she wouldn’t have called.

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The Bride’s Kimono
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JAPANESE MYSTERY FICTION
The Kizuna Coast (Fall 2014)
The Convenience Boy and Other Stories of Japan
Shimura Trouble
Girl in a Box
The Typhoon Lover
The Pearl Diver
The Samurai’s Daughter
The Bride’s Kimono
The Floating Girl
The Flower Master
Zen Attitude
The Salaryman’s Wife

INDIA HISTORICAL FICTION
India Gray and More Stories of South Asia (December 2014)
The Ayah’s Tale
The Sleeping Dictionary