Chapter 7
It’s dark outside now. I close the shades in Uncle Tony’s dining room. William’s shared chart is open on the laptop Takashi gave me, but it provides no answers. Takashi and Uncle Tony have what is a called a classic Upper West Side apartment bought years ago when the West Side was more affordable and filled with artists and intellectuals. The separate dining room follows Takashi’s aesthetic taste. Other than the glass dining table and chairs, a tall floor vase with quince branches commands one corner. Japanese calligraphy art hangs on the wall. It’s as minimalist as possible.
The familiar squeaky rolling wheels echoing in the hallway grows closer. It’s bad if they’re bringing out the tea trolley. Uncle Tony lived in London for a few years, working in the West End, and became a firm believer that tea can cure anything. And then he found the tea trolley in an antique shop upstate. It is actually lovely—and very useful—not just for tea, but dinners in front of the TV and breakfast in bed. Takashi is also a huge tea drinker. Tea is like wine in Japan, with regional differences.
Takashi wheels in the trolley with dinnerware and a bag of take-out Chinese food. He opens up the pagoda boxes and plastic containers, placing serving spoons in each. A short bustle of activity erupts as we each take a plate, pour a cup of green tea, and divvy up the food.
“What have we got?” I take a bite of my egg roll.
William shows us the suspects and the analysis so far on his shared spreadsheet. “We’ve got a lot of people who need money, but not enough to steal the painting. The painting went out either via your sister, Vinnie, or the catering team.”
“And my sister has her own independent tie to the catering team,” I say. “But I don’t think she’d steal my painting. Let’s add a column for those who use Kimberly’s Catering.”
“Vinnie has also used Kimberly’s Catering.” Takashi points to Vinnie on the spreadsheet.
“And Edmund.” William types in the additional information. “I also did some Internet research, and Vinnie didn’t pay his taxes the last quarter.”
“You found that out? Wow.” I put an X under Vinnie for motive in our shared spreadsheet. William’s accounting acumen is useful.
“It’s publicly available.” William shows me his screenshot of the database.
“Even though I dislike Vinnie, given that he would get a sales commission, it doesn’t seem worth the risk to steal it.” Takashi sips his tea. “I walked around our block earlier to see if any additional security cameras would give us some videos of any action on the street after the party, but I didn’t see any.”
“We’ve also got Edmund’s suggestion that we shouldn’t focus on the party—that it could have been another time.” My moo shu pork pancake is crunchy and sweet, although eating it by hand is not the most elegant look, as some fillings fall out onto my plate.
“The police did ask when we last saw it,” Takashi says. “I don’t think they’ve narrowed it down to just the party.”
“And when was that?”
“I wrapped it up and put it in the closet on Thursday. I thought it would be safer there. I worked from home on Friday, but I did leave the house to pick out flowers. Maria cleaned the apartment in preparation. Most everything else was delivered. And we went out to dinner on Friday night.”
“But even if it wasn’t stolen at the party, it would still have to have been someone who knows the value of the Kimimoto,” I say.
William creates a column for Knows Value in our shared spreadsheet and puts an X next to Annabelle, Edmund, and Vinnie.
“Unless you think you discussed it anywhere else, Takashi? And how did the thief know it was in the closet?” I add a Closet Knowledge column to our shared spreadsheet.
“Good point.” William nods. “This also seems planned, unless Annabelle just grabbed them and left.”
“It’s not Annabelle,” I say.
“We can’t dismiss that possibility yet,” William says.
“Maria asked on Friday where they were, and I said we’d put them in the closet,” Takashi says. “But she only left with a small garbage bag per the security footage.” We’ve looked at the footage for Thursday and nothing went out then. After the party, the cleaners took out a clear bag of bottles and one small bag of garbage.
“Has Vinnie publicized the sale yet?” William asks.
“He told some people. I told the real estate agent upstate, but other than that, I haven’t talked about how we’re going to sell the Kimimoto to buy the house. I’ve been a bit torn about selling it. Because I do love the painting. But not as much as the cottage,” Takashi says.
They’ve had their eye on this cottage for years, but the older woman who owned it didn’t want to sell it. They couldn’t blame her. But a few months ago, she decided to move to Florida to be with her daughter, and she agreed to sell it to them. She was happy to sell it to someone who loved the cottage as much as she did.
“Did you tell Vinnie the Kimimoto was stolen?” I ask.
“Yes, I told him while the police were here so they could hear his reaction,” Takashi says.
“He sounded surprised,” William says.
“But not as shocked as I would’ve expected.” Takashi rubs his forehead. He picks up a piece of steamed broccoli with his chopsticks.
“So we should interview him,” I say. “And we should interview the waitstaff. I should see if I can get a job with them.”
William raises an eyebrow. “Not a bad idea. But do you have a chance to talk when you’re working a party?”
“Not so much, but during the setup and the cleanup, yes. I usually bond with whomever I’m working with.” Waitressing at parties is fun—unless the guests are obnoxious. But otherwise, I get to experience the energy of the party while making new friends with the other servers and getting paid.
“Are you going to be able to pretend to bond with someone who might have stolen your painting?” Takashi asks.
“There is that,” I say. “But I can keep an open mind.”
Takashi glances at me and harrumphs. I smile sweetly back.
“Well, then probably the best approach is for me to throw a party, hire Star Catering, and request you and the other two,” William says.
“You would do that?” I ask.
“I’ll put anything of any value in storage,” he says dryly.
“What reason will you give for throwing a party?”
“I need a reason? I haven’t seen my friends in a while. That’s good enough.”
“Do you throw parties periodically?”
William looks at me like I’m some alien being. “Yes.”
“Vinnie knew we’d wrapped up the Kimimoto,” Takashi says. “We called him on Friday to say we’d wrapped it up and would bring it down.”
I tell them about my interview with Officer Johnson, including that despite my having a financial motive, he didn’t seem to think it was me. And that he asked who disliked me because he thought the crime was personal.
“Really, by the end of the interview, I felt like I had a lot of people who had motives to steal my painting, namely Annabelle and Rex.”
“Because he was upset over your breakup?” William asks. “He seemed pretty keen on you at the last party.”
“Not the breakup,” I say. “But more that he wants me to concentrate full time on the band.”
“It’s not Rex,” Takashi says. “He wants to get back together with you. You guys closed down the party with your last duet.”
I half-smile. “You and Uncle Tony have a soft spot for him.”
“We felt the same way after our interview. Officer Johnson also asked who disliked us.” Takashi winces. “Everybody Tony knows needs money. I mean, he’s in the arts in New York City. And my friends are mostly ex-Homeland Security cybersecurity guys. We’re a scrappy bunch, but we’re honest. We’ve got each other’s backs. That’s one of the things I love about our community. We’re there for each other, lifting each other up.”
We’re all silent. The scroll on the wall shows a flock of birds flying over a foggy Lake Kawaguchi, a traditional building clearly defined in the background. The possibility of clarity appears after a hazy start.
“What’s Edmund’s deal?” William asks.
“He’s the only one who doesn’t need money, given that he inherited his father’s wealth,” I say.
“He’s close to Annabelle?”
“He’s always been in love with Annabelle.”
“And yet he looked surprised when she said he’d brought framed photos for her.”
“I thought the same thing,” I say excitedly. “And he didn’t arrive with framed photos.”
“And he was very curious about the security footage. Did Annabelle reject him?”
“Yes.”
William makes some notes on the spreadsheet. “We’ve got Vinnie and Annabelle with a money motive; Rex with a foil-career motive; Annabelle, Vinnie, and the catering staff with the means of removal; Annabelle, Vinnie, and Edmund with potential ties to the catering staff. And both Vinnie and Mary knew the paintings were in the closet.”
“It doesn’t make me happy to see Annabelle with both means and motive. We should talk to Vinnie. He’s got motive, knowledge, and potentially means.” I gather the dishes and empty food containers, piling them on the tea trolley. “What did Ryan say when you talked to him?”
“He was with my other friends for most of the night. They spent the evening catching up. I was also with them when I wasn’t attending to hosting duties. I did chat with Diane because she always makes me laugh,” Takashi says. “But Ryan didn’t notice anything particularly unusual among the other guests. He said Vinnie left the room when we were all singing karaoke and that Vinnie was pretty drunk and seemed to go to the bathroom a lot. By that time, it was down to you, Rex, Vinnie, Ryan, Diane, Edmund, Annabelle, Tony, and me. We were able to visualize where everyone was sitting, except Vinnie. The catering staff was cleaning up in the kitchen. But Vinnie didn’t actually leave until the end.”
“That’s true. Vinnie didn’t sing one song. And Edmund never sings.” I push the trolley out of the room, leaning my back against the door to open it.
William gets up and rummages in his backpack. “I forgot to give you Obaachan’s gift earlier.” He hands Takashi green tea tins with both hands. “She sends the green tea that you love.”
“Aw, my favorite.” Takashi bows slightly. “I always stock up when I visit Tokyo.”
William gives a lower deferential bow back.
“Is she still matchmaking?” Takashi asks.
I maneuver the trolley out of the room but leave the door slightly open to listen in.
“Yes, but I told her that Kiyoko said I’m too taikutsu for her,” William says.
I wish my Japanese were better. I know some words from hanging out with Takashi, but clearly, I need to brush up.
“She did not,” Takashi says.
“Not in so many words, but …”
“But?” Takashi asks.
I peer around the door to see William raise his eyebrow and shrug.
Takashi nods and pours some more tea. “We could have a dinner and show her you’re not.”
William half-smiles. “I’d rather not repeat that rejection.”
The door closes softly behind me. Google translates taikutsu as boring. He doesn’t seem boring to me. Not anymore.
The kitchen is spotless. I shake my head as I scrub the dishes clean. William’s dating life should be of no interest to me. Except it’s important to know your detecting partner’s strengths and weaknesses. I put the last plate into the drying rack and return to the dining room.
“Vinnie just called. The police interviewed him,” Takashi says. “He seemed depressed. He left for his country house.”
“Then we can’t just go over and talk to him,” I say.
“We can drive up there tomorrow,” William says.
“I told Officer Johnson I wouldn’t interview people for another day—unless he’s already talked to them,” I say. “Vinnie is now fair game.”
“He got you to agree to that?” William asks.
I look at him, affronted. “I’m very reasonable. Especially since we have a backup plan. I called Star Catering and asked to be put back on the available waitstaff. The only issue is that I’m performing Thursday and Friday of this week, so if we’re going to do it this week, it has to be Saturday or Monday. If they’re actors, Monday is the most likely day for them to be free.”
I can’t believe he’s actually willing to do this.
“I’ll call Star Catering right now.” William gets up from the table and stands by the windows, making the call. He requests me, Miju, and Lena for this Monday. They’re not available. He requests any Monday. They’re available next Monday. He turns to give me a thumbs-up. “Now to invite some friends.”
Star Catering texts me that I have a job next Monday. I confirm yes.
Takashi raises a fist. “Faito!”
“Five weeks is not a long time in the scheme of things, Miranda, but it may be enough. In cybersecurity, we often use decoys. We call them honeypots; we create these fictitious machines to lure attackers,” Takashi says. “Is there another painting that can serve as a decoy? Can you say that another painting works for the Vertex Art Exhibit? That may cause the person to do something revealing.”
“I’m not sure I want the person to hurt me again. And I can’t think of another painting I could credibly use for the Vertex Art Exhibit. But it’s a good idea. I’ll try to think of one. Maybe I can just say that the contrast between Friends and Going for It 10:50 is enough.”
“I’ll tell Tony to tell the theater crew that we can sell a different painting.” Takashi surveys their collection of paintings. “One I don’t mind losing.”
William and I thank Takashi for dinner and leave his apartment. Outside, the rain is pouring down. We open the umbrella borrowed from Takashi. William holds it over both of us as we amble down the block toward my brownstone apartment, trying to keep our distance within the umbrella-prescribed circle.
“You’re getting wet,” I say. “You should hold it over yourself.” I stand closer to William so the umbrella covers more of both of us. Our arms touch. The city smells of wet rain, refreshed and clean, a new beginning.
The red traffic lights shimmer in the downpour. The wheels of passing cars make slapping sounds as they drive through the puddles. We both walk slowly.
“Where do you live?” I ask.
“Tribeca,” he says.
I skirt around a pool of water and bump lightly into William. Our glances meet. We both look away. I concentrate on avoiding puddles.
“Hmm … I don’t think I’m going to sleep tonight.” I sigh. “I have to think about who hates me enough to sabotage my career and my uncle’s dreams.”
“What do you usually do when you can’t sleep?”
“Paint. My art studio is in our living room. But I’m too depressed to paint now. I’m even low on the paint colors I feel. Although at least I’d have a title: Devastated 11 p.m.”
“What paint colors do you feel now?”
“Black, indigo, sepia, and Payne’s grey.”
“Those are very different colors and feelings from High Tide 4:30 and Playing Around 1:30.”
I glance at him. “Yes.” A frisson of awareness skitters through me—of him, so close.
He reaches out his hand, then pulls back. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”
“Are you sure you can take off?”
“That’s the benefit of running my own business,” he says. “I’m the boss.”
I’m stuck with him. My heart doesn’t sink at the thought.
We reach the door to my building. Neither of us says anything. The wind rustles the tree branches above, and some loud splats hit our umbrella cover. I should go. I wave goodbye and enter my building.
Tessa is asleep. I wash my hands off in our small kitchen. Some brushes dry in a glass jam jar by the sink. That walk with William was … fluttery. I shake my head and open up my laptop to look for more art show possibilities.
The doorbell rings. The video camera monitor of the foyer shows William standing outside. I run down the stairs and open the front door.
The torchiere by our front door casts a warm circle of light. The smell of light rain and fresh laundry from the dryer that vents out the front of our building fills the air.
“Did you forget something?” I ask.
“No, I just popped by an art store and bought you some paints.” He hands me a bag.
I stare at him in shock.
He quirks an eyebrow.
“Thank you,” I manage to say.
“I have a feeling that a well-rested Miranda will be a better Watson.”
“Watson? Hey, I thought I was Sherlock.”
He smiles slightly. “We’ll see. See you tomorrow.”
He turns and leaves. I stand there holding a paper bag of paints, smiling.