Free The Salaryman's Wife by Sujata Massey Page B

mirror.
    “He hates me.” Haltingly, I told the details of how Nakamura had confronted me outside the minshuku bathroom and practically accused me of murdering his wife.
    “You’re overreacting. But what about your chums Mr. and Mrs. Crime? The husband’s an engineer, which he means he’s rather adept at mechanical things. If he could open your souvenir box, he could surely tamper with your heater and trip the right fuse.”
    “Taro Ikeda is my friend,” I protested, thinking uneasily of his and Yuki’s unexplained absence during the afternoon.
    “He’s mad for murder and mayhem! Mrs. Chapman told me how he got his thrills in the torture chamber. Sometimes, there’s a thin line between fantasy and action.”
    “What’s your excuse? You vanished after dinner.”
    “Like I told you, I was upstairs working. Ask Yamamoto, he’ll vouch for me.” Hugh paused. “Surely you don’t think I fixed the gas to drive you into my bedroom?”
    “Don’t be an idiot.” Upset at his accurate guess, there was nothing for me to do but leave.
    Even after a long, hot shower I had a headache, and the smell of gas hung heavy in my memory. I shut the window in my cold room and began searching for aspirin. A tiny enameled pillbox had spilled open in my backpack, and the business cards and receipts in another pocket were crumpled and out of order. My natural tendency toward disorder appeared to be spiraling.
    I wasn’t that messy, I thought, going over to my duffel bag. Unzipping it, my fears were confirmed. Someone had tossed everything about and even rifled through the pages of the kanji dictionary. My passport and money were still intact, which made me relieved until I began wondering what the intruder had wanted. When had he or she been in the room? After the accident .
    Not bothering to pour myself water, I swallowed the aspirin and went downstairs.
    “Sleep well? You’re down late today,” Mrs. Chapman commented when I dragged myself to the table.
    “Not really. There was a problem with my gas heater, and I was overcome by some fumes. I suppose it was a malfunction, so I’m going to see if I can get it replaced,” I said, watching people’s faces.
    “Gas heaters are extremely safe—in fact, there’s an automatic shut-off bar in the case of earthquake. You must have made a mistake, Rei-san,” Taro said sternly.
    “You sure you want to stay on here, honey? For what we’re paying, you’d expect central heating!” Mrs. Chapman was outraged.
    “Actually I don’t expect it,” I said, sensing more disapproval from Yuki and Taro. “I don’t expect this to be a little America.”
    “Well, I’ve done all I can with no heat and the rabbit diet.” Mrs. Chapman peered into her bowl of miso soup and put the lid back on. “I’ll get on to Singapore and some real food, if I can get a flight out today.”
    “Today? You need to talk to a travel agent because it’s the middle of the holiday season! What are you going to do in Osaka if there’s no connecting flight?” I had a terrible vision of her with a pile of luggage and no one to help.
    She refused all logical arguments, though, and wound up having Taro call an agent. No space, as I’d expected. Since she was so sulky, Taro helped book her on a day tour of the Alps with an English-speaking guide. I agreed to take her to Alpenhof myself to meet the bus.
    Half an hour later, as I slipped into my boots at the minshuku entrance, Mrs. Yogetsu marched up to me.
    “You made a lot of noise last night and tore the shoji paper over your window.” Her voice was as frigid as the wind that had blown through it.
    “That’s because the heater in my room broke. I could have died from gas poisoning!”
    “If you don’t know how to use a heater, please ask for help.”
    She had a lot of nerve to treat me like a foreigner, given all her lectures to me were in Japanese. I figured the only way to fight back would be to give her a taste of my American mother’s haughtiness.