Free Strawberry Yellow by Naomi Hirahara Page A

difference from the harsh, bare fluorescent bulbs at the Sugarberry offices. The floors were made of bamboo. Mas detected a scent of something musky emanating from a pot on the receptionist’s desk.
    While the receptionist was finishing up a phone call, Mas took a look at a framed magazine article on the wall. “High-Tech Whiz Sets His Next Sights on Berries,” the headline read. Within the story was a photograph of a pasty-faced young man with long, stringy hair.
    As Mas continued to wait, Oily walked into the lobby. He was wearing a polo shirt and khaki pants. “Mas, what are you doing here? Thought you were spying on Sugarberry.”
    Minnie must have told him, Mas figured. “Lookin’ for Billy.”
    Oily smiled, but somehow it looked to Mas like there was no genuine feeling behind it. “Sure thing. I’ll take you to his office.”
    They went through a door in back of the receptionist area and walked down a narrow hall that also had a stylishbamboo floor. They finally came to a door with a sign that said “Research and Development.”
    “He’s in there,” Oily said, turning as if to leave.
    “How about you?” Mas had expected Oily to come with him.
    “I can see that this is family business. Best if I leave it to you two to hash it out.”
    Mas opened the door and found himself in a white room, one side lined with desks. On the other were industrial refrigerators and a table with a microscope and blender. On the wall between the two sides was a long whiteboard covered with writing arranged in charts that looked like family trees.
    Billy was sitting at one of the desks, speaking to someone whose back was turned to Mas. As soon as Mas walked in, Billy rose from his chair. “Mas.”
    Shug’s son did brief introductions. “This is the owner of Everbears, Clay Gorman. Clay, this is Mas Arai. My father’s relative. He’s in town for the funeral.”
    Clay Gorman was wearing a long-sleeve gray t-shirt. He looked like the delivery boy instead of the boss. Clay didn’t bother to extend his hand, so Mas didn’t offer his. Instead, he slightly bowed his head, as if Mas was straight from Japan.
    “So we’re on the same page on this, right, Billy?” Clay said, completing his conversation. Mas narrowed his eyes. The skinny neck and shoulders, Mas had seen those before. The mourner at Shug’s funeral who was right in front of Mas at the incense line.
    Clay awkwardly bowed again and left the room.
    “Sorry, he’s got some social issues,” Billy explained. “Livedin Tokyo for a while and is crazy about things Japanese, anime, go .”
    Mas nodded. Oh, the boy was one of those. Likes to talk to computers and robots more than human beings. Mas continued to take in everything in the room. On Billy’s desk sat about a hundred strawberries on a white cutting board, all cut in half. Each berry was tagged with a number and name. “Whatchu doin’?”
    Billy quickly blocked Mas’s view of the board of strawberries. Strange.
    “I thought you were working at Sugarberry.”
    “I was,” Mas said. “Been meeting some omoshiroi people. Like dis woman Rosa.” Mas didn’t like her, but he could honestly say that she was interesting.
    “Rosa Ibarra?” Billy’s face turned dark. “I think she was the one who hurt Laila.”
    Mas shuffled in his workboots. Yet she was saying precisely the same thing about Billy.
    Billy folded his arms. “Sometimes I thought that she was in love with Laila. Ever since we’ve been together, Rosa made it her mission to go after me and my family.”
    “She say you and Laila kenka ,” Mas said, and then realizing that Billy might not understand, he repeated himself in English. “You fight.”
    “Yeah, we fought. Especially recently.”
    “You fight dat night.” The night Laila was killed.
    Billy sat back at his desk, clearing the way for Mas to see his severed strawberries. “She told me she’d seen my father before he died. He accused her of stealing his computer, of attempting to get