Free The Ninja's Daughter by Susan Spann Page A

Gato’s presence made his nose turn red and his eyes water. Even so, the priest allowed the cat to stay. He seemed to like her, despite the discomfort she caused him.
    â€œDid Jiro meet you as he promised?” Father Mateo asked.
    Hiro nodded. His mouth was full of rice.
    â€œI’m surprised,” the Jesuit said, “but at least we know he’s innocent.”
    Hiro swallowed. “Not at all. Running would prove he had something to hide. Talking gives him a chance to lie.”
    â€œOr tell the truth.” Father Mateo lifted the steaming kettle off its chain and poured hot water into the teapot. “What did he tell you about the coin?”
    â€œNothing new.” Hiro watched a tendril of scented steam rise up from the pot. “He claimed he hadn’t seen it before and said he wouldn’t have given it to a girl.”
    â€œSeems reasonable,” the Jesuit said. “A golden coin is a rich man’s bauble. To a poor man, it’s a meal.”
    â€œIf true, it suggests the girl had another patron,” Hiro said, “or perhaps a client.”
    Father Mateo frowned at the implication—that Emi worked as a prostitute. “Or else that Satsu is correct, and the killer left the coin as a warning.”
    â€œPossibly,” Hiro said, “though I find the other options more compelling. Still, I believe she knew her killer. She wouldn’t let a stranger close enough to put a rope around her neck.”
    â€œThat much matches Jiro’s story.” Father Mateo poured Hiro’s tea and then his own. “He claimed he fell asleep on the bank and woke up to find Emi dead beside him. She wouldn’t go willingly with a stranger, and even a man in a drunken slumber would have heard her scream.”
    â€œWhy would the killer drag her back to Jiro?” Hiro asked. “No killer strangles a girl in the open, where passersby could see. Few enough would risk returning her to a spot so near the path.”
    â€œIt seems to me the killer wanted Jiro to take the blame,” the Jesuit said.
    â€œOr Jiro is the killer,” Hiro countered. “He might have dragged the body up the bank to throw suspicion off himself.”
    â€œWhy would Jiro kill a girl and then lie down to sleep beside her body?” Father Mateo asked.
    â€œWe don’t know that he did,” Hiro said. “We have only his word that he fell asleep at all.”
    â€œThis is impossible,” Father Mateo said. “We don’t even know where to start with a list of suspects.”
    â€œWe have Jiro,” Hiro said, “and Emi’s sister, Chou, can tell us more about the people Emi knew.”
    Father Mateo sipped his tea. “She didn’t say much this afternoon.”
    â€œShe wouldn’t, in front of her parents.” Hiro raised his teacup and inhaled the fragrant steam. He sipped and paused to enjoy the delicate flavor of the tea.
    Muffled barking outside the house announced the approach of someone in the street. Hiro loathed the neighbor’s Akita, but, at least in this, the dog was useful.
    The front door creaked, and heavy footsteps thumped across the entry.
    â€œGood evening, Luis,” Hiro said without turning.
    â€œHow do you always know it’s me?” The merchant entered the common room.
    â€œThe rest of us are home already,” Father Mateo said.
    Hiro would have answered the question differently, but let it pass. Father Mateo wouldn’t approve of him saying Luis had the grace of a drunken ox.
    Luis leaned over Father Mateo’s shoulder to inspect the tray of snacks. He straightened with an indignant sniff. “Rice balls again. I should have known. This country needs some decent food, like bread, and meat, and Portuguese wine.”
    Hiro considered the merchant’s rounded belly and puffy face. For all Luis’s complaining, the Japanese diet hadn’t harmed his girth.
    â€œI ate near the warehouse