Fallen Angel (9781101578810) Page 8

  “There’s another one!” Coco exclaimed.

  “Another what?” Kenji asked, following her gaze toward an attractive woman at the buffet table who was solicitously filling a plate for a sixty-something man with a mustache.

  “Club Nova customer. Last night she dragged all the hosts away for a champagne call and she was there on Friday, too. I remember because I traded places with her in the elevator—she was leaving just as I was arriving.”

  “I suppose you don’t know her name, either?”

  “No, but—” She drained her glass. “—want me to ask her?”

  “No,” he said hastily. “That’s okay.” The last thing he needed was for Coco to sashay up to a society matron and quiz her in front of her husband about her relationship with a host.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the last well-wisher finally clear the receiving line. Yumi was excusing herself, grabbing a glass of champagne, and making a purposeful dash for the exit. Surely she’d be able to tell him the names of two guests she’d just met.

  “Coco, excuse me a minute. I’m going to find the men’s room.” He set his empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray and followed Yumi out. She maneuvered through a maze of night-draped jewelry cases and past a darkened restaurant into a bathroom at the hallway’s end.

  Where to wait for her? The jewelry department was too public. He stepped aside into the Tic-Toc Café’s shadowy waiting area. Yumi would have to pass him on her way back.

  Finally she emerged. God, she looked gorgeous tonight, like an exotic butterfly. Her hair was swept up in back, revealing the nape of her neck. A few tendrils escaped her chignon, curling down over the snowy undercollar of her kimono. Something about the deep purple of the silk made her skin glow, and the way she swayed as she walked in her zori sandals…

  “Yu-chan,” he called, stepping from the doorway, reverting to her childhood nickname.

  She turned, startled. “Ken-kun! You scared me.”

  “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  She hesitated, uncertain.

  “It’s about that case,” he said. “The one I was asking Coco about the other night.”

  “Oh.”

  Was that disappointment he heard in her voice? A spark of hope flared. The door to the women’s bathroom began to swing open and he grabbed her sleeve, pulling her into the darkened restaurant. Two women passed, chattering about the other guests.

  When they were gone, she distanced herself a little and looked at him.

  “I just need the names of two guests,” he said.

  “Which ones?”

  “One is wearing a sort of slinky red dress that’s a bit too tight on her…?”

  “You mean Miho Yamaguchi? Three years ago, she was Entrepreneur magazine’s Woman of the Year. She spun off the skincare division of her family’s cosmetics business and took it public. Why do you want to know about her?”

  “She’s a customer at that host club you were at with Coco. I’m looking for witnesses who might have seen a suspect hanging around outside Club Nova, waiting for the girl who fell down the stairs. You weren’t there Thursday night, were you?”

  “Absolutely not! Friday night was the first and only time I’ll ever visit a host club. And I was only there because I was worried about Coco.” Yumi’s gaze faltered. “I should be getting back.”

  “Wait, there’s one more woman I need to ask you about. She’s on the far side of thirty-five, long dark hair, and is here with a sixtyish short guy who has a little mustache like the Showa Emperor.”

  “That’s Mrs. Ono.” Yumi frowned. “She was there on Friday night, too. What was she doing at a host club? She’s married.”

  “Well, you were there and you’re…” He hated even saying the word. “Engaged.”

  Yumi’s eyes slid away. “I only went because of Coco. I think she’s getting too involved with one of the hosts.”

  “Really?” He smiled and bent down to whisper in her ear, “I’d hoped it was because you were having second thoughts about getting married.”

  Kenji had meant it as a joke, but Yumi suddenly looked at him with a face so stricken, he was taken aback. Her presence at her fiancé’s event had all the earmarks of a juggernaut hurtling toward the three cups of matrimonial sake, but maybe she really was having second thoughts. He peered into her face. She turned away.

  “Yu-chan…?”

  He reached for her, but she shrugged him off, turning her back.

  Kenji’s heart pounded. The battered cell-phone Daruma might be in a wish-granting mood after all. “Yumi…it’s not too late. If you really are having second thoughts…”

  Her silence was all the invitation he needed. Stepping toward her in the darkness, he pulled her into his arms. She resisted for a moment, then melted against him, her heart beating in time with his through the layers of costly silk. He felt her arms steal around him, the trailing butterfly sleeves enveloping him as she tilted her chin, her lips soft and ripe for the taking. His mouth sought hers and desire welled up like the champagne he tasted on her tongue.

  And then there were voices, right outside in the hallway. They froze. Kenji pulled Yumi into a booth in the darkest corner and they both held their breath. Two silhouettes appeared in the doorway, sneaking into the deserted café.

  “…see his face?” said a man’s delighted voice, in English. “I thought tonight was going to be a real bore, but that was totally worth the price of admission. Honestly, I’ve never seen anyone look quite so poleaxed.”

  “He did look surprised,” agreed the tall woman in spike heels.

  “And more than a little jealous,” added her companion. “He actually thought you were with me. On a date!” He laughed. “I can’t believe it’s never occurred to him that the reason I keep ducking his attempts to set me up with suitable girlfriends is that girls aren’t my type.”

  “Ichiro is plenty smart, but he has a hard time understanding that not everybody wants what he wants. What do you think of his girlfriend?”

  “You mean besides the fact that she looks exactly like you?”

  “You think so?”

  “Take her out of that kimono and he wouldn’t even have to close his eyes to pretend you’d never broken up.”

  The woman was silent. Her companion gave a soft snort of laughter. “Don’t tell me you’re sorry you ditched him for your career, Miss Three Promotions in Two Years.”

  “No. Of course not. But I have to admit, he looks good. Especially in that Brioni tuxedo.”

  “Oh, I agree. Ichiro’s not really my type, but there’s something about quality Italian formalwear…”

  “It’s too bad he’s getting married.” She sighed. “I could really use someone to keep my bed warm on these Tokyo stopovers.”

  “Don’t be so sure he wouldn’t take you up on it. Old Mitsu-boy comes from a long line of guys who’d have been letting down the side if they didn’t keep at least one mistress in addition to their wives.”

  “True,” she said. “After all, it’s just an arranged marriage, isn’t it?”

  Chapter 16

  Saturday, November 9

  10:00 P.M.

  Yumi

  “Promise me,” Kenji demanded, grabbing Yumi’s shoulders as she turned to flee after Ami and the cellist had finally wandered out to rejoin the party. She hung her head, refusing to look him in the eye.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said. “Don’t make me camp on your doorstep.”

  “Ken-kun…”

  “Shh. We’ll talk tomorrow, all right?”

  Finally she nodded. He let her go.

  Yumi stepped out the door, blinking in the bright light. Kenji. Ichiro. The ex-girlfriend who was planning to destroy her marriage before it even began. The o-miai process had seemed so straightforward, a deal made with all the cards on the table, approved by everyone involved. Ten minutes ago she’d been sure of her decision; now her body ached with what might have been. If Ami and the cellist hadn’t interrupted, she
’d still be in Kenji’s arms and they wouldn’t be discussing the weather.

  The temptation to ditch her fiancé and their families for the one person who desired her for herself alone was overwhelmingly powerful. Kenji wanted her. Even worse, he knew she wanted him. Had Ichiro only pursued her because she looked like his old girlfriend?

  In a daze, she walked back toward the gallery. She had to pull herself together. It would be a big mistake to let anyone guess what just happened in the deserted restaurant down the hall. She took a deep breath and smoothed the front of her kimono. Putting on a smile, she stepped back into the party.

  Coco pounced on her immediately. “Have you seen Kenji?” She frowned, two glasses of champagne in hand. “He went to the men’s room ages ago.”

  Yumi shook her head, weak-kneed with relief her friend hadn’t come looking for him.

  “Well,” Coco said, handing her one of the glasses. “Here. You can have his. Cheers.” She took a sip and looked around the room. “While I’m waiting for him, why don’t you introduce me to that woman in the red dress?” Coco began to tow Yumi toward Miho Yamaguchi, who was waiting for the bartender to exchange her empty glass for a full one.

  “Wait a minute, why do you want to meet her?”

  “Because she goes to Club Nova, too, and Kenji’s trying to find out if anybody who was there on Friday night saw some creep hanging around outside. Come on, let’s help him so he can forget about work and we can have some fun.”

  “Coco, I don’t think he needs any help doing his job. And this is no place to talk about host clubs—Yamaguchi-san will think—”

  “I’ll think what?” Yumi turned to find that Miho had overheard and had drifted over with a quizzical smile and a full glass of Taittinger. She looked from Yumi to Coco and back again.

  Yumi stammered, “Yamaguchi-san, allow me to introduce my friend, Coco Kawaguchi. Coco, this is Miho Yamaguchi.”

  Coco’s eyes widened. “The Miho Yamaguchi?”

  The woman in red’s expression suddenly became guarded.

  “Your company makes Silky Smooth, right? I use Silky Smooth by the liter!”

  Miho relaxed. “Oh. Pleased to meet you,” she said, giving Coco a slight bow. Then she peered at her more closely. “You look familiar, but I can’t quite…?”

  “We haven’t met, but we actually see each other quite often. At Club Nova.”

  “Ah.” Not admitting it, but not hiding it either, Miho sipped her champagne.

  “Weren’t you there last Friday night?” Coco persisted.

  She raised one overtweezed eyebrow. “Mmm. Why?”

  “Apparently one of the other customers had a terrible accident when she got home.”

  “Really? Who?”

  “I forget her name, but I’m sure you’ve seen her. She’s a hostess, not too tall, little mole on her chin, always held her hand over her mouth when she laughed? She was one of Hoshi’s regulars.”

  “Is she all right?”

  “No. She’s dead.”

  Miho recoiled. “That’s awful. What happened?”

  “She fell down some stairs. My friend Detective Nakamura doesn’t think it was an accident.”

  A line of concern appeared between Miho’s brows. “That boyfriend of yours is a policeman?”

  Coco nodded, pleased they’d been mistaken for a couple. “He thinks she was being stalked, and the creep might have been hanging around the club, waiting for her to leave. Were you still there at closing time? Did you see anybody suspicious outside when you left?”

  Miho thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Does he really think someone killed her? A fall down the stairs sounds like an accident to me.”

  “He said they have evidence someone drank tea with her at her apartment after she got home. He thinks that whoever it was might have pushed her.”

  “What kind of evidence?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Miho digested this information and said, “Well, tell him good luck. I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful. It was a pleasure to meet you,” she said, bowing and taking her leave.

  “Oh my God,” Coco whispered, dragging Yumi safely out of earshot. “I didn’t recognize her. She used to have longer hair, and she’s put on a few kilos. She doesn’t look anything like her pictures from a year ago. Do you think she had surgery?”

  “You read Entrepreneur magazine?”

  “No, Trashtalk. At the hairdresser’s.”

  “They cover business news in Trashtalk?”

  “No, that’s not why she was in it. She was engaged to that guy who started Connect, the Internet company. He stood her up practically at the altar, ran off with that girl who became famous for posting videos of herself ambushing celebrities. After he was on the cover of J@pan Inc., she targeted him and the next thing you know, paparazzi snaps of Miss Ambush and Mr. Connect all over the net, looking very friendly in Bali.”

  “Didn’t Connect flame out pretty spectacularly?”

  “Yeah, well, Yamaguchi-san’s father wasn’t too pleased that his daughter had been publicly humiliated like that. Clearly, he’s got more pull with Tokyo bankers than her ex-boyfriend.” Coco took another sip of champagne. Looking around, she spotted Kenji in the doorway, scanning the crowd. She waved, but his attention was focused elsewhere. He made his way toward Mrs. Ono.

  Coco’s face settled into a pout. “I guess he’s still working.” Then she brightened. “But we aren’t. Come on girl, bottoms up.”

  Yumi smiled, pushing aside her troubled thoughts. Coco had her faults, but nobody was better at living in the moment. Together they tipped the last of the champagne down their throats.

  “That’s just for starters,” Coco announced firmly, relieving Yumi of her empty glass and looking around for a waiter.

  Chapter 17

  Saturday, November 9

  11:00 P.M.

  Kenji

  Guests from the designer event were beginning to trickle out the tall glass doors onto the street, looking for their drivers or stepping to the curb to hail a cab. Kenji stood off to the side, having sent a disappointed Coco home on her own so he could question Miho Yamaguchi before she left.

  Mrs. Ono had refused to talk to him. He’d approached her when her husband trotted off to the men’s room, but she denied being at Club Nova, dismissing him icily before her spouse returned. Since Kenji wasn’t authorized to conduct an investigation, all he could do was apologize and retreat.

  Ichiro’s old girlfriend came down the escalator with her escort, laughing as they pushed open the front doors. It was astonishing—she really did look like Yumi. Kenji grinned. What had seemed at first like incredibly bad luck turned out to be key that would free Yumi from her engagement to that pompous Mitsuyama chōnan. After hearing she was just a substitute for the look-alike girlfriend who’d dumped him, Kenji was confident the girl he’d known since third grade would never settle for being second choice. Now that Kenji knew this whole charade was just an arranged marriage, he was sure she wouldn’t be too sorry to get out of it. Thank you, Daruma-san.

  Tomorrow he’d suggest they meet somewhere they could be alone and wouldn’t be interrupted. After she dumped Ichiro, they’d convince her parents it was all for the best. Even though he wasn’t from an old, rich family, he had graduated from the top Imperial university. He’d take the Assistant Inspector’s Exam next May, and this time next year—toss salt—he’d be working downtown at headquarters, a member of the First Investigative Division. If he played his cards right, he’d eventually climb to a very respectable job in the National Police Administration, a bureaucratic plum that rivaled a career as a high-level corporate executive.

  The doors opened and Miho Yamaguchi emerged with an elderly couple, steadying the man’s elbow as he limped toward the curb. The old folks must be her parents—she’d inherited her father’s square build. She stepped aside to phone their driver.

  “Yamaguchi-san?” he murmured in her ear, holding his police ID in his palm so sh
e could see it. “May I have a word with you, please?”

  She glanced at the ID, then at Kenji’s face. “Give me a minute to see my parents off, Detective.” Returning to the old couple, she waited as a black Mercedes glided to the curb and the driver stepped out to open the back door. After settling them into the backseat, she bowed as the car pulled away.

  “What’s this about?” she asked, returning to Kenji and pulling her wrap up over her bare shoulders.

  “I understand you’re a regular at Club Nova.”

  “And what if I am?” Drawing a Cabin Menthol from the pack in her purse with manicured red nails, she flicked her lighter.

  “I’m interested in last Friday night,” he persisted. “Do you know a host named Hoshi?”

  Smoke drifted from between her parted lips. “Yes. Why?”

  “Do you know what time he went home that night?”

  “Must have been around one.”

  “Did you see him walk out with another customer before you left? A woman named Cherry Endo?”

  “Who’s she?”

  “She worked as a hostess. Long, curly, bleached hair? Little mole on her chin? Wearing a short white dress, gold shoes, cherry earrings?”

  “Oh, her. I remember them passing my table on their way to the elevator, shortly before I went home.” The end of her cigarette glowed as she inhaled. “Why?”

  “She had an accident.”

  “At the club?”

  “No, later.”

  Miho gave him a speculative look. “How come the police are taking the trouble to follow me to a party to ask about an accident? Is Hoshi in some kind of trouble?”

  “No, I’m just verifying some things he told us, that’s all.” Over Miho Yamaguchi’s shoulder, Kenji saw Mr. and Mrs. Ono get in line for a taxi. Mrs. Ono glanced at them curiously.

  “So, Hoshi took Miss Endo down to her cab before you left,” he continued. “Did you see him come back in after he saw her off?”