You’re very shaken up, Neil. Maybe you’re imagining things?” Nakamura said, stuffing another of Angel’s amazing goat cheese canapés into his mouth. “These are so good they should be illegal!” Nakamura said.
“They probably are,” Jones muttered.
“I’m telling you there were POMEGRANATES!” yelled Neil. Everyone turned toward him. He lowered his voice to the level of a small outboard motor. “I’m not deluded! Larry sent me a clue. He’s alive!”
A few of the mourners next to them shook their heads and walked away from Neil and his friends.
Neil heard one of them whisper, “Poor boy, so sad.”
Neil hung his head and sighed.
Isabella patted his hand gently. “Let’s maybe talk about this later, Neil. Let people, let his parents, say good-bye to Larry today.”
“What I’m saying is that they don’t have to. I just need to figure out the simplest way to tell them,” Neil said. He was about to continue when he looked up and caught the look in Isabella’s eye. It was her think for a second before you talk look. Why was she giving him that look? What was he missing?
He closed his mouth and thought. If Larry were alive, why didn’t he just call? Why hide a clue? Was Neil deluded? He kept his mouth shut and tried to think of an answer while Larry’s strange wake continued all around them.
Isabella, Jones, Nakamura, and Neil were standing by the statue of St. Lawrence. The craziness had continued as they’d all left the church. Everyone was given a me-shirt with a picture of Larry on the inside, over the heart. Except for Neil. His picture of Larry was over his stomach. “He said it seemed more appropriate,” Father Costello had explained.
Larry’s motorcycle buddies had been waiting on the street and greeted everyone leaving the church with a twenty-one-muffler salute. Once the cloud of exhaust dissipated, Angel had lifted the veil on tables of amazing food—all of it favorites of Larry, including French fries, lamb burgers, stuffed pasta, stuffed olives, and stuffed pies. Soon, everyone was stuffed. Then there was dessert, a cake in the shape of a coffee mug . . . and lots of coffee. Anyone walking by was invited and soon the party was spilling down the entire block.
Neil had wondered why Gary hadn’t been at the service, but it turned out that Angel had asked him to help out with the food. Neil would occasionally see him biking through the crowd with a tray of hors d’oeuvres balanced on his handlebars.
Neil leaned in close to his friends and whispered, “I’m not deluded! I’m telling you that the clue is one only Larry and I would recognize.”
“Why hide a clue? Why make everyone think he’s dead?” Jones said. “Seems kind of cruel. Larry’s an idiot—was an idiot—but he wasn’t cruel.” Neil had to admit Jones had a point (and he certainly knew all about cruel).
“I don’t know for sure,” Neil said, thinking while tapping his fingers against the statue. “He’s alive . . . but maybe there’s some reason why he can’t contact us directly. I just have to figure out what that reason is.”
“We want to believe you,” Isabella said quietly. “We all want Larry to be alive.”
Nakamura signaled for Gary to deliver more Thai chicken spring rolls. “Maybe he left instructions for Hiro’s sister to change The Chef on the day of his funeral. You know, as a kind of a final gift to you.” Gary arrived and Nakamura grabbed a plateful of food. “Neil, you okay?”
Nakamura’s suggestion made Neil’s head swim. He hadn’t thought of that possibility. His mind raced to deal with it. No. Nakamura had to be wrong. But why? It was like being in the kitchen and needing one unknown ingredient for a perfect stew . . . searching your brain to figure out the perfect combination that would make the dish make sense. And then, just like that, Neil had his answer.
“No. Wait a minute. Larry left the instructions for this funeral service ages ago, in case he died sometime. If he’d left instructions for Koko to change the website . . . then he would have known ahead of time he was going to die in Japan. He didn’t know he was going to die. They were only going sightseeing, for crying out loud.” Neil was convinced he was right. Whether he’d convinced the others was another question.
The skeptical look on Nakamura’s face suggested he hadn’t, at least not one hundred percent.
“Okay. Listen, Nose. I’ll check it out, okay? I promise. If the police find any evidence that Larry is alive, I’ll let you know.”
Neil shook his head, his mind still whirling. “No. Bad idea. You can’t contact the police, at least not in Japan.”
“What? Why not?”
“Larry sent a clue that only I would recognize. If he’d wanted to tip off the police, he’d have sent them a message. That means secrecy, for some reason, is important. We can’t risk tipping anybody off. If the police start asking questions . . .”
“I find it interesting that any idea that might disprove your theory is a bad idea,” Jones said. Nakamura nodded.
“Fine. But I have an idea on how I can perfectly test my theory,” Neil said, the ideas now coming fast and furious. “I’ll investigate myself. Larry sent me a clue because he wants me to look for him.”
“Oh, so it’s okay if you ask questions but not the police? Nothing suspicious about a teenage redheaded chef poking his nose around,” Nakamura said sarcastically. But the fact that he was willing to use that tone of voice suggested to Neil that Nakamura was starting to take him seriously. “Do you mind telling me just how you plan to investigate?”
“I’m going to Japan,” Neil said firmly.
“Neil, you can’t be serious,” Isabella said.
Neil narrowed his eyes and stared across the church lawn to where Angel and Gary were serving dessert. “I’m absolutely serious.” He left his friends and marched over to the food table, pushing through crowds of black-clad mourners and leather-clad motorcyclists.
Isabella caught up with him after a few steps. “Neil. How can you go to Japan? If you start looking for Larry, you’ll be tipping people off just as much as the police.”
Neil kept walking. “If I were going to look for him you’d be right,” he said. “I’m going to arrange a four-star cover story.”
“What does that mean?”
“Let’s find out.”
Neil reached the food table. Angel was standing on the other side, chopping some fresh broccoli into bite-size pieces.
Neil placed both hands on top of the table, leaned across, and spoke in a low voice.
“Angel. I need your help.”
“What kind of help?” Angel asked, eyeing Neil suspiciously.
“I think Larry is still alive. He sent me a clue.”
Angel nodded. He knew Neil, and he knew when Neil was convinced of something. “I can see you are serious.”
“Yes. Bottom line . . . I need to go to Japan.”
“Okay . . .” Angel cocked his head and looked at Neil even more suspiciously.
“But it’s going to be expensive. I need a reason to go there that doesn’t raise too many suspicions, and I need somebody wealthy to foot the bill.”
Angel’s eyes opened wide. “Neil, turn right back around and start walking away.”
“Why?” Isabella asked. “What’s going on?”
Neil leaned forward and whispered. “I’m not leaving. I need you to get in touch with Matsumoro Nori.”
Angel turned his back to Neil and began flipping chicken skewers onto a red-hot hibachi. “No. This is a stupid plan, even for you. I will not help.”
Neil leaned farther across the table, his tie dipping into a dish of satay sauce. “Angel. First of all, you’ve put way too much cilantro in this satay, and second, I am going to Japan. You know that Nori has always wanted to have me battle. I have always said no.”
“Is this Nori a chef?” Isabella asked. Neil didn’t need to see her to know she had her hands on her hips and an angry look on her face. Neil had promised repeatedly never to fight another kitchen duel. He seemed to find just as many excuses to break that promise.
“He’s not a chef,” Neil scoffed. “He’s a multimillionaire.”
“Billionaire,” Angel corrected. “Not one cent of it made honestly. He’s also a psychopath.”
Neil cringed. Isabella wasn’t going to like that word. “He’s obsessed with food. And he’s Angel’s former business partner.”
Isabella looked from Neil to Angel, whose shoulders sagged. “That was a long time ago. It was a mistake then and you are making a big mistake now.”
“Angel. You know me. I wouldn’t ask this if it weren’t serious. Larry needs me to look for him. I know it. But I need a cover story for being in Japan.” Neil was almost pleading now, his voice rising. He took a deep breath. “I promise I’ll quit if things get dangerous.”
Angel flipped the skewers one more time, flames licking their sides as the sauce began to drip into the red-hot coals. He gave an almost imperceptible nod. “I will consider this, but I promise nothing. You must also promise to tell your parents.”
“I promise.” Neil didn’t smile, but he pushed his hands off the table and stood up straight. “Thank you, Angel. I’ll go pack.” He started walking toward his bike but stopped and turned around. “Oh. And could you help Gary around the restaurant while I’m gone?”
Angel looked back over his shoulder and scowled. Neil turned back around, and found himself face-to-face with Isabella.
Isabella poked a finger into his chest and frowned. “Okay, Mr. stupido. Why did Angel say ‘psychopath’?”
“Um,” Neil fumbled. “It’s a long story.”
Isabella tapped her foot. “I have plenty of time. Get started.”