Hiro had no intention of telling Yoshiko that his claim was mostly bluff. The magistrate’s decision to delay Ginjiro’s hearing gave the shinobi permission to investigate, though only by implication.
Before Hiro could respond, Father Mateo said, “I’m afraid we cannot tell you more. You may remember, a year ago, Magistrate Ishimaki ordered us not to discuss the details of your father’s death with anyone outside the investigation. Unfortunately, the same restrictions apply to our current duties.”
“I understand.” Yoshiko stopped at the end of the block where Ginjiro’s brewery lay.
Hiro wanted to keep on walking, but manners required a pause.
Yoshiko bowed. “Forgive me. I must leave you here. It is nice to see you, Matsui-san. Perhaps we will meet again?”
Her smile made Hiro’s stomach clench.
“We’d like that.” Father Mateo bowed, oblivious to the fact that Yoshiko intended the words for Hiro. “Please give my regards to your mother. Would she allow us to visit her at home?”
“She would enjoy that.” Yoshiko looked at Hiro. “As would I. Perhaps you could join us for a meal tomorrow evening.”
“We would consider it an honor,” the Jesuit said.
“The honor is ours. We look forward to seeing you, perhaps at sunset?” Yoshiko bowed and walked away without awaiting a response.
Hiro started south with Father Mateo.
After glancing over his shoulder to confirm Yoshiko’s disappearance, Hiro said, “I can’t believe you offered to visit. What were you thinking?”
Father Mateo looked surprised. “Yoshiko’s mother must be lonely since her husband’s death. Yoshiko seemed quite pleased that we wanted to come.”
“It’s not the ‘we’ that pleased her,” Hiro said. “She’s after me.”
“That’s an assumption,” Father Mateo said, with a hint of a smile.
Hiro frowned. He hated assumptions almost as much as he hated being caught in one.
“Consider Yoshiko’s mother,” the Jesuit said, “an aging widow. Visiting her is a charitable act.”
Hiro didn’t answer.
“You don’t have to go with me,” Father Mateo said. “I’m sure I can find my way alone, at night, in a city filled with overanxious samurai hunting spies.”
Hiro’s frown deepened into a scowl. “I will go, but just this once.”
* * *
The sun stood high overhead when Hiro and Father Mateo reached Ginjiro’s. Tomiko had opened the shutters and stood behind the wooden counter, cleaning the countertop with a clean white cloth. She didn’t look up, but Hiro saw the shift in her posture that indicated awareness of their presence.
He paused at the edge of the brewery floor, unwilling to enter without permission. Samurai didn’t have to ask, but Hiro’s notion of courtesy didn’t hinge on formal etiquette.
“Good afternoon, Tomiko,” he said. “May we speak with you?”
She looked up and bowed. “Of course. Please come inside.”
Hiro stepped out of his sandals and knelt up onto the knee-high brewery floor. Father Mateo followed suit. They crossed to the counter, though Hiro didn’t hand his katana across the countertop. The rules about swords did not apply when the shop was closed.
Tomiko wiped her hands. “Have you seen my father?”
“He seems unharmed,” Hiro said. “He asked us to tell you he trusts you to care for the brewery, and your mother, in his absence.”
Ginjiro hadn’t said any such thing, but Tomiko would benefit from believing he had.
As Hiro expected, Father Mateo didn’t confirm the lie but didn’t deny it. The Jesuit seemed to understand that certain deceptions furthered a moral goal.
Tomiko inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, as if struggling to keep her emotions in check. “Thank you. I will try to make him proud.”
“Can you truly manage alone?” Father Mateo asked.
Tomiko looked down at the counter. “Forgive my directness, but you are a man of samurai rank. My problems are not an appropriate topic of conversation.”
“Your personal safety is,” Hiro said, “and I think you underestimate the danger. Someone committed a murder here. The killer may return.”
“Why would Chikao’s death endanger me?” Tomiko asked. “Do you think his son might try to avenge him?”
“Do you?” Hiro asked. Kaoru wasn’t his first concern, but Tomiko’s comment made him curious.
“I don’t know.” Tomiko considered the question. “He has a terrible temper, but I don’t believe he would try to hurt us.”
Hiro wondered how much Tomiko knew about her father’s business, particularly Ginjiro’s habits when it came to hiring guards or debt collectors. The woman had clearly inherited her father’s talent for keeping secrets, and Hiro doubted she would admit to incriminating facts. He would need to approach the topic of private guards another way.
“What if Chikao’s death was accidental?” Hiro asked.
“In our alley?” Tomiko looked confused. “What kind of accident would happen there?”
“Did your father owe anyone money?” Hiro suspected he knew the answer, but wanted to broach the topic of debt collectors without hinting at his ultimate objective.
“We have no debts,” Tomiko said. “My father spends no money before he earns it.”
“What about debtors—aside from Chikao—or debt collectors your father hired to work on his behalf?” Hiro kept the questions light, as if they stemmed from random thoughts. “Had your father mentioned any trouble?”
“Only the argument with Chikao and Kaoru,” Tomiko said. “We don’t have many debtors. Father has hired collectors, from time to time, but I do not think he hired one to deal with Kaoru’s debt. Not yet, at least.”
She paused.
“No,” she continued, “I’m sure he would have told me if he had hired one. But this does give me a helpful idea. I think I’ll hire a debt collector to guard the shop until Father returns.”
Hiro didn’t like the thought of Tomiko dealing with debt collectors, many of whom had flexible attitudes toward personal honor. Her idea surprised him, too. Ginjiro’s daughter seemed too wise to risk her safety with an unknown man.
Tomiko smiled at his concern. “Do not worry, Matsui-san. The debt collector I intend to hire is a woman.”