The Daydreamer Detective Opens a Tea Shop Read online

  The Daydreamer Detective Opens A Tea Shop

  Miso Cozy Mysteries, #3

  S. J. Pajonas

  © 2017, S. J. Pajonas (Stephanie J. Pajonas).

  All rights reserved.

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  Cover design by S. J. Pajonas

  Cover illustration © narak0rn, Depositphotos.com

  Cover illustration © zeber2010, Depositphotos.com

  Cover illustration © emirsimsek, Depositphotos.com

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  This book is dedicated to my dragon, Kirin. Thanks for saving my hands!

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Thank You!

  From S. J.

  Acknowledgments

  Check out the first chapter of The Daydreamer Detective Returns A Favor…

  Also in the Miso Cozy Mysteries Series

  Also by S. J. Pajonas

  About the Author

  Author’s Note

  In Japanese, the most common way of showing respect to another person’s social standing is with the use of honorific suffixes that are appended on the end of either first or last names. The most common, -san, means either Mr., Ms., or Mrs.

  When you are addressing someone who is higher in the chain of command than yourself (i.e. your boss or high elected officials deserving of respect) you should use the suffix -sama. When addressing friends or schoolmates, it’s popular to use -chan or -ko for girls (sometimes cutting their first name down to one syllable before appending the suffix) and -chan or -kun for boys. For teachers, -sensei is used.

  It’s important to note that you should never use a suffix on your own name. If you’re introducing yourself, do not call yourself David-san or Smith-san. Just David or David Smith will do.

  The town in this novel, Chikata, is completely fictional, though the area I put it in is not. Saitama prefecture is located to the west of Tokyo, and many of the eastern areas are considered to be suburbs of the city. Chikata is located farther out west, nearer to the prefectures of Nagano and Gunma.

  Chapter One

  The shovel sliced into the earth with a solid crunch, and everyone broke into applause. As the president of Midori Sankaku lifted the spade full of dirt to the cameras, he laughed, excited to be at this stage. It had been three years in the making, but the groundbreaking ceremony for the new greenhouse was finally taking place, and soon, many more new people, businesses, and traffic would grace our small town with their presence.

  I smiled and clapped with everyone, a burst of pride for my tiny community lifting my chin. Chikata had gone from dilapidated and dying five years ago to renewed and prosperous. People in the surrounding towns and prefectures were sitting up and taking notice. It had been a long time since a farming community in Japan had turned itself around, and we were leading the way for other communities to accomplish the same goals.

  “Thank goodness this is really happening. I thought I’d never see the day,” Mom whispered, continuing to clap and smile at the surrounding people.

  “Indeed.” There were several times in the past year I was as good as dead, so being at the groundbreaking ceremony meant a lot to me.

  Everyone was here today except my good friend and neighbor, Akiko. Mom’s friend, Chiyo, stood next to us with her son, Goro and his wife, Kumi. Goro was also accompanied by his partner, Kayo, and other members of the Chikata police force. We all exchanged happy smiles as the applause died out.

  I turned to Yasahiro, my boyfriend, the head chef and owner of Sawayaka, our famous slow food Japanese restaurant in town, and threaded my arm through his, squeezing and resting my head on his shoulder. For once, the weather was calm, and the sun shone upon us, even if it wasn’t warm yet. Spring had come to Japan. The cherry trees around town had bloomed a month ago in April and now held small green leaves on their branches. Today, we’d be content with sunny skies and a light, cool breeze.

  Yasahiro lifted his chin and smiled, but he kept his attention on the podium as another Midori Sankaku representative spoke of the opportunities their business would bring to Chikata. It was a good speech, and I held a lot more faith in Midori Sankaku than I did a few months ago when they arrested Fujita Takahara for killing Etsuko. In my mind and in my heart, I needed to separate the two. It was horrifying what Takahara had done, but his actions had nothing to do with Midori Sankaku.

  We clapped again as the speeches concluded, and everyone dispersed to walk the twenty minutes to the park at City Hall. We walked beside Kumi, her hand on her hip and a grimace on her face. She was in her second trimester of pregnancy and already experiencing the aches and pains of carrying a baby. Her belly had rounded and so had her cheeks, but she loved being pregnant because she wasn’t too sick, just in pain.

  “Shall I go get our car?” Goro asked, squeezing Kumi to his side and helping her.

  She shook her head and let out a long breath. “No, I’ll be all right. The doctor says I should get more exercise. I might have fewer aches and pains if I loosened up a little.”

  “That book we read said your joints will loosen up on their own.” Goro, always the student, had been reading all the pregnancy and baby books he could get his hands on. Whenever I visited him at his desk at the police precinct, he was poring over another book, marking pages with post-it notes and highlighters.

  “I still think it’s better for me to be walking.” She patted his arm. “Don’t worry about it.”

  When we reached the park, we set out a blanket and sat in the sun. Mom and Chiyo popped open their picnic baskets and handed out drinks and rice balls to everyone.

  “Now I suppose I’ll be hearing a lot of construction in the next couple of months,” Mom said taking a bite of her rice ball and staring off toward home. The new greenhouse when completed would be on the cleared land closer to town. Administration buildings for Midori Sankaku would be located on Akiko’s back farmland.

  In January, Akiko sold her farmland but not the house. As a full-time nurse, she didn’t have time to tend the fields anyway, but it would take many months for the details to work out. The administration buildings wouldn’t be built for another two years.

  “At least we have the pine trees to block the noise. I’m sure Akiko will hear most of it.”

  “Where is she again?” Mom asked, pulling more boxes of food from her picnic basket.

  “She’s at a conference all week in Kobe.”

  I took a moment between bites to stretch out my arms. Mom and I had spent the morning in t
he fields, turning the soil, adding compost, and preparing for a second planting. I lived at home during the week, working most mornings outside, and then spending my afternoons in town getting my new tea shop ready for opening in two weeks. My body ached in places I didn’t know existed.

  “Did you hear from my contact in Kumamoto?” Goro asked Yasahiro, passing him a pair of chopsticks and a bento box. Usually it was Yasahiro handing out the food, so it was nice to see him get a break for the day.

  “Yeah. Mei-chan and I are set to go this weekend. We know where we’ll camp, and we’ll be helping people recover lost items from their houses for the week.”

  Chiyo brought her hands to prayer position. “I’ll be waiting by the phone every day to hear from your mother on how you’re doing.”

  “We’ll be fine,” I reassured her. “There haven’t been aftershocks there recently. We’ll be extra careful.”

  Yasahiro and I were both struck by the hardship of everyone in Kumamoto during the earthquake in April, so we decided to volunteer with relief efforts once we aligned our schedules. Though it wasn’t the best time to drop everything and go (I still had plenty to do to get the tea shop up and running), it was better for us to volunteer before the tea shop was open for business. I would be the tea shop’s only employee for the first year, so vacation time would be minimal.

  “I felt it was my duty to go, to help in some way. I’ve been very fortunate.” When Yasahiro spoke this way, my heart grew three sizes. It was something I loved about him. He knew how good he had it, but he never took that for granted.

  “Me too.” I squeezed his knee, but he laughed. Probably because he wanted to argue with me again about how I needed to be more self-ish not self-less. But he knew that wasn’t me. I’d always put his or other people’s needs in front of my own.

  “We leave on Sunday, and we’ll be there through Friday.”

  “Back in time to finish a few things and open Oshabe-cha.” I opened my bento box and dug into the fried shrimp.

  Kumi laughed. “I still love that name. It’s perfect. I should have your signage ready by the time you return from Kumamoto.”

  The name Oshabe-cha came to me in a daydream one day. I was lingering in the space imagining everyone sitting around drinking tea and chatting, warm and happy that my idea was coming to fruition. Oshaberu is the Japanese verb for “chatting” and cha is “tea.” Made perfect sense. Kumi designed signs for the front window and menus for inside. My plan was to open every day from 11:00 to 18:00, which would give me time to help my elderly clients in the mornings and evenings, then entertain many of them during the day in the safe and warm environment of my tea shop. I was so looking forward to it.

  I wasn’t necessarily looking forward to the seven hour shinkansen ride to Kumamoto (bullet train rides that long bore the heck out of me), but our trip together would be rewarding.

  “I hope we can make a difference to people in Kumamoto while we’re there.” Gazing at city hall, I imagined the relief work we’d do, spending time with people in shelters or helping to cook food. I’d do my best to lend whatever help I could.

  “I’m sure you’ll make a difference to someone while you’re there,” Chiyo said, nodding her head in a swift, definitive gesture. Her demeanor always ranged on positive, her mood a sunny day even if clouds threatened her world. “Many people have left and tried to find work, even come as far as here on a few tanks of gas. Just the other day, we had a group at the bathhouse, two families, who were traveling together to Hokkaido for work. All the belongings they had left from their houses were in their two vans.” Chiyo shook her head, sadness washing over her eyes.

  “We treated them to dinner after their baths. It was the least we could do.” Kumi squeezed Chiyo’s hand.

  I didn’t realize people would come through our town on their journey from Kumamoto. Kumamoto was a fourteen hour car ride away, which was why we were taking the train and renting a car once we arrived.

  “I hope and pray they make it to their destination safely,” I said, taking a moment to form a silent prayer for them.

  Mom waved to a few people at the next blanket over as they gathered up their picnic.

  “It’s almost time to get on with the day,” she said, prompting us to eat.

  We dug into our meals, picking up light and easy conversation for the rest of the stay. My thoughts wandered from Kumamoto, to Yasahiro, to my elderly clients like Murata, Yamida, and my newest clients, Ryōta Hase and his wife, to Oshabe-cha, and to my paintings. So much was going on, and I liked being busy. I liked having a direction in life.

  Things were normalizing, and after being fired from my job and not having anything, it was comforting to have this security. I looked over at Yasahiro and he smiled at me, his lips forming that grin I adored. I didn’t know who to thank for this luck, but I would hold onto it and not take it for granted.

  Any good luck I had could all disappear tomorrow.

  Chapter Two

  “Just a few more days and you’re off to Kumamoto,” Murata said, handing me a lump of dough to kneed.

  Our bread baking classes continued every week despite how terrible I was at baking. It took me three months to get the hang of the proportion of flour, water, and yeast plus temperature to make an edible loaf of bread. I would be the first person to admit I was a horrible baker, and I had wanted to give up too many times to count. I had so little knowledge of cooking it was like learning how to write as a five-year-old. Murata never gave up on me. Though I was making nominal progress, I still hadn’t subjected Yasahiro to my baked creations.

  “Yeah, we leave this weekend.” I pushed the dough forward, folding it in half, turning and pushing it again. “We have a busy few days until then.” I grunted as I kneaded the dough on the counter. Anyone who saw me right now would laugh at me, breaking a sweat over a ball of dough. But I had spent the last few weeks working in the fields every morning, working in the tea shop in the afternoons, and painting. It was a lot of physical labor for my little body.

  “You have that restaurant opening in Tokyo tonight, right?”

  “Mmmhmm, one of Yasahiro’s fellow schoolmates. I’m looking forward to it.” I tried not to let my ambivalence show. This would be the first time I’d attend a public event with Yasahiro. In the past few months, we’d been photographed while out on dates, but we’d never been to an event together. Events were the domains of famous people, and I was so not famous. But I wanted to be supportive, so I said I’d go.

  “Sure you are, darling.” Murata patted me on my arm. “This is looking good.” She pointed at the dough and pressed her finger into it, watching the way it sprang back. “Let’s let it rest now.”

  I washed off my hands and wiped the counter, handling the few dirty dishes in the sink before I mopped the kitchen floor and drank tea with Murata. After the tea shop opened, I planned to spend less time here every week, and instead, Murata would spend her days with me at Oshabe-cha. I had promised her and my other elderly clients I wouldn’t abandon them, and I intended to keep my word.

  “Let’s double check the schedule,” I said, pulling my phone from my pocket and my computer from my bag. Rewinding to my days as a project manager, I kept the schedules, to-do lists, and milestones on both my phone and computer in a software program I subscribed to online. Every time I double checked my numbers, I set reminders and synced them so I’d have them in both places.

  I went over the schedule with Murata, including her new physical therapy appointments to account for the hip pain she’d been experiencing since Christmas.

  “You worry too much. If you’re late, I’ll just call you.”

  “You don’t have to do that.” I ran my finger over the calendar to make sure I had the dates and times correct. “I want to make sure you can rely on me.”

  Murata said nothing else. She knew I was serious about making this work. I had finally found my path, and I was determined to walk it.

  “Besides, you hate using your phone. I’
d rather not deal with your frustration.” I winked at her, and she laughed enough to jostle her tea.

  I finished cleaning up and left Murata’s apartment to overcast skies. The weather had taken a turn for the worse, so I rummaged in my bag for an umbrella. I wanted to make it to my next appointment dry. The sky spit droplets of water as I walked the ten blocks across town.

  My next client was only in need of help around the house once per week. They were the parents of Koshiro Hase, the man who owned the shoe cobbler business next door to Yasahiro’s place. I had met the cobbler for the first time over the winter when Yasahiro was in Paris, and I was shoveling the sidewalks outside of his apartment. Koshiro’s parents, Ryōta and Asuka, were both in good health, and they needed someone to help around the house.

  “I’m so glad you could come! I have a surprise for you,” Asuka said as she answered the door. She was a sprightly little woman, her hair gray with a streak of purple she’d let her granddaughter dye the last time they visited.

  “Purple is a great color for you.” I dropped my umbrella into the umbrella stand and set aside my shoes and bag. “I was wondering just how much of your head would be purple when I showed up.”

  She waved her hand at me. “It’ll wash out. So, Ryōta-san needs help getting things from on top of the cabinets in the kitchen, but I have a box for you.” She led me down the hallway to the back door. Inside the doorway, a large cardboard box and a cart waited. “Here you go.”