The Daydreamer Detective Read online

  The Daydreamer Detective

  Miso Cozy Mysteries, #1

  S. J. Pajonas

  © 2016, 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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  Book design and production, and author photo by S. J. Pajonas (Stephanie J. Pajonas).

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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 miso soup. You’re my favorite, miso soup. Don’t ever change.

  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

  Thank You!

  Acknowledgments

  Check out the first chapter of The Daydreamer Detective Braves The Winter…

  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

  “You’re one of our finest, most industrious, and successful team members. I’m excited to be working with you. In fact, since your performance has been so stellar this past year, we’re going to give you a raise.”

  I did my best to hide the smile on my face and kept my lips cemented in place. It wouldn’t do to gloat over my success. But I worked hard for everything I earned, and I did deserve a raise. My heart beat fast as my supervisor grabbed a piece of paper on his desk and handed it across to me.

  “Mei-san, are you paying attention?” I blinked my eyes a few times, and the world around me came into focus. I was not facing my happy boss. Instead, his face was a frown.

  “Yes, I think I’m getting a headache.” No need to confess that I was just staring into space and daydreaming again.

  My boss’s office, warm and stifling, held a heady note of onions, the air inside the room stagnant and reeking of his lunch. I had never spent any time in this room. He always seemed to favor other people on the team over me. Being in here couldn’t be good, so my hands were sweating as he looked across his desk to me.

  He sighed. “I’m sorry to have to say this, but your performance has been unsatisfactory. Your sales have been low this past year, and other team members have complained that you don’t work as hard as they do.”

  So much for being a successful team member in my dreams.

  I opened my mouth to defend myself, but I closed it again, knowing that getting defensive right now was probably not the best idea.

  “I’m afraid we’re going to have to let you go. New recruits are coming in from colleges, and we need to eliminate our lower performers.”

  My boss expressed an appropriate amount of shame, his eyes downcast and mouth a frown. He always tried to show the proper respect to everyone on the team, even if they were below him on the pay scale. I guessed I couldn’t blame him for my own lack of efficacy, though I didn’t see how I was worse than other people I worked with.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, bowing my head. “Is there a way you can give me a second chance? I would really like to prove myself.”

  “Well,” he said, pausing, “we did go over your numbers last quarter, and they haven’t improved since then. I’m afraid we’re all out of options for you.”

  I bit my lip and figured this was my last chance. “Are there any project manager jobs open? I’m a much better project manager than I am a saleswoman.”

  Unfortunately, due to the deepening of his frown, that was it for me. “We need salespeople.”

  “I understand.”

  How did this happen? I promised myself I would improve over the summer, but the summer just dragged on and on with no new clients. Ugh. Why couldn’t I catch a break?

  I pinched the bridge of my nose, pushing back the impending headache. I always got a headache when my blood sugar bottomed out, and I had skipped breakfast this morning to save money.

  This was the third job I’d had in the last five years. I had obviously been delusional when I decided to work for a printing company, especially since everyone did their printing online. People with more connections would’ve done better than me. Managing projects was my skill, not selling them.

  Back at my desk, the room was quiet with everybody out to lunch. Lucky me to be fired on a Friday at lunchtime. My stomach grumbled as I packed personal belongings into a box, the photo of my mom and the farm back home went in last, settling on top of my snack collection and books I kept for reading on the train. At least I wouldn’t be forced into going out for drinks with everyone tonight. I loved going out, but I had never fit in in this office.

  Stepping out into the street, I shielded my eyes from the early fall sun and hoisted the cardboard box onto my hip under my arm.

  “Great. What do I do now?” I grumbled under my breath.

  I wobbled off down the street, my heels uneven and falling apart, avoiding clumps of people on the sidewalk and searching for the nearest convenience store. This being Tokyo, though, I didn’t need to go far.

  “Welcome!” The woman at the front register smiled at me as I walked in the door. I smiled back and aimed straight for the ramen aisle. My gaze skipped over the packaged noodles and found my favorite chicken curry ramen in a bowl. I grabbed a bottle of vitamin-infused water and the ramen, paid, and filled up the styrofoam bowl with hot water at the counter by the microwave.

  Hauling the box up onto the counter, I sat down, opened the bow
l, and breathed in deep. I may not have had much, but at least I could buy myself lunch. I slurped the noodles up and thought about what just happened to me. I was a twenty-six-year-old failure. I had no job. My hair was a mess. My clothes and shoes were at least five years old. And now I had to look for a new job before my bank account dried up completely.

  I leaned back in my chair and took a deep breath as the noodles expanded in my stomach. This was a screw up of epic proportions. I thought that doing well in both high school and college meant I would succeed in the big city. Boy was I wrong. I could only go one place now, so I snagged a few painkillers from my purse, chugged them down with some water, and headed out to home.

  “Why are you home during the day?”

  My steps shortened as I reached the front door of my apartment building. The old landlady who owned the place stood outside sorting the trash into several bins, her favorite daily chore. It was also her favorite chore to admonish people for not sorting their trash correctly.

  She glanced at the box underneath my arm and sighed. “Did you get fired again?”

  Was it possible to be any more embarrassed?

  “Well,” I said, pausing, “kind of?”

  I cringed as the old woman shook her head at me. “I see you, every morning, running to the train station, always late. Maybe if you’d set your alarm earlier, you would have made it into work on time more often.”

  She was right, of course. I always overslept my alarm. But I hated going to my job, and it didn’t make it easier to get up in the morning. Despite hating my job though, I still needed it.

  “Yes. You’re right. I just lost my job, and I don’t know what to do next.” I set my box on the sidewalk next to me and rubbed my face. Fatigue and aches from carrying the cardboard box through two trains and up the hill coated every muscle in my body. But if I hoped for sympathy from my landlady, I was mistaken.

  “You still owe me two months worth of back rent.” She shook her finger at me, and I stepped away from her shame. “Where are you going to find the money to pay me?”

  I stammered for a moment, unable to hold back the embarrassment. I totaled up the last paycheck I would get in my head. It would cover a month’s rent, but it wasn’t enough to get me through the next few months without a job.

  I picked up my box. “I promise to give you a check soon.” Before she could answer, I swept past her and into the building. I could only take so much shaming in one day.

  In my apartment, I dumped my box on my single bed and plopped down on the flimsy mattress. The room I called my apartment was barely livable. The shower and toilet were right next to the refrigerator and the one hotplate I had, and I could touch both walls if I laid on the floor and stretched in each direction. It was the efficiency of efficiencies in Tokyo. And every month, this place set me back a ridiculous amount of yen. Despair flooded over me, so I fell back on the mattress and stared at the ceiling.

  With my landlady on my case, I knew I was done for. I was broke, and I didn’t have a way for me to make quick money. Other people I knew had skills they could use to freelance, but I didn’t. I had graduated with a business degree, and they were all into tech. I made the wrong choice there. On the floor beside my bed sat a pile of overdue bills that I stepped over every day and ignored. The only one I paid regularly was my phone because I couldn’t live without the Internet. The Internet kept me sane most days. That and a good book.

  I took my phone out of my bag, and I navigated to my bank’s app. I had just enough money to pay a few bills and then cancel the services. At least that was something.

  My phone rang in my hands, the screen flashing “Mom.” My finger hovered over the answer icon, not sure if I should pick it up. Normally, she left voicemail, and I returned her call after work. And if I answered now, she would know I wasn’t in the office. I hesitated long enough that the call went to voicemail, and I set it down on the bed. I took a deep breath and held it, listening to the noise of the street outside and the clink of bottles in the recycling as the landlady continued to sort the trash. My life encompassed a tiny room in the city, no job, and a stack of bills.

  The screen on my phone lit up with the notification of a new voicemail. I swiped the screen on and listened to my mother’s voice. “Hi Mei-chan. I was wondering if you wanted to come home this weekend? The fall harvest is starting to come in, and I could use a little help around the house. Let me know if you can make it up on the train. Talk to you soon.”

  I shut off the phone and stared at my empty refrigerator across the room. My life had spiraled out of control and I knew my mom would be ashamed of me for failing so miserably. She had spent years farming fourteen hours a day to pay for cram schools, tutors, college, and deposits on my apartments. Going home to her would be the end for me. I cradled my head in my hands and groaned. I needed to figure out what to do quickly before my landlady evicted me, and she would do that in a day or two.

  Still, I had no money and no options but one. Fresh air and the dirt of my hometown would do me good.

  Chapter Two

  I packed as many belongings as I could into my giant rolling bag and booked it to Tokyo Station. If I caught the next train, I could be home by 18:00. The real problem would be navigating the crowds of rush hour with such a large bag. But once I boarded the train, I found a seat near the window for the ninety minute trip home.

  Chikata, the town where I grew up, was west of Tokyo. It was a quaint little town that had seen better days. The dilapidated business district and overgrown farm fields made the place feel deserted. Like many of the surrounding farm towns, Chikata was dying out. My neighbors had migrated out of the area to find work in the city, and since they couldn’t sell their farms, they left them to turn to dust. I wasn’t the only one who left. Everyone my age had abandoned Chikata for Tokyo, but my mother and most of her generation stayed behind. She grew up in this town, and she couldn’t leave her friends. I couldn’t blame her. Look how well I did in the city.

  The train pulled into the station, and I wheeled my bag out onto the platform. Only a few people exited when I did, immediately crossing the tracks and heading towards the cobbled streets of the downtown shopping district. I paused and secured my hair into a quick knot. Had I really lost my job that morning? And what was I doing back at home?

  My phone sat silent in my bag, no one checking up on me, and I remembered I forgot to call Mom back. And here I was, showing up on her doorstep, with a bag packed for longer than a weekend. I sighed and loosened my shoulders. She would know I lost my job. She would take one look at me and say, “Mei-chan, what happened?” She could read me like Chiyo reads tea leaves.

  I tugged my suitcase through the streets of Chikata, looking in every window along the way. This main part of town was still doing well. A thriving tourist trade kept the local businesses alive since a prominent Buddhist temple was just north of us one more stop on the train or a bus ride up the mountain. The majority of remaining residents lived in the houses and apartments close to the station. The omiyage shop that had been open since I was a kid bustled with activity, tourists buying everything from tea to tiny Buddha key chains. I waved to old Minatoru-san sweeping up the steps outside of his building, and he waved back, bowing, and muttering kind words in my direction. I bowed too, trying to be happy-faced and excited.

  Up the street near the corner, where the town divided off with the township buildings on the left and the rest of the business district on the right, a new restaurant beckoned in a stream of people. Huh. When did that open? The building used to be a seamstress shop and kimono repair business back before everyone bought their clothes in the city or online, and now an open, airy, bright eatery with a line of people waiting outside for a seat took up the entire first floor. Young couples, messenger bags slung over their shoulders, talked or texted on their phones while the sound of boisterous conversation leaked out the front door.

  “Excuse me,” I said, interrupting a cluster of twenty-somethings sitting on a be
nch outside, “how long has this restaurant been here?”

  “About ten months now,” a young man responded, nodding his head politely. “The chef was trained in France, and he had another restaurant in Tokyo.”

  “It’s supposed to be delicious,” the woman beside him said, huffing. “Not that we would know. We’ve been waiting for an hour now.”

  “I see.” I stretched up on my toes and tried to peek in through the front window, but all I saw were heads bobbing and eating and a mostly open kitchen near the back. The place was packed. “I’ll have to try it out. Sorry to bother you.”

  I backed away from them, kicking my suitcase out onto the sidewalk next to me. The lantern and light at the front door read “Sawayaka” meaning “fresh or refreshing.” Interesting. I had never heard of the place, but I hadn’t been home in almost six months. Mom usually picked me up from the station, so I completely missed this place.

  At the intersection just past the restaurant, I waited for the light to turn so I could cross, daydreaming about what it would be like to own a restaurant. I imagined myself as a famous chef, conjuring up recipes, and winning Michelin stars while getting married and having a family all at once. Wow. That must be an amazing life to be creative and busy all day. Not that I could ever be a chef. I hadn’t cooked anything in years.