although this one a midnight blue, was bowing to Casey. “This way, please.”
Casey followed the woman to a coat check room, where rows of shoes sat in cubbies.
“You leave shoes, please.”
Casey took off her sandals, and the woman offered her a pair of slippers. Casey tried not to make a face.
“Eww,” Death said, mirroring Casey’s thoughts. “You don’t know where those have been.”
“We wash each time,” the little woman said. “Strong soap. You take.”
Casey took the slippers.
“You have reservation?” the woman asked.
“I’m meeting a friend.”
“Ah.” Her eyes sparkled. “Man friend?”
“No. A woman. She’s very…tall.”
Recognition lit the woman’s eyes. “Yes. Very big. Dark.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Follow, please.”
The woman led Casey to a small room, cordoned off with paper walls. For the second time that night Casey saw only shadows, which both elongated and enlarged the person within the room. The little woman held aside a beaded curtain, and Casey stepped in. Tamille was already seated on a cushion, sipping a cup of tea and eating fried noodles.
Casey thanked the woman, set her purse in the corner, and pulled another cushion to the low table. Death made do with the floor.
“Sorry,” Tamille said. “Couldn’t wait.”
“That’s fine.”
Tamille picked up the teapot and filled another cup. “Here. You probably need this.”
Casey wrapped her hands around the mug and allowed the steam to wash over her face. The room was decorated with reds and varying sheens of black, with multiple curtains, pillows, and murals. Her slippers were soft, and even without food on the table, the smells floating through the room made her mouth water. “I can see why you like this place.”
Tamille finished her tea and set the cup on the table. “It relaxes me. I can’t imagine anything loud or fast happening here.”
Casey took a deep breath through her nose, and let it out slowly, allowing her tension to slip away.
“You came to Raceda at a bad time,” Tamille said.
“I know. Trouble seems to follow me.”
“Ah. Those scars we were talking about earlier?”
Casey stirred some sugar into her tea. “Nothing I want to talk about.”
“Right. Who wants to talk about their troubles?”
“Do you know about Andrea Parker’s?”
“You mean other than that she’s dead?”
Death snorted. “I guess you could call that trouble.”
“Yes, like what made her dead.”
“I don’t really know anything about her. I’d see her from time to time—as I saw you the past couple of days—but we never had what you’d call a conversation.”
“You never attended the early morning aerobics class?”
“I go to my dojo in the mornings. I don’t usually attend any classes. The only reason I came to the one today was to check you out.” She smiled and sipped her tea.
“And what did you think?”
“We’re here, aren’t we?”
Voices came from outside the room, and Tamille set down her cup and stood, facing the doorway.
“What’s going on?” Casey asked, looking at Death.
Death shrugged.
The bead curtain parted and the hostess ushered in a man who was just as little as she, just as Asian, and just as old. He wore a wrap-around shirt and loose pants, a skinny mustache, and a graying ponytail. Tamille bowed and said something to him in another language. The hostess backed out of the room, her head lowered.
“Oh, great,” Death said. “If I would’ve known, I would’ve brushed up on my Japanese.”
Casey knew instinctively who this was, and stood, her palms flat against her hips. When the man turned to her, she gave a little bow. “I apologize for not speaking your language, sensei.”
Tamille gave Casey a little smile. “May I introduce my teacher, Sensei Asuhara. Sensei, this is Ms. Daisy Gray.” She cleared her throat. “Aerobics instructor.”
The man lifted his chin and regarded Casey through dark, steady eyes. Casey willed herself not to fidget, but felt suddenly wanting. All those years she’d studied hapkido, all those medals she’d won, the men she’d beaten…he would know none of that. And he wouldn’t care. All he would see was what was before him at that moment. A woman in a strange place, with basically nothing to make her stand out. A vagrant. A poseur. She kept her eyes on his, but stayed slightly bent, out of respect. She wished she could talk with him, to try to explain herself, but Japanese was not something she’d ever studied. She was ashamed.
Asuhara finally blinked, breaking the spell and waving his fingers. “Eh, don’t worry about the Japanese. I never was very good at it. My mother despaired over me.” He smiled brightly, clapping his hands. “I’m starving. Did you order