Naomi Hirahara

The first thing I figure out: that my date, Ray DiPietro, wasn’t quite who he said he was.

Before I can even call in his murder, the police arrives at my workplace, Yudai’s Corner. First it was a couple of plainclothes detectives in an unmarked car. And then five black-and-white squad cars with Santa Clara Sheriff’s Department emblazoned on their side doors.

I begin shaking like a leaf. A woman pulls me aside, shows me some official identification and starts to pat me down while her male partner watches.

“What are you doing? I didn’t kill ...

Yudai is gone tonight, so I’m in charge again. The third night in a row. I’m tired; I notice some dark circles around my eyes this morning and apply a heavier layer of Shiseido concealer. I try to pretend that it magically works to transform me into a young woman full of vitality, but I can’t get away from the stark truth that I’m a forty-two year old divorcée with a slightly crooked front tooth and wrinkles on her forehead from too much worrying.

“Your boyfriend was here again for lunch,” Som, our bus boy ...

He’s standing about a foot away from me. He holds his right hand behind his back. Could he have some sort of weapon?

My mind whirls. I don’t know how to play this. I decide to keep it casual, as if I don’t even suspect anything is askew. “Hi, Kyle. How have you been?”

“I heard that you were at the koban. Asking about me.” I try to create more space in between us, but Kyle’s not budging.

“Yeah, the LAPD is having a booth at Nisei Week, so I was wondering if maybe you can ...

“Grandma, let me see that log book.”

“Be careful; it’s old as dirt,” Grandma Toma cautions me as she hands over her father’s notebook that he kept while working as a policeman in Manzanar.

I sit down at her desk, crowded by Sudoku books, John Wooden biographies, and junk mail. Grandma Toma is a bit of a hoarder; it took us quite a while to empty out her house before she moved in. The only good thing about it today is that she’s kept my grandfather’s record of his connection to a military policeman named McDonnell ...

When Aunt Cheryl and I arrive on Cortez’s floor at USC L.A. General Hospital, I feel my heart both rising and sinking at the same time. Rising because Cortez has come out of his coma. Sinking because I don’t know if I’ll be allowed to see him.

Appearing from the side waiting room is Nay, and Aunt Cheryl immediately becomes frostier than even usual.

“Girl, it’s about time you showed up,” Nay says, giving my shoulders a squeeze. Aunt Cheryl, meanwhile, doesn’t bother to say hello to Nay and continues through the automatic doors ...