“There’s often truth in rumors.” To protect Pious Truth, Reiko added, “The metsuke has spies everywhere.”

The tendons in the priest’s neck relaxed: Either he knew she had no proof to support her accusations, or he didn’t fear the Tokugawa intelligence service. “Don’t believe everything you hear,” he said derisively. Then he strode toward Haru. “Get up. You’re coming with me.”

Whimpering, Haru scuttled backward on her hands and knees. Reiko stood between Kumashiro and the girl. “You’re not taking her anywhere,” Reiko told the priest.

“She belongs to the temple.” Anger darkened’ Kumashiro’s swarthy complexion. “I’ll deal with her as I wish.”

“She’s under my protection now,” Reiko said, “and I won’t let you torment her.”

Veins bulged in the priest’s temples and rigid arms, as though swelling with fury. He spoke with quiet menace: “Those who interfere with the affairs of the Black Lotus sect always regret it.”

“You dare to threaten me?” Reiko experienced a stab of fear despite her status as the wife of a high bakufu official and the protection of her guards. She saw in Kumashiro a truly dangerous man.

“It’s not a threat,” Kumashiro said in that same menacing tone, “just a friendly warning.”

The hard sheen of his eyes told Reiko that he was capable of murdering three people and framing an innocent girl. A shiver rippled her nerves. She said to her guards, “Escort him off the premises.”

The men seized Kumashiro and propelled him out of the garden. The wind swirled fallen leaves and tossed boughs; raindrops pelted the ground. Reiko knelt beside Haru and put her arms around the girl. “It’s all right. You’re safe now.”

Haru whispered, “I was so scared I wet my kimono.” Misery suffused her features. “It’s my only one.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Reiko said. “Let’s go inside.”

As they walked together toward the convent, Reiko picked up the package she’d dropped.

In Haru’s room, the orphan girl removed her soiled garment and washed herself. Reiko opened the package and unfolded a fresh white under-robe, a jade green cotton kimono printed with mauve asters, and a mauve sash.

“Here,” Reiko said, “put these on.”

Haru gasped in amazement. “They’re for me? But you’re too generous. I can’t accept.”

“Oh, they’re just old things of mine.” In fact, the garments had never been worn. Although her kind gesture was sincere, Reiko hoped the gift would oblige Haru to be honest with her. She helped Haru into the clothes. “There. How pretty you look! Do you feel better now?”

The girl nodded, her eyes bright with happiness. Stroking the fabric, she said, “I’ve never worn anything so beautiful. A thousand thanks.”

Although Reiko hated to spoil Haru’s pleasure, it was time for serious business. “Haru-san,” she said, “we must talk.”

Haru knelt opposite Reiko. Apprehension furrowed her brow.

“Were you and Commander Oyama lovers?” Reiko asked, keeping her voice gentle.

Haru twisted the ends of her new sash. “No. I only said so because that was what Kumashiro wanted me to say.”

Tentative relief eased the doubt that the priest had fostered in Reiko. “Then you weren’t with Oyama the night before the fire? You didn’t go to the cottage to meet him?”

“No, I wasn’t. I didn’t.”

In her mind Reiko heard Kumashiro’s voice: “Don’t believe everything you hear”-and Sano’s: “Don’t be too quick to take the side of a suspect.” Reiko said, “If you don’t remember anything from that night, how can you be sure what you did?”

Hurt and confusion welled in Haru’s eyes; her lips trembled. In a high, teary voice she said, “I didn’t kill anyone. I didn’t set the fire. I could never do those terrible things.”

Feeling like a bully, having serious misgivings about the girl, Reiko forced herself to continue: “Why is Kumashiro so determined to make you confess?”

“He’s afraid that people will think he killed Commander Oyama,” Haru said. “They hated each other. I don’t know why, but I often saw them arguing. And he hates me. He wants to get me in trouble so I’ll have to leave the Black Lotus Temple.”

If Kumashiro and Oyama had indeed been enemies, the priest had a motive for at least one of the murders. But Reiko could not ignore the inconsistency in Haru’s story. “Yesterday you said that you love everyone in the temple, and they all love you. Why didn’t you tell me about Kumashiro?”

Haru squirmed, twisting the sash; her gaze darted. She ventured hesitantly, “I forgot about him?”

The flimsy excuse increased Reiko’s misgivings. “I’ve spoken with Abbess Junketsu-in and Dr. Miwa,” she said, then related the pair’s description of Haru as a troublemaker. “They think you’re unfit to be a nun, and they blame you for the fire. Did you forget them, too?”

Reiko heard her voice rising in agitation, while Haru looked crestfallen. “Are they inventing lies to get you in trouble,” Reiko pressed, “or did you do the things they said?”

Tension vibrated the atmosphere in the room. Rain pattered on the roof and dripped off the eaves. Reiko heard Haru’s rapid breathing. Then the girl hung her head and mumbled, “It was so long ago… I thought I’d counteracted my bad karma.”

Buddhists believed that a person’s actions produced karma-energy that affected life in present and future existences-and that misdeeds could be exorcised by doing good. Foreboding touched Reiko’s heart.

“What bad karma?” she said, wary of what she was going to hear.

“When I first came to the Black Lotus orphanage, I was a very difficult girl,” Haru said in a voice laden with shame. “I had no religious faith. I only went to the temple because I had nowhere else to go. I was upset about my parents dying, and angry at my bad fortune. I hated the food and the chores. I wouldn’t obey the rules. I was rude and disobedient. I was so lonely that I… I would meet boys at night and let them touch me.”

Reiko’s face felt numb, as if too many shocks had obliterated the sensation in her skin. But inside, painful emotions roiled. “You should have told me these things yesterday, when I asked about your life at the temple and who might want to hurt you,” she said. “Instead, you misled me.”

“But I didn’t,” Haru protested. She must have seen disbelief in Reiko’s expression, because she hurried to explain: “I mean, I’m different now. I don’t do those things anymore. High Priest Anraku showed me that I was wrong to act the way I did.” Her eyes glowed with the same joyful radiance as when she’d spoken of the sect leader yesterday. “He taught me that I must rid myself of worldly desires and follow the path of the Black Lotus out of suffering to Buddhahood. So I reformed, I worked hard to make up for the trouble I’d caused and prove I could be a good nun.”

A part of Reiko wanted to excuse Haru’s behavior as the actions of a grieving child who’d had trouble adjusting to convent routine and wanted to forget a difficult period of her life. Still, Reiko was disappointed in Haru for withholding important information, and angry at herself for minimizing the possibility that Haru might be lying. Had the abbess and doctor neglected to mention the change in Haru, or had Haru not really reformed?

“I’m sorry,” Haru quavered. Tears watered her eyes. “I should have told you.”

Reiko’s shaky self-confidence waned. Maybe her break from detective work had impaired her judgment, and she should quit the investigation, as little as she liked the idea. Abruptly she rose and walked to the window. The rainy landscape outside blurred before her eyes as she sorted out her thoughts. Before admitting her mistake to Sano, she must correct it, or he would have every right to forbid her to continue the investigation.

She turned to Haru, who huddled on the floor, watching her anxiously. “Tell me about Commander Oyama,” Reiko said.