DEAR BECCA AND PHILLIP,

I KNOW YOU MUST BE IN SHOCK. I’M SORRY, BUT IT’S FOR THE BEST.

K-SAN

“It’s a lie. K- san didn’t write this. He would never commit suicide. He had no reason to take his life.” Becca folded her arms over her ample chichi s and sat in a chair in the corner.

“I have to admit it’s kind of strange,” the sea urchin chimed in. “I mean, Kazzy has seemed pretty agitated these days, with the vandalism and all, but he’s not a quitter.”

“But look, it’s typed all in caps, the way he always issued his memos. Military style,” said Phillip.

The others all began murmuring their theories on why Kazzy could have killed himself. Finally, the old woman spoke. Her voice wavered like a forlorn melody from a koto, a Japanese string instrument that Haruo’s ex-wife, Yoshiko, played. “It could have had to do with his health, with his recent diagnosis and all.”

“Diagnosis? What are you talking about?” Becca stood up from the chair she had been resting in.

“Lou Gehrig’s disease. He was diagnosed last month. Didn’t you know?”

Lou Gehrig. Mas remembered that New York Yankee baseball player-hadn’t he even played in an exhibition game in Japan? Gehrig had died of a terrible disease that had weakened his legs, arms, and then the rest of his body, ending his career and life back in the late thirties.

Even Phillip looked out of sorts with the news. “Is that why Kazzy was so irritable?”

“Why wouldn’t he mention anything to his own children? And why would he tell you, Miss Waxley?” Becca asked.

“Well, you know, we had business concerns.”

“Then he would have told me,” said Phillip. “That just doesn’t make sense.”

“Perhaps he didn’t want to burden you all. Since my own mother had struggled with multiple sclerosis, he thought that I might understand something of what he’d be going through,” said Miss Waxley in the same singsong voice. “You know how proud your father was. He couldn’t bear to admit that he would never be the same. He was devastated.”

“That’s true,” added Phillip. “He wouldn’t have wanted any one of us to take care of him. He was so stubborn-what’s that Japanese word for it? Ganko?”

That Mas could understand. Any independent Nisei man-whether he be a gardener or a silk tycoon-wouldn’t want his child to help him shikko into a metal bowl or change his diapers.

“Answer me this, then,” Becca interjected. “If he killed himself, why did that gun end up in a trash can half a block away?”

Phillip’s face turned red, and the room grew quiet. Nobody had an answer for Becca. The fry-pan-faced attorney then excused himself to contact the police.

The rest of them circled the letter as if it had been written by a dead president. Only Becca sat back. Finally, Detective Ghigo appeared with the same badge dangling off his black jacket. “So what do we have here?”

“Suicide letter,” said Phillip.

“Did anyone touch this letter?”

Both Becca and Phillip nodded. Ghigo took out a small black notebook and clicked the end of his ballpoint pen. “Did Mr. Ouchi seem suicidal?”

“No,” Becca said. “Absolutely not. He didn’t have that type of personality.”

“But we just found out that Kazzy had just been diagnosed with Lou Gehrig’s disease,” Phillip reported.

“Yes, we heard that from Mr. Ouchi’s doctor. Would that be a reasonable motive for Mr. Ouchi to kill himself?”

A few people nodded, but Becca obviously wasn’t going to give up. “It couldn’t have been suicide. We found him buried under trash.” Mas cringed when Becca mentioned “we.” He wanted no part of the investigation, but it would be too obvious if he left the room now.

“Well,” said Ghigo, “it could be that Mr. Ouchi’s death and the vandalism are unrelated. I’m also following up on one of Mr. Ouchi’s girlfriends.”

“Which one?” Phillip made a face as if he were sucking on an especially tart pickled plum.

“Anna Grady. In Fort Lee.”

“Anna? K- san dropped her weeks ago.” Becca frowned. It was obvious that Becca was no fan of this Anna woman. But a lady friend-there could be some connection to the gardenia, thought Mas.

“Do you know if she took it hard?”

“She may have,” said Phillip. “I think there might have been a problem with her background.”

All of the others stared at Phillip. His talk about “background” reminded Mas of omiai, the Japanese-style arranged marriage in which one’s past was examined with a fine-tooth comb. Mas’s marriage to Chizuko, in fact, had been omiai, but Chizuko’s family must have used a comb with missing teeth in looking into Mas’s past.

“I don’t know too much about it, but Becca knows, right?” Phillip said.

“I really don’t have many details,” mumbled Becca, but somehow Mas knew that she was lying.

“How did they meet?” Ghigo asked.

“Wasn’t she living with some woman that Kazzy knew from a long time ago?” said Phillip.

“Her roommate’s mother used to be a maid here in the Waxley House with our grandmother,” explained Becca.

“That’s right. They all hooked up after K- san started these renovations,” said Phillip.

“Detective, I really don’t think this woman had anything to do with Kazzy’s death,” Miss Waxley said. “Kazzy had a lot of woman friends. A bit of a ladies’ man, I hate to say.”

Becca lowered her eyes.

“Well, we’ll check her out, just in case.” Detective Ghigo’s gaze then fell on Mas. “Mr. Arai, what a surprise to see you here again. Didn’t know that you had any business with the Ouchi Foundation board.”

“He was here to look after the trees,” explained Becca. “But his family now plays a role on the board.”

The sea urchin began to cough; it was obvious to Mas that he wanted Becca to stop. She caught on and looked awkwardly at Ghigo and the attorney. As if receiving a baton in a relay race, the attorney turned to Mas, then cleared his throat and continued Becca’s train of thought. “In the event of Mr. Ouchi’s death, he named a successor to the board,” he said to Mas.

“Yah, yah, so?”

“That person is Takeo Frederick Jensen.”

Nanda? Had Mas heard correctly?

Ghigo was also surprised. “You mean the baby?”

“Now, we haven’t verified if this is legal,” said the sea urchin, pulling at his orange spiky hair.

“Are you saying that the Ouchi Foundation contests the will?” asked Ghigo.

“No, it’s just that we only heard it earlier this morning. How can a baby be a member of the board?” continued the sea urchin.

“Well, K- san ’s will instructed that Lloyd would assume the position until Takeo became of age,” said Becca.

The sumo wrestler sucked in more air into his immense lungs. Sitting down, he seemed taller than Mas standing up. “It’s craziness. Utter craziness. I want our attorneys at Waxley Enterprises to take a look at that will before we do anything.”

“Excuse me if I sound uncultured,” interjected Ghigo. “But why do you care who’s on the board? How much money do you get?” Mas listened intently. He was wondering the exact same question.

Miss Waxley laughed, covering her mouth with a hand dotted with age spots. “Quite the contrary, Detective Ghigo,” she said. “You are usually expected to give money when you’re named on a board.”

“So who cares who’s in and who’s not?”

“The board decides the future of the garden and museum,” explained Becca. “If the board votes to shoot the project down, it’ll eventually die.”

After forty-five minutes of this incessant talking, Mas had to leave. He felt bad abandoning the sycamore, but he figured a few more days of being attached to its infected limb would do no extra damage.

The route back to the underground apartment was remembered by Mas’s legs, which automatically carried him past street signs, bus stops, bakeries. He turned on Carlton and unlocked the gate and door of the apartment, and was greeted by the friendly smell of cooked green onions, fried bacon, and soy sauce. Fried rice, the way Lil Yamada had taught Chizuko to make it when she first arrived in America. It had become Chizuko’s specialty dish, now reprised in Brooklyn.