The Runaway Bride

  The girl sorted through the bundle in her arms and handed Nancy two skirts. “Try these,” she said. “You know where the dressing room is?”

  “I’ve never been here before,” Nancy said, then added, “A friend of mine told me to come here—Midori Kato. She said it was a great store.”

  “You know Midori?” the girl repeated, sounding interested.

  Bingo, Nancy thought. “You know her, too?” she said innocently.

  “We went to Senagawa together for a while,” the girl explained.

  George came up to them. “Hi,” she said uncertainly, her eyes moving from Nancy to the girl and back to Nancy again.

  “This is my friend George,” Nancy explained. “I’m Nancy. And you’re—”

  “Hana,” the girl replied. “If you see Midori, tell her I said hi. I haven’t seen her in a while.” She pursed her lips, blew a bubble, and popped it before adding, “Not since her totally uptight parents pulled her out of school.”

  “Really?” Nancy said. “Actually, I haven’t seen her in a while, either. I was hoping to run into her.”

  Hana shrugged. “You might try Café Vertigo—she used to hang out there a lot. But I doubt she’ll be there.”

  Nancy remembered the miniskirts she was holding. “I’m starving all of a sudden. Maybe George and I will head over to Café Vertigo, then come back to try these on.”

  Hana took them from her. “Suit yourself.”

  After thanking her, Nancy and George headed for the café, which was just around the corner. It was a small, dark, cavelike place with colorful murals on the walls. There were a dozen teens sitting around a few mismatched tables and drinking tiny cups of very black, bitter-smelling coffee. Most of them were wearing ripped denim shorts, torn T-shirts, and combat boots.

  “I get the feeling we don’t fit in here,” George whispered. “Our clothes have no holes in them.”

  “I know what you mean,” Nancy whispered back. Then she noticed three teens—two girls and a guy—sitting in the corner. The guy was wearing a Senagawa Art College T-shirt like Midori’s.

  Nancy approached the table. The three teens stopped talking and looked up at her. “You lost?” the guy asked coldly in excellent, unaccented English.

  Nancy forced herself to smile. “Sorry, my mistake.” She nodded at one of the girls. “I thought you were Midori Kato. I guess I was wrong.”

  “Midori!” the girl exclaimed. “She no longer comes in here.”

  Nancy watched the three carefully. None of them was reacting suspiciously to Midori’s name—they merely seemed curious.

  George walked up to the table holding two cups of espresso. “Here,” she said, handing one to Nancy.

  Nancy took the cup. “I was wrong,” she told George meaningfully. “I thought this girl was my friend Midori, but she’s not.”

  “Oh!” George pretended to study the girl’s face. “She’s definitely not.”

  “Midori’s probably off getting married to her rich Prince Charming by now,” the guy muttered.

  “Ken Naka-something,” the second girl spoke up. “I ran into him and Midori once. He is very handsome.”

  “Yumiko, you have no taste,” the other girl said scornfully. “He is nothing but expensive clothes.”

  The girl named Yumiko shrugged. “Midori told me he writes poetry. I think that is romantic.”

  Remembering what Ken had said about Midori running around with a guy while she was at art school, Nancy decided to take a stab in the dark. “I don’t think I’ve ever met Ken. Is he the guy she used to hang out with at Senagawa?”

  The three teens stared at one another, then broke into laughter. “You’re kidding, right?” the guy said. “Mad Dog Hayashi and Midori’s zillionaire boyfriend aren’t even from the same galaxy.”

  Nancy tried to hide her excitement. She was finally getting somewhere! “Mad Dog Hayashi?” she repeated nonchalantly, taking a sip of her espresso. “Who’s he?”

  “A third-year at Senagawa—a painter,” Yumiko explained. “His studio is just across Yoyogi Park. A red building near the Mikado Restaurant. It used to be a slaughterhouse.”

  “It wasn’t really a slaughterhouse,” the other girl said in exasperation. “Mad Dog just likes to tell people that.”

  “Um, is Mad Dog his real name?” George piped up.

  “No,” the girl replied. “He gave himself that nickname from some American comic book character—a warrior who rides a motorcycle all across the planet Volcanitron.”

  George turned to Nancy and made a face. “Sounds like a real fun guy,” she said in a low voice.

  “Uh-huh,” Nancy replied vaguely. She was eager to get out of there and pay Mad Dog a visit. It was beginning to look as if he and Midori had been an item at some point. And if that were true, he might be a useful source of information.

  She put her cup down on a nearby table and grinned at the three teens. “We’ve got to run. Sorry again about the mistake.”

  • • •

  Nancy and George found Yoyogi Park easily, but had a hard time getting through it. It was crammed with teens dancing to American rock songs from the fifties.

  “That was pretty brilliant how you got Mad Dog Hayashi’s name,” George said, squeezing past a guy doing the twist.

  “Thanks,” Nancy replied. “I wish I’d been a little more brilliant about getting his address, though. It might be tough finding his place.”

  When they’d gotten across Yoyogi Park, Nancy stopped a police officer on the street and asked for directions to the Mikado Restaurant.

  “He said seven blocks this way,” Nancy translated for George. “Come on.”

  The neighborhood became desolate as the girls walked. There were fewer stores and restaurants, and more run-down warehouses and vacant lots.

  Nancy pointed at a small wooden building with a faded yellow sign. “ ‘The Mikado Restaurant,’ ” she read out loud.

  A few minutes later they found themselves standing in a dirt lot surrounded by a sagging wire fence. At the far end of it was a two-story red warehouse with graffiti sprayed all over it. A skinny black cat was sitting on a windowsill, staring suspiciously at the girls.

  “Is this the right place?” George said apprehensively. “It’s kind of depressing. Maybe we should go home and just call the guy.”

  “Oh, come on, George, where’s your spirit of adventure?” Nancy teased, taking her by the arm. “It’ll be fun meeting this Mad Dog person. Plus, he may be able to help us find Midori.”

  Just outside the security door, there were two buzzers labeled in Japanese. “There are two studios in this building,” Nancy noted. “Probably one upstairs and one downstairs.” She squinted at the Japanese characters on the labels. “I think the top one says ‘Hayashi,’ but I’m not sure.”

  Nancy pressed both buzzers, just in case, then waited. Nothing happened.

  The black cat, who was still sitting on the windowsill, hissed ferociously at the girls.

  “Nice kitty,” George said weakly. “Hey, Nan, let’s go. No one’s home.”

  “In a minute,” Nancy said. She jiggled the doorknob. Locked.

  She reached into her purse and pulled a credit card out of her wallet. “I just want to look around a little bit,” she explained to George. “Then we’ll go, okay?”

  George glanced around. “I don’t know, Nan,” she said doubtfully.

  Nancy bent down and slipped the credit card into the crack of the door. “This lock’s kind of tricky,” she murmured, jiggling the card. “But I think I can feel it giving—”

  Just then, Nancy heard a loud rumbling noise.

  She turned in time to see an enormous motorcycle tearing around the corner of the building. Its driver was a well-built guy dressed in ripped-up jeans, a black T-shirt, and a studded leather vest and wristbands. A large helmet covered his head, obscuring his face.

  Nancy realized that he was heading straight for her and George—and he wasn’t slowing down!

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; Chapter

  Eight

  GET AGAINST THE WALL!” Nancy cried out to George. Then she slipped her credit card back into her purse and flattened herself against the front of the building.

  The motorcycle screeched to a halt a few feet from them, kicking up a cloud of dust and gravel. The black cat hissed, leaped off its perch, and ran off.

  The driver cut the ignition and climbed off the bike.

  “You almost hit us,” Nancy said sharply. “Didn’t you see us?”

  The guy removed his helmet. He was young—in his early twenties, Nancy thought—and handsome in a rugged sort of way. He had a reddish black crew cut, and he wore a tiny gold stud in each ear. He looked as though he hadn’t shaved in a few days.

  “I saw you all right,” the guy muttered angrily. “You were trying to break into my building.”

  Uh-oh, Nancy thought. Then she got an idea. “This is all your fault,” she said huffily to George.

  George, who’d been eyeing the guy anxiously, turned to stare at Nancy.

  “My friend and I came by to see an artist named Mad Cat Hayashi,” Nancy explained to the biker. “He wasn’t here, so we decided to wait for him. We got bored, so Jane, here, offered to teach me some of her tricks.” She smiled sweetly. “And I thought credit cards were only good for shopping!”

  The guy glared at her. “You expect me to buy that story?”

  “Story?” Nancy echoed. “Come on, do we look like thieves? We really are here to see Mad Cat Hayashi.”

  The guy tucked his helmet under one arm and frowned. “Mad Dog Hayashi. Get the name right.”

  Nancy grinned at George. “Hey, we found him—isn’t that great?”

  “Yeah, great,” George grumbled.

  Nancy threw her a warning look.

  “I mean, great!” George repeated, smiling nervously.

  “Our friend Midori Kato recommended you,” Nancy told Mad Dog, watching him closely. “She said we had to buy some of your art before you got too famous.”

  At the mention of Midori’s name, Nancy thought she saw a flicker of something in Mad Dog’s expression. Was it fear? It was gone in a flash, and Nancy wondered if she had imagined it.

  Mad Dog suddenly moved toward Nancy, his jaw clenched and his eyes glittering fiercely.

  “You,” he growled. “You’re not here to buy art. You’re here to cause trouble.” He grabbed Nancy’s arm roughly. “If I ever catch you around here again, I’ll break both your legs—and your friend’s, too. Do we understand each other?”

  Without waiting for a reply, he turned and went inside, slamming the door behind him. A moment later Nancy heard him stomping up some stairs.

  She rubbed her arm gingerly. “He’s got some grip.”

  “What’s his problem?” George said shakily.

  “I wish I knew,” Nancy replied. “My guess is that he’s hiding something about Midori. Two seconds after I brought up her name, he was threatening us.”

  George tugged on Nancy’s arm. “Can we please get out of here before he comes back? I don’t know about you, but I like my legs the way they are.”

  “Sure,” Nancy said. “We’d better get back to the ryokan and change for the festival, anyway.”

  • • •

  It was almost dark by the time Nancy and George reached the temple where the Bon Matsuri festival was to take place.

  “Mick and Gil are meeting us at the gate around the corner,” Nancy said, pointing.

  “It’s hard to move too fast in this getup,” George complained, indicating her cotton yukata robe. “Are you sure we’re supposed to be dressed like this? I mean, this is what the maid at the ryokan gives us to put on after our baths!”

  “Mick told me that it’s the thing to wear at these festivals,” Nancy replied merrily. “Hey—I think I see them.”

  Mick and Gil were leaning against an iron gate. They, too, were wearing yukata.

  Mick came up to Nancy and kissed her on the cheek. “Hi, gorgeous.”

  As casual as it was, the kiss sent a tingle down Nancy’s spine. Mick still had that effect on her.

  “Hi, Mick,” she said after a moment, trying to steady her voice.

  “I was just teaching Mick the names of the more obscure constellations,” Gil spoke up, then turned to George. “It’s nice to see you again. I’ve been looking forward to continuing our discussion about politics.”

  George shot Nancy a helpless look as Gil took her elbow and steered her inside the gates.

  Mick reached for Nancy’s hand. “So we don’t get separated,” he explained, his green eyes twinkling. “It’s pretty crowded in there.”

  Nancy thought about objecting, then changed her mind.

  Inside the gate, the temple grounds were magical. There were white paper lanterns strung up everywhere, and the trees and bushes twinkled with fireflies. Couples strolled arm in arm, sharing big pink puffs of cotton candy. In the distance Nancy could hear a band playing a haunting Japanese melody.

  The four of them paused to watch several children who were bent over a brook, floating small boats made of straw. “That’s cute, isn’t it?” Nancy remarked.

  “It’s part of the Bon Matsuri tradition,” Gil said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “You see, this festival is also called the ‘Festival of the Dead.’ The purpose of it is to welcome back the spirits of one’s dead ancestors.” He pointed to the boats. “At the end of the festival, the spirits are sent back to their world in those.”

  “ ‘Festival of the Dead,’ ” George repeated, shuddering. “Sounds kind of scary.”

  “It’s not scary at all,” Mick said, chuckling. “It’s really just a big party.”

  One of the children was having problems getting her boat to float, so George knelt down to help.

  “Let me assist, too, George,” Gil offered, rolling up the sleeves of his yukata. “Sailing vessels have extremely tricky properties.”

  Mick turned to Nancy. “Do you want to check out the temple? It’s one of the oldest in Tokyo.”

  “Sure,” Nancy said eagerly.

  As they walked, Mick said, “How’s the case going? Have you and George made any progress since last night?”

  “Yes and no,” Nancy said, then brought him up to date on the missing diary, their adventures in Harajuku, and their meeting with Mad Dog Hayashi.

  When she had finished, Mick looked puzzled. “What does it all mean?”

  “It means that we’ve got another suspicious character to add to our list—Mad Dog,” Nancy said grimly. “That makes two—three, if you include the guy who delivered the poisonous fugu. The problem is, I can’t figure out how Mad Dog’s involved in all this. And I don’t have any solid proof to tie Midori’s disappearance to either him or Yoko Nakamura.”

  “And what about the diary?” Mick added. “What would Mrs. Nakamura or Mad Dog or anyone else want with it?”

  “Since I couldn’t find any sign of forced entry, I’m starting to lean toward Mr. Kato’s theory. Midori has a key, after all,” Nancy pointed out. “Maybe Midori couldn’t stand being without her diary. Or she wrote something in it that she didn’t want anyone to see.”

  They had turned onto a narrow path lined with blooming magnolia trees. At the end of it was the temple, an ornate wooden structure. Mick and Nancy went to the entry, and found themselves all alone except for an old woman who was praying.

  There was a silk sash hanging from one of the temple’s rafters. The old woman pulled on it, and the sound of bells rang out in the air.

  Nancy bent her head toward Mick’s and whispered, “What’s she doing?”

  “Summoning the gods,” Mick whispered back.

  “Neat,” Nancy said, then realized suddenly that her face was just inches away from Mick’s.

  Mick seemed to realize it, too. He fixed his eyes on hers for a brief, heart-stopping moment, then leaned over to kiss her.

  “We’ve been looking all over for you two!”

  Nancy and Mick jumped apar
t from each other guiltily. Gil was coming up to them, followed closely by George.

  “There’s a big bonfire out back,” George announced.

  Mick cleared his throat. “Actually, we—”

  “We’d love to see the bonfire,” Nancy cut in.

  Mick stared at her, then broke into a grin. “Whatever you say, Nancy.”

  The bonfire turned out to be where all the action was. Nancy and her friends found hundreds of people dancing around it. A band consisting of drums, flutes, and several Japanese instruments Nancy couldn’t identify provided the music.

  “I think I’ll sit this one out,” Gil said apprehensively. “You all go ahead.”

  George sighed. “Come on, Gil. It’s time you learned how to dance. Really, it’s easy.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the circle of dancers, ignoring Gil’s protests.

  They squeezed into one of the lines of dancers, and Nancy and Mick joined another. Nancy raised her arms and tried to imitate what everyone else was doing.

  She discovered quickly that it was difficult to move, much less dance. People were crowded very close together, and somebody was bumping into her almost constantly. She felt like a sardine in a tin.

  Then the music started growing louder and faster, and the dancers’ movements more frenetic. Nancy felt almost hypnotized by the steady, throbbing beat. The flames of the bonfire cast an eerie glow over the scene.

  “This is wild, isn’t it?” Nancy cried out breathlessly to Mick. When there was no response, she stopped dancing and glanced around. “Mick?”

  Nancy suddenly realized that she had somehow gotten pushed toward the center of the crowded circle, only a few feet from the bonfire. Mick, George, and Gil were nowhere to be seen.

  She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead, then called out, “Mick?”

  Just then she felt a pair of strong hands grab her from behind. Before she could react, she was being shoved toward the bonfire—hard.

  Nancy couldn’t keep her balance. She fell toward the crackling flames.

  “No!” she cried.