The Runaway Bride

  Not waiting for her reply, the man reached into his jacket and pulled out a manila envelope. “This was supposed to be waiting up here for you,” he said tightly. “But my assistant went off to lunch without taking care of it. I’m terribly sorry. I’ll be sure to speak to her when she returns.” He added, “By the way, I am Mr. Soseki.”

  “Oh,” Nancy said, relieved. “I’m, um, Ms. Marvin.”

  The security guard strode right past Nancy and Mr. Soseki and leaned over the reception desk. “You can tell the second-shift guy when he comes in that I couldn’t wait around for him any longer,” Nancy heard him say to the receptionist in Japanese.

  So the guard hadn’t been interested in her at all! Nancy thought. She felt an irresistible urge to chuckle, but she stifled it and said, “Well, thank you, Mr. Soseki. You can be sure that Mr. Drake won’t forget this.”

  “My pleasure,” Mr. Soseki replied, bowing.

  Nancy tucked the manila envelope into her purse and headed for the door. She spotted the other receptionist, the one with the lavender-tinted glasses, walking toward the building with two other women.

  In one quick motion Nancy reached into her purse, found her sunglasses, and slipped them on. Then she started across the street as casually as possible. The receptionist didn’t seem to notice her.

  George and Mick were the only ones at the bus shelter. “Success?” George asked Nancy.

  “So far, so good,” Nancy replied. She got the manila envelope out of her purse and pulled out its contents—a complicated-looking two-page form, all in Japanese.

  Nancy turned to Mick. “Can you translate this?” she asked him. “It would take me too long.”

  Mick studied the form quickly. “It’s the bill of sale for the van Gogh landscape,” he explained. “The buyer is listed as Nakamura Incorporated. The seller isn’t named. The price is”—he paused and whistled—“the equivalent of fifteen million U.S. dollars.”

  “Wow,” George said.

  “The buyer is Nakamura Incorporated?” Nancy repeated. “Not Ken or Connor?”

  “Right,” Mick said.

  “That’s strange,” Nancy remarked. “Mick, is it possible for Ken or Connor to use Nakamura funds without getting authorization?”

  “I wouldn’t really know about that,” Mick replied, shrugging. He read over the bill of sale again. “You know, there’s something about this painting that rings a bell. I think I read an article about it in the paper, maybe two or three weeks ago.” He sighed. “I wish I could remember what it was.”

  “That sounds promising,” Nancy said eagerly. “I’d like to go to the library and track the article down.”

  Mick glanced at his watch. “I wish I could help you, but I’d better get back to work. I’ve got reports to do.”

  “Poor Mick,” Nancy murmured. “Listen, you’ve already helped us plenty. I’ll call you soon with a progress report.”

  After saying goodbye, Nancy and George headed for the library. They got a pile of English-language newspapers from the librarian and settled down at a long wooden table.

  “If we strike out with these, we can try the Japanese-language papers later, with Mick’s help,” Nancy said to George.

  “Good idea,” George said, picking up one of the papers. “We’re just looking for any mention of the van Gogh, right?”

  “Right,” Nancy replied.

  “Here’s something,” George said after a while. She pointed out a small article to Nancy. “Some politician named Watanabe bought the very same painting just two weeks ago.”

  Nancy scanned the article. “It says that Watanabe bought it at a private sale conducted by Nobu Auctioneers Limited for—” She paused, mentally converting the yen amount into dollars. “The equivalent of ten million! But that doesn’t make sense. How could the painting have gone up in value by five million dollars in just two weeks?”

  “And it’s weird that Watanabe wanted to get rid of it so quickly,” George piped up. “I mean, two weeks is barely enough time to figure out where to hang it.”

  “It’s strange, too, that this Watanabe wasn’t named on the bill of sale I got from Mr. Soseki,” Nancy added. She read the newspaper article one more time. “What do Ken and Connor have to do with all of this, anyway? And what do they think Midori knows that’s got them so afraid?”

  “Too many unanswered questions,” George grumbled.

  Nancy stood up. “You’re right about that, George. Let’s head back to the ryokan and go over every piece of this case again. We’re going to figure out what Ken and Connor are up to if it takes us all day and night.”

  • • •

  Nancy and George were sitting cross-legged on the floor of their room when the phone rang.

  Nancy went over to the dresser and picked it up. “Hello?”

  “Nancy?” It was Mick. “I have to see you and George right away.”

  The urgency in his voice startled Nancy. “Where are you?” she asked him. She glanced at her watch and noted that it was after six o’clock.

  “I’m at the office,” Mick replied tersely. “But I don’t want you to come here. There’s a little diner around the corner from me called Happiness Cup.”

  “We’re on our way,” Nancy said. Then she added, “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” Mick said. “Just get there as soon as you can, okay?”

  Half an hour later Nancy and George were sitting across from Mick in a red vinyl booth. After the waitress had brought them some water and taken their orders, Mick leaned across the table and said, “Connor Drake is dead.”

  Nancy gasped. “What!”

  “Just before I phoned you, Gil came into the interns’ office and told me. Now everybody at Nakamura is talking about it,” Mick went on. “Apparently Connor was going too fast on some road outside the city. He lost control of the wheel and went over an embankment.”

  “How horrible!” George cried out.

  Mick glanced around quickly, then said in a low voice, “How unbelievable is more like it. Connor was a car buff. He collected vintage cars.”

  “What does that have to do with it?” George asked him, puzzled.

  “The accident happened in his favorite car, this big old American convertible,” Mick explained. “The thing is, he was so careful about not getting one scratch on it that he never drove it over thirty miles an hour. I know this because he took me and Gil for a ride in it once.”

  Nancy’s eyes widened. “Are you suggesting that Connor’s death wasn’t an accident?”

  Mick nodded. “Besides, what was Connor doing on a road outside Tokyo in the middle of a workday?”

  Nancy tried to digest this startling information. She rested her chin on her hands. “Who could have wanted Connor dead? And how does his death fit into the case?”

  Mick took a sip of water. “Any ideas?”

  “Well, we do have a new angle,” Nancy replied, and told him about the article she and George had found in the library. “So now we know that Ken and Connor are connected to this politician, Watanabe, through the van Gogh. But we still don’t know what the connection is.”

  The waitress appeared at their table with three bowls of noodles. “Enjoy,” she said.

  The three of them fell into a thoughtful silence as they started eating their food.

  Some shadowy memory was hovering at the edge of Nancy’s mind—something having to do with the case. She frowned, trying to remember.

  “Gil,” she said suddenly.

  Mick and George looked up from their noodles. “What?” they said in unison.

  Nancy leaned forward eagerly. “George, before the Bon Matsuri festival, you told me Gil liked talking about things like—”

  “Superconductors,” George finished for her, rolling her eyes. “And the role of the Japanese art market in illegal political contributions.” She smiled wryly at Mick. “Your friend’s a real smart guy.”

  “But what was Gil telling you about these political contributions, George?
” Nancy persisted. “What was the connection to the art market?”

  “To tell you the truth, I wasn’t really listening,” George admitted.

  Mick slapped his forehead. “Political contributions and art! Why didn’t I think of it? I saw a piece about it on the news last week.”

  George frowned. “You guys are losing me.”

  “If Ken and Connor are involved in the kind of deal that was described in the news segment,’ Mick said, “they managed to make a political contribution to Watanabe by buying the van Gogh from him at a five-million-dollar mark-up. Watanabe bought the painting for ten million, and then got fifteen million for it from Ken and Connor—leaving him with a cool five million.”

  “That’s got to be it!” Nancy said, grabbing his arm excitedly.

  George shrugged. “I don’t understand. Why bother with the van Gogh? Why not just give Watanabe the five million outright?”

  “Because there’s a limit on political contributions in Japan,” Mick explained. “Carrying out the two van Gogh transactions through Nobu Auctioneers would have enabled Watanabe, Ken, and Connor to beat that limit.”

  “Wow,” George said. “That’s pretty clever.”

  “There’s another benefit to a scheme like that,” Mick continued. “It not only keeps the contribution secret from the authorities, but from the public, too. Politicians don’t like the public knowing that any particular individual or corporation is giving them tons of money. It looks bad, makes people think that the politician might be giving special favors in exchange for the money.”

  “But what favors would Ken and Connor have gotten from Watanabe in exchange for this huge contribution?” Nancy asked.

  Mick shrugged. “It might have been something specific, like getting some law passed that would benefit Nakamura Incorporated. Or maybe they just wanted to have a very good friend in the government, for future use.”

  Nancy took another bite of her noodles. “I think we’re on to something. This theory would explain a lot of things—the five-million-dollar difference in Watanabe’s buying and selling price, why he unloaded the painting so fast, why his name was left off the Nobu bill of sale—”

  “And why Nakamura Incorporated’s identity as the buyer was confidential information,” George added.

  “It would also explain last Thursday evening,” Nancy said, waving her chopsticks in the air. “Imagine this. For whatever reason, Connor happens to leave the wrapped van Gogh in the executive conference room for a moment. He comes back to get it, and sees Midori unwrapping it. He knows she’s a big art buff, and he’s afraid she might recognize the painting. He’s also afraid she might just happen to know about Watanabe’s purchase of the very same painting a couple of weeks earlier.

  “So Connor’s worried about Midori putting two and two together,” she continued. “He goes running into Ken’s office to tell him what happened. A few minutes later Midori goes to Ken’s office, too, and overhears them discussing her.”

  Mick drummed his fingers on the table. “I bet that’s exactly what happened. Midori was the big glitch in their scheme, and they were prepared to take care of her rather than face major jail time.”

  Nancy narrowed her eyes. “But what if there was another glitch—a glitch involving Connor?” she said. “Maybe something went wrong, and Ken ended up having to take care of him, too.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” George moaned. “If Ken was desperate enough to kill his partner, what’s he capable of doing next?”

  “Good point,” Nancy said grimly. “I think we’d better wrap this case up before Ken gets a chance to hurt anyone else.”

  • • •

  Out on the sidewalk, Mick bid Nancy and George goodbye. “I’ve got to get back to the office and finish up a few things,” he said. “Can I meet you someplace in an hour or so?”

  “George and I should head straight for Mad Dog’s and warn him and Midori about Ken,” Nancy said. “Why don’t I call you later at home?”

  Mick nodded. “Sounds good. Please be careful, okay?”

  “You be careful, too,” Nancy told him. “For all we know, Ken may be on to you, too.”

  After Mick left, George turned to Nancy. “Cab?”

  Before she and George could get one, they ran into Mari.

  Mari broke into a happy smile. “Nancy! George! What a coincidence! What are you doing in Akasaka?”

  “Meeting a friend,” Nancy replied quickly. “What about you?”

  “I was up at Nakamura Incorporated to see Ken,” Mari explained. “My parents wanted me to give him some papers having to do with the canceled wedding.” Then she blushed deeply and stared down at the ground. “Listen. I owe you an apology.”

  “What for, Mari?” George asked.

  Mari looked up. “I broke my promise,” she confessed. “You see, Ken and I were talking about Midori, and he seemed really upset about her still being missing. I felt so sorry for him that I ended up telling him where she was.”

  Chapter

  Fifteen

  YOU TOLD KEN where Midori was hiding?” Nancy repeated, horrified.

  “I know she didn’t want anyone to find out,” Mari said weakly. “But Ken seemed so depressed. And I thought the two of them might be able to patch things up once they saw each other again and had a long, heart-to-heart talk.”

  “Excuse us, Mari, we have to make a really important call,” Nancy broke in. “We’ll explain everything later.” She grabbed George and pulled her toward the phone booth, leaving a puzzled-looking Mari standing on the sidewalk.

  “Do you think we’re too late, Nan?” George said nervously as she closed the glass doors of the booth behind them.

  Nancy dialed Ken’s number at Nakamura Incorporated. “I hope not,” she replied.

  There was no answer.

  “Do you think Ken’s on his way to Mad Dog’s?” George asked anxiously.

  “You can bet on it,” Nancy murmured. She picked up the phone again and dialed Mad Dog’s number.

  “Busy signal,” she grumbled, hanging up. “Listen, George—we can’t waste any more time. I’m going over to Mad Dog’s to warn them about Ken.”

  “I’m going with you,” George insisted.

  Nancy shook her head. “I want you to go to Nakamura Incorporated and get Mick. Or call him from here and wait for him. Then bring him to the studio with you as soon as you can.”

  “Are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself?” George said doubtfully.

  “I’ll be fine,” Nancy reassured her. “It’s Midori we should be worried about.”

  • • •

  As Nancy got out of the cab in front of the vacant lot with the sagging fence, she spotted an expensive-looking black sedan parked halfway down the street.

  That must be Ken’s, she thought anxiously.

  Nancy sprinted across the lot toward Mad Dog’s building. She reached the security door and was about to open it when she heard voices coming from the other side.

  One of them belonged to Ken. “You know what to do,” he was saying gruffly in Japanese. “They’re in the second-floor studio. They may be expecting trouble, so be very quiet on your way up.

  “Right, boss.” It sounded like the voice of a young guy. Nancy didn’t recognize it.

  Nancy heard someone step toward the door. The knob began to turn. Thinking fast, she raced around the corner of the building and crouched down low.

  The door creaked open. Nancy edged her hands along the brick wall of the building and peeked out. Emerging from the doorway was the tall, slender, well-dressed figure of . . . Seiji Nakamura.

  Nancy gasped. What was he doing there? She’d heard Ken speaking, not his uncle!

  Then it dawned on her. Seiji and Ken had very similar deep, husky voices. She recalled noticing it at the Hamada Imperial Villa when she first met them.

  As Nancy watched Seiji crossing the lot, something else dawned on her. Perhaps Midori had overheard Seiji scheming with Connor in Ken’s office
last Thursday. The office door had been closed, Midori had said.

  Nancy shook her head in amazement. Was Seiji Connor’s partner in crime—and killer? Had Ken been innocent all along? Where was Ken, anyway? And where on earth was Seiji going?

  Then Nancy remembered the young guy who was on his way up to Mad Dog’s studio.

  “I’ve got to stop him,” she said to herself, and crept around the corner of the building. Seiji had headed out to the street and had his back to her. She ran to the security door, opened it with her credit card, and dashed inside.

  Once in the dimly lit concrete hallway, Nancy stood very still and listened. What was going on? she wondered. Was the guy already in Mad Dog’s studio? But then she heard the faint sound of footsteps above her and to the left. He must have just reached the upstairs landing, Nancy guessed.

  A plan began to form in her mind. It would be risky, she thought, but definitely worth a shot if she was going to save Mad Dog and Midori.

  Nancy glanced around and found what she was looking for hanging next to the door—a fire extinguisher. Moving speedily, she opened the security door and let it fall shut with a bang, grabbed the fire extinguisher, and planted herself in a small, dark corner behind the foot of the stairs.

  She closed her eyes briefly and tried to concentrate on what she would say next and how. She had to speak perfect Japanese, with no American accent whatsoever, and imitate Midori’s nervous, high-pitched voice, to boot.

  It was now or never. “Mad Dog!” she called out suddenly. “I think someone’s upstairs. Let’s get out of here.”

  Nancy opened her eyes. Her hands, which were gripping the fire extinguisher, felt sweaty.

  Almost immediately, Nancy heard footsteps moving softly and swiftly down the stairs. She instinctively retreated farther into her shadowy hiding place. In another second the man was at the bottom of the stairs. He hesitated and looked around warily.

  Now! Nancy told herself, and swung the fire extinguisher at the back of his head.

  He let out a moan and crumpled to the floor. He was young, and he had a crew cut.

  “You!” Nancy muttered out loud. It was the guy who’d thrown the deadly shuriken at her and pushed her into the bonfire at the Bon Matsuri festival! And he was most likely the one who’d delivered the poisonous fugu.