Page 11 of A Serving of Hope

“That’s one of my favorites too,” Koishi said softly, closing her eyes and pressing her palms together in prayer.

Chapter 2

Onigiri

1

The moment Shiori Yukimura stepped out of Kyoto station’s central exit, she felt it in the air: the crisp chill of autumn. A faint shiver ran through her, and she looked down at her thin white dress with a sudden pang of regret.

Glancing up at Kyoto Tower, stark against a ceiling of gray cloud, she set off north along Karasuma-dori. She’d been told it was only a ten-minute walk to her destination. As she neared Higashi Honganji temple, she slowed her stride, letting its quiet atmosphere soak in before she turned east down Shomen-dori. Soon she had arrived at a mortar-walled building.

“Excuse me,” she said to the young woman crouching by the door with a tabby cat in her arms. “Is this the Kamogawa Diner?”

The woman rose to her feet, the cat still tucked securely against her chest. “That’s us.”

“And…am I correct in thinking you offer a ‘food detective’ service?”

“Ah. You’re not just here for a meal, then.” The woman bowed politely. “I’m Koishi Kamogawa, head of the Kamogawa Detective Agency.”

“Shiori Yukimura. I saw your advert in Gourmet Monthly.”

“Come on in.” Koishi set the cat down by the entrance and slid open the door.

As Shiori made her way inside, a man in a brown loose-fitting samue and cap emerged from the kitchen and said, “Hello there.”

“It’s my dad here who does the real detective work,” explained Koishi, before turning to her father. “This is Shiori Yukimura. She saw the magazine advert.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” Shiori bowed, sending her long black hair swishing across her pale face.

“Likewise,” said Nagare, removing his cap and bowing. “Now, how’s your appetite? I can serve you the set menu if you like.”

She beamed at him. “Really? That’d be wonderful. Though I feel bad turning up out of the blue like this.”

“Anything you can’t eat?”

“No. I…let’s just say picky eaters were frowned on in my family.”

“All right then. Just give me a moment.” Nagare strode back into the kitchen.

“Take a seat,” said Koishi, gesturing toward one of the folding chairs. Shiori did as instructed, glancing curiously around the restaurant.

“If you read Gourmet Monthly,” Koishi went on, “you must be something of a foodie.”

“Actually, I came across it at my workplace. We always leave a copy out for customers.”

“Well, I’m amazed you found us from that one-line advert.” Koishi grinned cheekily. “And I say that as the one who wrote it.”

“I took a chance and phoned the magazine directly. The editor-in-chief was kind enough to give me directions.”

“May I ask where you’ve come from today?”

“Tokyo. Though I’m originally from Murakami in Niigata.”

“Ah, Niigata. Some of the best rice and sake in the country, for my money.” As she carefully wiped down the laminated table, Koishi sneaked a glance at Shiori’s impressive outfit.

“Thanks. People do say that. Though to be honest, when I lived there I didn’t think much of the place.”

“Do you work in fashion, by any chance?”