Page 21 of A Serving of Hope

“I guess that’s how deep her feelings ran.”

“But…it’s not like she promised to wait. Anyway, what’s the point in waiting for someone who’s already dead?”

“Koishi. Promises aren’t really made with words. They’re made in here.” He tapped his chest. “And once you’ve made them, they’re not easily broken. She kept hers, and we should admire her for it.”

“I guess. But still…”

“I’m keeping a promise of my own, you know.”

“Hear that, Mom? Says he’s keeping his promise. Who knows how long that’ll last, eh?”

Koishi was addressing the photograph on the family altar. For just a moment, Kikuko seemed to smile gently back.

Chapter 3

Shogayaki

1

Toshio Harasawa stepped off the Keihan line at Shichijo station and took the elevator up to ground level. From Sakai, just south of Osaka, it had taken him two changes of train to get here. Now he was standing practically on the banks of the Kamogawa. He remembered being told that, although the restaurant he was visiting shared that name, it had no connection to the river.

He was wearing a beige jacket and gray slacks. It was a casual enough outfit, but his movement felt oddly constricted. That probably had something to do with the weight he’d gained since taking semiretirement.

Puffing slightly as he ambled west along Shichijo-dori, Toshio reflected on his newfound life of leisure. He was still chairman, of course, but only in name. When he did venture into the office, there was very little to keep him there, and he was usually gone in under an hour. He spent the rest of his time roaming Sakai or Namba, ducking into whatever restaurant caught his eye for an unhurried lunch and an afternoon tipple. With a routine like that, it was no wonder he was getting a little plump. Even on this chilly day in late autumn, a short walk was enough to leave his forehead damp with sweat.

After crossing Kawaramachi-dori, he turned north at the third small street, then west at the second, glancing at his notes and map as he walked, until he arrived at what appeared to be his destination.

There was no sign, no noren curtain outside, nothing that said “restaurant.” He’d been expecting this, but it still made him hesitate. He took two deep breaths to steel himself, then slid the door open.

“Hello there,” came the cheerful voice of a young woman in a black sommelier apron.

Toshio’s relief showed in his face. “Is this the Kamogawa Diner?”

“It is,” the woman replied, but said nothing further. Feeling a new twinge of doubt, Toshio ventured his next question.

“I heard you offer a food detective service?”

“Ah. Yes, you’re talking to the right person.” The woman bowed. “Koishi Kamogawa, head of the Kamogawa Detective Agency.”

“Toshio Harasawa. From Sakai.” He produced a business card from his jacket and offered it to her.

“Sakai, did you say?” said a man who had emerged from the kitchen. “Thanks for making the trip. Nagare Kamogawa—I run the restaurant.” He doffed his cap and bowed.

“And I’m in charge of the agency,” explained Koishi, “though it’s Dad here who does most of the actual investigating.”

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you both.” Toshio handed one of his cards to Nagare, who put on his glasses, studied the card, and then glanced up.

“Chairman—Harasawa Precision Engineering Ltd. Sounds impressive.”

“It’s a fancy name for what’s really just a small workshop. We make machine parts.”

Nagare replaced his cap. “Hungry? If you don’t mind having the set menu, I can bring something out right away.”

“I hate to impose on you like this, but that does sound good.”

“Just a moment.” Nagare disappeared into the kitchen.

“Please,” said Koishi, pulling out a red folding chair from one of the tables, “take a seat.”