Dismissed With Prejudice (9780061760631) by Judith A. Jance Page B

sister?”
    â€œTomi married someone else eventually. She died in childbirth when she was twenty-eight.”
    â€œThat tells me what you have against Machiko,” I said, remembering the woman’s unleashed fury as she shook her finger at George and drove him out of her yard. “But it doesn’t tell me what she has against you.”
    George Yamamoto met my gaze and held it as he answered. “It was all a very long time ago,” he said. “I’m willing to let bygones be bygones. Machiko’s not. I’ve thought for years that Tadeo could have done better. I still do.”
    I thought back to the devastated look onMachiko’s face as she heard the news of her husband’s death and at her gritty determination to follow through with whatever he had wanted, no matter what the personal cost to her.
    For the first time I began to wonder exactly what kind of man Tadeo Kurobashi had been, what had made him tick. I looked at George, sitting there grieving over the loss of his friend. The dead man obviously had made a deep impression on the people closest to him, had engendered powerful and conflicting loyalties in his wife, his friends, and also his secretary. Only Kimiko, his embattled daughter, seemed immune to her father’s charm.
    Not only Kimiko, I thought grimly. Somebody else was immune as well, so immune that they had killed him. I felt a renewed sense of urgency to find out who that person was.

CHAPTER 7
    W HEN I GOT BACK HOME TO B ELLTOWN Terrace it was after eight. The first thing I saw after I came in the door was the repeated flashing of the red light on my answering machine. Machines that count messages can be damned imperious.
    I punched the playback button. One of the calls was from a telephone solicitor for the Seattle Repertory Theater, trying to sell me season tickets for their fabulous upcoming season. One was from a guy who wanted to be my stockbroker. All the rest were from Ralph Ames, my attorney.
    Each message from Ames was time-dated, and they were scattered from early afternoon on, beginning in a two o’clock, breezy see-you-at-the-meeting-at-six tone and ending on a downright surly note at 7:59. Needless to say, I had not gone to the meeting, didn’t remember I was supposed to, and didn’t know where it was or what it was about. It was probably something concerning the real estate syndicate that owns Belltown Terrace, but that was only an educated guess.
    Ames’ final message said, “We’ve given up on you. I’ve canceled the meeting. I’ll probably be back at the apartment before you are.”
    Who was “we”? I wondered. And how pissed was Ralph Ames really? Knowing I had screwed up royally, I poured myself another MacNaughton’s just for the hell of it. With the drink in hand, and with my injured fingers still throbbing painfully inside their metal splints, I settled down to wait for the other shoe to drop. It didn’t take long. In less than ten minutes, I heard the unmistakable scrape of Ralph Ames’ key in the lock.
    I was sitting in the shadowy darkness of the living room when he walked in and saw me there. I have to give him credit for letting me have the slightest benefit of the doubt. He graciously allowed me to plead innocent until proven guilty.
    â€œWhat happened?” he asked. “Get stuck working late on a case?”
    â€œI forgot,” I said, not willing to play games or make excuses.
    â€œForgot?” he echoed.
    â€œYes,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
    Unfortunately, apologies were not the order of the day. Ralph Ames blew his stack.
    â€œGoddamnit, Beau, we set both the time and place specifically so you could be there. Six other people, not counting myself, built their day around that schedule, and you can sit there and say you forgot? ”
    You get used to those kinds of recriminations from a wife, and gradually, over a period of time, you develop a certain