The Graveyard Apartment by Mariko Koike Page A

at the ceiling with its convoluted network of pipes. Perhaps one of them had sprung a leak, or maybe someone had stashed a container of liquid in a storage compartment and it had spilled.
    The chilly draft was climbing now, insinuating its way from Misao’s ankles up to the small of her back, and she got the uncanny feeling that it had deliberately chosen to wrap itself around her. For a brief instant, she found herself regretting the fact that she was an adult. If I were a child, she thought, it would be perfectly all right for me to let out a long, loud scream right now .
    At long last, the elevator began to move: 3 … 2 … 1 …
    Misao opened her mouth with the intention of singing something, to pass the time and dispel her nervousness. However, her mind had suddenly gone blank, just as it had earlier that day in the Ginza, so she settled for humming a wordless tune.
    On the elevator panel, “B1” finally lit up and the door slowly slid open. There was something inside the elevator, but for an instant Misao couldn’t tell who or what it was, and she let out a small involuntary shriek.
    â€œOh, Mrs. Kano!” Mitsue Tabata sounded cheery and relaxed. “I didn’t know you were down here.”
    Misao forced her face into a reasonable facsimile of a smile, then said, “Sorry, I was just surprised. I didn’t expect anyone to be on the elevator.”
    â€œWere you doing something with your storage locker?”
    â€œWhat? Oh, no, Tamao just left something down here, that’s all.”
    She held out the yellow cardigan, and Mitsue peered at it, beaming. “What darling embroidery,” she said. “Did you do that yourself?”
    â€œOh, gosh, no. Not at all. I bought this at a store…” Trailing off, Misao made an effort to summon up another pleasant smile.
    Mitsue pointed in the direction of the storage lockers. “I just decided to put on my chef’s hat and make some pickled vegetables today, from scratch,” she said. “I came down here to get my pickling stone, to put on top. My husband adores tsukemono , but even so, he’s always teasing me and calling me ‘Auntie Pickle.’ Of course, he has no idea how much work goes into making the pickled veggies he loves so much.”
    Misao conjured up yet another polite smile, then stepped into the elevator. For some reason, the innocuous sound of Mitsue’s slip-on sandals slapping on the bare floor as she walked away into the basement echoed in Misao’s ears for a very long time.

 
    6
    April 7, 1987
    After Teppei got off the train at Takaino Station, he brushed past a noisy group of people on the platform, evidently on their way home from an evening of celebrating the cherry blossoms. There were five or six men and three women, and they were laughing and squealing and generally raising a ruckus. One of the women, who was obviously several sheets to the wind, appeared to be on the verge of vomiting at any moment. Even so, her pale face wore a broad grin as she stumbled along, drunkenly clutching the arm of one of the young men.
    There was a small but renowned grove of cherry trees near South Takaino Station, and Teppei guessed that the rowdy group had gone there for a picnic dinner (featuring copious quantities of alcohol), and then had walked or taken a taxi to Takaino Station. Teppei had recently been invited to a couple of blossom-viewing parties by his colleagues at the advertising agency, but he had begged off because he was swamped with work. Also, there were plenty of cherry trees in bloom near his apartment building, and if he wanted to see them all he had to do was to step out onto the balcony. The trees dotted around the cemetery were at their glorious peak right now, and the abundant greenery created a lush backdrop for the fluffy pink-petaled domes.
    Teppei’s younger brother, Tatsuji, had dropped by three days earlier with his wife, Naomi, and