The Kizuna Coast: A Rei Shimura Mystery (Rei Shimura Mysteries Book 11) Read Free Page A

Center, and I suppose I’ll get my orders from Hank over there. You can spread the news at Ewa Landing.”
    My own cell phone rang, and I snatched it up. “Hello?”
    “Rei-chan, did you hear?” All the way from San Francisco, my father’s voice crackled with worry.
    “Yes, Dad. Michael’s here, too. I’m putting your call on speakerphone so we can all hear each other.”
    “Hi, Toshiro.” Michael’s voice was warm. “You must be worried for your brother’s family.”
    “Indeed I am. I called his house and had no answer, even though it’s a time that Norie should be home,” my father said. “And I never heard of an earthquake measuring 9.0, have you? We’ve been told to stay away from the beaches because there will be a reciprocal wave coming from the earthquake’s epicenter.”
    “I hear you. In fact, I’m just getting ready to help my office deal with our own potential tsunami.” As he spoke, Michael was putting all kinds of communications gear into his briefcase.
    “Please stay overnight at Honokai Hale. That is truly high ground.” My father was speaking of the cliffside home belonging to Uncle Yosh, his son Edwin, and daughter-in-law Margaret.
    “Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll drive over with Uncle Yosh. He came to our neighborhood this evening to play mah-jongg, so it’ll be very easy to get going.”
    “Good. I won’t have to worry about any of you, then.”
    Two heavy knocks thudded on the front door.
    “That may be him now. Michael, can you get the door?” I asked, but my husband had already vacated the room, leaving nothing but flip-flop sandals behind.

Chapter 2
    E ven with Uncle Yosh walking alongside me, my door-to-door encouragement of neighborhood evacuation attracted no interest. People wanted to huddle in their homes, watching the tragedy replay across each network. Lilia had been watching her TV nonstop and informed us the wave had been twenty-three-feet tall. Shaking her head, she told me, “We got nothing that we can’t handle, compared to that.”
    Michael called my cell from his office to say he wasn’t sure if he’d be released from work that night and hoped Uncle Yosh could leave a key near the front door.
    “No need for locking; nobody messes with Shimuras,” my uncle answered tersely.
    “I’ll try to take that as an invitation,” Michael said, when I repeated my uncle’s
bon mot
. “But don’t wait up.”

    Uncle Yosh and I got in his vintage Toyota sedan around six, and quickly realized that outside of Ewa Landing, others were evacuating. Driving west on Farrington Highway, the Celica was quickly absorbed in a long line of taillights that reminded me of the candle-lit paper boats that floated on water during O-bon ancestor-remembrance ceremonies.
    We rode mostly in silence; my brain was fogging as badly as the windshield of the twenty-five-year-old car. I knew the horror was just beginning. In the hours that lay ahead, thousands of people would remain trapped underneath buildings and debris or marooned in buildings surrounded by water. And then there were those who were without anything to cling to, who were swimming, floating, and drowning.
    Yosh and I were received warmly by our relatives, who offered drinks and a
yakisoba
dinner. I found it impossible to relax, even after everyone had gone to their rooms and the living room was darkened for me to sleep on the fold-out sofa. Aunt Margaret must have heard me rustling, because she came in the wee hours with a container of Tylenol PM. The pharmaceuticals eventually did the trick, but over and over, I dreamed the wave had come to us. I was on a staircase, desperately trying to scramble higher, but an obstacle blocked me from safety. A dog barked somewhere, over and over, until the nightmare finally ended.
    It was full-on morning; I awoke to sun streaming straight into my eyes and the smell of grease in the air. I was still sprawled on the folded-out sofa bed in the Shimuras’ cluttered living room. My head was