In addition to incense parties, Koremori was also devoted to poetry contests and practiced whenever an opportunity arose.

“Dust and copper coins?” Akitada did control his sarcasm.

“Don’t be dense. It’s what she was lying on. Ashes from the overturned incense burner and a little pile of coins from one of the offerings to the dead. The line symbolizes the futility of human desires rather neatly, don’t you think?”

“Very appropriate.” Akitada felt slightly sick.

“You may jot it down for future reference,” Koremori said.

“What about the incense? How did she get it?”

Koremori rose. “Come and see for yourself.”

On the table near the door, the tray now held only one small packet wrapped in paper, tied with silk, and labeled with an elegantly brushed phrase. One end of the paper twist had been opened and refolded carelessly. Akitada bent and sniffed. The remnant of ground incense inside seemed to have the same odor as the ancestral shrine.

He had heard stories about people becoming ill after experimenting with exotic combinations of incense ingredients, but like the constable, he had never encountered a case where the victim had been killed. The opened package was labeled transcendent life.

“How do you know this was poison?” Akitada asked. “Apparently the police think the nurse died from natural causes.”

“Hah! That shows you what they know. There was a very unpleasant smell in the shrine. When we found the dead woman, my majordomo mentioned that she had complained earlier about running out of incense, but she had clearly found some. Then I came in here and I saw that this sample had been opened. It arrived late yesterday. I decided to test it. But after getting a pinch started, I was called out of the room. When I returned, there was the same strong stench in the room and Yoshiko’s cat lay on the floor, dead. I held my breath and ran to open all the shutters to air out the room but nearly fainted anyway. There’s your proof that someone wants to murder me.”

Akitada regarded his cousin. Koremori looked very ill, but Akitada did not like the note of triumph in his voice. Still, poisonous incense would explain the dead flies in the shrine. There was something vaguely troubling about the scenario, something that had nothing to do with Koremori’s fears. “Whose incense sample is this?” he asked, nudging the opened paper with his fingernail.

“I don’t know. The samples are anonymous. We identify each sample by its title.” Koremori detached the label and gave it to Akitada before returning to his desk.

Akitada followed, frowning at the label. “But why would the nurse help herself to a contest sample?” he asked.

“How should I know? She was a very unpleasant and disobedient servant and was probably too lazy to get fresh incense from the household stores. Really, it served her right.” He paused, then added, “It was lucky in a way. If she had not helped herself, I would not have discovered the plot and would be dead by now.”

Akitada thought the luck depended on your point of view. His dislike for Koremori increased. He laid the label on the desk. “Whom do you suspect?”

“No idea. That’s where you come in, my dear Akitada. Your success in criminal investigations is well known. You will work it out quickly, I’m sure.”

“If this is a murder case, I’m afraid I cannot get involved. The minister has strictly forbidden it.”

“Soga?” Koremori waved a dismissive hand. “Never mind. I will speak to him.”

“I doubt he will permit it. He has been very clear on that point in the past. I regret that I cannot be of assistance, Cousin, but Captain Kobe is very efficient.”

Koremori opened his mouth to protest when the door opened and a teary-eyed and agitated Lady Yoshiko rushed in. “Oh, Koremori,” she cried, wringing her hands, “it is too dreadful! What shall be done about poor Oigimi? I’m too distraught to manage.” She saw Akitada and blushed. “Cousin Akitada,” she murmured, raising her sleeve to dab at her eyes.

Koremori looked away.

“Perhaps,” offered Akitada, “I may be of assistance, Lady Yoshiko. If you are worried about funeral arrangements for, er, Oigimi, I could stop at a temple and ask the monks to come and read the services.”

She looked at him with a tremulous smile. “You are the kindest man, Akitada,” she murmured. “Do you think they would come?”

“Don’t be an idiot, Akitada,” snapped Koremori. “Oigimi was her cat.”

“Oh,” said Akitada.

The young woman looked reproachful. “She was a very beautiful cat, black with four white paws, and so sweet. She never left my side. I am sure some divine creature’s soul inhabited her body.”

“Never mind, my dear.” Koremori was irritated but he restrained himself. “We are very busy just now. Please speak to one of the servants about the cat.”

“You never liked Oigimi,” Lady Yoshiko accused him with a charming pout. She turned to Akitada. “He always thought the poor little sweet thing would disturb his papers.” Her eyes fell on the desk, and she saw the incense tag with the words Transcendent Life. “Oh,” she said, “I shall ask Sakanoue,” and left.

An uncomfortable silence fell, then Akitada asked, “Who is Sakanoue?”

“A friend. A distant relation who amuses Yoshiko. But to get back to my problem. What will you do? Remember, the killer may try again.”

“Is there someone in your household who would want to kill you?”

Koremori threw up his hands. “How should I know? I treat my servants well.”

“What about your friends? Specifically the participants in the incense party?”

“Quite impossible! And don’t ask for their names. They are far too important to be troubled with questions.”

Akitada raised his brows. “You are not making this easy. Who would benefit from your death?”

Koremori’s mouth twitched. “Apart from some small bequests for the servants, my property will go to your mother.”

Akitada felt trapped. “Very well. If you can get permission from the minister, I’ll look into it.” He picked up the tag. “The handwriting is elegant. Do you recognize it?”

“It’s vaguely familiar, but I can’t say.”

Since further conversation seemed unprofitable, Akitada rose to leave.

* * * *

As he had suspected, his mother took an avid interest in the news about Koremori’s will. “Very proper,” she concluded. “I daresay Koremori exaggerates his danger, but it is good to know that his affairs are in order. There is still the young woman. Of course the affair may not last, but meanwhile you must spare no effort to ingratiate yourself. Make yourself indispensable. Exaggerate the danger. Convince him that but for you he might die. In short, act like his son Akemori would have acted under the circumstances.”

The thought was revolting, but Akitada said, “Yes, Mother.”

* * * *

A messenger arrived early the next morning with a note from Koremori: “I have spoken to Soga. Come.”

Reluctantly—it was amazing that even a dull day in the archives seemed preferable—Akitada returned to his cousin’s house to question Koremori’s majordomo.

He found Kenzo, a small, thin, middle-aged man of neat appearance, in the ancestral shrine, instructing the youngster who had removed the kitten from Koremori’s room in the proper polishing of the floor.

“A terrible thing,” Kenzo said. He shook his neatly coiffed head. Every strand of his hair had been pulled back sharply, wound about with a black silk cord, and tied at the precise apex into a smooth loop. As a result of this extreme hairstyle, his thin eyebrows were permanently raised, as if in astonishment at the oddities of life. “Tomoe—she was the dead woman—asked me for incense that morning. I went immediately to the storehouse, but the supply was gone. I think the maids must have helped themselves. I suggested she skip the incense just once, but she refused quite rudely. She should never have taken the master’s incense, but she always thought of herself as belonging to her dead mistress and her son.” He shook his head again and adjusted the black sash that held the stiffly starched blue cotton robe at his neat waist.