Primitive Secrets by Deborah Turrell Atkinson

earlier cartoon of Fang peeked out from under one of them; the words seawall, Dr. OTToole, and narsing homes were scribbled beneath the little caricature.
    Old habits were what you fell back on when you didn’t know what else to do: list the events, make an outline. She added cancer patient? and Hamasaki’s name, then balked at writing the word death. Instead, she penned theft. Twice, if she counted the attempt on her laptop.
    She sat back. The burglaries, a meeting the night Hamasaki died, plus the elusive and sick client were disturbing loose ends. Storm dug around in her laptop case for the phone number of the detective that had come to the office after she’d found Miles’s body.
    â€œSergeant Fujita here.”
    â€œHello, this is Storm Kayama.”
    â€œHow you doing? I heard about your break-in last night.”
    â€œThat’s partly why I called. Did you know that someone tried to steal my laptop the night before?”
    She heard him rattle through papers. “No, that’s not in the file yet.” He paused. “That’s not good.”
    â€œUm, Detective Fujita, did you see anything suspicious when you came to the office Monday morning?”
    â€œWhat are you getting at?”
    â€œA man who gave a false name visited Miles a few days before he died.”
    â€œDo you know what he wanted?”
    â€œNo, but Miles’s secretary saw him and said that he looked very ill. Plus, Hamasaki had a meeting with someone the night he died.” As she spoke them, Storm’s words came back to her as a bit paranoid. Hamasaki had a lot of meetings, and still often worked long hours.
    â€œThose thefts would bother me, too. If you find out who this man was and what he wanted, I want to know.” Storm could hear him ruffle through papers. “But right now, we don’t have any hard data. Just hunches, which I respect, but we can’t run an investigation on so few facts.”
    â€œI see,” Storm said. And she did. The detective was being kind.
    â€œMs. Kayama, please be careful.”
    Storm hung up the phone. Lorraine had laid a fat labor union file from Hamasaki’s office right next to Storm’s laptop where she wouldn’t miss it, bless her heart. Storm jammed it into the case. She would review it over the weekend and give Roy Tam a call on Monday to set up a meeting.
    She went out to the front desk to check and see if Lorraine had anything else for her. Diane, Wang’s secretary, was talking to Lorraine.
    â€œI’m taking off,” Storm said. “Do either of you know if Wang has anything for me to look at over the weekend? He’s already upset about Miles’s briefcase and the papers that were stolen.”
    Diane smiled at her. “Don’t you worry about him. His bark is worse than his bite.” She glanced around and spoke in a near-whisper. “He’s just moody because of his mother.”
    â€œWhat happened to her?”
    â€œHer Alzheimer’s is getting worse. She’s pretty helpless, she wanders out of the house, and he still won’t put her in one of those homes.”
    Diane exchanged a concerned look with Lorraine. “He says the patients are tied up, or locked in their rooms.”
    â€œWhat does he do during the day when he’s at work?” Lorraine asked.
    â€œHe has a private nurse, but at night he takes care of her himself. Gets up and gives her all her medications and everything. He told me about it when the nurse was late one morning.”
    Storm shook her head with sympathy. “You never can guess the extent of another person’s troubles, can you?” Diane and Lorraine tsked and agreed.
    All three of them looked up at Hamlin, who approached. “Storm, have you got a moment?”
    â€œAbout half of one. I’ve got to catch a plane.”
    Lorraine and Diane exchanged a glance and headed toward the kitchenette.
    â€œI’m sorry about Meredith