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erected in 1603, to serve as the Kyoto residence of the first shogun of the honorable Tokugawa family, and later enlarged with sections of Hideyoshi’s dismantled Fushimi Castle. In spite of its moat and turrets and magnificent iron gate, the castle had been constructed by a man who had no doubts about his safety; with its low walls and broad gardens, it never could have withstood a determined enemy. Although the palace was not representative of Japanese style, it was quite successful as the meant-to-be impressive home of a rich and powerful military dictator who commanded absolute obedience and could afford to live as well as the emperor himself.
    In the middle of the tour, when the other visitors had drifted far ahead, as Joanna was explaining the meaning and the value of a beautiful and complex mural, Alex said, “Nijo Castle is wonderful, but I’m more impressed with you than with it.”
    “How so?” “If you came to Chicago, I wouldn’t be able to do anything like this. I don’t know a damn thing about the history of my own hometown. I couldn’t even tell you the year that the great fire burned it all to the ground. Yet here you are, an American in a strange country, and you know everything.”
    “It amazes me too,” she said quietly. “I know Kyoto better than most of the people who were born here. Japanese history has been a hobby ever since I moved here from England. More than hobby, I guess. Almost an avocation. Sometimes... an obsession.”
    His eyes narrowed slightly and seemed to shine with professional curiosity. “Obsession? That’s an odd way of putting it.”
    Again the conversation had ceased to be casual. He was leading her, probing gently but insistently, motivated by more than friendly interest. What did this man want from her? Sometimes he made her feel as though she was concealing a dreadful crime. She wished that she could change the subject before another word was said, but she couldn’t see any polite way to do so.
    “I read a lot of books on Japanese history,” she said, “and I attend lectures in history. Spend most of my holidays poking around ancient shrines, museums. It’s almost as if I...”
    “As if you what?” Alex prompted.
    She looked at the mural again. “It’s as if I’m obsessed with Japanese history because I’ve no real roots of my own. Born in the U.S., raised in England, parents dead for nearly twelve years now, Yokohama to Tokyo to Kyoto, no living relatives...”
    “Is that true?”
    “Is what true?”
    “That you have no relatives.”
    “None living.”
    “Not any grandparents or—”
    “Like I said.”
    “Not even an aunt or uncle?”
    “Not a one.”
    “Not even a cousin—”
    “No.”
    “How odd.”
    “It happens.”
    “Not often.”
    She turned to face him, and she couldn’t be sure whether his handsome face was lined with sympathy or calculation, concern for her or suspicion. “I came to Japan because there was nowhere else for me to go, no one I could turn to.”
    He frowned. “Almost anyone your age can claim at least one relative kicking around somewhere... maybe not someone you know well or really care about, but a bona fide relative nonetheless.”
    Joanna shrugged, wishing he’d drop the subject. “Well, if I do have any folks out there, I don’t know about them.”
    His response was quick. “I could help you search for them. After all, investigations are my trade.”
    “I couldn’t afford your rates.”
    “Oh, I’m very reasonable.”
    “Yeah? You do buy Rolls-Royces with your fees.”
    “Just for you, I’d do it for the cost of a bicycle.”
    “A very large and ornate bicycle, I’ll bet.”
    “I’ll do it for a smile, Joanna.”
    She smiled. “That’s generous of you, but I couldn’t accept.”
    “I’d charge it to overhead. The cost would be a tax write-off.”
    Although she couldn’t imagine his reasons, he was eager to dig into her past. This time, she wasn’t suffering from her usual, irrational