Sushi scandal, p.1
Sushi Scandal, page 1
SUSHI SCANDAL
A PRIDE STREET PARANORMAL COZY MYSTERY
T. THORN COYLE
Sushi Scandal Copyright © 2022
T. Thorn Coyle
PF Publishing
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Editing by Annie Reed
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Cover Design © 2022
T. Thorn Coyle and PF Publishing
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Paperback ISBN: 978-1-946476-38-8
This book is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, or locales is coincidental. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved.
For my Kickstarter backers, Patreon supporters, and for my strange and wonderful found family.
You know who you are.
1
MARSHA
My name is Marsha. I’m a corgi, and my best friend in the whole world is Klaus. He’s a corgi, too.
We were named after what our humans call “two queer icons,” whatever that means. I’m assuming it means they were Very Important People, and since Klaus and I are also Very Important People, it makes sense.
We live in a very nice home, filled with gleaming wood, comfy chairs and beds, and a lot of art. And music. One of our humans, John, really likes music, even when he is “working now, please don’t bother me.”
But we’re not at home right now. Today is a shop day.
Shop days are when Klaus and I walk our other human Garrett to his store because John is “on a publication deadline and don’t have time to deal with the rascals today” day.
Since both the shop and home have soft beds, I don’t mind. The only thing the shop lacks is a doggie door and a back garden. But what the shop has that the house doesn’t?
People who coo over us, rub our tummies, and scratch behind our ears.
I like that. Mostly. It makes me wag my luxurious black tail. Did I mention my tail has a white tip? It does. It’s very beautiful, like the rest of me. Klaus has a tail, too.
Sometimes all the human adoration interferes with my naps though. Like right now.
Klaus and I were snoozing on the big fluffy dog bed next to the big wood counter where Garrett did the books, rang up sales, and chatted people into buying things they didn’t need, but really, really wanted.
I understand wanting things I don’t need, because John and Garrett are always telling me I don’t need another treat, or a new squeaky toy, or that they threw the ball fifteen times at the park and were tired.
Humans. They’re always tired. I think they need more naps.
“Oh my gosh! These corgis are the cutest! May I pet them?”
I cracked open an eye and swiveled my ears.
The person looming over our big bed had short platinum hair that contrasted with their brown skin, rainbow striped sneakers, skinny black jeans and a black T-shirt with a big green heart in the center. They also wore makeup, the way John did sometimes when he and Garrett were going out.
Garrett never wears make up. And he always wears what he calls “proper pants” and nice shirts. He’s shorter and softer than John, and nice to cuddle. John is taller, leaner, and more muscly.
“They both love a good tummy rub,” Garrett said from behind the counter. “Hi Saschi! What brings you in?”
I looked past the person currently cooing at me. There was Saschi, standing tall in bright pink boots, black jeans, a pink T-shirt. Their shining, pale face was topped with turquoise hair.
“Yarrow loves mid-century modern stuff, and I told them they had to meet you,” Saschi said.
Way to interrupt a belly rub. I licked Yarrow’s hand, hoping they would stay. I gave the hand a lick and got a squeal in response.
“Oh! She…he? Licked me!”
“You must smell good. And that’s Marsha, named for Marsha P. Johnson. Her blond sidekick there is Klaus. Named for Klaus Nomi.”
“Not a sidekick,” Klaus grumbled.
I tilted my head and preened. “Face it, Klaus. I’m the one that people come to see.”
Everyone loves me. And why not? Like I said, I’m gorgeous. Black fur frames my eyes nicely, and I have tan and white accents for extra bling. Klaus is boring old tan and white, including his tail. I mean, he’s still attractive, but not beautiful like me.
“Are not! Plenty of people come to see me!” He pushed me with his nose, then turned his big brown eyes on the human currently scratching behind my soft ears.
“Oh! Aren’t you a cutie-pie?” The human turned their attention on Klaus, rubbing the spot between his eyes. He wiggled his butt and sighed.
Woof. “Scritch stealer.”
Klaus didn’t reply. The little furball was too busy cozying up to the new person. Saschi kind of hovered, as if they weren’t sure if they wanted to be in the store or not.
“I thought corgis didn’t have tails,” Yarrow of the Rainbow Shoes said.
“Most Cardigan corgis do, actually,” Garrett replied. “Pembroke corgi tails are traditionally docked. The original corgis were all working dogs in Wales, and you don’t want a dog’s tail getting caught in brambles when they’re herding, or whatever. But since these two have never worked a day in their lives? Having tails is okay.”
Hmph. I work plenty, but I was too busy getting my ears scratched to reply.
“But that was probably way more information on corgis than you needed.” Garrett laughed. “So, what are you in the market for?”
Yarrow stood. I barked in protest, and Klaus whined.
“Hush, you two! I swear, they act as if they get no attention at all.” I could hear Garrett putting on his I-have-customers voice. He doesn’t like people knowing he’s shy, but I can always tell when he’s feeling overwhelmed. Garrett doesn’t like attention the way I do, which is fine. More for me.
“I’m not sure what you’re looking for,” he said, coming around the counter, “but we have an entire mid-century modern area just for you. There’s the most fabulous orange crackle-glaze lamp set I just have to show you! And of course, we have several chairs you might be interested in.”
His voice grew more distant as he led Yarrow further into the store.
Saschi stayed. Crouching down, they took my face between their pale hands and stared into my eyes. “Hello, Marsha P. Johnson. How are you today?”
“I’m great!” I barked. “Want to play?”
I wiggled my rump, swished my tail, and crouched. Usually that was good for a game of tug or a ball throw. But Saschi just looked worried. And sad.
Also, they didn’t smell right, and were kind of sweaty, even though I knew it wasn’t hot out.
“Klaus.”
“What?”
“Does Saschi smell strange?”
Usually, Saschi smelled like peppermint. Today? They smelled a little sour, like they were sick. And the peppermint smell was laced with old fish. My nose wrinkled. I mean, I like the smell of fish, but this combination was Not Nice.
“Old fish,” Klaus decided. “And mint. They’re chewing gum though. And they do work at the sushi restaurant.”
I sniffed again, then sighed and relaxed under Saschi’s ministrations. Chewing gum and sushi was probably it. But I’d never known Saschi’s skin to smell like old fish before, even when they’d been carrying the little wooden trays covered in fish slices. Maybe they were coming down with what Garrett called a “summer cold.” I guess that’s different than a cold you get during winter, but I’m not sure why.
“I wish you could help me, Marsha,” Saschi was saying. They were sitting on the floor now, face buried in the scruff of my neck as they scratched my head.
I gave a little bark to let them know I was listening. Humans like that.
“I’m in deep trouble,” they whispered into my fur. “And I don’t know who to talk to.”
Uh oh.
“Tell Garrett!” I woofed softly.
“Or John!” Klaus’s bark was louder. I swear, that dog has no finesse.
“They’re good at helping people,” Klaus said.
I had to agree with that.
Saschi sat up and gave one of those watery laughs that usually means a person is trying not to cry.
I heard Garrett and Yarrow of the Rainbow Shoes coming back.
Saschi dashed the tears from their eyes with their pale, slender fingers, smiled at me, and stood.
“I’ve got to get to work,” they said, talking to Yarrow. “Did you find what you needed?”
Yarrow practically bounced in those rainbow shoes. I liked them. The shoes, I mean. And the person, too.
“Oh! Garrett has the most wonderful mid-mod chair that would look cute in my little living room!”
“Great!” Saschi said. Their voice was bright, but still didn’t sound right to me. “See you around, Garrett.”
“Sounds good. Maybe we’ll come in for dinner tonight.”
Saschi waggled their fingers.
“Nice to meet you all,” Yarrow said, giving Klaus and me one final scratch, and then both humans were out the door. I looked at Klaus.
“What do you think is wrong?” I barked.
“With humans?” he replied. “You never know.”
“How about it, you two? Want to hang out at Saschi’s work when we’re done here?”
“Saschi needs your help,” I barked.
Garrett smiled. “I thought so. You two love that place, do
Then he turned his attention back to the computer.
Humans. Sometimes I think they don’t understand anything at all.
2
GARRETT
Pride Street is my favorite place. Rainbow flags fly everywhere, shops and restaurants are filled with happy people, out walking and showing off their outfits, cruising, or sitting in bars and cafés, flirting or gossiping over tea or beer. Couples push strollers, toddlers shriek at the dogs tethered outside Leo’s Grooming Palace, and the occasional drag queen totters by on heels that I can barely comprehend.
John can pull off heels when he feels like doing drag, but me? You’ll never catch me in heels. Or a dress. Shudder. They remind me too much of my early years, when my mom still tried to force me into dresses and shiny shoes. I hated every second of it. Once I was old enough, I just started to refuse.
Our relationship went downhill from there. After all these years, I try to not dwell on it, but sometimes the memory still stings. You just want family to love you for who you are, you know?
At any rate, after the usual awkward phase of casting about for my own personal style, I’m now your basic dapper man about town. I like fancy shoes and boots, my classic tortoiseshell glasses, the clean knife’s edge of a sharp trouser crease, and vests over crisp button-down shirts.
I even wear the occasional bow tie if I’m feeling sassy.
Maybe it’s being a trans man that makes me lean into classic menswear, but mostly? I’m just a lover of retro classics, both in furniture and personal style. You’ll never catch me in John’s jeans and T-shirts, for example, except for when I’m digging in the garden, though I’ve worn plenty of both in my trying-to-look-more-butch teens.
At any rate, we were ensconced at How We Roll, our favorite Pride Street sushi place. The fact that it’s also the sushi restaurant closest to our house is a bonus.
John and I shared a two-top table set beneath the elm trees that dotted the sidewalk, providing the street with shade. Our corgis—Klaus and Marsha—were parked beneath us, snoozing, and probably hoping for scraps. One of their undocked tails occasionally thumped the patio pavers in happy contentment.
It was a beautiful early summer evening. Laughter from Axle’s Bar across the street filtered toward the more subdued conversations at the restaurant.
Subdued, until a boisterous bustle arose between the planter boxes leading to the front doors. John and I both turned our heads to see who was causing the ruckus.
“The freaking Mayor of Pride Street,” John grumbled. I looked around. Sure enough, there was Sweetheart Digs, a white man with dark brown hair, an always-the-perfect-amount-of-stubble face, and blue eyes currently festooned with rhinestone rimmed sunglasses that matched his silvery shirt. The shirt flapped untucked around brand-new dark jeans. Silver leather loafers peeked from beneath the jeans.
He wasn’t wearing socks. That was a fashion that always grossed me out a bit, like going commando. I mean, didn’t your feet get sweaty? And how often, exactly, do those commando people wash their fricking pants?
Not daily, I bet.
John frowned at the exaggerated I’m a Good Guy antics of the self-proclaimed Mayor of our little LGBTQ village. And John wasn’t the only one scowling. Roderick Gauge pushed past the small group fawning over Sweetheart Digs. I couldn’t see Roderick’s eyes beneath his sunglasses, but his face looked like he’d been sucking on a lemon.
“What do you have against Sweetheart Digs?” I asked John. “I mean, sure he’s kind of obnoxious, but…”
“We’ve got a past,” John remarked darkly. “But I don’t want to talk about it now.”
I raised my eyebrows, but let it drop. This was news to me, but I trusted John. He would tell me in good time. Even life partners deserve a little privacy.
I turned back to the street and the happy, bustling people. The air rang with conversation and laughter.
“I swear, spring in Portland is my favorite time of year.”
“I thought that was fall?” John teased. I smiled and picked up my paper menu.
Another thing I like about Pride Street? No cars. The three main blocks that comprise the heart of our little gay village are narrow and blocked to all traffic except pedestrian, with the occasional wheelchair or bicycle thrown in the mix. But bicyclists at least know to go slow around these parts. You never know when tipsy revelers might spill out of Axle’s Bar or Enrico’s club, further down the street.
Now, what to eat? I was in a nigiri kind of mood, even though How We Roll had gluten free tempura, which made me the happiest man in Portland.
But I was happier still to be sitting across from John, my Asian Lothario turned life partner. What the heck did he want with an awkward dork like me?
“Whatcha thinking?” he asked, catching my eye as he looked up from his menu.
“Thinking how lucky I am to have such a handsome sweetheart.”
A smile lit up his face, dancing in his rich brown eyes, and crinkling his smooth gold-tinged skin.
On the surface, John and I couldn’t be less alike. He’s thin, with weight-trained muscles, has a shock of almost-black hair, and is a cis, gay, Asian thriller writer. Not that he writes gay Asian thrillers, but… you know what I mean. In his mid-thirties, he moved up from San Francisco over a decade ago, and still has a bit of that bigger-city sheen about him.
Plus, he looks great in drag.
And me? I’m a pasty, soft around the middle, early-forties white guy from nowhere Oregon. I’d had a penchant for interior design as a kid—the result of watching too many home improvement shows while hiding from the other children. I was also a shy, nerdy, boyish-looking girl with no tomboy skills whatsoever, except for woodworking, which was considered dorky. To say I was bullied was an understatement.
Add in that my parents had no clue what to do with me? Let’s just say middle school was not the most fun time of my life.
Finally in high school, I discovered theater geeks who were happy to let me wear my jeans and T-shirts, or khakis and button-down shirts. They were just happy I was willing to build and paint sets. I was able to stay behind the scenes and still be part of something, which worked great for me. I also finally figured out why being forced to be a girl never made sense to me.
Turns out, it’s because I was actually a boy.
John? Despite being a gay nerd, he was always popular. He’s one of those people born to shine, which is why it cracks me up that he spends most of his time in his office in our classic Craftsman home, pounding out very popular thrillers on his keyboard, spending most of his time alone.
Meanwhile, my shop and design business both meant I had to interact with people all day long. But it’s okay. I’d gotten used to it and figured out workarounds for the things that used to make me over-the-top anxious.
Also, social interactions with a function and a purpose? I can do those. Social interactions, like at nightclubs or parties? Uhh… let’s just say I’m grateful John saw something in my soft, pasty self as I tried my hardest to fade into the woodwork at that nightclub six years ago.
One smile, and one dance, and I was a goner.
Still am.
“How are you two handsome men doing today?” Saschi, still in their pink T-shirt and black jeans, but this time with a black apron over it all, set down a steaming pot of jasmine tea and two delicate porcelain cups. Saschi was a force to be reckoned with. Their eyelashes and nail polish matched their turquoise hair.
“Great, Saschi, how are you?” John asked, smiling. “Any gossip today?”
“Can you turn that thing down, John? You’re going to blind me!” Saschi mocked covering their eyes. John’s smile was brilliant, and it wasn’t because he had veneers. Unlike Sweetheart Digs. John was just charming and charismatic, and did I mention I wasn’t sure how I ended up with him?
But something about Saschi seemed a bit off. First, they looked a bit flushed and were breathing heavily. I looked more closely, and despite their playful banter, there was sadness. And they had neatly sidestepped the gossip question, which was strange. Usually, Saschi loved to dish.
