“Yes, but … you’re fine, aren’t you Vera?”
“You remember what I told you, Gina. If anything happens to me, I want you to have all of my clothing, handbags, shoes—the works. Just come in here right away and take it. I’ve told Yvette those are my wishes.”
“I understand. But hopefully that day is a long way off.”
“Hopefully.” She brightened. “I would like to be able to come to your new store’s opening.”
“That would be fabulous!” Gina clapped her hands as Yvette entered with the tea. “I would love it if you came.” She looked up at the French woman. “And you, too, Yvette. I hope you’ll attend the party when my store opens.”
Yvette looked as if she would drop the tray of teacups. With considerable effort, she lowered it down and scooted from the room, her pale eyes full of tears.
_____
“Spring in Manhattan,” Miles said, wrapping an arm around Darby and bringing her close. “I think it’s the nicest night so far. I can’t decide if it’s because I’m with a top-notch sleuth who just solved two murders, or if the temperature is really warmer.”
She laughed. “We did it, Miles, didn’t we? Thanks to Gina and her discoveries, plus the fact that she found Mikhail and Miranda before it was too late …”
Miles clenched his teeth. “I hope that Hale gets exactly what he deserves, like life in prison. How do you think he gained access to Miranda’s apartment?”
“I’m afraid it was rather easy for a con man like Jeremy. Somehow he knew of their penchant for ordering from Central Park Place’s private chefs, so he stole a uniform, and delivered their dessert. I suspect he added something—probably the same chemical he used to drug Devin—so that they’d get groggy fast.” Darby passed a bag to Miles. “Popcorn?”
“Sure.” He grabbed a handful from the gourmet bag they’d purchased and they munched in silence. “And then he turned on the gas.”
She nodded. “Luckily he didn’t expect someone in a climate-controlled building would have a window open.”
“On a cheerier subject … I can’t believe you’re coming back in June,” Miles said. “Even better, you’re coming with me to merry old England.”
“I can’t wait.” She grinned. “It’s going to be fun.”
“What about Maine?”
“I’ll get there, too. I miss Tina and Donny, and I want to see how Bitsy Carmichael is doing, too.” And, she thought, I miss my cove.
“Let’s head back to the Burrows pad,” Miles suggested, grabbing another handful of popcorn. “Unless you want to hit another ritzy store?”
“No,” she laughed. “I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”
twenty-five
Gina got the call from Sherry Cooper as she was about to meet Bethany for an early dinner.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but something’s up on the fifth floor,” she said.
“What do you mean?” Gina’s heart started to race. Vera, she thought. Vera lives on the fifth floor …
“I was just heading out to meet Penn for drinks and there’s an ambulance out front. Ramon said it’s an emergency with someone on the fifth floor.”
“Did he say who?”
“No.”
Gina called Darby.
“We’re on our way,” Darby said. “I’ll let you know what I find out as soon as we get back to the building.”
“Okay,” said Gina, but even as she hung up she knew she was headed back to Central Park Place. She had to see for herself if Vera was okay.
She called Bethany and cancelled their plans, then grabbed a taxi.
_____
The ambulance was pulling away as Gina’s taxi approached the building. She craned her neck for a clue that would tell her who was inside, but saw nothing.
Outside Central Park Place, Ramon was wringing his hands. “Such a sweet lady,” he said, as Gina approached. “To have to go through this …”
“Vera Graff?” Gina asked, not wanting to know the answer.
Ramon nodded, and Gina felt the pit of her stomach drop.
“Is—she—dead?”
Again the sad nod from the doorman. Gina put her hands to her face. “Why did Vera have to die?” she said softly, shaking her head.
“Wait a minute,” Ramon said. “She didn’t die.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, Vera didn’t die. Her maid did. Poor Vera’s got to find new live-in help, and you know that ain’t going to be easy. Especially not at her age.”
Gina’s mouth was open. “Let me get this straight: Yvette was the one in the ambulance? Vera Graff is okay?”
“Well, as okay as you can be when …”
You have to find a new maid. Gina couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
Before she lost it entirely, she headed for the elevators and the fifth floor.
twenty-six
Natalia Kazakova was already at apartment five-fifteen, sitting on the stiff couch talking with Vera. Both women gave sad smiles as Gina knocked and entered.
“You heard about Yvette?” Vera asked, her voice breaking.
“I did.” Gina went to her and gave her a hug. “What happened?”
“Heart attack,” she said, her lips trembling. She looked around the room as if reconstructing the scene. “I was taking a bath, and I came out …” she wiped her eyes. “She was lying there …”
“At least she did not suffer,” Natalia said. She patted Vera’s arm. “You would not have wanted her to be in pain.”
“No.” Vera sniffled. She cleared her throat. “You know, I’m upset, but I’m also so surprised. I always assumed I would die first. I never dreamed something would happen to Yvette!”
Tears rolled down her face. “We’ve been friends for so long. Through so many tough times. All the moves, all over the place, for my husband’s posts. His death.” She sniffled again. “My miscarriages. Yvette was always there for me, holding my hand. Wiping the tears, telling me not to give up.”
“Just as you were there for her,” Gina said.
“I suppose so,” Vera agreed. She looked at the two women and took a deep breath. “You know, Yvette asked me to keep a promise, and I did it, for sixty years. I never told a soul, not even my husband.”
On the other side of Vera, Natalia raised her eyebrows.
“I suppose it will all come out, now,” Vera said, quietly.
A quizzical glance passed between the young women.
“What are you talking about, Vera?” asked Gina.
“Who I am,” she said, with a rueful smile.
Natalia gave a knowing nod. “Perhaps you want to tell Gina first, before it becomes public knowledge.”
“What, exactly?” asked Gina.
Natalia looked at Vera expectantly. When the older woman kept silent, Natalia sighed. Finally she said, her voice low, “Vera is the source of my story about stolen royal palaces in Russia.”
“I see,” said Gina, who had already surmised as much.
Natalia paused. “Vera is of 34th generation Russian nobility. She is the Princess Anastasia Bolensky …”
Beside her, Vera shook her head. “No, dear. I’m afraid you’re mistaken.”
“Vera, you said yourself it was all going to come out.”
“It’s just that I’m not Princess Bolensky.”
“I don’t have the name wrong, do I?” Natalia sounded like a true journalist, wanting to be sure of her facts.
“It isn’t me,” Vera persisted.
“Really, Vera,” Natalia chided. “You have given me all of the information on your story!”
“Yes, I provided you with the information, and I believe it is accurate,” the old woman said. “But I am not the princess.” She moistened her lips. “That was my dear friend, Yvette.”
>
_____
“Some secrets are so well hidden it’s impossible to know them,” Darby said, when Gina told her the story an hour later. “Yvette—or Princess Bolensky—was in hiding her whole life.”
“Yes,” Gina said. “After the 1917 Revolution, Yvette’s family estates were seized by the authorities and their owners arrested. The ones who weren’t killed or captured fled Russia disguised as peasants. They settled in Paris, where Yvette was born and raised. Only after the fall of Communism did some of her family go back to live in St. Petersburg.”
“But Yvette …”
“Yvette couldn’t do it. She was terrified that what had befallen her family might happen again.”
“Did her relatives recover their property?”
“Some assets were obtained, and shared with the rest of the surviving family members. You would not have guessed it, but Yvette was not a poor woman. She not only owned most of the furniture and antiques—including the saber—but the apartment itself!”
“Unbelievable.” Miles shook his head in disbelief. “What happens to Vera?”
“She’s all set. Yvette left everything to her in her will.”
“You’re saying that Yvette remained incognito, working as Vera’s maid, virtually her whole life?” Darby asked.
“She chose security over freedom,” Miles said.
“In a sense that’s true,” agreed Gina, “but remember, Yvette and Vera were very close friends. I suspect that behind closed doors the roles of housekeeper and employer were ignored. It was only when there were people watching that they put on a charade.”
“Did you ever have a clue that this was happening?” Darby asked.
“Not really. Once I heard Vera call Yvette a nickname that I did not recognize. Turns out it was Nastasia—a nickname for Anastasia, which, by the way, means ‘resurrection.’”
“How apropos.” Darby turned to Miles. “Where does this leave Natalia and her story?”
“Vera would still be a source—although not a primary one. It weakens the whole thing somewhat, but Natalia has a good angle, if she chooses to pursue it.”
“Oh, she will,” Gina said. “Her experience with Jeremy has made her more determined than ever to become an investigative journalist. She’s going to be on a quest to make sure the truth gets out.”
“I’m glad somebody is,” said Miles. He lifted his eyebrows. “Speaking of truth, mine is that I’m famished. Join us for dinner, Gina?”
“No, thanks,” she said, looking at her watch. “I’m off to Brooklyn to meet Bethany and make some plans for the store.” She reached out and gave Darby a hug. “If you’re in the city for High Voltage Vintage’s opening, I hope you’ll come.” She hugged Miles as well. “You’re invited, no matter what.”
“Brilliant,” he said, hugging Gina back. “I can’t wait to see my jumpers on display.”
“Talk about resurrection,” Darby said, rolling her eyes. “I can’t believe anyone will actually hand over money for those ratty old sweaters!”
“Not just buy them—wear them!” Gina laughed.
Darby and Miles joined in. It felt good to laugh, and wonderful to look to the future with hope. Rough times were ahead, times that would test them, but today the sun’s warmth promised spring, a time of renewal for all.
the end
about the author
Top-producing Realtor Vicki Doudera uses a world she knows well as the setting for her series starring crime-solving, deal-making real estate agent Darby Farr. A broker with a busy coastal firm since 2003 and 2009 Realtor of the Year, Vicki is also the author of several nonfiction guides to her home state of Maine.
When she’s not writing or selling houses, Vicki enjoys cycling, hiking, and sailing, as well as volunteering for her favorite charitable cause, Habitat for Humanity. She has pounded nails from Maine to Florida, helping to build simple, affordable Habitat homes, and is currently president of her local affiliate.
Vicki belongs to Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, and the National Association of Realtors. Sign up for her newsletter, find signing events, book club questions, Darby Farr recipes, and much more at www.vickidoudera.com, or drop her a line at [email protected].
Author photo by © William von Wenzel.
Deal Killer (A Darby Farr Mystery) Page 27
