by Frank Perry
She’d told her agent to inform the publisher that she was putting the last story about the Tsarina on hold to start a new series based on the Anna Timiryova.
Her normal routine was to write for about three hours before her husband and kids woke up. She loved the quiet predawn hours when her mind was fresh. Usually, her stories evolved while she slept and she’d write it down in the morning. It worked for her. She didn’t write much after the rest of the family arose. After her husband left for work and the children were off to school, she’d go for a run before her own breakfast and shower.
She didn’t write this morning. She was too excited about her new book. After a week of absorbing the richness of the correspondence between Anna and her Admiral, the whole story flowed in less than six weeks. The intensity of their love for each other, inferred from the Admiral’s letters, was like reading poetry written by the Brownings. It was totally absorbing. Her friend, Helena, came over in the mornings after Jackie opened the package of letters and translated Anna’s letters. The richness of the words kept both of them mesmerized. A man could not have written more beautifully of their love, right up to the last day of his life.
Jackie started writing the book after the first session with Helena. She was inspired. She even wept while writing, thinking about the tragedy of their lives. He was murdered, and she was persecuted for the rest of her life, yet her love never tarnished, never wavered. She had never known an actual love story like this before.
The book was an immediate success, a best seller within the first week, and the reviews were awesome. Her agent and her publisher forgave her for neglecting her contract. Now, she wasn’t sure she could write more about the Tsarina. Anna offered more texture and richness.
Fateful
He didn’t read the book. Evan had ordered it using his Kindle account, but not to read the story. He bought the download to read the back-matter. Now, as he scanned the author’s notes, the clue they had been suspecting was validated. Karina was preparing her report for her client, who was still a mystery to Evan. She consolidated their findings and would be meeting with her boss.
In the morning, she was more excited than any time since starting the project. Gregor had set a weekly briefing routine, always in a private session between just the two of them in his office. After several weeks, she had discovered some important information.
After meeting with him many times, she was becoming more comfortable in his office. Her relaxed posture might imply that he would ultimately be successful getting her even more comfortable, maybe even to bed; but for now, they both needed to stay focused on the research task, the potential payoff to him would be massive.
“Gregor, I have stopped probing into Sonya’s life after 1919. Nothing exists that suggests she had any contact with the Admiral, or cared about him at all. She simply vanished into the Paris culture and never resurfaced. We can conclude that she was fearful of the Soviets, who killed everyone important in Russian society from the pre-revolution time. She would always be Admiral Kolchak’s wife and, therefore, an enemy of the people. In those days, up to the 1960’s when she died, such people were hunted by the KGB. There is no indication that she was ever a wealthy person until her death and so could not have had any of the gold.”
“Tell me, Karina, why do you look unusually happy today? You have something good to report I believe.” She had sent him a text message the day before.
“Yes, Gregor.” She always did her best to retain a professional distance from the man. She hadn’t wanted to learn any more about his nefarious background. He was her client, pure and simple. She maintained a professional demeanor, just as a lawyer would representing a murderer in court. She managed a friendly, but distant, relationship. She’d been pursued by men all her life and knew how to guard against unwanted advances. Gregor had tried on occasion to soften her exterior, which she did to a point, but she always rebounded back before he got the wrong signal. She would never like the man. “There is an American author who has written a book based on the character Anna Timiryova. The book is mostly fiction, but she claims to have written it after reading letters from Admiral Kolchak.”
“Where could she have found copies of such letters if you did not?”
She dodged the affront, “These are not copies. There are no copies. These are letters that Anna kept privately until she died. They were never shared with anyone. She died in 1975, but somehow this author now has them.”
“Why are they important?”
“They may not be, but the story appears to follow the last days of Admiral Kolchak’s life, as we know it. It is possible that he wrote a great deal in the last days. In real life, she was imprisoned immediately after his execution. She offended many people by insisting on being near him. If any of the letters were written after he was taken by the Red Army, he might have written something about the gold.”
“Do you really feel that strongly about it, Karina?” Gregor was quietly staring at her, but was growing more excited behind his calm exterior; he had always been able to hide his emotions and he didn’t want this woman to understand what he was thinking. He remained neutral.”
“Gregor, as a woman, I believe the letters were not about the gold. That is not why a woman would keep letters from a dead man for almost sixty years. They were not married and only actually lived together for two years. She was abused by the state all of her life after that. Her son was murdered as a young man in 1938 by the Soviet government while she was in prison. She was deprived of dignity and freedom all of her life after Kolchak, yet she kept his letters when she had nothing else. She was last imprisoned as an old woman in the 60’s for announcing her love for him. No, these were not letters about gold: they were about his love of her. Is it not amazing that he, who was Supreme Ruler and leader of the Army, facing death at the end, would still write to her about love?”
“I see, Karina. So, you are thinking that the letters do not provide any clues?”
“That is not what I am saying, Gregor. There may be clues in the letters, but that is not the main purpose. For that reason, for love, she kept the letters. It was not because there was a treasure map. But, do you not see, the reason for keeping the letters is also the reason they exist at all. Otherwise, she would have discarded them or lost them rather than protect and hide them. It’s because of the love that the clues might be preserved.”
“Do you want copies of the letters?”
She was shocked by the question. “Of course. They may answer many questions and help eliminate some possibilities. They might even tell of the gold. I have no way to know. Yes, the letters could be very important. They may not be, but I would like to find out.”
“What is the name of this Author, I will try to get copies from her of the original documents.”
“Her name is Jackie Dickson. She lives in Denver, Colorado. That is the information in the book. I will try to get more information.”
He smiled. “Do not bother yourself, I will have someone locate her and negotiate for the copies.”
She closed her notebook, placing it into her portfolio as she stood. The meeting was over.
Unknown
“Miss Joyce, I don’t know what to say.” Whit Fiske was frustrated.
Kiki couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “What do you mean the court has denied my application to be designated as the Administrator for my father’s estate?”
“It’s not that simple, the judge just removed the farm property from you during probate. You’re still the administrator for everything else.”
“There isn’t anything else, Whit! He had an old pickup and some ragged clothes and one or two bottles of bourbon.”
Whit Fiske had been working off and on for weeks to get this settled and had a pretty good idea he’d get nothing for it, which explained his lack of aggressiveness getting the probate settled earlier. “Look, Kiki, I don’t know what to say. Someone anonymous file
d through another attorney for the property. They aren’t looking to administer the estate; they only say they own the farm.”
“Who is it? You did the title search, how can someone we don’t know own it? Dad lived there for forty years! He paid the taxes and took care of things. Isn’t there some kind of squatter’s rights, even if he didn’t have the deed?”
“I don’t know what’s behind all this, Kiki. Maybe someone has a deed that was lost in the records; maybe they had some kind of deal signed with your father. We just don’t know.”
She was pacing in her office. “Whit, I can’t pay you or the undertaker, or dad’s bills, or anything unless the money comes from the farm.”
“I know, Kiki, I just wanted to tell you before we put any more time in on this.”
“What can I do, Whit?”
“I don’t know, Kiki, I just don’t know. Unless you want to rack up more of my time, I guess you could start making some inquiries as your father’s daughter. Maybe there’s some hole in the story presented to the judge; but right now, you don’t have any legal standing or rights to the property.”
She paused to think. The only person who understood the legal mumbo-jumbo in Michigan was her attorney whom she couldn’t pay, to whom she already owed thousands of dollars. How could you leave me like this, Dad!!!
