“What will you do with it?” Colin asked.
Natalie turned to him, her very blue eyes sparkling even in the gray late-day light. “I have to sort things out with Dmitri first, before I can do anything. I want to be sure all the pieces are from this Rusakov collection, or if maybe some are from other sources—just pieces that my mother collected that have nothing to do with Dmitri.”
When they reached the retaining wall, Natalie continued onto the pier, tilted her head back. “Are you really an FBI agent?”
Colin stepped onto the pier with her. “I really am.”
She looked out at the water. “There’s something I want to tell you. I’m not even sure why except…” She crossed her arms in front of her. “I thought someone had been in my house in Phoenix the other night.”
“What night?”
“Thursday. I called the police but they didn’t find anything amiss. It was so weird. I was absolutely convinced I heard someone sneaking out as I got home from a late night at work. The police think I could have heard the air-conditioning kicking on.”
“Was it? Were you mistaken?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t think so.” She sighed again, frowning at Colin now. “My mother had tight security at her home, but she had more to protect than I do. I’d much rather spend my money on a trip than on art and jewelry, if you know what I mean. I have an alarm system, but I’m lax about using it.”
“Might want to rethink that.”
She blushed, smiling. “I suppose I’ll have to.”
Colin nodded to the luxury yacht. “How well do you know the Nightingale’s crew?”
“I don’t know them at all but I have no reason not to trust them. Ivan would never have let me bring the collection here if I couldn’t.”
“Then you trust him.”
“Yes, of course. Shouldn’t I?” When Colin didn’t answer, Natalie pulled off her hood. “I think the drizzle’s stopped, at least for now. Thanks for the chat. Join us later if you can. Bring Emma. I know Dmitri wants to see her again. You, too.”
She didn’t wait for a response and headed down the pier. Colin waited for her to disappear up the gangway onto Dmitri Rusakov’s yacht before he turned back to the Sharpe house.
Emma still wasn’t back from her visit with Tatiana Pavlova.
He would give her five more minutes.
Then he would go find her.
16
THE DECK TO Tatiana Pavlova’s tiny rented cottage jutted out over the water. As Emma mounted the steps, she noticed the tide was in, the late-afternoon air a mix of mist, fog and salt water. Two white-painted Adirondack chairs were positioned on the small deck for the best view. The bow of the Nightingale was visible to her left, the marina and yacht club reasonably busy as working and pleasure boats both wound down for the day.
The sliding glass doors that led out to the deck were half-open, the vertical blinds blowing and clacking in the breeze. Emma knocked on the marine-blue wood trim. “Tatiana? It’s Emma Sharpe.”
There was no answer from inside.
She turned back to the water and touched her fingertips to the raindrops and mist that had collected on the flat arm of one of the Adirondack chairs. It was cold, damp. Not the best weather for sitting outside and watching boats, shorebirds, workers and yachtsman on the docks—or leaving the doors open.
She squinted into the gray. The mist and fog were supposed to lift, not get socked in. Had Tatiana stepped out to clear her head after working and just hadn’t bothered to shut the door?
Emma looked down at the water. A half-dozen ducks had gathered by a rock outcropping, quacking as they swarmed onto some unseen bit of food.
She heard a sound beneath her, as if someone had sucked in a deep breath.
Then a sniffle.
She went still, listening, but heard only the wash of the tide, the chattering ducks and the distant voices of the people on the docks. She walked slowly back down the deck steps, slick and slippery with the mist. The stairs ran along the side of the cottage, toward the street, the tide reaching under the front part of the deck.
She heard a movement and squatted by a bright red wooden canoe that was shoved haphazardly in the wet sand and small stones under the deck, its bow against the front edge of the cottage. High tide pushed water under the stern of the canoe.
“Tatiana?”
There was another sharp intake of breath.
Emma pressed in closer to the canoe. “It’s Emma Sharpe, I’m here alone. No one else is with me.”
“That man. The Russian bodyguard.” It was clearly Tatiana’s voice, more angry than frightened, but she remained hidden behind the canoe. “He was here. He knows who I am.”
“What Russian bodyguard, Tatiana?”
“Ivan Alexander. He will help Dmitri Rusakov steal the collection from Natalie.”
“Where is Ivan now?”
“He left. He walked up to street. I don’t know where he went. He came in front door. I ran out back and hid. I heard him come down the steps.”
“It’s cold and wet down here,” Emma said. “Why don’t we go upstairs and talk?”
Tatiana rose up from her crouched position behind the canoe, squeezed under the low part of the deck, but remained on her knees in the mud. “Ivan must be back on the Nightingale. At Dmitri’s side.”
“I didn’t see him—or anyone else.” Emma felt her boot sink into the wet ground. “Tatiana, I’m a federal agent. You know that, right? You can come out.”
She thrust her chin up. “Ivan came here to intimidate me.”
“Did he say anything to you?”
“No. He said nothing. He knows silence can be more intimidating than words.”
“Why would he want to intimidate you?” Emma asked.
“I told you. He will help Dmitri steal the collection. I know it in my bones. Dmitri will say he is taking back what is his. Ivan will go along with him because that is what Ivan does. Then they’ll lock the collection in a vault and no one will ever see it.”
“Why would Ivan think you believe that?”
Tatiana’s jaw set stubbornly. “I don’t believe. I know.”
“I need more to go on than your gut. What makes you think Natalie wouldn’t sell the collection or lock it away herself?”
“She wouldn’t. I know she wouldn’t.”
“What if she and Dmitri work out an arrangement and he buys the collection from her?”
“He will never pay for what he already owns.”
“Maybe if it was Renee instead of Natalie.” Emma kept any impatience out of her voice. “Come on. Let’s go up and make a cup of tea and talk.”
Strands of dark, wet hair hung in Tatiana’s face, her skin pale, her dark eyes wide with emotion—anger and indignation more than fear. “I’m not police. You have FBI file on Dmitri Rusakov, yes? You know what he did to get where he is now, yes?”
Emma heard the ducks quacking on the other side of the rocks, not far from one of the outer deck posts. She felt the water and mud seep under her boots. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at. Did Dmitri or Ivan hurt you or your family back in Russia?”
Tatiana didn’t move from behind the battered canoe. “I have no family.” She shivered, her pumpkin-colored jacket not adequate in the cold, wet conditions. “I have my work, and my friends in London.”
“You’ve gone to a lot of trouble to be here. If you’re afraid of them—”
She thrust up her chin again. “I’m not afraid of them. I don’t like them. There’s difference.”
“How do you know them, then?”
“I know their type.”
Emma noticed Colin on the narrow walk, coming toward them from the front of the cottage, but kept her focus on Tatiana. “Here, let me help you. We can go up to your cottage where it’s warm and dry and compare notes on Dmitri and Ivan.” She put out her hand. “Colin Donovan is here, Tatiana. He’s a friend and colleague. You met him at my house.”
Colin stood nex
t to Emma as Tatiana peered up at him and inhaled, but she didn’t look afraid. He leaned over and took her by the wrist. “Come on. Up you go. You’re five minutes from hypothermia. Even a mild case isn’t any fun.”
Tatiana hesitated, but Colin gave her an encouraging tug and she crawled out from her hiding spot, slipping in the wet, gray mud and rocks as she cleared the bow of the canoe. She had on black leggings, soaked at the ankles and knees, and she was shivering, her lips turning purple.
“I’ve ruined my shoes,” she said, kicking mud off one of her black flats.
“You need a good pair of L.L.Bean boots up here,” Colin said. “You’re from Russia and you live in England. You must know about staying warm and dry. What were you doing under there?”
She wriggled her wrist free of him and pushed her wet hair off her face. “I was hiding from Ivan Alexander.”
“Why?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“I wouldn’t,” Colin said. “Have you two met before? Has he threatened you?”
Tatiana clamped her mouth shut, but her teeth were chattering. “I’m cold.”
Emma stood straight, aware of Colin’s smoky eyes on her, as if she were the one who needed to do the explaining. “Ivan wasn’t here when I arrived,” she said.
Tatiana sniffled, smudges of mud on her nose and forehead. “I go up to my cottage now.”
She muttered something in Russian, then ducked past Colin and ran up the deck stairs. He watched her a moment before turning to Emma. “I think that was ‘arrogant bastard’ in Russian. Should have been, anyway. Meaning Ivan, of course.”
“You don’t like him,” Emma said.
“I don’t trust him.”
“Even if I do?”
He winked at her. “Now you’re catching on.”
He followed him up to the deck and through the half-open sliding glass door into the one-room cottage. Tatiana stood shivering on the edge of a marine-blue round rug and surveyed the mess. Sketches, pencils, erasers and clippings of various birds from magazines and guidebooks were scattered on a round table, the floor, the pullout love seat. Clothes were flung on the two side chairs. Canned goods, bread, crackers, an open jar of peanut butter and a bottle of Diet Coke covered the small kitchen counter. The sink was stacked with dirty dishes.
“Did Ivan toss this place, Tatiana?” Emma asked.
The young designer stared at her. “Toss?”
“Search,” Colin said.
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. He wasn’t here long. I work…” She waved a hand. “I’m not neat.”
“An understatement,” Colin said under his breath. “Can you tell if anything is missing?”
She gave a tight shake of the head. “Nothing. I don’t think Ivan came inside. I left door in front and door in back open. I have no proof he did anything wrong. You can’t arrest him.” She shivered, her teeth at least no longer chattering. “I’ll be more careful with locks.”
“Why don’t you want us to arrest him?” Colin asked.
Tatiana frowned as if she didn’t understand the question. “It’s not Ivan’s fault I hid from him. I tell you the truth. That’s all.”
Colin still looked skeptical, but Emma said, “You should get into dry clothes and warm up. You were crawling around in that cold mud and water for a while.”
Tatiana shook her head. “I’ll be fine in two minutes.”
Colin pulled a throw off the love seat and handed it to her. She took it and set it on a nearby chair. He shrugged. “Suit yourself. Does Ivan know who you are?”
“Who I am? A Russian jewelry designer in London, you mean? I don’t know what he knows.”
“What about Dmitri Rusakov? Does he know who you are? Would he recognize you if he saw you?”
She tugged off her jacket and let it fall to the floor. “I didn’t want him or Ivan to see me. I wanted my interest in the collection to remain anonymous. I didn’t want to draw their attention to me. It’s too late now.”
“Were you doing anything provocative?” Colin asked.
“What do you mean, provocative?”
“Spying on the Nightingale, taking pictures, that sort of thing?”
Tatiana’s mouth snapped shut, as if she just remembered that she was speaking to a federal agent. “No. I’m just tourist.”
Colin remained on his feet in the middle of the small room. “You’re being evasive, Tatiana.”
“Evasive? I don’t know what that means.”
Which was more evasiveness, Emma thought, but Colin let it go and moved over to a sketch of a great blue heron that was hanging off the edge of the table. With one finger, he slid it back among other sketches. “You were at the Sisters of the Joyful Heart shop this morning.”
His comment seemed to catch Tatiana by surprise. “Yes. I met Emma’s friend Sister Cecilia.”
“You also met a friend of mine. A priest.”
“The Irish priest. Father Bracken. Yes. He’s very nice.”
“Anything happen while you were there?”
“Happen? No. I wanted to see shop. I heard people talk about it, about the sisters. I told Emma. I listen.” She picked up sketches on the floor by the sliding glass door. “Why you ask me questions? I’m one who was hiding under deck.”
“We can call the local police if you want to file a complaint,” Colin said calmly.
She dumped the sketches on the table. “The wind is stronger here by the water than I expected. Everything blows around, but I’m not always very neat to start. I saw a heron this morning when I sat outside. Such a bird. So ungainly looking and yet so graceful.”
“Tatiana,” Emma said, “why did you hide from Ivan? Why not just tell him to leave you alone? Are you afraid—”
“I told you I’m not afraid of him. It’s easier to hide.” Her dark eyes weren’t as angry, as indignant. “Please, I only have interest in safety of the Rusakov collection, but it’s out of my hands. I warned you. It’s all I can do.” She smoothed the wrinkles out of a pencil sketch of a seagull. “So now I draw and think.”
Colin flipped through some of the other sketches on the table, unearthing one of a bald eagle. “Have you ever done work for Rusakov?”
“No. Never.” She seemed offended at the idea.
“Renee Rusakov? Her daughter?”
Tatiana shook her head as she cleared off a spot on the love seat. “I make bed here at night. There’s no bedroom. It’s cozy. Nice. I like having my work around me when I sleep.”
Colin set the eagle aside. “What about a Russian named Vladimir Bulgov? Have you ever done any work for him?”
She made a face as if she’d just eaten something very distasteful. “The criminal.”
“Did you do work for him?” Colin asked, repeating his question.
Still shivering, Tatiana sat down and pulled the throw she’d refused over her legs. “I don’t want to say yes or no without checking my records.”
Colin raised his eyebrows. “You don’t remember?”
Emma would have told him anything he wanted to know but Tatiana again thrust her chin up at him. “You can go. I’m not afraid to stay here on my own. I’m accustomed to living alone in London. This place has good locks, and it’s obvious I have nothing of value here.”
“What if you’re of value?” Colin asked.
“I overreacted when I saw this Ivan Alexander,” she said, ignoring the question.
Emma picked up a pencil sketch of a fanciful-looking swan that had ended up in a corner by a floor lamp. “You enjoy Russian folklore. What’s your favorite Russian story?”
“I don’t have one favorite.” Tatiana tucked her hands under the throw and drew it up over her chest. “The stories are what they are. Each stands on its own.”
“It’s such a graceful swan,” Emma said. “You draw quickly?”
“Most times. I have image in my head and get it down fast.”
“Why do you believe Dmitri will steal the collection from Natalie? Why would it matter
? He used to own the collection and may in fact still own it,” Emma said casually, keeping her eyes on the swan; she knew Colin was watching Tatiana for any reaction. “Do you have a reason other than you know it in your gut? Do you believe Dmitri will deface or destroy the collection?”
“I work on my sketches. London…Moscow…” Tatiana sighed, slipping off her muddy flats, the throw still around her. “They seem so far away. I have no answers for you, Emma Sharpe. Only more questions.”
Emma placed the swan sketch on the table. “You travel on a Russian passport.”
“Yes. I told you I have no one left there. I was raised by my grandparents in small village outside Moscow. They’re gone now. My grandfather first. Then my grandmother. I left Russia after she died.” Tatiana looked out the sliding glass door at the Heron’s Cove waterfront. “I sometimes miss Russia.”
“Do you want to go back there to live one day?” Emma asked.
“No. Never.”
Colin kept silent, pretended to check out Tatiana’s food choices. The misty drizzle had stopped and the fog was lifting, the promised clearing underway. Emma turned to the Russian designer. “Why did you fly from London to Phoenix, before you came here?”
Tatiana flung off the throw and rose but didn’t seem particularly rattled by the question. “You look up my travels? I suppose it makes sense. I went to Phoenix to see Natalie. She wasn’t there. I stayed overnight at airport hotel and flew to Boston the next morning. Then I came here.”
Colin moved back from the small kitchen area. “Why are you sticking your nose in this business with the collection?”
“I’m not. I’ve talked to no one—”
“You’ve talked to Emma,” Colin said. “What dog do you have in this fight?”
She frowned. “Dog?”
“Did you break into Natalie’s house while you were in Phoenix?” he asked abruptly.
Tatiana gave him a hot, angry look. “Now you say I’m thief?”
“Are you?”
She muttered something in Russian and huffed off to the sliding glass door. “I didn’t break into Natalie’s house,” she said, no longer shivering as she glanced back at Emma. “You go now. Thank you for your help. I call police if I have any problem. Right, Emma? That’s what I do, yes?”
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