Death of a Russian Doll

by Barbara Early

  “Oxycodone and Diet Pepsi,” Nancy said.

  “So even if Anechka could find another job, which would be difficult given her lack of proper paperwork, she now had a drug problem. And they were her suppliers.” An uncomfortable thought hit me. “How did Ken enter this equation?”

  “Kenny was a rookie cop when he answered a call at the plant,” Grace said.

  “Anechka had passed out,” Nancy said. “Some kind of fever it turned out, but Marya rushed over when she heard. There was an argument. Well, a fight, really. And when Marya was taken in, she had some of Anechka’s oxycodone in her possession.”

  “There’s no record,” I said.

  “She was still a minor,” Grace said. “Her blood test came up clean, so she pled down to community service and was required to join a substance abuse program.”

  “Only things went catawampus after that,” Grace said. “Kenny asked a few too many questions about the place. Questioned why the inspectors didn’t flag any violations.”

  Nancy rubbed her fingers together in the universal sign for “show me the money.” “It seems the chicken ranch was owned by the mayor’s cousin. The more Kenny investigated, the more enemies he made.”

  “Talk was that Marya would be sent back to Russia,” Nancy said, “even though she didn’t even remember living there. Eventually though, folks just seemed to forget about it. Marya was convinced that Anechka made some kind of deal to keep quiet, and that the traffickers paid off officials so that Marya would be allowed to stay in the U.S.”

  “Fortunately,” Grace said, “Marya enrolled in the cosmetology program at the high school. She cut all the girls’ hair for practice.”

  “So after graduation she rented a space in an established shop downtown,” Nancy said. “Since she was self-employed, nobody asked to see a green card, and she kept a low profile. After a few years, questions about her citizenship surfaced again. This time, Marya turned to Kenny for help. They must have hit it off. They … eloped.” She shrugged, as if this were a perfectly normal, everyday solution.

  Grace leaned forward. “They couldn’t go after her then because she was married to a cop. But it hurt his career, I think. People under him started advancing faster, making more money.”

  “Probably why he ended up moving here,” Nancy said with a sigh.

  “And Marya chose not to come with him?” I asked.

  The sisters clammed up. I’d hit a sore spot, and I swear that clock was ticking even louder. Getting them to open up more about this aspect of Ken and Marya’s relationship would be challenging.

  I leaned back, feigning disinterest. Maybe if I played on their natural desire to defend their brother?

  “Of course men can be insensitive at times, chasing their careers without a thought to how their decisions impact others. Did he even ask Marya if she wanted to move … up to this frozen wasteland?” I adored it here, of course, but I thought that might play well with this crowd.

  Grace bit her lower lip, but Nancy jerked her head up. “I’m sure Kenny thought he was doing the right thing. By then … maybe they needed a break from each other.”

  “A temporary one,” Grace said. “After all, Marya kept on living in their house. We just felt they needed a little time apart to work out whatever.”

  “Of course, Marya was always sweet as she could be to us,” Nancy said. “Kept doing our hair like regular. And for free.”

  “And then we heard talk of a divorce!” Grace said.

  “Couples do divorce,” I said.

  “But with Marya not a citizen yet?” Nancy said. “I don’t know what Kenny was thinking.”

  “So when the immigration people started asking questions,” Grace said, “we told them that Kenny went on ahead and that Marya was staying behind to get the house ready to sell.”

  “It was the least we could do,” Nancy said.

  “After all, she did our hair for free.”

  “How were we to know they’d keep coming back?” Nancy said. “So we helped Marya pack up the house and put it on the market, and then sent her up here so she could prove that she didn’t have one of those marriages of convenience.” Nancy huffed. “I’ve been married for twelve years, and let me tell you, it’s not always convenient.”

  “Of course when she arrived,” Grace said, “she discovered …”

  “That Ken had started seeing someone else.” I sighed. “Look, you need to know that I wasn’t aware that Marya even existed. Ken never told me.”

  “That doesn’t seem like our brother,” Nancy said.

  “Kenny was always honorable, to a fault,” Grace said.

  “Eagle Scout,” Nancy said.

  “Returned money to the cashier if she accidently gave him too much,” Grace said.

  Nancy laughed. “Like that time at the Piggly Wiggly. She actually stood there and argued with him, mainly because she was too lazy to open her till.”

  “We just figured there were extenuating circumstances,” Grace said. “For him to take up with someone else when he was still legally married.”

  “Extenuating?” I said.

  Nancy narrowed her eyes. “Things are a little different up here, aren’t they?”

  “Different?” I paused to consider what they were hinting at.

  “Where we come from,” Grace said, “women are a little less gussied up, and they let men do the pursuing.”

  “We see how Kenny might have been flattered.”

  Ah, so I was the pushy Yankee temptress who lured their brother from the straight and narrow. And convincing them otherwise would be impossible, since they had the quorum. I pushed myself out of my seat. “And you don’t know where Ken went?” I gathered my coat.

  They rose, too.

  “No,” Nancy said. “I sure hope something we said helps our brother.”

  “And Marya. We adored Marya,” Grace said, giving me a pointed look. “Despite their differences, we always thought she was perfectly suited to him.”

  Implying I wasn’t.

  “Anyway, thank you for your time.” I shoved my feet into my boots, hopping to keep my balance. With my hand on the doorknob, I turned back to them. “Now if you good ladies will excuse me, I need to get gussied up and chase some men.”

  * * *

  Still wanting to see the video footage that Lionel Kelley claimed he had—I was beginning to doubt its existence—I swung by his PI office. I pulled up just as he turned the key in the front lock. Coming or going, I couldn’t tell.

  “Glad I caught you!” I said as I climbed out of my Civic parked just out front.

  Kelley’s shoulders stiffened, and he spun around slowly. “Hello, Liz.”

  “You haven’t been returning my texts,” I said.

  “You texted?” He pulled out his phone and flipped through.

  “I wanted to report back on what I discovered at the library and pick up the video you promised.”

  “Senior speed dating? Already heard about it. Not the nefarious plot I was led to believe. And I’m afraid I’m not done with the video yet.”

  “A copy, then?”

  “Perhaps, but I don’t have time to fiddle with that now.”

  “I could make a copy.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Look. I’ll try to have it for you tomorrow. Best I can do. Now if you’ll excuse me.” And with that he jogged down the sidewalk. Bad idea in the winter. Three businesses down, he lost his footing, skidded a bit, and bumped into an elderly shopper, upsetting her packages. And this was no sweet, old woman. She swore a blue streak at the top of her lungs and shook her cane while she did it. I watched a moment longer to see if she might whack him with the cane or bash him with her purse, but instead Kelley helped her pick up her packages, then they went on their merry ways.

  When I arrived back at the store, Amanda and Kohl were almost finished setting up tables for the doll committee meeting. I pulled open the last two folding chairs and slid them in place.

  “Should I fetch more from the back
?” Amanda asked.

  I scanned the room. Eight chairs. More than enough. Especially since one of the committee members had been murdered since the last meeting. “It’s plenty. If we get a few more, I can always pull out more chairs.”

  “Great,” Amanda said then instructed Kohl to put his coat on. “We’re headed over to Jack’s for dinner tonight. Would you like us to send anything back?”

  “By Jack’s you mean the restaurant?” I said.

  “Yes, I guess I just equate Wallace’s with him.”

  “Easy to do, especially since you haven’t actually met his mother.”

  She shut her eyes. “Don’t remind me. Meeting the parents. That’s coming in the near future. We’ve chatted on Skype, but Jack was always there. She’ll be here for the holidays, and I’ve heard she can be very protective of her son.”

  “I don’t think you’ll have any problems.” I said. “After all, you have a couple of things going for you that I didn’t.”

  She tilted her head.

  “One, your father never arrested one of her boys, and two, you’re not named Liz McCall.”

  She laughed until she saw that I wasn’t. “You’re serious?”

  “Maybe she saw what we didn’t: that Jack and I were never right for each other. But you and him and Kohl? It’s like you all clicked from the beginning. I think she’ll see that, too. You’re just suited for each other.”

  As soon as those last words were out of my mouth, I thought of what Nancy (or was it Grace?) had said about Ken and Marya. They suited each other.

  Here I was, another interloper, standing in the way of true love. Like an overzealous chaperone at the school dance.

  I laid a hand on her arm. “Seriously, you’ll be fine.”

  “Thanks, Liz. Enjoy your meeting.”

  Only after she had left did I realize that I never answered her that I wanted something for dinner. And since Cathy wouldn’t be there until the meeting, that left me two long hours to man the shop on an empty stomach.

  But the candy counter hadn’t been sorted through in a while. So while the shop was empty, I sat down in front of it and started straightening things up and checking expiration dates. I scored when I discovered the Chuckles were expiring at the end of the week. I’d always liked the fruity, gumdrop-like candies which dated back to the 1920s, preferring them to their chewier German competition, the gummy bears, which debuted around the same time. I made a note to order more of each and pulled open a pack.

  I don’t know if it was the sugar rush or the chewing—I always used to snack while I studied for exams—but my thoughts were drawn back to the case.

  Someone killed Marya Young.

  And, perhaps inspired by the vintage Let’s Make a Deal board game that was sitting at the counter, it seemed to me the killer was behind one of three doors.

  Door number one. Ken. The Eagle Scout who wouldn’t lie but never bothered to tell me he was married. His sisters had said the couple had problems. That’s one reason why Ken had moved here and Marya hadn’t. I also recalled him saying that he thought that she might have been up to her old … something again. Tricks? Habits? What were those, and what had he been looking for in her financial records? It was enough to cause that ruckus that I’d overheard. Had it been enough to turn him into a killer?

  I didn’t want to believe it, of course. But I’d known some perfectly nice people who I never thought would have crossed that line, yet they did. His sisters were welcome to keep their blind faith in him. I wasn’t sure I could afford to.

  Especially now, since he’d gone MIA.

  My laughter echoed in the empty shop after the truth hit: Ken wasn’t running from the law. He was running from his sisters!

  And Door Number Two. Someone from Marya’s past. She had a sister who’d been trafficked into this country to work in a sweatshop. Who knew where Anechka was now or what she was up to? Or even if she was alive. The traffickers or even those shady employers might want to clean up some loose ends and make sure neither of the sisters could expose them—by silencing the two women permanently.

  And Door Number Three. Someone she met here. I had thought Marya hadn’t made a lot of friends, but that might have been jealousy. She must have met people at the twelve-step group. Hopefully Mark would get a chance to check that out soon. And she endeared herself to a lot of people, especially a lot of senior citizens, by granting discounts. Any one of them could have done it.

  Okay, I could rule out Lance.

  And then there was Ken’s suspicion that maybe there was someone else in her life.

  And I could still rule out Lance.

  I hadn’t finished rolling the problem around in my head when Cathy rushed in and brushed a few snowflakes from her coat.

  “No Drew tonight?” I asked.

  “Parker is keeping him home. He’s a little restless from his shots, I think.”

  “Hard for Mom to watch?”

  “He hates it. He wiggles and cries. But it’s over pretty quick. Better he’s protected.”

  Glenda came through the door shortly after, her trusty knitting bag in one arm. I don’t know that I’d ever seen her without it.

  Lori Briggs arrived with Diana Oliveri, and the group remained rather reserved at first, the only sound being that of Glenda’s knitting needles. I’d closed Val into the apartment to make sure that Diana wouldn’t have to worry about any black cats crossing her path.

  Cathy waited a couple of more minutes to see if anyone else would arrive, but no one did. She began, “I’m sure by now you all have heard what happened to Marya Young.”

  Everyone nodded, Diana made the sign of the cross, and Glenda sniffled, then dabbed the corner of her eye with the back of her hand—without letting go of her knitting.

  “I had considered canceling,” Cathy said, “especially since that means more work for even fewer people, but it’s a worthy cause.”

  “It’s for the children,” Glenda said.

  “That’s right,” Cathy said. “So let’s see if we can get up to speed. First of all, does anyone have any suggestions on who might be able to do doll hair for us?”

  Silence reigned, then a thought struck me. “When I talked to someone today, they mentioned that Marya learned to cut hair at her high school. Does anybody know if any schools around here have a similar program?”

  “What a great idea!” Lori said. “I’m sure I could find out. And schools are always looking for community service ideas.”

  “You’re deputized,” Cathy said. “And I think we should add some kind of memorial to the project to keep Marya’s name involved. She was very enthusiastic.”

  I nodded. It must have taken a lot of courage for her to come to the meeting.

  “Do we have any update on funding?” Glenda asked, stopping to massage her hands.

  Cathy pointed to me. “Care to handle that, Liz?”

  “Um, yeah. I have a … meeting set up with Ian Browning this Wednesday evening.”

  Lori Briggs jerked her head up. “This Wednesday evening? You can’t have a meeting with Ian then. It’s the debut performance of The Nutcracker by the children’s dance school. Mostly inner-city kids who could never afford the lessons. The Browning Foundation is one of the major sponsors. He has front row seats reserved. He has to be there.”

  “He did ask me if I liked The Nutcracker.”

  Lori squinted at me. “You’re meeting with Ian at the performance?”

  “He said something about dinner before.”

  Lori’s jaw dropped. “Honey, that’s not a meeting. That’s a date. You have a date with Ian Browning. You have a date with the hottest bachelor in town!”

  I wasn’t so sure I liked the incredulous emphasis on “you” in the last sentence, but I sat up a little straighter. With a nonchalant shrug, I said, “I guess I do.”

  “You know what this means, don’t you?” Glenda said.

  “What’s that?” Cathy asked.

  Glenda shoved her knitting into he
r bag, cleared her throat, and sang a gravelly chorus of “We’re in the Money.” And everybody laughed.

  Once Cathy regained control, the rest of the meeting progressed well enough. We hashed out a lot of details, and I managed to say “no” just often enough so that I was involved in the project without committing to do everything, something I’d struggled with in the past.

  After a motion to adjourn, we offered more coffee all around and served the cookies Cathy had brought.

  “Could I trouble you for a glass of water?” Glenda said. “I have to take a pill.”

  “Not a problem,” I said and then retrieved a bottle of water from the refrigerator in the back room.

  Before I could return, Lori waylaid me in front of the lunch boxes. “Sure you know what you’re doing?” she asked.

  “In regards to?”

  “To dating Ian, of course. He travels in some awfully powerful circles.”

  “I thought everybody was for approaching the Browning Foundation for funding.”

  “Yes, but Ian … let’s just say he’s left a few girls brokenhearted. And rumor is he can get a bit handsy.”

  “At the children’s ballet?” I said.

  “Yeah, better not use mace. What about a Taser? I’ll bet your Dad could hook you up.”

  And suddenly an evening at the children’s ballet seemed more foreboding.

  “I’ll keep that in mind. And my dad on speed dial.”

  When I returned with the water, Glenda waved me off. “Sorry about that.” She pulled an empty pill bottled out of her purse. “I must have forgotten to put the lid on tight.”

  “That’s happened to me,” Diana said. “Did they spill out in the bottom of your purse?”

  I set the water on the table while they continued to rummage and went over to Cathy. “Nice job on the meeting,” I said.

  “Thanks. I wasn’t sure how to handle that part with Marya. Are you going to be okay if we name the whole project after her?”

  “Let me sleep on that,” I said.

  When I turned back to Glenda and Diana, they had emptied the entire contents of her large purse on the table.

  “Found one!” Diana held a tiny pill on her palm.

  “Thank goodness,” Glenda said, then struggled to open the water bottle.