Chapter 13
Daniel texted to say he’d reached Rick, and they would be working together that day. He’d bring him over a little before four. I replied that would be fine. If I had to miss a few minutes of the Silver Sentinels’ meeting, it wasn’t a problem.
It was time to pick up the brothers. I drove to their place and parked. Before I could get out of the Jeep and knock on the door, Ivan and Rudy came out, Ivan sporting a black Russian fisherman’s hat I knew he put on for special occasions. He wore a heavy cream-colored cable-knit sweater and black trousers. Rudy had opted for tan pants and a navy sweater vest over a green-and-navy-plaid shirt.
They piled in, and we were off. Rudy had emailed me the directions Clay had sent, and I’d checked a map for clarification. I hadn’t been as far north as we were traveling today. As soon as we were out of Fort Peter, the scenery began to change. The coast was no longer visible as we wound up barren mountains. A steep drop into an unforgiving gulch below bordered us on the left as we drove up the narrow road.
I’d driven curvy roads before, but none of them had matched the number of turns and the steepness of this one. We stopped at a blinking red light on a cart. A landslide had closed one lane and cars were forced to take turns around it in single file. The last car of the line going downhill passed us and our light turned green.
A few more turns and the road began to head out toward the ocean. Soon we were in view of the crashing waves and craggy rocks. Redwood trees began to appear. It wasn’t long before we had towering trees on both sides, with the Pacific Ocean peeking through at intervals.
I checked the odometer and knew we were close. A small sign with Russian lettering appeared, and I turned in as I’d been instructed. We drove on a gravel road deep into the redwood forest. Suddenly, we entered a clearing with a massive structure in front of us with turrets and bright green onion-shaped domes sprouting from light red stone towers. Several smaller buildings dotted the property.
Rudy and Ivan gasped in unison.
“It’s the Russian mansion,” Rudy said.
Ivan nodded. “Yah.”
I stopped the car and gazed at the colorful buildings. “What do you mean?”
“It looks exactly like the one the prince and his family lived in while in Russia.”
“Wow! It’s beautiful.” I continued driving toward the front of the largest structure; I found it hard to think of it as a house. There was a parking area off to the side. I pulled in and we got out.
Timur had come out onto the expansive front porch to greet us. “Welcome. You made it. Come. Everything is ready.”
We walked up the porch’s wide steps and followed him through the front door.
Rudy and Ivan gasped again.
“Timur, this is the home from Russia. How can that be?”
“It is a story I will tell you. Let’s join Verushka and Clay in the dining room. We will talk over lunch.”
We entered a formal dining room with a long wooden table and high-backed chairs. A tall, stately woman dressed in a long black dress, her braided hair coiled around on top of her head, approached us. Clay waved at us from where he sat.
The woman gave Rudy a hug. “Rudy, my brother, I never thought this day would come.”
“Neither did I, Verushka.” Rudy took her hand and held it for a moment. “Neither did I.”
“And, Ivan, so good you are here with us.” Verushka didn’t hug him but gave his arm a slight squeeze.
She approached me. “I’m Verushka Johnson. I’m so glad you could join us today.”
“Kelly Jackson. Thank you for the invitation.”
Verushka pointed to where we were to sit. I was seated between Clay and Ivan. Rudy had Verushka and Timur on either side of him across from us. A middle-aged woman in a maid’s uniform of black blouse and skirt, wearing a white ruffled cap, filled our water glasses and asked if we wanted tea or coffee.
Ivan joined into a conversation about their childhood reminisces. Everyone spoke in English, I suspected as a polite choice for me…though maybe Clay wasn’t fluent in Russian either.
I gazed around the room. Portraits hung on the walls, as well as tapestries similar to ones in Rudy and Ivan’s basement. It was a far cry from the Wyoming ranch house I’d grown up in.
I turned to Clay. “This is amazing.”
“I grew up in it, so it’s what I’m used to,” he said. “However, there are times, especially early in the morning, when I feel like I’m transported to another era. It becomes fresh and new to me.”
The maid returned with bowls of soup, followed by platters of baked buns I recognized as piroshki.
“Ms. Jackson.” Verushka pointed to the individual-size pastries. “These are beef and vegetable piroshki.”
“They look delicious…and please, call me Kelly.”
Verushka nodded. “As you wish. Please, same for me, first name.”
“The soup,” Timur said, “is fresh cabbage soup known as shchi, and one of the national dishes of Russia.”
The piroshki were passed around, and we began to eat. My soup had a garnish of sour cream and dill weed, making for a pleasing mingling of flavors with the cabbage. I inhaled the healthy, robust aroma and relaxed into its nurturing scent.
“So, the story of the house,” Timur said. “Our father and your mother, Tatiana, met up with our grandparents in San Francisco, as planned. We felt there was danger there for us and moved on after we’d done a thorough search, trying to find you. We continued looking for you over the years, but more on that later.”
He proceeded to tell us that his grandparents found this property and wanted it to be just like the beloved home they’d left behind. One of the smaller structures I’d seen had been based on the servants’ quarters in Russia. It was the first to be built, and the family lived there as their former mansion was recreated.
Local woodworkers had been commissioned to build the furniture. Some of the portraits were originals they’d managed to get out of the country. Others were replicas painted by local artists. Photos enabled the craftsmen and painters to duplicate some of what had been lost.
“We moved into the house in its bare-bones stage, as we heard the workers call it,” Verushka added. “It took years to create the rest of what you see.”
Timur nodded. “Our grandparents were pleased with the final result. It eased the loss of what they’d known as home in Russia.”
“There’s so much for us to catch up on,” Rudy said. “It’s hard to know where to start.”
“I agree,” Timur said. “But there is one important bit of news that should not wait any longer.”
Verushka looked at Rudy and Ivan. “After our grandparents died, our father and your mother were finally married…something they’d wanted to do for a long time.”
“Ivan,” Timur smiled at him from across the table, “you now have a stepsister and a stepbrother.”
“I have a bigger family now,” Ivan said, grinning broadly.
“Let’s start there,” Timur said.
He went to a cabinet and pulled out a document. The maid had cleared the dishes while he’d told his story, and Timur unrolled the parchment paper on the table. It crackled as he spread it out. An intricate tree of names had been artfully drawn.
“This has all the aunts, uncles, cousins, nephews…all the relatives you are now part of.”
Clay leaned over toward me. “Would you like to see some of the property?”
“Very much so,” I said.
We stood, and Clay said, “I’m going to take Kelly around the house while you talk family.”
“Good idea,” Verushka said.
“Guys,” I said, “we need to leave by two o’clock to be back in time for our meeting.”
They nodded and went back to chatting with Timur and Verushka about their extended family. We walked down
a wide hallway with decorative stone tile floors. Portraits of relatives gazed at us as we passed by. Clay named a few of them.
While it was all interesting, I wanted to start gathering information. “It’s wonderful your uncle got his dagger back.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
“Do you have any idea how the knife got stolen?”
He shook his head.
“Do you have any idea when it was taken?”
Another headshake. “Not exactly. My uncle hadn’t looked at it for about a week.”
I was pelting him with questions and decided I’d better give him a reason why. “I love a good mystery, and the dagger on the boat has me intrigued.”
Clay smiled. “I can understand why.”
Back to the case. “Who was in the house during that time?”
“Only family and servants who have been with us for years.”
We entered a library with floor-to-ceiling books. The lit fireplace added some welcome warmth to the cavernous room. I walked to the bookshelves and examined the book titles. Most were in Russian, so I didn’t get any idea what the family’s reading interests were.
“Did you have any visitors?” I asked as I wandered along the massive collection.
“My sister and her son and daughter came for a couple of days.”
I spied some English titles and bent over to read them. They proved to be classics. “What about workmen?” I straightened up.
“We had some outside repair work done to our waterlines, but I never saw any of them near the house.”
“Was the house empty at any time?”
“No.”
But it’s a large house. I bet someone could sneak in and nobody would know it. “How on earth do you think the dagger ended up on the boat?”
Clay shook his head. “No idea. I’m just glad we got it back.”
“I’m surprised whoever took it didn’t take the sheath.”
A slight frown appeared. “My uncle kept the dagger in a drawer next to the bed. The holder was elsewhere. He wanted the knife ready to use if necessary.” He pointed to the books I’d been examining. “Those are mine. I majored in English, and taught for a while.”
I guessed he was tired of all the questions and ready to talk about something else. There was nothing more for me to ask right now, so I obliged.
“Sorry about all the questions. I read Nancy Drew growing up. Where did you teach?”
“At a local high school.” He looked at his watch. “We’d better head back. I can show you more on the way.”
The same steady eyes of the ancestors followed us on our return.
“Clay, maybe there’s something you can help Rudy and Ivan with—the murdered gold dealer. They’ve been asked not to leave the area. Technically, they’re considered suspects until the killer is caught.”
“I wondered what was going on when Rudy asked the officer for permission to come here.”
“I’m working with Rudy, Ivan, and a group of our friends to find out something that might be helpful for the police in their investigation. Is there anything you can tell me about Alexander? He was new to the area and people know very little about him.”
“Not really. I only did business with him a couple of times.” He thought for a moment. “He wasn’t a gossiper, which I appreciated. I wanted to keep as low a profile with the gold as possible.”
“Rudy feels the same. He sells the coins when he needs money for expenses.”
“Same here.”
“How did you find out about Koskov?” I asked.
“He put an ad in the local paper.”
“Who were you using before?”
“Harvey Goldstein.”
The gold merchant had lost two customers. It was a niche business I suspected had a very limited clientele. Did he kill Alexander to be sure he wouldn’t lose any more people?
And the dagger.
I had wondered if it might be a warning.
Did the fact that Ivan was now officially part of the family have anything to do with the knife’s appearance covered with a substance resembling blood? Was a relative concerned he might have an inheritance coming? Money was at the root of many murders. We’d mostly been worried about Rudy. Was it possible Ivan was more of a target?
Chapter 14
We made a circuit of part of the house. I viewed a parlor, a second much-smaller dining room, and a sitting room overlooking lush gardens filled with a variety of flowers. The windows were closed, but I could imagine the intermingling of sweet floral scents.
We talked while we walked. Clay had been an English teacher in the nearby town of Greenville. He’d been married for a short while. A divorce ended the marriage. The remote area wasn’t for everyone. When his father, who’d been living on the estate, died, he’d moved back into the house to help care for it and his aging relatives.
We joined the others.
“Thank you for the tour. I really enjoyed it. It’s a magnificent estate.”
“You’re welcome. If you come again, I’ll show you the grounds.”
“Speaking of coming again,” Timur said, “Rudy and Ivan, you inherited a number of items. We will gather them together as soon as possible and contact you when we have all of them.”
“Rudy,” Clay said, “I heard so much about the case and the three daggers growing up, I’d love to see them all together. Would you be willing to bring it and your knife when you come back?”
Rudy nodded. “I agree it would be nice to see them together. Yes, I’ll bring them.”
Verushka picked up a delicate-looking teacup and took a sip. “It has been a long time since I’ve done a formal tea service. When you come for your belongings, I will serve you a special tea.”
“That would be wonderful,” Rudy said. “It has been many years since I’ve seen one. I remember us watching from a distance and then pretending to do a tea service on our own in our kitchen.”
Rudy and Ivan rose.
“Wait,” Timur said. “Before you go, I have something to show you.”
He left and came back a couple of minutes later holding a photograph. Timur put it on the table, where we could all see it. I recognized the man and woman from the picture I’d seen at the brothers’ home. The prince was in full regalia, rows of medals on his chest, boots up to his knees. Their mother wore a long white dress, a bouquet of roses in her hands. The love in their expressions flowed out of the photo, giving it a life of its own.
Rudy stared at it with a slight smile and sadness in his eyes. “I’m so happy they married. At least one positive thing happened from the upheaval of leaving Russia.”
“Wish I could’ve seen Mother again,” Ivan said. “So glad to see picture and her joy. Good to know.”
“They were happy together for many years,” Verushka said. “Their only sadness was not finding the two of you.”
“Our father died of a heart attack,” Verushka said. “Your mother died not long after. People say you can’t die of a broken heart, but I’m not so sure in her case.”
Ivan let out a long sigh.
“Next time, we’ll tell you more about our journey and our lives,” Timur said.
We bid them good-bye and started the drive back on the treacherous road. I understood now why they hadn’t found each other: the extreme isolation, the lack of communication when they’d arrived in America, and their sense of being unwelcome. They’d built their piece of Russia, and that was where they’d lived.
The brothers talked among themselves about all the newfound family they’d discovered. They’d gone from the two of them to a slew of relatives. They seemed excited about it. I suspected there’d be opportunities for some fun family gatherings ahead. It was wonderful to see their smiles and happiness replace the frowns and fear they’d been experiencing the last couple of days.
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The trip hadn’t netted much in terms of solving the murder or the question of who had stolen the dagger. The coin dealer had lost at least two clients, and there was an explanation as to why the knife and the sheath weren’t together. That was it. I stopped thinking about it and concentrated on my driving as I’d reached the dangerous, curving part of the road.
As we got closer to town and the road straightened out, I interrupted them. “Daniel is bringing Rick Stapleton, the employee fired by Koskov, to the inn so I can meet him. It’s under the guise of needing help with a repair—one Daniel and I were going to do. Daniel is working with him today and hopefully will learn some new information for us.”
“Good idea to meet him,” Rudy said. “I’ve heard it said a picture is worth a thousand words. I believe meeting a person speaks volumes about their personality.”
I nodded. “That’s how I feel.”
We arrived at the inn about ten minutes before the Silver Sentinels’ meeting was set to start. Daniel’s van pulled in beside us. A man occupied the passenger seat.
“Please tell the others to start if I’m not there by four o’clock. I’ll catch up when I get there.”
Ivan and Rudy nodded and went in.
“Hi, Kelly.” Daniel got out of the van. “I’d like you to meet Rick Stapleton. He’s going to help me fix the wobbly sign.”
A skinny man in a tattered denim shirt and blue jeans came around the front of the vehicle. His brown hair had begun to recede, exposing pale, white skin.
“Nice to meet you,” I said. “I’m glad you were available to help Daniel.”
“Kelly Jackson is the manager of Redwood Cove Bed and Breakfast,” Daniel said.
“Hi there.” He turned to Daniel, “Hey, Dan my man, where do you want these?” He gestured with the toolbox he was carrying.
Dan my man?
Somehow that didn’t fit with the Daniel I knew: a proud, reserved Native American.
Murder at the Marina Page 9
