“I can’t tomorrow,” she said. “I have another order to do during my afternoon baking hours. My business is booming with people involved in the Russian Heritage Festival being in town.” She laughed. “They do love their baklava. I’ll make time to take Tommy to the training and pick him up.”
“Do you want me to take Tommy with me?” I asked.
“That would be wonderful,” Helen replied.
Stanton turned to me. “I’ll email you directions. We’ll be working for about an hour.”
“Do we need to dress in any special way?”
“Sturdy shoes or hiking boots and whatever you need to keep warm.”
“Got it.”
“So, have you and the crime-solving seniors discovered anything you think I should know?” Stanton asked.
“Follow me to the conference room and you can look at our charts for yourself.”
“Bill,” said Helen, and held up a foil-wrapped package, “this is for you. It’s baklava, something I’m becoming an expert at preparing, I might add. I’ll leave it here on the counter.”
“Homemade baklava. That’ll be a first for me and explains the distinct smell of honey I noticed when I entered.”
“You were aware of it that much?” Helen asked.
“My dad was a beekeeper, and I used to help with the hives. It’s a scent I’m very familiar with,” Stanton said. “Thanks for the treat, Helen. I’m sure it’ll be delicious.”
Helen blushed a bit and began rinsing dishes in the sink. Stanton and I went down the hallway to the conference room. He walked around, reading our notes, then stopped at the dagger information.
“You’ve definitely been busy. I know there’s a thief still to catch, but now that we know there’s no blood on the knife and it’s been returned to its rightful owner, I’m putting my attention on the murder.”
“We’re doing the same.”
Stanton surveyed the charts related to Koskov, the suspects, and our next steps.
He pointed to the sheet of paper with Rick’s name on it and gave a rueful smile. “You’re ahead of us with this guy. He hasn’t answered our calls. We found his job application at Koskov’s store and checked the address he’d given, but he’s no longer living there. How did you manage to find him and get the information?”
“Daniel knows him. I asked if he’d get together with Rick and question him for us. Daniel hired him to do some work today, and they shot the breeze, so to speak. Rick didn’t know it wasn’t just idle conversation.”
“Does Daniel have any idea where he’s staying?”
“No. He mentioned he moves around a lot,” I replied.
“He’s right there. I’ve heard Rick refer to himself as a professional houseguest.”
“What did he mean by that?”
“When people offer him a place to crash, he helps with the cooking, cleaning, and miscellaneous work that needs to be done around the house.”
I tilted my head. “Makes sense. Sort of a way to pay them back.”
“Right,” Stanton replied. “What’s the bit about the boxes?”
I explained what Daniel had told us.
Stanton read the information on Koskov’s chart. “How did you find out about the two sets of cameras?”
“The Professor is friends with the owner of the building.”
Stanton nodded. “Figures. You all do have a way of collecting information. I suppose that’s how you know about the San Francisco company.”
“Right. You can see the Professor is going to research that.”
“Why are the names Alena Stepanova and Vladimir Yeltsin on the chart?”
“Because they’re from San Francisco where the Williams Corporation is located and are on the Russian Heritage Committee, as was Koskov. We wondered if one of them might be involved in the store.” I smiled. “We don’t have the resources you do, so this is our back-door way of checking into things.”
“I’ll keep them in mind when we find out about the leasing company.”
“I know where they’re staying, if you want to get in touch with them,” I said.
“Thanks. I have all the information you’ve gathered, except for Rick. Good to know why he got fired. I’ll add it to my notes. And it’s interesting about the boxes. I’ll add that as well. If you or Daniel see Rick again, tell him to call us.”
“Will do.”
Stanton frowned. “Better yet, maybe I’ll stop by and borrow Daniel’s phone to call him. Now that I know Rick’s communicated with Daniel, it’s pretty clear he’s avoiding us.”
“We’re meeting tomorrow at one. If anything new comes up, I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks.” He adjusted his heavy leather belt. “Well, time to go.”
He left, and I took over our normal nightly routine of keeping appetizers and wine out for our guests from Helen. After dinner, I pulled out Alena’s conference room form. She listed herself as a self-employed financial planner.
Curious, I did a search for her name on the Internet. I found a professional-looking website with a stunning photo of her in the right-hand corner. It listed the different services she could provide. I went back to the search list to see if there was anything else that jumped out at me.
There was.
A headline read, Major Russian mafia figure, Boris Baranov, convicted.
I looked at the article. A photo showed a crowd of people watching a large, heavyset man in handcuffs being escorted out of a courthouse.
Alena was in the crowd.
She held a handkerchief in her hand.
She was crying.
The first sentence of the story said, “Alena Stepanova, daughter of Boris Baranov, was in tears as her father was led away.”
Chapter 16
The Russian Mafia? Were they part of what was happening? I sat back in my chair. Just because Alena’s father was part of the mob, it didn’t mean Alena had anything to do with them. I didn’t know much about how the Mafia worked from the few articles I’d read, but some of them mentioned the families of Mafia members were often intentionally kept at a distance from the organized crime activities for their safety.
Still…knowing there was a connection added a new twist to our investigation. Her father could be involved and she might not know it. Being in prison wouldn’t keep him from making things happen on the outside.
I sent the information I had to Mary and turned off the computer. Mary would research it. She was thorough, and we’d know more tomorrow. Sleep came fast. It had been a long day.
The next morning, I was up bright and early. Stanton had emailed me directions for the tracking training and said to meet him there at four. I asked Daniel to bring Allie over at three forty-five. Rudy texted he’d be over at eight with the coin. An email from Alena asked if she could meet with me in the afternoon to arrange another committee meeting. I replied that two thirty would work.
Helen and I delivered breakfast baskets, then I placed a few orders and checked on the computer for directions to Goldstein’s shop in Fort Peter. I went to the kitchen, where Helen was washing the guests’ dishes, and helped put away the morning breakfast paraphernalia.
As I finished, Rudy and Ivan appeared at the back door, and I signaled them in.
“Good morning, you two,” I said.
“Hi, Kelly,” Rudy said in a decidedly cheerier tone than I had heard for a while.
Ivan nodded vigorously, a wide grin on his face. “Verushka call. Say they almost have all our belongings together. Go Sunday.”
“She invited you as well, Kelly,” Rudy said.
“I’d love to join you, and I’m happy to drive again.”
And that will give me another opportunity to ask questions.
Rudy pulled a pouch from his pocket. “Here is the coin I found for you. I’ve only sold gold coins before
, so it’s not like any Harvey has seen from me.”
He dropped a shiny silver coin in my hand. I examined it and saw an intricate coat of arms on one side with a crown at the top. On the other side was the number five, words in Russian, and the year 1849.
“It’s in mint condition,” Rudy said. “I checked current prices and found one for one thousand nine hundred fifty dollars. I have several of them.”
“Perfect. It’ll be interesting to see how he reacts. I’ll let you know at the meeting this afternoon.”
We bid each other farewell, and I went to get my down jacket. Fog often lingered nearby and created a special chill all its own. I retrieved my purse and my driving notes and took off in my Jeep. My first visit would be the fort because the turnoff for it was on the way into town.
Signs marked the road to take to the fort, and I followed them through the towering redwoods, which were now part of my life. A large wooden sign indicated I’d arrived at my destination, and I turned into the parking lot. I found a place for the Jeep and got out. I stopped to admire the huge structure in front of me, complete with a wooden fence surrounding it like I’d only seen on television. Logs with pointed ends had been secured together to keep out invaders.
The massive gates were open, and I walked in. A sign directed me to a tourist information desk, another to business offices. I decided to gather some information before seeing if Tom was in.
The helpful volunteer manning the desk gave me a map and a brochure. I leafed through it and saw the fort was built in 1812 and was part of an endeavor of the Russian American Company. Shipbuilding was one of their main goals because of the abundance of timber. The fort was particularly known for having the first windmill in California.
I walked out into the compound’s yard, a combination of bare dirt and native grasses. A large fire pit occupied one side. Buildings two stories high dotted various points of the perimeter.
I paused for a moment, reflecting on what life must have been like in those days. After a storm, mud would’ve replaced the packed dirt. Was the fire pit a communal place for meals? I imagined the challenges of tending the fire and the discomfort of cooking in inclement weather.
It was part of life for the people who lived then. They didn’t know the comforts future generations would enjoy. I saluted their strength and brave spirit.
A sign off to my left identified a group of buildings as offices. I walked over to them and found a map on a stand. Tom’s office was listed. It looked like an original building, but when I went in, the interior was completely modern. Tom had a corner unit on the second floor. I found it. Black lettering on the door said come in, so I entered.
Tom looked up from a cluttered desk. “Ms. Jackson, what a surprise; a pleasant one, I might add.”
He hurried around from behind his desk, and we shook hands. Two windows behind him provided an expansive view of the fort’s grounds.
I wanted my visit to appear as casual as possible, so I said, “I was on my way to do an errand in Fort Peter and saw the signs for this place. On a whim, I decided to stop by.”
“I’m so glad you did.” He removed papers from a chair and pulled it in front of his desk. “Please, sit down.”
He went back around his desk and sat, and I settled in the seat he’d cleared for me.
I looked over his shoulder. “Your office has a great view.”
“Yes. I consider myself very fortunate. A committee oversees the fort. While we hated to convert one of the original buildings into offices, the fort is very expensive to maintain. We kept the outer structure so people could appreciate the whole fort community. The offices are always full and there’s a waiting list. The rent is covering all our costs and then some.”
“This is a very impressive structure. I can really get a sense of what life must have been like in the eighteen hundreds.”
“Have you looked into any of the buildings yet?”
“No. I just got here. I picked up information at the Tourist Center.”
“Wait until you see the rooms they lived in, the windows the guards looked through, keeping watch for possible enemies. It’s amazing.”
Excitement and passion gave his voice a different pitch and a high level of energy.
“I can imagine.”
He stood. “Do you have time for a tour?”
“A short one, yes.”
“Let’s go, then.” He grabbed a jacket off his coatrack.
He proceeded to take me around to the different buildings, explaining the purpose of each. Some were for supplies, others for goods to trade. Barracks for the men on guard were part of what he showed me. Bare bones all the way. I was cold in my down parka and these people had had so little.
“I’d better get back to work,” Tom said after the tour. “Please feel free to wander around as much as you like. Stop by on your way out so I can say good-bye and answer any questions you might have.”
He left, and I went up worn stairs to a lookout post. As I gazed out the window, I had the chills. How many men over a hundred years ago had looked out at the same view, wondering if enemies were going to appear. I spotted a locked cabinet that held a simple-looking, single-barrel rifle. What kind of defense would that have been?
I descended to the living areas. A cot with a couple of blankets and a chipped water pitcher and a bowl occupied the top of a scarred wooden bedside table. I had to admit I enjoyed living in my era. It was time to leave for my next stop.
I went to Tom’s office and sat in the chair while he finished a phone call.
He hung up. “How did you enjoy your visit?”
“Fantastic. It was somewhat unnerving to stand where people stood over a hundred years ago and think about what their life was like.”
Tom nodded enthusiastically. “I know exactly what you’re talking about. Even though I’ve been through the rooms time after time, I still get the same feeling. It’s like, for an instant, I go back in time.”
“I can see why you’re so passionate about having the festival here.”
Tom smiled. “I’m glad to hear that.”
“I wonder why Alexander was so set against it?”
At the mention of Alexander’s name, Tom’s face darkened, and the knuckles on his clenched hands turned white.
He took a deep breath, as if forcing himself to relax. “For his own gain, I assure you. Some of the other committee members are already voicing a desire to have it here next year now that he’s gone. I think they were influenced by what appeared to be Alexander’s close relationship with Vladimir.”
“Why would that matter?” I asked.
“Vladimir was new on the committee this year. He invested a lot of money in this festival and promoted it in San Francisco. Committee members hope he’ll do it again and want to stay on his good side.”
“Did Vladimir want it in Redwood Cove and not the fort?”
“I never heard him voice a preference. I’m certainly going to make an effort to have him come for a visit before he leaves.”
I rose. “Thank you again for your time and the tour. I’m really enjoying learning about the area.”
“Any time.”
As I drove back to the highway, I thought about the road I was on. After yesterday’s drive, I expected a similar treacherous trip based on Alexander’s comments. Instead, I found myself dealing with gentle curves, a decently wide road, and the fort was only a short distance from the main highway.
I was inclined to agree with Tom that Alexander’s comments were exaggerated, and that he had other reasons for wanting the festival adjacent to Redwood Cove. I felt like I had found a motive for why he might want people to think he was good friends with Vladimir…it influenced others to do what he wanted.
As for Tom, he was passionate about the fort and what it represented. He’d had what appeared to be a visceral reaction when Alex
ander’s name entered the conversation.
Passion had led people to kill.
Had that emotion pushed Tom to murder Alexander?
Chapter 17
Gray.
That was the word that struck me as I sat in my Jeep looking at the coin dealer’s shop. After the drive up the road with the constant presence of the Pacific Ocean, the lackluster building before me seemed so lifeless and without color. Gray pavement with trash piled up along the gray curb alongside the gray sidewalk. I couldn’t tell if the background of the store’s sign was painted gray or just needed washing.
The bold black lettering said Guns Coins Antiques—Buy and Sell. No frills. No welcoming words like, Come on in and look around. No one walked along the sidewalk. I suspected there was life inside the shop due to the open sign and a light I could see through the dirty windows. I understood why Harvey’s mother was worried. The place showed every sign of a struggling business.
I was about to get out of my vehicle and go inside when the door to the shop opened and Rick Stapleton walked out. More like stormed out. His face was flushed and his hands were fists. He strode by me, not glancing into my Jeep. Rick’s intense stare was only for the sidewalk ahead and whatever or whoever he was seeing in his mind. His lips were set in a grim straight line.
What was the one-time employee of Alexander Koskov doing at the competitor’s place of business? I hoped I’d find out.
I watched him in my rearview mirror. When I saw him turn the corner and disappear from sight, I got out and headed for the store. A sign supporting a school fund-raiser had been taped to the glass-front door.
I entered and saw a plump man talking to an elderly woman, who stood next to a chair. I wandered around the aisles filled with odds and ends of furniture. They weren’t the high quality I’d seen at Alexander’s. Definitely no museum pieces were in evidence. I’d call what I was seeing secondhand furniture, not antiques. Numerous pieces had scratches and no one had dusted in a while. A hint of mustiness hung in the air.
Alexander hadn’t been in the area long. The shabbiness I saw here had taken time to accumulate. I’d say the business had been off-track for a while. I doubted getting his coin customers back would help much. On the other hand, losing them could have meant the business going belly up.
Murder at the Marina Page 11
