“Hi! I was just admiring your horses. What breed are they?”
He smiled at me. “Russian Dons. They originated in the steppes of Russia where the Don River flows, hence their name. I’m Yaro, by the way.”
“I’m Kelly Jackson. I really enjoyed your performance. You and the others were amazing.”
“Thanks.” He pulled off his turbanlike hat. “My papakha is too warm for a California afternoon.”
He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. The saddles had been placed next to the back of the horse carrier. They had loops and handles sewn in at a variety of places. One of them had a short metal pole in place of a saddle horn.
Yaro noticed me examining them. “Would you like me to explain how we do the tricks and what the different pieces on the saddle are?”
“Yes. Very much so. I barrel race, but I’ve never done any trick riding.”
“I’ve seen that type of racing at rodeos. You are a very skilled rider to be able to stay on with all the turns the horse does while running as fast as it can.”
“Thanks.”
Yaro explained that each rider had a custom saddle designed to help them perform their stunts. He showed me how the different straps were used and how to properly grip them.
“Stop by tomorrow if you get a chance,” he said. “A number of the performers, including our team, are staying over for a couple of days to get in some extra practice.”
I thanked him and was headed back to the event area when my phone rang. This time I recognized the unusual number ending in three sevens.
“Hi, Joe. What’s happening?”
“Got news. Not real important, but wanted you to know. Turns out one of my friends spotted Rick on the dock yesterday mornin’ at eleven. I didn’t see him because he used the entrance at the far end of the parkin’ lot.”
I knew this from Stanton but didn’t want Joe to feel unappreciated, so I didn’t mention it. “Thanks. That gives us more information about the time of death.”
“That’s what I was thinkin’.”
“Late morning, or very early afternoon is what the police are guessing. You know, Joe, it’s possible he was killed while we were talking.”
No response. Only silence.
“Joe, are you still there?”
“Just thinkin’ about what you said. Don’t like that idea.”
I heard him sigh.
“Why didn’t we hear shots?” he asked.
I decided I’d do what Stanton had done to me. “You’re the crime scene reporter. How does someone show up murdered with no one hearing the shots?”
“Person killed somewhere else and the body dumped,” Joe replied. “Unlikely to be the case here. Hard to go unnoticed.”
“And how else? Think about TV cop shows.”
“In the crime shows, sometimes there are silencers,” he said.
“Right. The police haven’t said anything for sure yet, but that’s what I’m thinking.”
“Well, if I hear anythin’ else, I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks.”
I mingled with the crowd, stopping to listen to a chorus. They sang a verse in Russian, then did the same one again in English. The song told of the struggles of a family during a snowy winter many years ago. A good fit for a Russian heritage festival.
I saw Allie and Tommy amid a group of dancers. From the repetitive movements, I guessed their partners were teaching them the steps to the folk dance the musicians were playing.
Tom Brodsky joined me as I watched them. “Are you enjoying the festival?”
“Very much. I watched the Cossacks twice and spoke with one of the men. He explained how they do the different stunts and showed me the special saddles they use.”
“They are always one of the most popular groups.”
“I noticed a house trailer parked next to the horses. I remember you talking with Diane at the stable about borrowing it and one of the organizers requesting it. I’m curious. Who was that?”
“Alena Stepanova. The crew she brought are doing a great job. Hard workers. I hope we can get them next year.”
Alena. Did the men have a secondary purpose? Were they bodyguards?
I wondered if Tom knew anything about Rick Stapleton that would be helpful. It was a big leap from Cossacks to murder. How to make that transition? Maybe the Russian connection.
I continued casually, “I haven’t seen Rudy and Ivan Doblinsky yet. I know they said they were going to come.” I sighed. “Maybe it felt like a bit too much, considering what happened on their boat.”
Tom nodded. “I heard about Rick Stapleton getting killed. Unbelievable what’s happening around here.”
“Did you know Rick?”
“A bit. I hired him for odd jobs and at tax time. He was good at numbers, and when the big April crunch hit, he helped me out. Rick also was the go-between for me and Alexander.”
“What do you mean?”
“I did the books for the store. Alexander and I wanted nothing to do with each other, so Rick brought the information to me.”
My heart raced. “You did the books? You worked for the Williams Company?”
“Yes.”
“Who owns it?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
My excitement faded. “But…but if you worked for them, who did you communicate with?”
“I got calls from various secretaries. We never discussed who owned it.”
My shoulders slumped.
“But if you want to know, Vladimir can probably tell you. His company is the one who arranged for the lease of the store.”
Vladimir? How was he involved? Were we close to finding out who was behind the hidden cameras?
“Thanks for telling me. I’ll check with him.”
Tom and I parted company. My phone signaled a text message. It was the Professor, letting me know the group was meeting at the Russian Tea House in the food court. I told him I’d be there.
I was looking at the ground and thinking about what Tom had said when I almost ran into Alena. She wore a long red skirt and a loose, white peasant blouse. A wide, multicolored embroidered belt cinched at her waist, emphasizing her hourglass figure.
Her bright, red lipstick was perfect. Not a smudge to be seen. How could that be after what I’d seen?
“Hi, Kelly. How are you enjoying the festival?”
“It’s a lot of fun. There certainly is a lot to see.”
“Yes. The committee works all year to bring the different groups together.”
“It’s all so well organized. Very impressive.”
“Thank you. I will pass on your kind words at our next meeting. I must go now. One of the groups has a question for me.”
She walked toward one of the dance stages. I found the Sentinels seated at a table covered with a crocheted tablecloth like my grandmother used to make. Before joining them, I went to the counter and ordered an orange tea laced with hints of mint. I was handed a miniature teapot, the steam rising from it an aromatic blend of spices.
“Good timing.” I joined the Sentinels. “I have news.”
I proceeded to share what I’d learned from Clay and Tom. I didn’t think the incident with Vladimir and Alena had any bearing on the murder investigations, so I left that out.
“Finally feels like some progress is being made.” Mary pushed a plate of cookies into the middle of the table. “I bought these for us to share.”
“I have some news as well,” Gertie said. “I ran into Harvey’s mother. He called and told her he had one of his gold customers back and was thrilled.”
“Let’s do a quick run-through of our suspects,” the Professor said, “starting with Harvey.”
Gertie nodded. “If Harvey killed Alexander to get his customers back, he’s getting what he wan
ted.”
“Do we know any reason he might have had for murdering Rick?” Rudy asked.
I sipped my tea. “I don’t know of any, but Rick seemed to rub people the wrong way. We also don’t know if the same person is responsible for both deaths.”
“True,” the Professor said. “Let’s keep an open mind. Hopefully, the police will release the information about the bullets soon.”
“Tom’s on the list,” Mary said. “We know where he stood with Alexander. He’s doing the books for a business we think might be questionable because of how hard it’s been to get information. Maybe Rick stumbled on something he shouldn’t have seen. Tom might be involved in illegal activities, and Rick found out and Tom killed him.”
“We need to remember Rick was a suspect in the murder of Alexander,” the Professor said. “We can’t rule him out for that murder.”
“I wonder why the body was left out in the open where it could be seen,” Gertie said.
Mary nibbled on a sugar cookie. “Maybe because of the fight people witnessed, the murderer thought Ivan would be considered a very likely suspect having the body found soon after their altercation.”
“If they were both killed for stealing from the Williams Company,” I said, “it could be a message to others that wasn’t a smart thing for someone to do.”
I glanced at the counter and saw Vladimir’s broad-shouldered back. He was wearing a black sports coat and blue jeans.
“Vladimir’s here,” I whispered. “I’ll see if I can get him to come over and introduce you to him.”
Vladimir turned and surveyed the seating area. It was packed, but we had empty spaces at our table. I stood and waved to him. He walked over.
“Please join us,” I said.
“Thanks,” he replied and sat.
“I’d like you to meet some of my friends.” I made the introductions.
They exchanged pleasantries and comments about the festival.
Time to ask questions. “I was talking with Tom Brodsky earlier,” I said. “The Professor has been trying to reach the Williams Company that has the lease on Alexander Koskov’s store. Tom said your corporation might be able to help with that because your business was involved in the paperwork.”
The Professor chimed in. “I have a friend who might be interested in buying them out of their remaining months. I left a message but haven’t heard anything. Do you know who the owner is and how to contact him or her?”
Bravo, Professor. So innocently asked.
I don’t think I was the only one holding my breath as we waited for an answer.
“I do know the owner,” Vladimir said. “Alena Stepanova’s father, Boris Baranov.”
Chapter 25
“Boris is very busy at the moment,” Vladimir said.
Trying to get out of jail.
“Besides, his business manager is the one you would want to talk to. Boris doesn’t handle specifics like leases. I’d be happy to talk to him for you.”
“That would be splendid. Thank you for your help.” The Professor reached inside his blazer and pulled out a slim black leather wallet. He extracted a card and handed it to Vladimir.
Vladimir slipped it into his coat pocket. “I’m glad to hear all of you are enjoying the festival. I’m going to check on the groups due to begin in the next session to see if they need anything. Nice meeting you all.”
The group responded that they’d enjoyed meeting him as well.
As soon as he was out of earshot, the Professor said, “That finishes the research into ownership.”
“It doesn’t give us the answer to who’s behind the cameras,” I said. “Did Boris order them, or is the business manager doing something on his own?”
“Right, Kelly,” Gertie said. “We also don’t know if there is something criminal happening at the store. People involved in organized crime often have legitimate businesses.”
“It does give us a new focus, however,” the Professor said. “Rather than searching for who owns the business, perhaps we should learn more about the manager and who ordered the hidden cameras.”
Mary picked up her teacup and took a sip. “Rudy, I think this is a good time for us to talk about what I discovered concerning your samovar.”
The Professor, Gerti, and I looked at Rudy questioningly.
“First, let me give our friends the background behind your inquiries,” Rudy responded.
The word samovar rang a bell, but I didn’t remember what it was. “What is a samovar, Rudy?”
“It is a large Russian metal container used to make tea. The one Mary is referring to is an antique. The centerpiece holds fuel such as wood chips or coal. Those are ignited, and they heat water in the container.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“Our mother had one in Russia,” Ivan said.
Rudy went on to tell us that when he was born, the prince had bought her a beautiful samovar. Rudy, Ivan, and their mother lived in a cottage the prince had built for them. He hadn’t felt it was right for them to be living in the servants’ quarters, and there were some people jealous of Tatiana. As the years passed, the prince routinely came over for tea and to visit with Rudy and Ivan.
“Yah,” Ivan chimed in. “Rudy and I had fun gathering pine cones in the woods for fuel.”
“Our mother was heartbroken when she had to leave it behind when we fled Russia,” Rudy said. “The samovar was too heavy and cumbersome for us to carry. While it was very valuable, we had to take the smaller items instead.”
“Rudy recently bought one,” Mary said, “and asked me to check its provenance to see what more I could learn about it.”
“It’s not normally something I would buy,” Rudy said. “But when I saw it in Alexander’s shop, it brought back memories of my mother and father. I even wondered if it could be the one we left behind. I don’t remember exactly what it looked like. I was young, and samovars weren’t of interest to me. But…I thought maybe.”
Mary continued, “What I’ve discovered is, the man Alexander said he bought it from has been dead for over a year. The receipt dates back to when the supposed seller was alive.”
“What makes you use the word supposed, Mary?” the Professor asked.
“The samovar is made of silver and gold. It’s a stunning piece of workmanship with detailed engravings. The makers put in identification marks to let people know they created it and also the year. The only one I can find so far that might be a match was stolen about six months ago from a high-end antique store.”
“Interesting,” Gertie said. “We still have the question of the mysterious boxes Rick told Daniel about on our charts.”
Mary nodded. “I began to look into thefts of antiques. There have been a rash of similar crimes. All the stores carried high-end pieces. While they had security systems, they weren’t the high-tech quality you’d find in a museum.”
“You might be on to something,” Rudy said. “How do we pursue gathering more information?”
I pulled out my phone and looked at the photos. “I took a picture of a couple of items in Alexander’s shop I thought my mom might be interested in, as well as the information about them. Mary, I can send you what I have and you can research them.” I paused. “I do think what you’ve discovered should be shared with Deputy Stanton. I know he’s got two murders on his hands, but if Alexander was illegally importing stolen antiques, it might be connected to his death.”
“I agree,” Mary said. “I’ll email him what I found out when I get home.”
My phone pinged, notifying me of a text. “Speaking of Deputy Stanton, he said they just released the news that the same gun was used to kill Alexander and Rick.”
“Ah…” the Professor said. “This day is bringing us a wealth of information.”
“I believe this leads us to two possibilities,” I said. “The same pe
rson killed both men or, if two different people did the shootings, they’re connected in some way and sharing the gun.”
Gertie nodded. “It’s highly unlikely someone stole it from the person who killed Alexander and then used it to murder Rick. We can put it on our charts, but we’ll keep it down at the bottom.”
“Both Tom and Harvey knew Alexander and Rick,” Mary said. “They could’ve worked together. They’ve lived in the area a long time, and it’s highly likely they knew each other. They need to stay as suspects.”
“Agreed,” the Professor said. “And until we know more about who ordered the cameras, Boris stays on our chart, and we can add his business manager.”
“I learned from Alena that Alexander had had a meeting with her father—all the more reason to contnue to treat him as a suspect,” I said.
“I’d say we made progress today,” Gertie said. “If I had my gavel, I’d hit the table and declare an end to the meeting.”
The talk turned to the festival. From the smiles and happy chatter, I’d say we were all excited about what we had learned. Resolving the case and getting Ivan and Rudy out of harm’s way would be a relief for all of us.
I confirmed my plans to pick the Doblinsky brothers up at nine o’clock in the morning for our visit to Timur, Verushka, and Clay. We’d pick up the items they’d inherited and partake of Verushka’s Russian tea.
I returned to the inn and put out the appetizers and wine for the guests. I had an early dinner, cleaned up the dishes from the evening refreshments, read a bit, then called it a night, looking forward to tomorrow’s adventure.
* * * *
The next morning, I picked up the brothers as planned. Rudy had his battered briefcase, which I suspected held his dagger and the case. The drive up the coast was no less harrowing than it had been the first time. The temporary traffic light was still in place at the landslide. It would be a while before the road was rebuilt, considering the extent of the damage.
I drove down the road in the grassy field surrounding the Russian mansion with its colorful turrets and parked in front as I had before. We got out, climbed the steps, and knocked on the door.
Murder at the Marina Page 17
