Vanishing Act

by Linsey Lanier

She hoped he was right. She didn’t want to go back to Mr. P empty handed.

  Chapter Six

  They woke early the next day and headed out in jeans and Ts under sweaters and coats and their now indispensable fur hats.

  They hit a nearby cafe where the rustic interior walls were old brick lined with aged photos of people she didn’t know.

  Parker ordered delicious strong coffee and egg dishes surrounded by sausage, mushrooms, pork fat, and minced potatoes with onion and leek.

  “We need to find a gym to work out,” Miranda said, taking a bite of the tasty concoction.

  Parker sipped the cappuccino he had ordered. “I have a feeling we’ll get enough exercise this morning. We’ll need fortification. I don’t intend to have another meal with the family.”

  “You didn’t like the food?”

  He narrowed an eye at her. “It was wonderful but distracting. This isn’t a pleasure trip. The family needs to understand that.”

  Miranda had a feeling Parker was trying not to get too close to these people.

  His relationship with his father was complex. Part of it had to do with the young woman Parker had fallen in love with as a teen. Part of it was because, as Parker had confided to her once, that his father had blamed him for his mother’s death.

  But all that was long ago. They’d gotten past the serious issues, hadn’t they?

  She might not understand their relationship, but she never interfered. Well, except when she’d bought Parker’s family home.

  The bill came and she eyed it upside down. More Cyrillic letters. It made about as much sense to her as it would have right side up.

  “Can you read that?”

  Parker gave her a sly grin. “Enough to know it’s our ticket.”

  “And how did you know the Ukrainian you spoke with the family last night?” He’d communicated a lot better than she had without Anastasia’s help.

  “I learned a little from Tatiana.”

  “Oh? When?” Surely not since they’d left.

  “When you were convalescing a year and a half ago.”

  She put down her cup. “You mean Lake Placid?”

  He nodded. “After we came home, Tatiana came to check on you nearly every day. You were usually asleep. We got to know each other better and she taught me some phrases.”

  Miranda had only vague memories from that time. Some good, some horrific. She’d had no idea Mr. P’s wife had been so concerned. She wondered what those conversations must have been like. “But she never told you about her brother.”

  “No, she didn’t.”

  Miranda wondered if the woman really wanted their help. But she wouldn’t have asked for it then. Not after what she had gone through in Lake Placid.

  They finished their coffee, Parker signed for the bill, and they headed out.

  Good thing they’d left early. The rush hour traffic turned the forty-five minute drive to the family’s village into over an hour.

  But finally, the snowy rooftop at the top of the hill came into view. Overhead ice-coated tree limbs shimmered across a gray sky. As Miranda got out of the car and started crunching toward the house, she saw movement near the rear structure.

  Then she heard mooing.

  She gave Parker a nod and took a detour down the snowy path that led to the building in the back. As they neared, the livestock odor grew stronger and became punctuated with the cackle of chickens and the grunt of a pig.

  Sure enough, it was a barn.

  Inside they found Anastasia in a stall sitting on a stool beside a large cow. The animal wore a bored look while it munched on hay from a nearby bin. It was warmer in the structure, but still chilly enough to see wisps of air coming out of the cow’s nostrils.

  Anastasia had on a thick wool coat and a scarf over her pretty honey blonde hair.

  Her fingers pulled efficiently on the animal’s underside, the spurts of milk making a rhythmic sound against her bucket.

  “Good morning,” she said without looking up.

  “Sorry we’re late,” Miranda said. “We got caught in traffic.”

  “I am late, too. I apologize. I had to help Mama and am behind in my work.”

  “How soon can you be ready?” Parker asked, sounding as if waiting for a client to milk a cow was perfectly normal.

  “I must take the milk inside and strain it, then I must—”

  A man’s voice came from the back of the barn. “Anastasia. I can do that. Go with the detectives. Give them what they need.” Pavlo appeared around the corner. His rustic coat and hat was as rumpled as his face.

  Anastasia’s expression said she didn’t hold out much hope for the prospect of talking to the neighbors. But she got to her feet anyway.

  “Very well, Papa. We will talk to the neighbors.” She wiped her hands on a rag then turned to Miranda. “Come.”

  They followed her back down the path to the gate.

  “We can take our car,” Parker offered as she unlatched the lock.

  She shook her head. “It is not far. It is better to walk.”

  Okay then.

  Once again their boots crunched on the snow as they marched along in silence.

  First stop was the house of Boris Vladimirovich. But there was no answer. As Anastasia predicted, Sasha’s old friend had already left for his job.

  Instead they headed for the next nearest neighbor. After about half a mile, a little less than a kilometer, Miranda estimated, they reached a two story house of pale gray brick with a blue gambrel roof. It had matching window panes, and it looked like something from an ancient children’s story.

  Anastasia opened the decorative gate, also in blue, and led them up a walkway to the rustic looking hewn wood door.

  She knocked, and a moment later the door opened and a woman in a flowery dress with her dark hair pulled back in a knot appeared.

  She and Anastasia exchanged a greeting in their own language. The woman was animated, waving her hands in the air, pressing them to her face and shaking her head.

  Finally their hostess switched into translator mode and introduced her and Parker.

  “This is Maria Nazarovna. She has been our neighbor all my life.”

  “Good to meet you.” Miranda shook hands with the woman.

  Maria Nazarovna stared at her as if she were from outer space and uttered more unintelligible words. Miranda wondered if Parker was getting any of this, but he didn’t respond.

  “She is surprised anyone is looking for Sasha after all this time,” Anastasia explained.

  A normal reaction.

  The woman’s hands were in the air again, beckoning them inside, so they obliged her.

  They stepped into a cozy warm entryway with walls covered with flowery blue wall paper, rural landscapes, and family photos. It was a similar layout to Anastasia’s house, but a little more upscale, with a small chandelier in the hallway near a staircase. Pink embossed tiles decorated the ceiling.

  There was more chatter between the two women, then Maria helped them removed their coats and boots, and led them through yellow curtains in a doorway that divided one room from another. After traversing a narrow hall, they entered an even cozier kitchen.

  Here the air was filled with the smell of coffee and something baking in an old stone oven in the wall.

  A man of about fifty sat at an old-fashioned laminate table staring out a window and nursing a large cup of the brew.

  He turned as the party entered the room.

  “This is Roman, Maria’s husband,” Anastasia said, and then switched to Ukrainian and told him who they were and why they were here.

  Miranda could almost make out some of the words now, especially detektyvy, detectives.

  With a furrowed brow Roman shook hands then gestured for them to sit down. Parker held out the chair for her, but before she could settle in, Maria was placing cups of coffee and pretty bowls of something red and warm in front of them, and gesturing for them to eat and drink.

  Miranda opened h
er mouth, about to say they’d already had breakfast, but Parker shook his head.

  Right. Bad manners not to eat what they give you here, and they couldn’t afford any ill will.

  Taking the spoon, Miranda scooped up some of the thick substance and put it in her mouth. It was good, tasting like nuts and wheat.

  “I believe this is buckwheat,” Parker said after sampling his portion.

  “Yes, we eat it often for breakfast.”

  Stirring the food around in the bowl, Miranda got the ball rolling before the woman brought out a side of pork. “We understand you knew Sasha well, sir. What can you tell us about him?”

  Anastasia translated the question.

  Roman rubbed his face with a hand gnarled from farm work and spoke in a solemn voice.

  “Sasha was such a good boy,” Anastasia translated. “He would come over in the afternoons after school to help out sometimes. He said he wanted to get away from his sisters.”

  Roman and Anastasia exchanged a nostalgic laugh.

  Maria said something and put a hand on Anastasia’s shoulder.

  Her cheeks turned pink. “Sasha always wanted a brother.”

  Parker swallowed a sip of coffee and steered the conversation back to point. “Help out?”

  Roman nodded and spoke again as Anastasia continued to translate. “With the chores. I let him tinker with things in the barn. He was mechanically inclined. He fixed my old tractor a number of times.”

  Roman laughed.

  “He was strong boy,” Anastasia translated. “He used to lift the tires over his head for fun. I told him he should go to school and become an engineer. He had the mind for it.”

  That was interesting. But Sasha’s father wanted him to stay on the farm. With his sisters.

  “Did he ever say he’d like to go to school?” she asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Roman answered through the translation. “He talked of going to university in Kiev. He did well enough on his senior exams in our village school to be accepted. He was saving the money we paid him for the chores to go to school.”

  Was that where he’d gone when he left, Miranda wondered. “Where do you think he went?”

  Roman looked out the window again. “It was such a sad day. I remember your mother running down the street, crying out to us. ‘Have you seen him? Have you seen my Sasha?’ We had not.”

  He’d taken the boy’s leaving hard, so it seemed. But he seemed to be hiding something. He needed more prompting, Miranda decided. “Do you think he went to Kiev?”

  Roman turned, looked at his wife, and rose from the table. “I do not know. But that is what we assumed.”

  Miranda glanced at Parker. His expression told her he was thinking the same thing she was. These people had no real answers. Only speculation.

  They were done here.

  “Thank you for your time, sir.”

  They shook hands again and left the house, leaving their uneaten buckwheat still on the table.

  Chapter Seven

  The next house was another half kilometer down the road. Once again they trudged over the snow and through a gate.

  “Bogdan and Sonia Kushnir live here,” Anastasia said as she studied the plain whitewashed structure that looked about two hundred years old.

  She knew from looking at it that the occupants weren’t inside, and so she led them around the back to the barn.

  There they found a man in a heavy coat and flat wool cap unloading hay from a wooden cart. A dark brown horse harnessed to it.

  Miranda eyed the animal’s thick winter coat and leaned towards Parker’s ear. “They still use horses for transportation here?” she whispered.

  “Apparently some do.”

  The horse snorted at her, his breath making wisps against the snowy white background.

  “Dobroho ranku,” Anastasia called out to the man.

  Once again, she made the introductions. Bogdan’s palms were dirty from work, so he nodded instead of shaking hands.

  Anastasia turned to Miranda. “What would you like to ask him?”

  “We need to know anything he can remember about your brother, Sasha.”

  At the name, apparently Bogdan didn’t need translation. He shook his head and muttered, then reached for another bale of hay.

  Anastasia let out a sigh. “He does not wish to speak of my brother. Or of that time.”

  Well, that was helpful.

  Miranda poked at the snow with the toe of her boot. She was about to ask the man if he was complicit in Sasha’s disappearance when a woman appeared in the door of the barn.

  She wore a thick dark coat and a colorful knit hat on her head, and she carried a basket of eggs on her arm. She must have just gathered them.

  “Are these the detektyvy from America?” She set down the basket and hurried over to shake hands.

  Apparently the news of their coming had spread throughout the whole village.

  “This is Bogdan’s wife, Sonia,” Anastasia said. “And, yes, this is Wade Parker and Miranda Steele from Atlanta, Georgia.”

  “Where Tatiana live now.” Sonia’s accent was thick, but she was understandable. “Anastasia taught me English long time ago. I like to practice,” she explained.

  Her husband let out a grunt and tossed another bale of hay into the barn.

  Sonia was a thin woman with a narrow jaw and dark, deep-set eyes. But Miranda saw kindness in them. “Would you like come inside house?” she said in a musical voice. “Coffee? Holubtsi? How you say?”

  “Cabbage rolls,” Anastasia replied.

  “Thank you for your hospitality,” Parker said. “But we’re here to work.”

  Miranda smiled and nodded. She’d rather stand out here in the snow than try to get down any more food, no matter how tasty it was.

  “What can you tell us about Sasha, Mrs. Kushnir?” Parker asked.

  “Please, call me Sonia.”

  “Sonia, then.”

  She looked down at a snowy mound with a sad face. “Ah, dear, dear Sasha. Such a sweet boy. We miss him.”

  “What do you remember about him?” Miranda prompted.

  Sonia smiled sadly. “So many things. He was quiet. Shy. He liked to read science books. About electronics.”

  Miranda gestured down the street where they had come. “Your neighbor said he used to fix his tractor.”

  “Yes, he had many talents. He was good with herbs, too.”

  “Herbs?” Parker said.

  “He learned that skill from our mother,” Anastasia explained.

  Sonia nodded. “Yes, Anya has a special gift. She passed it to her son.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Sonia tapped her cheek with her hand. “How can I explain? I know. One time our little Lena was so very sick. Fever, stomach ache. Very bad. So bad, she could not get out of bed. Sasha went into woods and made medicine for her.”

  “Out of herbs, you mean,” Parker said.

  Sonia nodded. “Yes.”

  Miranda frowned. “What kind of herbs?”

  “What is it called in English again? Oh, yes. It is called…bell-a-don-na.” Sonia smiled as if pleased with herself for remembering the word.

  Belladonna? That was a toxin.

  “The next day Lena was well. We were all so happy. Bogdan told Sasha he should go to university and become a doctor. Sasha said he would like that.”

  “Do you think he left to do that?” Parker asked.

  Suddenly Sonia’s expression grew sour. “I do not know.”

  Miranda looked to Anastasia for an explanation.

  Closing her eyes, the woman admitted the truth. “Sasha and Lena were sweethearts.”

  Grunting something, Bogdan reached for the horse’s halter.

  Anastasia’s look turned even more painful. “Lena was brokenhearted after Sasha left. She believed he would come back for her. She waited a long time. The years went by, but of course he never did.”

  Miranda glanced at Parker. His thoughts mirrored her own. This
could be a lead.

  “Where is Lena now?” he asked.

  Sonia seemed surprised at the question. “She is married and living in Paris. She went to the Sorbonne. She was always an artist at heart. Like Katerina.”

  Miranda’s heart sank as fast as it had soared. Okay, so Lena wasn’t a good lead. Still, if Sasha liked messing with belladonna, after his fight with his father, he could have wandered out into the neighboring forests and poisoned himself with his herbs.

  “Did you look for him in the woods?” Miranda asked.

  Sonia nodded vigorously. “Oh, yes. We searched for days and days. But no one ever found him.”

  They stood a moment, letting the ominous tone of her words sink in.

  Once again, they were getting nowhere.

  Echoing her thoughts, Parker extended a hand toward the woman. “Thank you for your time, Sonia, Bogdan. We’ll be in touch with the family if we learn anything.”

  “I hope you can tell us what happened to the boy.” Sonia sounded as if she didn’t even think he was still alive.

  Miranda gave her a nod. “We do, too.”

  Chapter Eight

  They visited several more neighbors and learned little else.

  Any of the younger people who had been friends with Sasha had moved away after he left. They caught Boris Vladimirovich home on his lunch break, but he had nothing to add, except that Sasha had confided to him he wanted to go to the university in Kiev and become a doctor or an engineer.

  “It looks like we should start hunting for your brother in Kiev,” Miranda said when they reached the gate of Anastasia’s house again.

  Parker nodded. “I concur. From what everyone told us that’s the most likely place he went to after he left home.”

  Anastasia’s face was grimmer than ever. “I went to Kiev to search for him after he left. I had a few friends there I thought he might have gone to, but they had not seen him. When the Orange Revolution came, I went to the city again to search for him among the protestors. There were so many people in the square. I did not find him.”

  “We’ll try, anyway,” Miranda told her. “Maybe we can find a lead.”

  “Tatiana says you are the best investigators in the world.”