Don't Say a Word

by Barbara Freethy

  She sat back in her chair, staring at the matryoshka doll. Since she'd discovered it in her mother's belongings, she'd been racking her brain trying to remember where it had come from. She remembered holding on to it really tightly, and for some odd reason she had the vague feeling that someone had tried to take it away from her and she'd started crying. She hadn't stopped until the person had given it back. Unfortunately, that person was just a dark shadow in her mind. It must have been her mother. It couldn't have been anyone else.

  As she was putting the doll into her large brown leather handbag, the door to the control room opened, and Tracy Evanston walked into the room. A twenty-six-year-old African-American woman with dreadlocks and a nose ring, Tracy hosted the three-to-five show featuring the best of jazz music.

  "Hey," Tracy said. "I love this guy you have on now. Any chance we could get him to perform at the concert?"

  "He wasn't available," Julia replied. "Believe me, I tried." It had been her job to book musicians for a special charity concert the Station was Sponsoring in the fall, and she'd been fortunate enough to get a good list of talent. They were hoping to raise enough money to fund music programs in the local schools, one of her pet projects.

  "Too bad," Tracy replied. She tossed her keys down on the desk and picked up the schedule. "You are working too many hours, Julia. How are you going to do all this work and plan a wedding?"

  Julia inwardly sighed at the mention of her wedding. "I don't know yet. I'll work it out."

  "Why don't you take some time off? I'll happily take over some of your work. My little sis is off to college next year, and I want to help her if I can. So keep that in mind if you need to take off a few days. I can use the extra money."

  "I will."

  Tracy suddenly straightened, glancing out the glass window that led into the production room. "Oh, my. Who is that nice piece of work?" she asked.

  "His name is Alex Manning," Julia replied, feeling unsettled by Alex's sudden appearance. She'd told him to meet her at her apartment, not here where she worked. She didn't want to bring up her past in front of Tracy, who wouldn't be shy about asking a lot of questions that Julia didn't want to answer.

  "And how do you know him?" Tracy asked with a mischievous smile. "Is he the reason you've been stalling Michael on setting a wedding date?"

  "Don't be ridiculous. I just met him yesterday."

  "Well, he is fine. Don't tell me you haven't noticed."

  Of course she'd noticed. But she wasn't interested in him on any sort of personal level, which meant her palms should not be sweating and there shouldn't be a shiver running down her spine, but there was, especially when Alex tapped on the window and smiled at her. She was definitely attracted. A normal response, she told herself. As Tracy had said, Alex was a good-looking man. Maybe she was just noticing because she was engaged, and she wasn't supposed to want anyone else.

  What was she thinking? She did not want him. He was just the means to an end, a person to help in her search. That was it. The whole story.

  "Julia, ten seconds," Tracy said, motioning toward the microphone.

  "Oh, right." She flicked on the microphone, watching the computer screen in front of her count down the seconds. "You've been listening to 'World Journeys with Julia.' Join me again tomorrow from one to three, when we'll take a musical tour through the Congo. Next up is jazz specialist Kenny Johnson." She punched the button to play the string of commercials that separated their segments. "Have a good show," she said to Tracy as she stood up.

  "You have a good—whatever," Tracy said with a sly smile. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

  "That leaves me a lot of options."

  "Just remember you're not married yet. You can still change your mind."

  "That won't happen." Julia picked up her bag and walked into the production room where Alex was waiting. "You were supposed to meet me at my apartment."

  "I thought I'd check out where you work. I didn't picture you as a DJ," he added with a smile, "but you sound good on the radio. You have a great voice."

  "Thanks." She wasn't surprised he didn't see her as a disc jockey. Most people thought DJs were wacky people, which might be true for some, but not all, especially not at KCLM, which played a wide variety of music. "I'm also a producer for some of our other shows. We're a small station. Everyone wears more than one hat." She waved her hand toward the massive collection of CDs in the room. "I'm a music fanatic, in case you were wondering."

  "Then it sounds like you have the right job."

  "It's perfect for me. Do you like music?"

  "I play a little guitar," he admitted. "When I'm home, which isn't often. What about you?"

  "I play the piano, the drums, and a little saxophone. I'm pretty much mediocre at them all," she said candidly. "I would have been a musician if I'd had any talent. Instead I play other people's masterpieces."

  He grinned. "The next best thing."

  "Exactly."

  "I enjoyed hearing Paolo Menendez," Alex added. "I saw him perform in Cartagena. He played an acoustic guitar solo that was out of this world."

  "You saw him play?" she echoed, feeling extremely envious. "It must have been amazing. I would kill to hear him in person, but he never travels to America."

  "Maybe you should go to Cartagena."

  "That's a thought," she replied, but she knew it was impossible. There was no way she'd ever get Michael to Cartagena.

  "Does your fiance share your passion for music?" Alex asked curiously.

  She shook her head. "Not really. Michael likes pop and rock, but he listens mostly to sports radio. Anyway, I wanted to show you this." She reached into her handbag and pulled out the matryoshka doll.

  "It's a Russian nesting doll. I found it in my mother's things. It's my doll. I remembered that as soon as I saw it."

  She watched for his reaction, but Alex didn't give anything away. Instead he took the doll from her hand and studied the design.

  "There are smaller dolls inside," she added.

  He set the doll on the desk and took it apart, one piece after the other.

  "What do you think?" she asked.

  "I don't know. It's just a doll."

  "It's a Russian doll."

  "I bet they sell them here in the United States."

  His pragmatic answer disappointed her. "Don't you think it's rather telling that I would have a Russian doll?" she persisted.

  "Maybe, but it doesn't prove anything. The doll isn't in the photo. And there aren't any marks that identify this doll as being made in Russia."

  "Look at the swans. They're just like the swan on the necklace."

  "I saw that. Did you notice that there are dolls missing?" he asked her.

  She sent him a blank look. "What do you mean?"

  "The first two fit together perfectly, but there are gaps between the others. You have five dolls. I'm guessing that there were more."

  "I can't imagine where they would be. I went through everything that belonged to my mother. This is all I came up with." She perched on the edge of the desk. "Damn, I thought I was on to something."

  "You still might be," he conceded. "We can research this doll, see what we can find out. There might be some way to trace where it came from."

  "That sounds like a good idea."

  "I've been known to have a few."

  "Where do we start? The Internet? I have a computer at home. We can go there."

  "Why don't we get something to eat first?" he suggested. "I haven't had time to shop for food. Besides, we can kill two birds with one stone. There's a Russian deli near my apartment. The owner came over from Russia about ten years ago. Maybe she can tell us something about your doll."

  "Another good idea," she said with a grin. "I'm impressed."

  "I'm just getting started, Julia."

  The smile on his face and the sparkle in his light green eyes took her breath away. Her body tingled and her heart began to race. She forced herself to look away, focusing on putting
the doll back together and regaining her composure. She didn't know why Alex was having such an effect on her, but whatever the reason she had to get over it—and fast. She was engaged. She was committed. She was supposed to be in love. "Ready?" Alex asked.

  She nodded, still avoiding his gaze. As he headed for the door, she looked through the glass, catching Tracy 's eye. The other woman gave her a thumbs-up sign. Julia wanted to tell Tracy it wasn't like that, that she wasn't interested in Alex, but she was afraid that would be a lie.

  Dasha's Deli was located in the heart of the Haight, where parking was scarce, so they decided to leave their cars at Alex's apartment. The short walk to the deli took them past tattoo parlors, funky art galleries, jewelry stores and shops touting sixties souvenirs, flower children T-shirts, black lights, and beads. "This is a great neighborhood," she said to Alex as they stopped at a traffic light. "Have you lived here long?"

  "About six years."

  She sent him a sideways glance. Even though he'd cleaned up his act from the day before, his face was still bruised, his dark hair a little too long, his jeans faded, and his T-shirt a bit wrinkled. He was definitely not a nine-to-five business executive or a corporate worker bee. He was a photojournalist who roamed the world, a free spirit. No wonder he'd chosen to live here when he was in town. "This neighborhood fits you," she said.

  He nodded in agreement. "It does. Freedom to be different is a luxury in many corners of the world. It's nice to be reminded that it still exists here in San Francisco."

  The somber note in his voice reminded her that he'd probably seen some horrific sights in his travels. "Is it hard? Photographing how the rest of the world lives?"

  "Sometimes."

  "But you love it?"

  "Most days I do. Lately, I don't know…" His voice dropped away. "Hey, we're here."

  Julia was disappointed to see the deli sign. She wanted to hear what Alex had been about to say. "What do you mean, lately?" she prodded.

  "It's a long story, and I'm hungry."

  "Will you tell me the story while we eat?"

  "Probably not," he said candidly. "It would kill your appetite."

  "Alex. You can't start something and not finish it."

  "We're here to solve the story of your life, not mine," he reminded her. "Let's keep our focus." He opened the door and waved her inside. "After you."

  As Julia entered the restaurant, the delicious smells of fresh breads and cakes assailed her. The bakery counter was immediately to her left, the deli counter on the other side of the room, a crush of small tables in the middle. It was a little late for lunch, but there was still a good crowd, so they took a number and waited. As they did so, Julia searched her brain for some sense of familiarity with the Russian smells. They warmed her heart, made her mouth water, but was that just because they were so tantalizing or because she remembered them?

  A short, round woman in her fifties with dark brown hair, black eyes, and a nurturing smile called their number, then greeted Alex by name when they stepped up to the counter.

  "You have been a stranger," she said with a heavy accent. "Where have you been?"

  "All over the world," he replied. "I brought a friend with me today. Julia, this is Dasha." Julia smiled and said hello as Alex went on to explain. "Julia has a Russian doll that she found in her mother's things. We're hoping, if you have a few minutes, you might talk to us about it."

  "Of course," Dasha said. "I would be happy to look at your doll. But first you will eat. What do you like?"

  "I'm not really sure," Julia said. "It all looks wonderful."

  "Then we will give you a sampling. When you come back, you will order your favorites."

  "That sounds perfect."

  Dasha filled several plates with a variety of foods.

  Julia couldn't imagine how they would get through it all. They sat down at a small table against the wall and unloaded their trays. "This is too much," Julia complained. "I'll never eat it all."

  "That's what I said the first time, but I was wrong." Alex tipped his head toward the bowl of soup by her elbow. "Try the borscht first," he suggested. "It's the best."

  Julia looked down in fascination at the deep purple soup, topped with a dollop of sour cream. "What's in it?" she asked.

  "Cabbage, leeks, potatoes, and beets. That's what gives it the purple color."

  She took a heaping spoonful, murmuring with appreciation at the delicious taste. "It's good. Hot and hearty."

  "You're not a picky eater, are you, Julia?"

  "Not at all. I love to try new food. You?"

  "I'd starve otherwise. Where I go the food choices can be very exotic."

  "What's the worst thing you've ever eaten?" Alex thought for a moment. "A wormlike bug in the Amazon. They fry 'em up like french fries, but they still taste like worms."

  "Why did you eat it?"

  "I was hungry," he said with a laugh. "And I didn't want to offend my host. I was hoping to get his permission to take some photographs, so I ate what he ate."

  She admired his determination. "Are there some lines you won't cross to get your shot?"

  "Not that I can think of. It's my job to get the picture no one else can get. If that means eating worms, I eat worms." He pointed toward her plate. "Try the cabbage rolls next. They're stuffed with beef. Delicious. No worms, I promise," he added with a grin that was incredibly appealing—irresistible in fact. She found herself smiling back and thinking what an interesting man he was and how different from Michael. Alex was worldly, adventurous, and probably a little reckless, or a lot reckless. But she wasn't here to analyze him, she was here to get answers about her doll. Since Dasha still had a line of customers, Julia dug into her cabbage rolls, then a tomato and cucumber salad followed by piroshki, pastry puffs filled with chicken. When she pushed her plate away, she was completely stuffed. "I'm never eating again," she said.

  "You haven't tried any of the desserts yet."

  "Stop. You are a bad influence." As she finished speaking, Dasha came over to their table.

  "Did you enjoy?" she asked, smiling at their empty plates.

  "Very much," Julia replied. "It was all wonderful."

  "Good. Now, you wanted to ask me something." She took a seat next to Alex and offered Julia an inquiring look.

  Julia took the doll from her bag and set it on the table between them. "I found this doll among my mother's belongings and wondered if you could tell me anything about it."

  "Oh, my, this is lovely," Dasha said. She slowly turned the doll around with an admiring gaze. "Beautiful. And very unique. The matryoshka doll is meant to be a symbol of motherhood and fertility. The smaller dolls inside are the babies." She paused for a moment. "The woman's face reminds me of someone. I can't think who. Oh, look at that." Dasha pointed to a tiny mark on the bottom corner of the doll. "There was a famous artist named Sergei Horkin, who used to sign his paintings with this S slash mark. I believe he did paint a few dolls. I can't remember whether it was the subject that was a famous person or if the famous person was the one who commissioned the doll. Either way, this doll could be very valuable if he was indeed the artist."

  "Really?" Alex asked. "Is this Sergei still alive?"

  "No, no, he died many, many years ago in the 1930s."

  "The 1930s? Do you think the doll is that old?" Julia asked in surprise.

  "I'm not an expert, but it might be."

  "Do the swans or the art have any significance?" Alex inquired.

  "Swans are often used in Russian stories," Dasha replied. " Swan Lake, for example."

  "A beautiful ballet," Julia said, glancing at Alex. "Have you seen it?"

  "No, but I take it that the ballet has something to do with a swan."

  "A sorcerer casts a spell that forces young women to live as swans unless they secure a man's undying devotion," Julia explained. "Siegfried, a prince, falls in love with the swan queen, Odette, but the sorcerer makes his evil daughter, Odile, pretend to be Odette and tricks the prince
into promising his love to her. In the end, Siegfried and Odette realize they can only consummate their love by dying together."

  "Very romantic," Alex said dryly. "You must die to get love. Hell of a choice."

  "But their love was worth dying for," Julia reminded him. She could see that Alex was not at all touched by the story. She wondered if he'd ever been in love. He certainly had a cynical side to him. Was that because of a love gone wrong or no experience with the real thing?

  Alex turned to Dasha. "Is there anything more you can tell us?"

  "You should talk to my cousin, Svetlana. She runs a shop on Geary called Russian Treasures. She knows everything there is to know about these dolls."

  "We'll go there now," Julia said, excited to have a lead.

  Dasha quickly dashed her eagerness with a shake of her head. "Unfortunately, Svetlana is out of town until tomorrow night. The girl who runs the shop when she is gone doesn't know anything. She's an American teenager. If you go on Monday, Svetlana will be back then." Dasha stood up. "Now, I must return to work. Don't be a stranger, Alex. And you come back, too, Julia. You look good together."

  "Oh, we're not together," Julia replied quickly. "I'm engaged to someone else. Alex and I are… We're practically strangers."

  "Sometimes strangers end up lovers," Dasha said. "It happened to me when a stranger asked to share my umbrella in the rain." A soft look came into her eyes. "We were both supposed to be with other people. We'd made promises, but love doesn't always go as one plans, and sometimes promises have to be broken. We've been together forty-two years now, and we've been through many rough storms, but they're easier to bear when there's an umbrella to share and a stranger who has become a good friend." Dasha smiled and returned to the deli counter.

  Julia felt a little awkward after that pointed story. She didn't want Alex to get any ideas.

  "Relax, Julia," he said abruptly. "I'm not offering to share my umbrella with you."

  "That's good. Because I'm engaged."

  "You've mentioned that."