What other than love made for a good relationship? The first word that came to mind was trust, followed by being able to follow my own path. Accepting me as I was. Being able to communicate with each other was next. Scott let me know how he felt but didn’t push for change.
I reached Redwood Cove Bed and Breakfast and was happy to have my mental meanderings come to an end for now.
As I finished parking, my cell phone rang. Rudy. I hoped it wasn’t more bad news.
“Kelly, the police called and said a man has come in claiming the dagger is his. Someone had stolen the knife from him. They want me to come in to see if he’s my half brother.” Excitement stirred in his voice.
“Rudy, great news.” Then I paused. I was concerned about him getting his hopes up. “But what if he’s not?”
“I haven’t found him in all this time, so it would mean life continuing on the same.” Worry crept into his voice. “If it’s not him, what will the police do if the person insists the dagger is his?”
“The police will have to decide how to proceed. Let’s take it one step at a time.” I looked at my watch. “I can be at your place in about ten minutes if you want to go now.”
“We’ll be waiting.”
Rather than go inside, I called the inn from my Jeep, and Helen answered. “Hi. Rudy and Ivan need my help again. I don’t know if I’ll make it back in time to help with the wine and appetizers.”
“No problem, Kelly. I’ve got it covered. Tommy and I can eat over here again if you don’t make it back by dinnertime.”
“Thanks, Helen.”
I started the Jeep up and headed for the brothers’ home. What if, after all these years, Rudy was reunited with his sister and brother? Then I thought of Ivan. Where did he fit into the relationship? Rudy said he hadn’t been allowed to attend school with them. Had they spent time together? Were they friends?
Now it was my turn to stop questioning or worrying and let the story unfold.
The brothers were outside waiting. They got in, and we proceeded to the police station.
“I can’t imagine I’d recognize him after all these years,” Rudy said. “But I can ask him questions that will reveal whether he’s my brother or not.”
“Yah,” Ivan said. “Can ask in Russian, too.”
Rudy nodded. “True, but if he’s not spoken it since he was a child, that wouldn’t be fair. I have enough memories of things we did together. I’ll know if it’s him or not.”
We checked in at the front desk, then were escorted to Deputy Stanton’s office. We entered, and Rudy came to a sudden stop. An elderly man with a striking resemblance to him sat across from Stanton.
Rudy stared. “Timur? Is that you?”
“Rudolph?” The man rose slowly. Tears filled his eyes. “Rudolph? Can it be?”
They hugged. Both were now crying.
“Rudolph. I can’t believe it.”
After all the years of searching, Rudy had finally found Timur.
Chapter 12
Timur turned to Ivan. “This must be your half brother Ivan.” He extended his hand.
Ivan blinked rapidly a couple of times, and Rudy frowned slightly. They always called each other brother. There’d never been a distinction made that they weren’t full brothers.
Ivan and Timur shook hands.
A younger blond man who’d been sitting off to the side came forward. “I’m Clay Johnson, Timur’s nephew.”
Clay Johnson, the man whose name was on the dead man’s ledger for selling coins like Rudy’s. I wondered what kind of relationship he had with the gold dealer.
I stuck out my hand. “I’m Kelly Jackson, manager of Redwood Cove Bed and Breakfast and a friend of Rudy and Ivan. Pleased to meet you.”
Timur shook my hand, as did Clay.
“Gentlemen,” Deputy Sheriff Stanton addressed them. “It’s wonderful you’ve been reunited. I’m sure you have a lot to catch up on. Right now, I’d like to settle the ownership of this dagger.” He pointed to the knife on his desk.
“As I told you, sir, that is mine, and it was stolen.” Timur looked at Rudy. “Do you still have your dagger?”
“Yes. What about our sister, Verushka? Does she have hers? Are you in contact with her?”
“She still has hers as well,” Timur replied. “We live together.”
“It’s all well and good you two feel like you recognize each other,” Stanton said, “but I need more verification than that. Rudy told us your ages when you last saw each other and how many years it’s been since then.”
Rudy nodded. “I understand. There are many questions I can ask that only Timur would know the answers to.” He gave a sheepish smile. “There were a few scrapes we got into we never told anybody about.”
Rudy asked a question in Russian, and Timur responded in kind. About ten minutes of rapid-fire exchanges took place. I actually thought I saw Rudy blush at one point. It ended with both men laughing heartily, standing up, and slapping each other on the back.
Rudy looked at Stanton. “This is Timur, my half brother. That is his knife, or his sister’s.”
“If you need to see the other knife, it can be arranged,” Timur said. “And my sister can come in as well.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Stanton said. “I’m convinced.”
Timur looked at Rudy and Ivan. “You must come for a visit. We live a little over an hour north of here. Tomorrow. Lunch. Noon. Will that work? We have much to catch up on. And bring your friend, Ms. Jackson.”
Rudy looked at Stanton. “Is that okay, Deputy Stanton? I know you asked me to stay in the area.”
“That’s fine. It’s close enough.” Stanton stood, picked up the knife, walked around his desk, and handed it to Timur.
Timur took it. “It is a true joy to have it back. I value it greatly as a family heirloom. Thank you, Deputy Stanton.”
“You’re welcome. I’m glad we were able to return it to its rightful owner,” Stanton said. “There’s still the business of who stole it to figure out, though.”
“I reported the theft to our local authorities,” Timur said. “They questioned some men we had working on the property but didn’t learn anything.”
Timur put the dagger on the seat of his chair. He pulled a box from a briefcase on the floor next to him. After opening it, he took out a sheath matching the one that housed Rudy’s knife. He slid his dagger into its case, placed it in the box, and put the container back where he’d gotten it.
“I’d like to ask Clay a few questions in private about another matter,” Deputy Stanton said.
We took our cue to leave and departed the office. The reception area had a half dozen chairs and vending machines. Rudy and Timur sat next to each other and talked a blue streak in Russian. I leafed through a magazine, and Ivan checked out the food choices. Clay joined us after a short wait.
“Everything okay?” Timur asked Clay.
He nodded. “I’ll tell you outside.”
We went to the parking lot. Clay and Timur stopped at an older black Mercedes sedan.
Clay took keys out of his pocket. “The policeman questioned me about Alexander Koskov, the gold merchant who was murdered. I’d sold him some coins, and my name was in his ledger.”
It sounded like he was in the same situation as Rudy, selling coins as money was needed.
“Did you know him well?” I asked.
“No. I did business with him a couple of times. That’s it.” He turned to Rudy and Ivan. “Do you have an email address? If so, I’ll send you detailed directions on how to get to our home.”
Rudy gave him the information.
Timur hugged Rudy again. “Tomorrow, then.”
The two men climbed into the Mercedes, and they drove off.
“Kelly, do you want to go to the lunch?” Rudy asked. “If not, we can loo
k into someone else driving us. We’ve hired people to help us before.”
“I’d enjoy seeing more of the area. I’m happy to drive you.”
And maybe I’d learn more about Clay’s relationship with the gold dealer and how the knife made it from their place to the fishing boat.
I drove the brothers home and made plans to pick them up at ten thirty. I returned to the inn and took the pie out of the Jeep, entered the kitchen, and put it on the counter. Helen was adding cheese to one of the guest trays.
“Hi, Kelly. Where did the pie come from? It looks beautiful.”
“Uh…I made it.”
I had joked with Helen numerous times about my lack of cooking skills.
Helen’s eyes widened. “You made it?”
“Yes, with lots of help from Scott.”
Helen knew I had agreed to take lessons from Scott. I went on to share with her the events of the afternoon, including Scott’s distinguished Silver Sentinel appearance.
“There’s a slice of pie there for you,” I added.
“Thanks, Kelly. I’ll share it with Tommy tonight.”
“I’ll take care of the wine and appetizers,” I said. “and I’ll wash the dishes. You’ve done more than your fair share the last couple of days, and I’m sure Tommy is ready for dinner.”
“Thanks, Kelly. His high-energy level makes him an eating machine.”
I finished in the kitchen and checked on the fire in the parlor. The flames danced and an occasional spark flew into the air. It was burning well. Back in my rooms, I took out the container of mac and cheese I’d left to thaw in the refrigerator from my first lesson with Scott and put it in the microwave.
That recipe had been a lot easier than today’s pie, but we were talking gourmet Scott, so we’d used four cheeses—sharp cheddar, Gruyère, Asiago, and Fontina. I had learned that panko breadcrumbs, the topping we used, were a Japanese style of crumbs. On the ranch, we used commercial-size containers of regular breadcrumbs.
Mom was a great cook. Her priorities for meals were healthy, tasty, filling, and plenty of it. When you were feeding a crew of hungry cowboys and a growing family, there wasn’t time for fancy. Grandpa, Dad, my sister and her husband, my two brothers, and now my sister’s twin babies all still lived on the ranch.
I was the only one who had left. I loved my family and the ranch, but I’d always had an independent streak. Sometimes that was a good thing, sometimes not. It had pushed me to see more of the world and find a place that felt like my own niche…which I had here in Redwood Cove. I was grateful for that.
I ate the last bite of my dinner and reflected on the day. I was glad Scott had seemed to come to terms about the murder we were investigating. After rinsing my dishes, I made a last check of the parlor. Mere embers remained of the fire. I called it a night.
* * * *
In the morning, Helen and I did the breakfast baskets as usual, and I caught her up on the latest events. When we were finished delivering the food, I sat at the counter, looking over some food orders.
Helen pulled baklava out of the refrigerator. “Kelly, I need to take this to a meeting of the Russian Heritage group. Some of them are getting together with the ground crew and the performers to talk about a few last-minute details. I’ll pick up the baskets when I get back.”
“I’ve been wanting to see where the event is taking place. I’d be happy to take it for you.”
“Wonderful! With a full house, breakfast cleanup has been keeping me extra busy.”
I hoped Vladimir would be there. This would be the perfect opportunity to talk to him.
My Redwood Cove Bed and Breakfast fleece hung on a hook at the back door, and I put it on and picked up the baklava. When I reached my Jeep, I placed the tray behind the driver’s seat and followed the directions Helen had given me.
The field being used by the festival was on the outskirts of town and several large structures occupied it. I’d read in a tourist brochure one barnlike structure housed several conference rooms and had a large open area. That was where the meeting was being held.
I carried the pastry in and saw that chairs had been set up in the main area. People milled around, some in costume. A musical group with stringed instruments practiced in one corner, the melody sounding plaintive and sad.
Vladimir was there. He’d chosen more casual dress today and wore tan cotton slacks and a dark blue sweater over a white shirt. Not so Alena, who I saw talking with two women in colorful skirts, wearing white, puffy-sleeved blouses and scarves over their heads. Alena wore a tailored black jacket with matching slacks.
Vladimir saw me and walked over. “Ahh…more of the delicious baklava. It can go over there with the refreshments.” He pointed to a table off to the side, which held coffee and water. “I apologize for not returning your phone call as yet. My schedule’s been uncertain, and I’ve been waiting until I had a better idea of when we could meet. I planned on contacting you today.”
We headed for the table.
“My plans have been in flux as well,” I said. “Delivering the baklava has given me the chance to see the festival area, something I’ve been wanting to do.”
I put the sweets next to where plates and forks had been set out, then asked the questions I’d prepared. They didn’t take long.
Vladimir stepped away and addressed the group. “Please help yourself to refreshments…and the baklava has arrived. We’ll start the meeting shortly.”
People quickly moved toward the table, and I joined Vladimir off to one side to escape the growing crowd.
“Thank you for the information about the event.” Now came the hard part—asking questions about the dead man. I wasn’t with the police, and I wondered how Vladimir would react.
A man with a shaved head, wearing a T-shirt marked crew, came over. “Where do you want the podium?” he asked Vladimir, giving me a few minutes to think.
Vladimir spoke with him briefly and returned to my side. “I’m sorry for the interruption, Ms. Jackson.”
“No problem, and please call me Kelly.”
“And I, as you know, am Vladimir.”
We exchanged smiles, then I dove in. “You knew Alexander Koskov. Did you hear he was murdered?”
He nodded. “Yes, I heard. The police questioned me, and some of the other committee members. Terrible turn of events. I met him some time ago in San Francisco. We did some business together and saw each other at various Russian functions.”
“He hasn’t been in the area long. His body was found on my friend’s boat. The police questioned him about whether or not Koskov had any enemies. He wasn’t aware of any. Do you know if he had any problems in San Francisco?”
He shook his head. “Not that I know of. But then, we weren’t close.”
Vladimir glanced at the front of the room. Alena was there, and she waved at me. I waved at her in return. She then gave Vladimir a come hither gesture with her hand.
He turned to me. “I’ve got to help. Please call me if you have any more questions.”
He left. Not much there, other than that they’d done some business together and knew each other socially. Alexander had come on pretty strong with my good friend at the meeting. It seemed as if he felt a stronger connection to Vladimir than I’d just heard.
I returned to the inn. Helen was beginning to prepare the pastries for tomorrow. From the sweet smell of freshly squeezed oranges, I guessed we were having orange nut muffins. They were among my favorites…but then, I liked everything Helen baked.
A familiar rattle in the driveway announced the arrival of Daniel Stevens in his beloved blue vintage Volkswagen bus. He was a single dad and devoted to his daughter, Allie. Her Native American heritage had given her ebony hair that fell to her waist. He had started at Redwood Cove Bed and Breakfast as a handyman and was part of the inn’s family, so to speak. Helen, Tommy, Da
niel, Allie, and I often gathered together on Sunday night to share dinner and a movie.
I watched as he got out of his vehicle. He opened the side door, bending over his tall frame, his black ponytail swinging to the side. Then he straightened up with a large paper bag in one arm, closed the vehicle, and walked up the back porch.
I waved and opened the door for him. “Hi, Daniel. Looks like you have a delivery.”
“The fresh produce that didn’t make it yesterday arrived, along with profuse apologies for the mix-up.”
We had decided to share duties and had consolidated our orders. We each had areas we were in charge of. It saved us time and allowed for better pricing.
As we unpacked, I caught him up on what was happening. He’d been in the area a long time, and another pair of eyes and ears was always helpful.
I folded the empty paper bag. “Do you know Rick Stapleton?”
“I do. Nice enough guy. He helps me from time to time. He isn’t interested in hard work or being on a schedule for any length of time. He floats from job to job.”
“Do you know where he lives?”
“No. That changes pretty regularly as well. Why do you ask?”
“He was fired by Alexander Koskov, the murdered man. The Sentinels and I are looking into his death because of the connection to Rudy and Ivan.”
“That’s not the first time he’s lost a job,” Daniel said.
“Would you be willing to talk to him to see what you can learn?”
“Sure. I have some easy odds and ends to be done around Ridley House. I can have a conversation with him while we work.”
“If possible, I’d like to meet him, get my own sense of what he’s like.”
Daniel thought for a moment. “You and I have talked about stabilizing the inn’s sign in the front yard. I can bring him over to help with that.”
“Thanks. I’d appreciate it.”
Daniel took off, and I went to change for lunch, figuring slacks were more appropriate than my usual blue jeans. Stapleton didn’t sound like someone angry enough to kill Koskov over losing his job. Maybe he had other reasons for killing Alexander. Did they have an argument? Had he gotten caught stealing? Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to put in the second set of surveillance cameras. Who had them installed? Who were they watching?
Murder at the Marina Page 8