 
From the case files of Addison & Pendleton Investigations

FILE 3297: The Shanghai Tunnels

The first book of "The Pendleton Files"

Greg Wilhelm

Copyright 2012 Greg Wilhelm

Smashwords Edition

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# Prologue

The Victim

Kristyan Dementyev wasn't happy. He was standing at the entrance to an alley that was supposed to be _"on the left"_ but the description wasn't matching.

He checked the directions again and looked at the brownstone they might be referring to. Then he looked at where they said the two-story shop should've been. He was hoping the shop was an old general store that was only open on weekdays. Apparently, he didn't have to worry. It wasn't. The shop was gone. Standing in its place was a new, glossy, marble building that was a little taller than two stories.

Sonofabitch!

He looked down the side of the brownstone, searching for the door that was _supposed_ to be near the end of the alley. He was praying it hadn't been touched, but all he saw was a brick wall covered with dark stains and layers of graffiti.

_Shit!_ he thought. _I knew this seemed too easy!_ He folded the papers, shoved them in his back pocket and rubbed a hand over his face. He put his hands on his hips and took a moment to take in his surroundings. He had to clear his head before he did something stupid. _How can the door not be there? Why would someone remove access to something? Could it have been renovated?_ He turned around and faced the brownstone again.

It was an empty and lifeless old four story building. There were a couple of windows on the first and second floors and four windows on the third, but the four windows on the top floor were missing. Someone had removed them. He could see some of the brownstone's interior through the holes where the windows were and thought he saw signs that it was gutted.

At the end of the alley was an extension of the brownstone that took the brunt of the demolition halted by the Recession. He moved closer to get a better look at it. Before it was demoed, it closed off the alley. Its outer wall was gone now, allowing room for the marble building, and the little windows it had for each floor had been removed.

That's when he saw it. It was while he was looking at the extension. He focused on it after catching a flaw on the side of the building out of the corner of his eye. Its surface was a cracked, mass of dry rot that by chance had mimicked the brownstone's weather worn bricks like a camouflage. Its handle was a mere flat strip of rusted metal that bowed outward like a capital D.

He shrugged off his backpack, set it on the ground and touched the door to see if it was real. _This has to be it. It's near the end of the alley, like the letter said. Damn! I could swear this wasn't here before. This might turn out to be true after all. It could actually be in there!_

But unfortunately the door wasn't the only thing "camouflaged". Above the handle was an old hasp. It straddled the threshold and was secured in place by an ancient, brass padlock that was oddly shaped like a small apple. Like the door, both the hasp and the lock weren't immune to the wall's fate and they were hidden by its grime. "Damn it!" _The letter didn't say anything about a lock!_ "Shit!" Frustrated by facing yet another unexpected delay, he slapped the lock and walked back to the alley's entrance.

_Sonofabitch! I wonder what else he forgot to mention. Damn it! Now I'll have to make sure no one will be around when I'm trying to get that damn lock off!_ "Shit!" He reluctantly returned to the mouth of the alley and let his body fall back against the corner of brownstone. He lit one of his last remaining cigarettes he brought with him from Moscow and waited.

Waiting obviously wasn't part of the original plan, but unfortunately it was something he had to do before he could even _attempt_ to get the hasp off. There can't be any witnesses. If anyone saw him, they would know what he did. He was supposed to be pulling the door open by now. That's what the directions said to do next. _Shit!_ His patience had worn away days ago. He was looking forward to finally getting this over with and was beyond done with being tired of always having to wait for everything.

_It better be there,_ he thought. _I'd hate to have gone through all this just to find out someone beat me to it. Damn it! I wonder what else this asshole forgot to mention. It figures I'd have sit around and wait... again! I'm so sick of waiting._ He took another drag of his cigarette and blew smoke out his nose when he shook his head and laughed at them. _You'd think they were about explore some abandoned mine the way they go on about it. Idiots. It's probably just like the other 'tunnels', nothing but basements._

It was two weeks ago when they first found something that proved some of what the message with the archaic writing said might be true. That was when he decided to get it for himself. He was going to make it look like someone had already taken it. Then when enough time had passed, he was going take his family far away and live off the riches from... he froze.

He could've sworn he heard something. He listened. Except for the sound of a MAX light-rail's horn coming from somewhere downtown, it was quiet. He could hear the distant traffic starting to pick up on the 405 and the Fremont Bridge, but nothing else. It was nothing, he thought, and continued to watch for signs of life. A breeze blew past him, carrying with it the aroma of someone's breakfast. _Damn, maybe I should've eaten something first._

The time was 6:06. It was Saturday morning and his surroundings were bathed in a pastel glow from a pink-orange sky lit by a rising sun. The autumn air was cool and damp, but the day was forecasted to be warm and dry this afternoon. He felt comfortable in his black, hooded sweatshirt with the zippered front. A black T-shirt, worn out jeans and white Nikes was the rest of his outfit. He had the sweatshirt halfway zipped and a hand buried in one of its pockets. His hood was up to help hide his face in case anyone ever happened to walk by. But there'd been no activity. No sound. Not a soul. The streets remained deserted.

"Fuck this!" He said, flicked his cigarette to the street and walked back to the door where he left his backpack. Everything he bought and kept hidden from everyone were inside it. He unzipped it and pulled out a tool belt. The tools already sorted and inside the pockets and holsters, done the night before. He put the belt around his waist and his eyes focused on the street as he buckled it, but he still didn't see or hear any one. Except for having to switch his mallet to the opposite side to help tweak the balance on his hips, the belt wasn't quite as problematic as he thought. It wasn't as heavy or cumbersome as he'd imagined.

He watched the street one last time as he removed the short handled bolt cutters from his belt. _Still no one around._ He placed the jaws of the bolt cutters around the strangely flat shackle and started cutting. He had to work the handles three times until it went all the way through. Then he moved on to the left side where only two squeezes of the handles were all that were needed. The metallic smack from the lock hitting hard pavement reverberated off the alley walls. He checked to see if anyone would come to investigate. He waited two beats, but no one came. He holstered the bolt cutters, pulled the lock's shackle out of the hasp's staple and just tossed it over his shoulder. It banged off the marble wall behind him and clinked as it danced on parts of the ground not covered by trash or debris. _I don't think anyone's ever going to come walking by_ , he thought. _Maybe I should stop worrying about that._ He tried to pull the hasp away from the door, but as expected, there was resistance from ancient rusted hardware. He was only able to move it a quarter of the way before it stuck. He grabbed his rubber mallet without hesitation or checking the street for witnesses and started pounding on the hasp.

After fourteen hits, it finally started moving. Three more and it started to bend, but moved a little more. Two more, it finally banged free against the brick wall.

He was sweating and out of breath. His hood had fallen away from his head, but he didn't bother fixing it. _Damn, that took forever._ He checked the street again, but only out of curiosity. _I can't believe no one's come to find out what's happening._ He wiped some sweat from his forehead with a sleeve and returned the mallet to its loop on his belt. He shoved the lock out of the way with the toe of his shoe and gave the door's handle a hard yank.

It didn't budge. The door remained shut.

_What the hell? Now what?_ He tried using both hands and yanked again. The top corner popped free, twisting against the stubborn bottom half. _Shit! Am I going to have to break it in half to get it open?_ "Come on, damn it," he cursed under his breath. "Open." He kept pulling it again and again. The top corner popped open like a mouth with each tug, as if the door were mocking him, laughing at his attempts, until it finally had its last laugh.

He was pulling the handle hard when he lost his grip. He stumbled backwards, off balance, tripping on his own feet, his arms flailing. His back hit the marble wall at an angle and the slick surface sent him flying to the ground. His left hip took the full impact and his shoulder took the rest. "Fuck!" He heard a noise and listened. It was a rolling sound. He looked to see where it was coming from and saw his flashlight rolling toward the street. "Shit." He quickly got to his feet and ran for it, grabbing it just before it rolled out of the alley. He switched it on, checking to see if it still worked. _Bright as ever._ Then he turned and was surprised to see the door open. It swayed and silently drifted on its hinges as if there'd been nothing wrong.

Kristyan rolled his eyes and shook his head. _Unbelievable._ He grabbed his backpack, zipped it shut and slipped it onto his back. All that remained inside it were his personal first aid kit, a bottle of water and a small packet of Oreos. He pointed his flashlight at the dark, rectangular void.

Tiny streamers from ancient cobwebs floated out to him along the doorway on a phantom breeze. Beyond the threshold was a dirty gray silver wooden landing, crudely constructed and covered in a thin layer dust and dirt. Off to his right were steps leading down. The third one was broken, but its remains were held in place by a board beneath it. There were five steps and they ended at a dirt floor.

He cautiously tested the landing with his right foot. It creaked and groaned, but seemed sound and sturdy. Then he brought his other foot over. The boards bowed slightly, but held his weight. While he still had daylight, he took the papers out of his back pocket, shook them open with one hand and read the next line of instructions.

After telling him to stand at the tunnel entrance, it said, _"Take ten paces into the tunnel."_ From where he stood, he could see where the directions were taking him. He pointed his flashlight at it and could hardly believe what he was seeing. It seemed to him as though his flashlight was magical and made anything written on paper appear before him. He was awestruck. "Holy shit," he said. "It really _is_ a tunnel. Shit! It's real!" He held the papers high and shook them as he yelled a triumphant, "Yes!"

Beyond the last step, just three feet away, was a dusty, but somewhat well preserved, five-foot high by five-foot wide, square tunnel entrance. It was supported by beams, one on each side with another across the top, measuring one by two feet thick. It most definitely was _not_ a basement.

Kristyan ran down the steps like a child who'd woken early on Christmas day. He couldn't help laughing as he trampled down the stairs. He kicked up a cloud of dust when he hit the ground and stood before the tunnel with a wide grin on his face. He had a better vantage point now and didn't hesitate to check out its interior with his flashlight.

Dust was slowly sifting through the ceiling from the vacant building above and filling the air. There were so many dust motes flying about that it was almost hard to see. Just past the entrance, on the left wall, was a wooden bed frame that collapsed sometime in the past. Its rotting remains rested on top of another. On the right were four more with the same dimensions. There were two above and two below and each one butted against its paired partner. Like the beds on the other side, they had supports underneath them that ran diagonally to the wall. But unlike the one that laid broken, they were better constructed and still in place.

He double checked what the letter said, _"... ten paces."_ But before he could take one, the floor suddenly flickered and dimmed. "No!" He thought it was his flashlight. He hit it and shook it, but its bright steady beam was still glowing. Then he remembered that daylight was coming in through the open door above him. He looked up.

Standing in the doorway was someone's dark silhouette. Whoever it was had an average build, but that was all Kristyan could see. He couldn't tell anything else. He pointed his flashlight at the intruder, but it was useless. The contrast between the pitch black darkness and the bright morning daylight was too great. "Who are you?" he called out. "What do want?"

The silhouette gave no reaction.

"I said, what do want?" Kristyan repeated.

Whoever it was finally responded by shifting their weight from one foot to the other. Then a long slender thing with a hooked prong at the end of it started slowly slipping down between the fingers of their left hand. _A crowbar!_

Kristyan started to worry. This was one scenario he wasn't prepared for. He didn't know what to do. He had to remain where he was to get the steps right. _No! Wait! That's not right! I don't have to stand here!_ His thoughts were running into each other. He was getting confused. _Wait a minute!_

The silhouette with a crowbar in its hand was coming down the steps.

"Now wait! Damn it, wait a minute!" He yelled, holding up both hands, still grasping his flashlight and the old papers. Then it was clear to him. _This is what this is about._

But before Kristyan could say or think another thing, the intruder swung. He hit Kristyan with a swift single blow, imbedding the crowbar directly into the crown of his head. His body went limp and dropped to the ground. Blood poured and sprayed, soaking the dirt floor beneath him. Kristyan was dead.

His assailant jerked the crowbar from his head and dropped it on the ground beside the body. Then he got down on one knee, picked up the papers, brushed away some dirt and started reading the ancient Russian writing.

# Chapter One

My Confession

I killed a man and it haunts me.

I guess I'm supposed to say more than that.

Let me think...

This would probably make more sense if I told you about myself first.

Well first of all. Hello. My name is Lydia. _Tsk, that's dumb._ Forget you heard that. (Sigh) _I still have to say my name._

_Okay._ My name is Lydia. Lydia Lillian Pendleton-Addison. But I guess I should probably to go back to being Lydia Pendleton III.

My Great Aunt Lydia is the second and we were both named after Great, Great Grandma Lydia. In case whoever's listening to this isn't from here, Great, Great Grandma was a famous historical figure in Oregon. She's often described as a strong woman who held her own against the odds and was an extraordinary influential pioneer among the great men of the Oregon Territory.

Everyone's heard of my family, The Pendletons, since before Portland Oregon ever existed. Back then, it was just called _The Clearing_ , which was just a small patch of land on the river bend, right about where the city center is today. Our family name's been in the city records ever since they first started keeping city records and there's stories suggesting we actually played a large part in most of Portland's creation.

Some of those stories start off by saying my ancestors came from Philadelphia, which of course is accurate. They left relatives behind and their descendants, my relatives, still live there today. My Great, Great Grandma's father worked for fur trading magnate John Astor not long before Mr. Astor retired and visited the tycoon's financial interest in the Northwest on more than one occasion. Apparently, he liked what he saw and decided to move the family. So, like everyone else who settled the Northwest Territories back then, they had to survive the Oregon Trail to get here. But... that's another story.

Anyway, as you've probably guessed by now, I'm a member of a wealthy family. In other words, I come from a long line of old money with a lot of history. I lived ... _somewhat_ of a privileged life throughout most of my childhood ... up until I was nine. That's when my Mother died of leukemia. I didn't feel so privileged after that. Fortunately I had some aunts and uncles around to help my Father raise me until I was eighteen.

I say it was fortunate because I've been told there were times when I acted like a little spoiled brat. Ever since I learned about this, I've always suspected the problem stemmed from a little notion that's been in my head ever since I can remember. Well, to put a nice spin on it as much as reality will allow, the thing was that I kind of always felt that everyone in the world should be waiting on me. As I got older, I never really grew out of it. I did my best to keep it to myself because it seemed like I was the only one in the family who felt this way.

When I graduated from Oregon State in the eighties, I wanted to test the limits of that little "notion" of mine. And I thought the perfect opportunity to do so would be while I was backpacking through Asia. It was something I'd been wanting to do and it coincidentally paid homage to my Mother and her surfing days. The stories she told me about her former life in San Diego stuck with me. _I always thought it was so cool that she used to be a surfer._

So... after I made sure my passport was up to date, I packed my bags and flew off to Australia, dragging my surfboard around with me everywhere I went. _I had to start there instead of Hawaii because, knowing me, I'd never going any further._ Turns out, some countries in that part the world were nowhere near as advanced in satellite communication as us back then and my Father lost track of me.

Yeah. Uh, here's the thing. For some reason, when I was a teenager, my Dad thought it was a good idea to plant a locater-bug inside my "portable phone". (That's what they called those huge field-army looking "cellphones" back then, plus GPS didn't exist yet. If it did, it certainly wasn't available to the public.) Apparently, the bug lost contact somewhere near Java. I never knew it was there. Even after I came back from my trip, I still didn't know. It wasn't until my first year as a licensed private investigator that I finally find out about it. I discovered it while Tom was showing me some tricks he knew about electronic bugs.

It's funny. When I found it, I turned to him and said, _What the hell is this?_ I thought he was trying something, but he was just as surprised as I was. Then it all made sense. That's when I finally put it all together and realized what happened. Right up until then I actually believed my Dad had complete trust for his Little Lyddy Bitty. _That sneaky bastard._

But... I'm getting a little ahead of myself here.

So anyway, my Father still wanted to keep track me, so he hired a private investigator. Thomas Franklin Addison was his name. Ever since Tom found me he hasn't... _hadn't_ left me.

We've been inseparable since the day we met.

So of course, since I couldn't get rid of him, I had to marry him.

About three months after we met, he confessed that he starting having feelings for me before he even found out where I was. He said he didn't realize how he felt until just before he caught up to me. He suspected he started to feel this way when I impressed him after learning where I'd been and what I'd done. He told me his favorite part about looking for me was hearing the tales of my famous "boldness" and "charm" from the people he talked to. Obviously, victims of my "notion" limit testing. He said he was nervous when he finally walked into a lobby of the hotel where I was staying. I was at a village resort on an island north of Singapore at the time. I was taking a break from "searching for the perfect wave". He said it seemed like he was stalking me, and it was the first time he felt embarrassed for knowing a lot about someone before he found them. So ... he thought it was better for both of us if he was talking to me instead of just keeping an eye on me. He also thought I'd tell him to get lost if he didn't wait before acting on some things he wanted to say, or do, which I thought explained a lot.

When Tom told me what he was doing there, we both thought the reason my Dad hired him was because he was worried about me being alone halfway around the world. _I guess we were half right._

So... that's how we met. That's where this all began.

I still believe meeting Tom was the best damn thing that ever happened to me. The time we spent together in Southeast Asia opened my eyes. He helped me realize how misguided I'd been about a few things in the world. Thanks to him, that damn selfish notion of mine finally evaporated and I starting seeing everything around me in a new light. Little Lyddy finally grew up and became just Lydia. That's when she started... meshing ... with the rest of the world.

Of course, when you're the girlfriend of a private investigator you end up helping out with a few cases from time to time. That's how I found out how much I had a natural talent for the job. After I got my license and officially became Tom's partner, our lives definitely got a lot more interesting.

But... that was a long time ago.

We had over twenty-two years of happiness and made plenty of joyful memories since that day we met.

But that's all over now.

When it happened... it actually felt like I was hit with something. Like some kind of deafening thunder of silence. After twenty-two years, that really, _really_ happy part of my life came to a tragic stop.

Even though it's been fourteen months, three weeks, and two days since Tom was shot by that _fucking_ bastard, it still hurts. It still feels like a piece of me was stolen, like it was _literally_ ripped out of my heart.

Okay... um, this... t-this is what happ-... _I'm sorry. It's still a little tough for me to talk about._

You see. Uh-h... T-Tom...

(Eh-hmm)

Tom got a break in this missing person case he was working which, unfortunately, as per usual, turned out to be a murder. This lead took him to an address in Milwaukie. (A suburb of Portland.) But, uh-h... neither of us knew how good this information was. We both thought this ... _person_ he found was just an old friend of our missing person that nobody knew about. So Tom went to talk to him while I just _had_ to go find out what that _damn_ M.E. had to say about this guy's _fucking_ autopsy!

Shit... damn it! _Sorry... give me a minute._

Apparently... when Tom started questioning this person, this _shithole_... this _cowardlittlechickenshitsonofabitch_ must have realized we were close to catching him and caught Tom off guard. This God damn _chicken-shit_ didn't gave him a chance. Tom wasn't given _any_ time to get his gun. I know because...... because later that afternoon .. when the police found Tom's car on a deserted, dead-end street... his body was in the passenger seat...... and-uh-h... there was a bullet hole in the back of his head.

They said his gun was still fastened inside his holster at the small of his back.

Forensics said the car was wiped clean of any usable fingerprints and... they couldn't find any evidence of Tom being shot at this _person's_ house.

But about a month later... I finally had _some_ satisfaction. I guess, depending on your point of view, you could say I handed down some proper justice in the world.

The _official_ story they have on file says I shot the guy in self-defense. But ... I'm pretty certain there's a few cops, especially the ones Tom and I are more familiar with, who think they know better, but haven't said anything.

I'm not certain if it's because they don't have enough evidence, or if it's because they understand why I did it. I just know that whenever I cross paths with any of them they always seem to have trouble making eye contact with me.

You know, I just realized something.

I should probably explain the reason why I'm recording this.

It's because my therapist said that if there's something I don't feel comfortable talking about, something that's bothering me or making me feel the way I do, I should try writing it down or recording it. She said it might be just as therapeutic.

I'm mentioning this now ... because the next thing I'm about to say explains why I said I killed a man and it haunts me. I really think it's one of the reasons why losing Tom was so difficult for me to deal with.

_It definitely falls under the category of something I don't feel comfortable talking about to anyone._ _Least not face to face._

Eh-hmm. Okay ... I can do this.

Eh-hmm.

Stop stalling, Lydia.

Take deep breaths.

Okay ... this is what happened.

_(Sigh)_ Of course... it _wasn't_ self-defense. I kept a constant surveillance on this asshole.

I made notes of his haunts, habits and everything in between. I kept a low profile so the police detectives tailing him wouldn't spot me, but of course the few times they did, they only thought I was doing my job.

By the time I finally acted on my intentions, my shadowing of this _shithead_ was getting close to the point of being an unhealthy obsession, and people close to me were starting to notice.

Usually, my "tool of the trade" is a 38-caliber 60LS LadySmith revolver, but I made a special purchase for this _son of a bitch_. I bought a 9mm Glock 19 with a silencer.

I spent time at the firing range to get the feel of it so I'd be ready when the time came. Course I had to practice without the silencer. Otherwise, I think people would've suspected something. The Glock 19's a more popular choice for most gun enthusiasts, because the bullets are cheap. The reason _I_ chose it was because I thought it had potential for being perfect for what I had in mind for this _sonofabitch_. I thought it was ideal for making sure each "special shot" hit its mark.

When I was ready to go through with it, I disguised myself in a Goethe/bum getup. Like the kind you see some of those adolescents hanging around downtown begging for change wear. Then I waited for this _prick_ on a corner late at night. When he walked by at his usual time, I followed him just a few paces behind. When we reached the spot where there wouldn't be any witnesses, I got his attention. I gave him a chance to go for his gun and just as he was about to take aim, I shot him right between his balls. He dropped his gun, put his hands over his groin and started crying.

_'That was for your friend!'_ I said.

I made sure I waited long enough for the pain to _effectively_ register in that puny little mind of his. Then when he straightened up far enough for me to get the aim right, I shot him through his left lung and nicked his heart. He fell to the ground.

'That was for Tom!'

Then I let him suffer just a few seconds longer. And when it seemed like he was about to go, I stood over him... took aim... and said,

'And this is for me, you piece of shit!'

... and shot him right between his beady little eyes.

One of my favorite sayings has always been, Hell hath no fury like Me. I guess that's no longer just a playful empty threat.

Fortunately, it wasn't possible for forensics to prove exactly which shot was first, except, of course, for that one to the head. I tossed the silencer into a dumpster, otherwise, my true intentions might've been more obvious.

This little _pissant_ asshole was the last person to see my husband alive, which meant I had motive for revenge. But it also worked in my favor that I was one of the private investigators who was close to catching him. So I guess because of this, the police never _officially_ questioned my claim of self-defense. But then, they're also familiar with how stubborn I can get sometimes.

It was standard procedure for them to hold my gun while they did their formal investigation, but they returned to me when they were done with it. A large part of me wished they kept it, but there was a small part of me who actually wanted to mount it on the wall. I'm still not sure which part it was. I like to think it was the professional investigator part of me, proud of the great work I did leading up to the shooting. I haven't so much as looked at that gun since I returned it to its case and locked it away in the floor safe in my den.

So there it is. That's it in my nutshell. Welcome to the real world of Lydia Pendleton. I didn't just commit murder, I committed _premeditated_ murder. I deliberately killed a man.

It seems like I got away with it, but I didn't. There's no such thing. I'll _never_ get away with it. No matter what I do, the fact that I deliberately killed someone comes back to haunt me. It's always somewhere in the back of my mind and refuses to go away. It seemed too easy and it's hard to shake the feeling that someone's going to do something about it one day, the police, or maybe someone close to me. _Somebody_.

So I guess that's it. I did it. I confessed. Even though I only told this digital recorder, it's there for someone to hear. To whoever ends up listening to this, congratulations, because once I'm finished, I'm going to hide it where I know no one will ever find it.

You'll probably be the only person who knows the whole truth about this. Not even my son knows. But of course, I know he's not stupid. He probably thinks the official story might be bogus. He's never asked me about it though. _Maybe he thinks I might tell him one day, when I'm ready. I guess._

Of course you might be wondering about the client, the person who hired us to find their missing person?

Well... he was grateful. Who wouldn't be?

We found their missing person and ... I ended up taking care of the man who killed him.

But maybe you're more interested in knowing if it worked. Did doing what I did make me feel better about losing Tom?

I think the best way to answer that is by revealing something else.

Earlier ... when I said it's been fourteen months, three weeks and two days since Tom was shot by that _fucking bastard_? I left off the rest.

It's also been six hours... two minutes... and fifteen seconds ... sixteen ... seventeen... eighteen... nineteen... twenty...

# Chapter Two

I Start to Come Out of It

When I rolled my ass out of bed, I thought it was a safe bet this day wasn't going to be any different than any other. Just like all the rest, more of the same... maybe. This day does have _one_ little difference about it. It's the start of a new work week. So, somewhere in that thought about it possibly being the same, somewhere way down deep inside, I think I might have had a small moment of faith that it wouldn't. _I think._ It was only just the other day that I started noticing how hard it's been to tell my days apart. They all seem to squish together in my head like one great big gigantic day.

And now, only seconds ago, I realized my _mornings_ are starting to look like some mindless static routine. Every weekday starts with my getting up around 5:45 a.m. and taking a shower. Then usually around 6:10, I'm making sure Scott has something for breakfast. 6:20 would be about my third try on getting his butt out of bed. 6:25, get myself dressed for work. Then at about 7:30 I would finally kick Scott out of bed on my way out the door. Except for the days when he reminds me that it's Saturday, that's how it's been lately. It's actually been the same morning every day.

Speaking of Scott. I love my son, but ... this is his second year at PSU. You'd think by now he'd be old enough to get his own ass out of bed. But of course I'm not saying anything, or mentioning anything about his laundry habits, _or the lack thereof_ , just yet. I still want to take it easy on him. I wasn't the only one who lost someone when Tom died. Scott lost his father. A father who died doing the same job I'm still doing.

I remember when I used to think being a private investigator would be exciting. Then I was fortunate enough to experience the reality of it first hand and found out how monotonous the job can be. But now it's just ... well... right now I couldn't tell you what I think about it. It's just something I do ... for now. Sometimes I think I should make everyone happy and quit, but I can't. Every time I so much as think the word "quit" I start to feel guilty. It would mean I'd have to close Tom's agency, and I definitely don't think I'm ready to do that. Not only that, but, even though I don't need it, there really isn't any other job I'd rather to do. _Which sounds funny, considering I never actually planned on having any kind of a career before I met Tom._ But then again, work has been getting a little more mundane than ever. Course that could be because I've gotten all I can out of it. I don't know. It's just that, I mean... I've handled plenty of cases on my own before, and I know it's never going to be the same without Tom, but ... I've been back at it for two months now and I'm still finding it hard to get back in the groove of things. _Wow! Has it really been only two months?_

Of course, it could also be the clients I've been getting. The quality of our clientele has been taking a little nosedive. It's gone from that impressive high I'd been so used to, all the way down to an almost imperceptible record low. When someone calls A & P, _what I like to call Addison & Pendleton Investigations_, they seem like they're having second thoughts about hiring a female investigator. Half of them aren't too obvious about it, but the other half immediately hang up right after I tell them about Tom. Which is why the only clients I've been getting are women who want me to do background checks. It's not _too_ bad. A lot of them were for personnel, but there've been a few that were personal. This morning I was "between cases" and I had a feeling I might be ditching work today. I _could_ set the phone to forward all the calls to my cell. _Yeah, you know... I think I will. When I get to the office, I'll write out a check for this month's rent, lock up and have a little 'Lydia time'. Hunh ... that'll be different. It's been a long time since I've done that._

Another thing that doesn't change, which is something I've _always_ noticed, is the traffic. As usual at this time of the morning, it was getting more congested and slower the closer get into town.

The commute I travel in my Mysterious Black 2005 Solstice isn't far. Our estate's in the middle of the Diamond Head neighborhood in a suburb a few miles south of Portland called Lake Oswego, and our agency's in a one-room third floor office in an old building in the middle of downtown Portland.

The Solstice was actually one of the first 1,000 production vehicles that was made for the show The Apprentice. I bought it as a present for Scott after he got his driver's license, but after less than a month of driving it, he said he still preferred the Land Rover and thought the Solstice was a chick car. _I hope I'm around for his midlife crisis. I'd like know what he thinks about it then._

"Ugh. This traffic is ridiculous." After coming to creeping stop for the third time, I noticed something I _wasn't_ aware I'd been doing before. I was actually listening to the radio ... and I think I've been doing it for quite a while. _The radio? Since when do I listen to the radio?_ I started searching my glove box for a CD. _How long have I been listening to the radio?_ While keeping one hand on the wheel and sorting through a handful of CD cases with the other, I searched my little collection in between quick glances at the cars in front of me.

_Gwen Stefani._ I dropped it on the passenger seat. _Traffic check._

_Pink._ Passenger seat. _Traffic check._

_No Doubt._ Passenger seat. _Traffic check._

_Gwen Stef... hold on!_ I stared at the CD cover trying to remember when I got this one, until it came to me. _Oh! That's right. Susan got it for me a few months ago. Whoa!_ The traffic unexpectedly hit the brakes, causing me to skid a few inches. "Sorry." _Shit!_

I did my usual "Lydia-check" on my CD player, _press the eject button_. I'm notorious for always leaving one in there, but surprisingly there wasn't this time. _Christ! When was the last time I played_ anything _?_ I put my Gwen CD in and was soon tooling down the road to a song called "What You Waiting For".

So, anyway. _Where was I?... Oh, yeah._ Our house and its modest size estate was a wedding present from my father. He hired a French architect who was ranked among the top five in France to design and build it. Dad even had her flown in so she could personally oversee its construction. The result is a beautiful modern version of a three story French farmhouse standing at the base of a small hillside. Of course I furnished the interior myself with furniture from actual French farmhouses. I flew to France and scoured the countryside. I went from Aix-en-Provence in the south, all the way north to Calais, and personally bid for each piece at just about every estate auction.

_Wow! This is a pretty good CD! Thanks Suze._ "Whatchya waiting, whatchya waiting, whatchya waiting fooorrrrr..."

I finally arrived at the office at my usual "rush hour" time, _8:30'ish_. I've never lost the hang of that. It's after that where I've been having my problem. I turned my key in the tiny brass knob, unlocked the office door and that old familiar creak in the hardwood floor greeted me once again after stepping through the threshold. The memories that sound usually brings to my mind used to make me happy. Like the first time I actually solved a case on my own and came through the door with the news. Then there was the time where I stepped on that old creaky floor to find Tom holding tickets for a luxury cruise for two to Hawaii. Now those memories are all part of a long list of things that could bring tears to my eyes. But it's one of the more recent memories that could put me in a state of blubbering tears, if I let it. It was the night I shot that bastard that killed Tom. That one doesn't go away. When the police finally finished their paperwork and let me go, I came straight here to the office. _Maybe I should insist on the floor being fixed._

I wiped away a small tear and set my purse down on my desk. Then I did I did a mental greeting to Tom's vacant chair, still there behind his old beat up dark brown desk. It's something that's become sort of a ritual of mine. I've been doing it for a while now. _I've gotten better. I used to say it out loud. That's if you call what I do now better._ I sat in my banker's chair behind my bourbon-cherry wood, just a foot away from his desk where it's always been, put my reading glasses on and got the checkbook from my purse.

I can't wait to find out what the rest of that CD's like.

As I wrote out the amount, I caught a glimpse of our agency's name on the check and, for the first time, actually thought about changing it, but I decided against it... for now. _Hmm ... Pendleton Private Investigations? P.P.I? Un-uh. Nope. I still like A &P._

"Excuse me, please. Is Thomas Addison in?"

I closed my eyes and sighed. _Damn it! There goes Lydia time!_ Mondays suck.

# Chapter Three

The Client

Going by the sound of his voice, I was expecting to see a smaller, leaner man than the one standing by the door. He wasn't very tall, but he wasn't very short either. What he was was a little overweight and clean shaven with dark thinning hair in the early stages of graying. _And there's a hint of something in the air that told me he might've bathed in some musk cologne._ About the only thing I got right was the accent. His characteristic broad cheekbones and square jaw line confirmed it was definitely Russian. But he wasn't alone. Behind him were two men who were slightly taller and more bulkier than the guy who asked the question. One of them had short spiky hair while the other was a shiny baldy with a goatee. They reminded me of a couple of bouncers I used to know from a nightclub I used to frequent a lot. All three men were wearing Italian leather jacket knockoffs. They copied each other's casual attire with nondescript Polo shirts, blue jeans and brown loafers, but the jackets were slightly different. One of "bouncers", _Spiky_ , had a dark brown one with some kind of stitch design across the chest while _Baldy_ and the man who spoke wore plain black.

The floor made an odd _unfamiliar_ little groan as the man who spoke stepped further into the office. "I'm sorry for the intrusion, but if you could tell Thomas that I would like to hire him to investigate a problem for me."

"I... I'm sorry," I said while taking off my reading glasses. "Mr. Addison was killed last year."

"Oh! Oh, forgive me. I didn't know." His apology seemed sincere and something about his stance made me think he should have a hat in his hands. _I don't know why._ "What about Pendleton?" he asked.

_Okay. Here we go. I know I wasn't planning to do any work today anyway, but Christ! Last thing I need now is to have another client drop us._ But of course, like all the others, I can't do anything about it. Apparently, I had to learn I'm the wrong gender for the job just one more time. _It's really starting to affect my confidence just a bit._ "I'm Pendleton," I finally said, bracing myself for yet another shot at experiencing what it feels like to be considered incompetent. " _Lydia_ Pendleton."

He surprised me. One of the brightest smiles I've seen on a man in quite some time erupted across his face as he walked the last few steps to me with his hand out. I put my glasses in my left hand and jumped up to stand over my desk to shake his hand with my right. "My name is Vasiliy Dementyev," he said as we shook hands. "Could you please help me?"

I was stunned. It took me almost a minute to say something. "Uh... y-you want to hire me?" I said, still holding his hand.

"Da," his smile waned a bit by a look of worry. "Yes, you are... available?"

_Am I what?_ A minute ago, I was expecting to be denied a shot at what might be some real work... again. And now, like an idiot, I'm just standing here, a little dumbfounded and trying to get a handle on what's happening. _Oh right,_ I thought after getting it together. "Yes." I finally let go of his hand and shook away my surprise. "Yes, absolutely. I'm available. Sorry. Please, have a seat and tell me what I can do for you."

Along with the two desks, our office consist of four black regular size file cabinets against the wall to my left, two short ones behind me on my right, and next to the copier in the corner sits a fake potted plant that's seen better days. In the middle of the room, but often found in a slightly different spot, are two old plastic fiberglass chairs for anyone who wonders in. One of them is the color of vanilla ice cream and the other is baby blue. They're the type of chairs you'd find in any old cafeteria or lunchroom. This morning they were in front of my desk. The blue one on my right squeaked a few times when Dementyev eased into it. His friends chose to stand. In the hall. _Weird._

Tom's always had the chairs, long before I came on the scene. He told me he got them from a Goodwill store just up the street. He said he thought it really wasn't necessary to spend a lot of money on something that no one will sit in for too long, or too often. _I kind of agree, I guess. Hmm... still... a couple of old cushy bookstore chairs would be nice._

I thought Dementyev's familiarity with my husband sounded strange. I could swear Tom had told me all about his past clients, but I don't remember him mentioning any _Dementyevs_. But being the good little investigator I am, I knew now wasn't the time to explore any reasons why I've never heard of him. _One of his friends must be wearing the cologne. Thankfully, it didn't get any stronger when we shook hands._ "So how may I help you," I said. I felt jazzed about how this didn't turn out the way I thought, but still a little dazed that it was actually happening. I happily returned to my chair and put my checkbook away. Then I swiveled around and set my purse down on the floor behind me against the wall. I swiveled back and got out a legal pad from the bottom-right drawer of my desk.

"My brother has been murdered," he said.

_What?_ He surprised me again. I froze a little. My pad fell out of my hand and plopped onto my desk. _A murder? Son of a bitch!_ I thought. _But wait. Aren't the police doing something about it?_ "What do the police say?" I asked. "Do they have any suspects?"

He shook his head before answering me. "No," he said. "My family is handling the matter."

_Family? What?_ I took another look at his friends, who I now realize are bodyguards, and then I started looking at Dementyev in a new light. _Holy crap! These guys are Russian Mafia! Why would Tom ever have Russian Mafia as clients?_ "So, uh... a-am I'm to understand that the police are _not_ involved?" I said, trying to keep my composure.

He blinked a little as his lips moved slightly into half smile, then said, "Yes. I can see that you are good at what you do. Not only are they not aware of anything, they must never know. But I'm sure I don't have to tell you that." He cocked an eyebrow.

This was feeling all a little too surreal. It was becoming increasingly more difficult for me to believe this was really happening. _Get a hold of yourself Lydia! Say something, say something._ "Duh... a-ah... no! N-no. You don't-uh, _won't_ have to worry about that." _Oh yeah..._ that _was real smooth._ "Mr. Dementyev, as I'm sure you must be well aware, this agency is bound by the rules of the Oregon Board on Public Safety Standards and Training to maintain the confidentiality of all our clients. All of our investigations are held in the strictest confidence."

His eyebrows went up a bit and he looked around the room. Then he leaned forward and said, "I think you're going to need to revise your little speech." He laughed a small chuckle as he leaned back.

I got a little worried after that and realized how dangerous things could get. _Okay, get a grip Lydia. They came to you, remember?_ Wait a minute... That's right, they did. "Forgive me, but ... I thought you just said your family was taking care this. Why do you want to hire me?"

He cocked an eyebrow again and nodded. "That is a fair question," he said. Then he sighed. "Usually that is the case, but this time ... we need help. As I said... it was my brother."

_But he said family. Does he mean I'm 'family'?_ My mind was replaying scenes about the Mafia from movies and TV. _Was Tom a member? Do they expect me to take his place? I hope they don't expect this to be some sort of a favor I'll be doing for them._

It must've been obvious what I was thinking, because he started to give me a weird look. "Of course I will pay your expenses," he said. "I have no problem covering any cost you require."

"Uh, yes, of course. Right. We can discuss that later." I put my reading glasses back on and had to search my desk for about two seconds before I found where my pen had rolled off to. Having never actually been hired by known criminals before, I didn't know what else to do but my usual new-case routine. Besides, innocent until proven guilty is what they say, right? And I think it was a safe bet that Tom knew they were Red Mafia. _H_ _e_ apparently had no problem doing work for them, whenever that was. "Okay, I'm going to need all the details," I began. "I'll need you to start from the beginning. Tell me everything leading up to his murder. I need to know how it happened and where it happened. Omission is the enemy here. Even the smallest insignificant piece of information could be useful to me." Yeah, that's my spiel. It might be a little cheesy, but I've put a lot of work into it after I made a few mistakes with some of my first cases. Although, strangely enough, I've never had any negative feedback about it. Not from any of the clients anyway. _Don't worry. I threw a pencil at him._

Dementyev sighed and concentrated, possibly sorting through the events and trying to remember their order, just like any regular, normal everyday client. Seeing this thankfully went a long way in helping me calm my nerves and I started to feel more relaxed. "You've heard of the Shanghai Tunnels?" he asked. "Correct?"

"Yes." _Shanghai Tunnels?_ In any other situation, I might've mentioned how like some native New Yorkers have never been to the Statue of Liberty, I've never taken a tour of the tunnels. _Probably because they're a bunch of disgusting old basements connected by little passageways._ But again, I knew this wasn't the time.

"What I'm about to tell you, only very few people know," he said.

I nodded. He continued.

"There are more tunnels down there yet to be uncovered and they were used for more than just shanghaiing."

_Interesting as that might be, I really don't see what this has to do with your brother being murdered_ , was what I wanted to say, but instead I said nothing and listened as he continued.

"I will explain, but first, as you say, I should start from the beginning. About a month ago, my brother's daughter, Carina, found some papers folded up and hidden behind an old photograph. Eh... she works part-time after school at an antique shop not far from here. She likes to look through drawers and jewelry boxes while no customers are around. Uh, you know... snooping. Sometimes when business is slow, her boss leaves her in charge and it was during one of these times when she found the papers."

I nodded again while I wrote a few notes. He continued.

"As I said, she found these papers behind an old photograph. Uh... you might think that is something that's probably not too unusual, but it was what was written on them that was _not_ usual. These papers had a message written in Russian Cyrillic and was most definitely done so no later than 1951, considering the photo's subject."

_Okay. So far, we've gone from Shanghaiing to old photos with papers hiding behind them. Who the hell killed this guy, the ghost of a pissed-off sailor who had a grudge against Russians?_ Was what I was thinking. What he saw was me nodding, encouraging him to continue.

"Carina had brought the papers home to show my brother, Kristyan. Once he read what was written on them, he called me immediately."

I was ready to write down what his brother said, but Dementyev wasn't saying anything. I looked up and saw that he apparently wanted me to ask. I didn't. Finally, he said, "They were a list of instructions."

Hoping it would inspire him to move on more quickly I promptly asked him, "What kind of instructions?" I held my pen ready to write it down as I awaited his answer. Then I thought, _what the hell_ , and wrote "Instructions" just to be writing something.

"It was instructions on how to find something that had been hidden a long time ago."

Again, he thought I would ask. Again, I waited him out.

"Have you ever heard of the Czar's Blue Star?"

_What the hell is this, twenty questions? He keeps jumping subjects like a pogo stick!_ Uh-oh, he looks pissed. Some of that last thought must've slipped out. _I think I might've rolled my eyes a little._ I tried to give him what I thought was my best apologetic smile and mouthed "sorry", hoping it would keep him from storming out. Though, fortunately, he didn't seem to be _too_ upset by my faux pas.

"I will take that as a _no_ ," he said, huffed a little through his nose and proceeded to educate me. "The Czar's Blue Star is an abnormally large star sapphire. Like most star sapphires, it holds within it a six-rayed, star-shaped pattern. Eh... this pattern is usually often made by an inclusion of a certain mineral, but unlike _most_ star sapphires, this one does not require a single light source in order to see the star. It is one of the rarest star sapphires in existence and it was said to have been unearthed by the very hands of Alexander the Great himself. Officially it is called The Blue Star of Russia. There have been _'sightings'_ throughout the years, but the last time it was positively seen by anyone was atop a staff that was being held by the hand of Peter the Great, the very first Russian Czar. It is believed to have been stolen from the national treasury sometime in the 1790s. No one has ever recovered it and it was never seen again, or uh... at least not until around 1895."

"Hold on a minute." _What is this? Is this guy for real? This has to be a load of bull. It sounds a lot like something you'd see in some movie._ "Let me see if I got this right," I said. "What you're telling me is that this list... is a list of instructions on how to find this _Czar's Blue Star_ , which was hidden here in Portland in something like a Shanghai Tunnel, all this time. And your brother, Kristyan, was murdered while trying to follow this old list of instructions on how to find it. Is that right?"

"Yes!" His smile returned and I jumped when he smacked a hand on top of my desk. Then he pointed at me and said, "Yes, that is exactly what happened! You see? I was right. You are _very_ good at what do."

I just stared at him. I couldn't believe it. I looked at his buddies in the hall, checking to see if they were snickering, they weren't. Then I came back to Dementyev, who was back to being "mister pleasant".

His moment of exuberance was obviously brought on as a result of my giving him a small taste of my talent for deduction. My little summation of events assured him that I was paying close attention to what he told me so far and had already began to put things together. But the honest truth was that I was having some doubts about him. It's possible he could just be someone who's off his medication and these two "bodyguards" might really be nurses allowing him to live out his "fallacy du jour" until his prescription's ready at Walgreen's. But then again some of what he said does sound a little plausible. I mean, think about it. How many of us really know everything there is to know about Russian history? There _is_ a small percentage of probability in his story.

I happened to glance at my notes and more questions piled up in my head. The way I take notes never ceases to amaze me. Every time I interview a new client, I always think I'm merely jotting a few things down. But apparently what's happening is that I'm writing everything almost verbatim in shorthand and making little side notes as I write them.

"Okay... Why write a list of instructions?" I asked. "I mean, why would he hide it and just leave it for someone to find?"

"From what little we've uncovered, we can only speculate what his reasons might have been. We think his ship was not going to be leaving for quite some time and the situation that evolved as result of his, um, 'methods' in reacquiring the sapphire did not allow him the luxury of a deposit box."

_Ship?_ "So he wasn't the person who originally stole the Blue Star?"

"The message goes into detail and describes how he happened to have discovered the location of the Blue Star." Dementyev shook his head. "No. He was not the one who had stolen it."

I think I was starting to get the picture of who this guy might've been. Not his personal identity of course, but his occupation. But exploring that part of the story was something I'd have to do later. There was something else niggling my curiosity. "Okay, lets step back a bit," I said. "A moment ago, you mentioned that there's more tunnels than anyone knows. I suppose that means you know where all the tunnels are?"

His lips curled into that little smirk again and he winked as he gave a knowing nod of his head. "In Russia, there was a time when we assisted the KGB in a few matters. You might say we were... 'deputized'." He chuckled at that. "During this time we had somewhat of an unlimited access to various files. Some of these files, at the time, apparently did not seem important enough for them to hide from us. So..." He paused to get a more comfortable seat in his chair. "While one hand scratches ones back, the other is elsewhere." He wiggled his eyebrows up and down as part of that last statement. "We did basic word searches of the files they had on a computer, such as 'buildings', 'cars', 'roads'. We found single word searches to be very quick and useful for looking into computer files. To anyone searching its memory, this would seem like harmless word play, but what this word play gives in return is very quick and plentiful. A few of the things we found we already knew, but a couple of files stuck out like sore thumb. Especially when one of us used 'tunnels' as a keyword in one of our searches. We found something we had not expected."

"You're not going to tell me the KGB was gathering information about the Shanghai Tunnels, are you?"

He shook his head and said, "No."

_Huh? Did he just say no?_ "No?" I asked. _What else could it be?_

Dementyev made a little chuckle-laughing sound that I could swear sounded almost like a hiccupping seal. "Before they were the KGB, they were called the Okhrana," he said. His chair squeaked again as he leaned back. "What we discovered was that the Okhrana... commissioned the Chinese who had built their tunnels around the Shanghai Tunnels... to build tunnels... for _them_."

_Oh come on! This can't be true. Can it?_ "The KGB's been spying on us through tunnels... in Portland?" I asked. "They're not still using them are they?"

His eyes became slits as his grin grew bigger. "These files are very thorough," he said. "They even go as far as to mention what the Chinese were paid. And yes, there are also files containing reports about information the Okhrana had gathered during assignments in these tunnels." He stopped talking and a frown formed on his face, like he was trying to remember something. Then he turned toward the door and snapped his fingers to get the attention of one his bodyguards. He said something in Russian and the guard, the one with the spiky hair and brown jacket, had turned from watching the empty hallway and gave him a somewhat lengthy reply.

"Da, da," Dementyev said, waving off the bodyguard and turned to face me again. "He is good for protection, but when you get him going he is hard to shut up," he said, feigning disgust. "Among many things, he reminded me that the last report in the files was dated May 28, 1894. It seems your, ah... Willamette River was flooding this city on an annual basis in the past. It was during this time when this happened most often. Apparently, this, um... _report_ had led to the discontinuation of their operation. Let me see. I believe it had said something about the information they had been gathering was not important enough for them to acquire the funds necessary for repairing flood damages to their tunnels."

_That's right, of course! The Great Flood of 1894!_ I'd forgotten all about that. Though who could blame me? It's not exactly a current headline in the Oregonian. The only time I was ever concerned about it was when I had to do a report on it in grade school. Then later, when Scott was learning about it. My mind was suddenly threatening to go reeling. _The timing was right. This is really starting to sound more and more like the real deal. It would also seem my assumption was right. The man who retrieved the Blue Star and wrote the message was probably KGB, or I should say, a member of the Okhrana. Dementyev said they stopped using those tunnels around 1895. That's why he insinuated that was probably when the Blue Star resurfaced._ He sat there with a smirk on his face again. He evidently understood that I'd put it all together and realized that this could possibly be for real. That seemed to amuse him. "And you guys just happened to have this information before you even knew the Blue Star was here in Portland?"

"Oh yes. I will admit, it is an amazing coincidence," he said.

_I'll bet._ I'd like to know what really brought them here to Portland in the first place. If they didn't know the Blue Star was here before, then what are they doing here? Normally I wouldn't have a problem asking him about that, but I think that subject should remain untouched, for now. He's a client, not a suspect.

"So, to answer your question," he added. "Yes, we know where the tunnels are. Of course, we made copies of these files only because, at the time, to us, it was ... just a secret no one knew about. A, uh... _curiosity_ , if you will. The files included maps of these tunnels. But of course, the maps are not current, so, ah... any damages that may have occurred over the years, or remodeling done by various owners of businesses from above, are unknown."

"I'm going to need to see them in order to do a thorough investigation. Knowing what your brother knew could help me get a clear picture of everything he might've done." _Plus, it'll help me get a jump on things in case it turns out his murder has more to do with this Blue Star thing than I suspect._ I glanced at my notes again and thought we strayed too far off the subject. Getting back to his account of what happened was something we should be doing. "Okay. Maybe we should get back to what happened. You said he called you to tell you about the papers Carina had found. What happened next?" I put my hands out, gesturing to him to continue. _Go!_

"Yes. Yes, you're right." After I had reminded him where he left off, Dementyev almost reverted back to the somber state he was before. It took him a second to remember what he was going to say before we got sidetracked. "It was furthest thing from my mind," he said. "I hadn't thought about the Blue Star since I was a little boy. When Kristyan told me what Carina had found, I thought he was playing a prank. But then we researched some things that were mentioned in the message and even though we couldn't verify all of it, what we could verify confirmed there was some truth to it."

"Oh, excuse me for interrupting, but I'm also going to need all of your research as well." _In case I need to know, it could tell me who they've been talking to, if this part of the story checks out._

"Yes, you will have it." It took him a moment before he spoke again. "After we confirmed the validity of what little information we had, we decided that only three of us would go down into the tunnels to find the Blue Star. Kristyan, me and... Ivan." He shook a thumb at the doorway suggesting that "Spike", the guard he spoke to earlier, was Ivan. "We made two copies of the papers. Kristyan insisted on having the originals."

"Wait. So you guys were there when he was murdered?"

Dementyev vehemently shook his head. "Of course! Of course, he couldn't wait for us," he said. "I should've known he would go off by himself! Since he was a young boy, he was always getting into trouble, always going against authority." Dementyev was getting emotional and almost on the verge of tears.

Even though I thought I knew the answer to my next question, I had to cover all the bases. It was starting to look like there was chance some of his story might be legit. "Was the Blue Star there?" _It was an important question. Real or not, it could've been the killer's motive and whoever it was might've taken it._

Dementyev's eyes grew wide and he looked at me with disbelief. "How could I even _think_ of looking for it while my brother lay dead?" He shook his head again as he spoke. "Why? Why would someone do that to him? We've had no problems with _anyone_! There can't possibly be any reason for anyone to attack us like that. It had to have been an outsider. Someone who isn't affiliated." A tear ran down his right cheek. "Who could possibly want to do that to my brother?" He wiped the tear away with the back of his hand and started rubbing his eyes. "I am sorry. I'm usually very good at controlling my composure."

I glanced over at his bodyguards. I wasn't sure if they were showing him respect for his privacy, or could care less about what he was going through. They were maintaining their stance outside the door as if there was nothing happening. I reached around behind me into the bottom drawer of a little file cabinet and pulled out a box of tissues from my private stash. He gratefully pulled a handful and blew his nose.

A couple of minutes ticked by with him being the only sound in the office. It was starting to make me feel a little awkward. I had to say something. "Mr. Dementyev....

"Please... we are all friends. Call me Vasiliy." He blew his nose again.

Something told me, being on a first name basis might not be such a good idea. I had a feeling it was a little out of character for him, but I also didn't think it was a good idea to give him the wrong message in case I was wrong. "Vasiliy... I think I've heard enough for now. I'm going to need a list of your enemies along with everything else. That's evidence, any clues you've found about the Blue Star, all the information you've gathered, including the photograph where Carina found the papers, frame and all, just as she found it."

He nodded as he blew his nose for the third time. "Yes, yes. Of course, everything," he said. "I will send Carina here this afternoon with all of it." He suddenly halted almost in mid-sentence and put a hand to his chest. Then he started looking around my desk for something. I held out my hand. He stood and hesitantly gave me his tissues. I tossed them in the trashcan by my feet. _It was there because the last person to cry in this office was me. People wanting background checks usually don't cry about it._ He pulled out some papers from his breast pocket that were folded together in quarters and unfolded them. "Here are my copies of the message," he said. There were three pieces of paper. He placed them beside each other in front of me on top of my desk and smoothed out each one.

I looked at them without touching them while under my desk I was subtly wiping off any tissue 'residue' on my jeans. Luckily, I didn't have to touch them. It was easy to see everything from where they laid. As he said, they were Xerox copies. I could see why Kristyan would have wanted the originals. The message was written in pencil and some of the lettering was a little faded and difficult to make out. Not knowing the language they were written in, I had no way of knowing how much of a problem that would have been. I couldn't deny the actual proof laying in front of me. They were definitely old pieces of paper. Each copy was large enough to include the whole paper and beyond. I could see where the edges were worn and frayed and there were a couple of spots in some of the folds where tiny pieces of it were worn through. It looked like the real deal.

Dementyev had hope in his eyes and determination set in his jaw. This gave him the appearance of how I'd always imagined a mob boss would look. Seeing him like this made me feel as though I had gained more insight into the persona.

"Thank you," I said. "This is a good start, but I wonder if I could get a translation of it and everything else while you're at it."

Dementyev nodded and said, "Of course. We will translate everything and have it typed up. Then I will have Carina bring it with her along with everything else you requested as well."

I was hooked. I was sold on the part about the murder, but still had some doubt about this Blue Star crap. I had to see where this went. Plus I've been starving for a real case. As required by any licensed investigator in the state of Oregon, I informed him of his right to receive a written contract. As I wrote it out, I explained to him how much was needed up-front, plus the list of miscellaneous expenses and any extra costs that might be necessary, should the need arise. Even though I didn't need the money, I charged him the usual amount that Tom's always charged. He agreed to all of it without a flinch of an eyebrow and paid for the up-front cost with a handful of fifties from a wallet he kept inside his jacket. I wheeled over to my purse and put the cash in my wallet. I took off my reading glasses, rubbed my hand on my jeans one more time for good measure and stood to shake his hand. His hand felt warmer than before and still just as firm. "Thank you for coming in... Vasiliy."

A smile lit his face once more, almost brighter than the first time. "Da," he said. "Yes. I am glad you could help me, but also very sorry for your loss." His smile dimmed and he shook his head. "Thomas Addison was a very, very fine man and a good private investigator. He will be sorely missed."

I only nodded my reply. I couldn't speak. My throat felt a little tight. I wondered how long it would be until someone's expression of condolence for my loss would stop affecting me so much. _Probably never._ Too bad. It was a good time to ask him how he knew my husband.

"I will call you if I think of something else that might be useful," he said before he turned to go.

I cleared my throat and was finally able to talk. "I'm assuming Tom has your number in his rolodex?" I asked in order to trip him up a bit. Just to see what his reaction would tell me.

For a brief moment, he didn't seem to understand me. Then he nodded and said, "Yes, yes. Uh... he had my old number I will give you my current one." He walked over to my desk, tore a piece of yellow paper from my legal pad, wrote his number down and handed it to me. "That is my cellphone number. Call me at that number and I will answer promptly."

_Hmm, that was weird._ I folded it in half and shoved it into a pocket in my jeans. "I'll be calling with updates on a daily basis," I told him. "I usually do this at around six in the afternoon. Is that a good time for you, or would you prefer another time?"

He nodded. "Yes, that will be fine. Six in the afternoon." He nodded once again.

"But I'll call immediately if I come across something significant," I added.

He stared at me a moment before nodding in agreement. "I expect it." The way he turned before leaving caused me to envision him putting a hat on. _Maybe he recently lost one._ "Good luck," he added as he left. The bodyguards followed him without a word.

I listened as the hard rubber soles of their loafers scuffed and shuffled on the threadbare red carpet covering the hallway's hardwood floor. The building where A&P pays the rent is listed in the historical registry. It was built without an elevator and in order to keep its historical standing will never have an elevator. Dementyev and his entourage had to go down two flights of stairs. The moment I no longer hear their footfalls, I started to breathe again.

_Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap!_ I plopped down in my chair, put my elbows on the desk and messaged my temples in an attempt to keep control of my nerves. _If half of what he said is true then this is going to be huge. Not only did I snag a murder investigation, I snagged a Mafia murder investigation. And to top it off, it might even include the recovery of a country's piece of national treasury that's thought to have been lost forever._ My mind had slipped into "auto-investigator mode" and was already starting to do a run-down on how I was going to begin and at the same time tried to figure out how I was going to keep it from the police. I felt the gravity of how much of an impact this case was going make and started to feel uneasy as its complications began to unfold before me. I could feel doubt trying to creep in, but fought it off. I could feel the room try to spin around me. _My God, this is big!_ I started to feel a headache peeking around a corner of my head, threatening to attack. _I guess my body's telling me I really believe most of what he said. Shit! I can't believe this! There's no way I'm quitting now._

I sat up and got out of my chair. "I gotta get out of here," I said to an empty office. I grabbed my purse and headed to the only place that could help me right now. _This day is definitely not turning out to be like any other._

# Chapter Four

My Oasis

"Can I get a drink started for you?" I heard the barista yell this over the loud espresso machine for about the umpteenth time. _The line of customers must seem like a preview of hell for her. It never seems to get any shorter._ I watched with amusement from my espresso table by the café's front windows with my extra-chocolate, double Grande Mocha.

Living close to the birthplace of a famous coffee chain grants us the privilege of having various competitive business minds take a stab at opening their own versions about every month or so. This one just opened not too long ago and became my current favorite café of the week. When I found it, I decided I liked the feel of it. Cushy chairs with espresso tables around the perimeter. Leather couches in the back. Art Deco sconces on the walls. It's sort of like a living room away from living room. You know what I mean? Some places are a home away home, but only here it's just the living room. _Anyway._ When I found this café, it recently had its grand opening and the crowds hadn't known about it yet. _I think it used to be martini bar._ But unfortunately I found the café to be popular today and it didn't have the same feel to it as it did when I first discovered it. No loss. Like I said, it's _almost_ like the weather. You just have to wait about a month. Another one will come along soon.

The "Struggling Barista" show got old for me, so I turned around in my chair to watch the curious pedestrians parade past my window. I was reviewing this morning's surprise earlier and decided I didn't like how the interview with my new client went. The part I _really_ disliked was how I somehow managed to forget to ask him some of the important questions. You know, questions like, "How was he murdered?", or "Did he still have the papers on him?", or "Was the murder weapon left at the scene?", or maybe, _oh I don't know,_ "What kind of _weapon_ was it?" You know, important shit like that. Then there's my favorite part. The one where I thought it was odd that he seemed confused when I asked him about his phone number. The same number he just wrote down on his _contract_! _Aaagh!_

_Shit, shit, shit, SHIT!_ I can _not_ believe how badly I fucked up that interview! Well after the way he was jumping around instead of just telling me what happened like I asked him to, I'm surprised I got as much out of him as I did. _Crap, crappity, crap, CRAP!_ At least I had enough sense to ask for everything and to have it all translated. That should answer a few other questions I should've _ASKED!_ SHIT! _Idiot! Idiot! IDIOT! How could I have done such a bad job of interviewing a client like that?_ I just sat there shaking my head. I couldn't believe how stupid I'd become. I was beginning to suspect this was the reason I haven't been able to "get the hang of things". _Damn it! How did this happen?_

I sipped through my Mocha absentmindedly as I thought about what I did these past few weeks. Backtracking to see if I could find out when stupidity started being a habit of mine. Then weeks became months and my mind was moving dangerously close to the memories of this past year. But fortunately, I was able to stop before I went that far. I started getting the picture when I remembered things I'd done just prior to rejoining the workforce. _Looks like my mind took it upon itself to stop thinking for a while and started to like it._

God, I miss Tom.

_Great! Just great! Where the hell did that come from?_ I guess it doesn't matter how far I go down memory lane. _Damn it!_ My eyes stung from the tears welling up in them. I turned away from the crowded café and faced the window again just as a tear got away from me and ran down the side of my nose. I tried my best to act casual while I wiped it away, as if I had something in my eye. _I feel so stupid. Maybe I'm not ready, yet. Maybe I should wait and give it another month before attempting to handle such an important case like this._ But before I even finished that thought, it felt like something inside me started to yelling at me. It was like something was trying to warn me that I'd _really_ be doing something stupid if I didn't tackle a case like this now. If I don't do it, then I probably never will. _Maybe the part of me saying this is right. Maybe I shouldn't give up. Maybe I should stick it out._

Since it started looking like "Lydia time" definitely wasn't going to happen today, I picked up my purse from the chair next to me and searched it for those copies Dementyev gave me to have another look at them. Even though I can't read Cyrillic, I thought there might be something on the papers I didn't catch before. As soon as I unfolded them, right away, I noticed some discoloration, like a stain or something, but the copies were in black & white. Without being able to see the colors, I couldn't begin to guess what I was looking at. I felt as though I hit a brick wall. _I'm not really sure what a stain would tell me anyway._ I shoved the copies back into my purse and let out a big sigh. _Just great._ Oh well, at least I tried _something_. I felt my phone vibrating. I took it from its holster clipped to my waistband and checked the caller I.D. It was Scott.

A few months after Tom died, Scott had to go back to the University to start his second semester. But as you know it had been tougher for me. I was still an un-showered, blubbering wet-faced mess. And each day Scott left for school, I was a blubbering wet faced mess who had been left alone. So he started making a habit of calling to check up on me every chance he got. _To be honest, I thank God he did._ "Hi Hon. What's up?" Since none of my fellow café patrons heard the phone, I got a few looks from them. _Screw 'em. I found this place first!_

"Hi Mom. I just got out of my morning class and thought I'd call to see how you're doing."

"Pretty good. I got a new client this morning." I did a sideways glance of the café and decided it was too crowded, _and too nosy,_ for me to go into the details. "He wants me to investigate something important," I said in a lower voice. "I'll tell you all about it when I see you at home. How was your morning class?"

"Forget class. I want to hear about this case you got. Is it for a major corporation? Do they want you to spy on the competition?"

"No. Actually, it's sort of hush-hush. I can't go into details right now. _How_... was class?"

"Okay, okay." I heard him stop for a minute to yawn. "Class was nothing special," he said. "We just went back over some fundamental programming language stuff."

I should probably tell you a few things about Scott. Scott is a computer software engineer and earns a hefty paycheck from a well-known computer company icon. He's going to college so he can earn his degree in order to go from being a student employee to a corporate staff member of the company. Which means he could probably teach the class he just attended. _Hence, the yawn._

In his early teens, Scott was playing computer games he'd created for himself, complete with scenery, animation, the whole nine yards. _I swore to Tom that Scott really was his kid._ When the company he's currently employed with hired him right out of high school, they actually called him the next "Wunderkind" of computer software programming.

"Well I hope your next class keeps you awake," I said. "I wouldn't want to have to explain to your boss how you failed to get your degree."

"I really don't think you'll need to worry about that. You know the only reason I'd fall asleep is because I already know enough to pass my exams."

"That's true, but, you'll still need to be able to answer questions in the same manner as the professor's taught the subject. So, you'll need to be more alert to know how you should answer the questions on an exam. Right?"

I heard him hesitate before answering his always-right mother. I could just imagine him rolling his eyes and shaking his head. _Damn. Mom's right again._ "Yeah... when you put it that way, I guess you're right. To tell you truth, I'm not really that sleepy, but I'll see if I can find some caffeine in a soda machine. Okay?"

_Not my first choice for staying awake, but I guess it'll have to do._ "Okay," I said. "You know I try because I care."

"Yeah, I know. I love you, too, Mom. See ya at home."

"Okay, Sweetie. Have a good day. Stay awake during class."

" _Byyye_ , Mom," he said in a drawn out manner that carried the same meaning as "Okay, that's enough," or "Stop worrying". You know, one of those cute things your kid says that tells you that they know it's nice you care, but enough's enough.

I closed my phone, returned it to its holster and went back to thinking about the case. I decided figuring out the things I could and couldn't do at this point was a good way to come at it. _If I knew what these papers said I could check out the murder scene. Yeah, and if you thought to ask Dementyev about it when you interviewed him you wouldn't_ need _to know what it says, Idiot._

_Hmm. What I_ could _do is find someone else who can read it. Maybe I could take it to an expert on Russian writing. Yeah ... if I did that, then I'd also know if the translations match up. Now there's an idea._ Now I was starting to feel like I was finally getting somewhere. I've never had the need to seek out someone who knows Cyrillic, so I'll have to check the phone book, or go online to find someone. _Yeah, that's a good start. Even if I do get the translations before I find a translator, I think I should still look for one anyway. Talking to an expert might even reveal a few things I might need to be aware of._

Having felt like I was finally making some real progress, I took a big chug of my Mocha and swallowed it down with a smile. _Ahh!_ I was about to grab my purse and head back to the office when I thought I caught sight of someone. Two or three tables away from me, I thought I saw someone suddenly turn away, as if they didn't want me to know they were watching me. Given how my morning started, I thought it was good idea to play it safe. I pretended I was just straightening out something in my purse and staring out the window. When in reality, I was trying to catch sight of his reflection whenever a dark colored truck or van cruised in behind my point of focus.

The first time I didn't quite get where he was. On the second opportunity, I caught sight of him, but there wasn't enough time to get a good look. The third time I got lucky. A dark van had stopped for a crowd of pedestrians crossing the street at the right spot.

Whoever he was he didn't appear to be threatening. Actually, he was sort of cute. _Not drop-dead gorgeous, but good enough to be seen with,_ I thought. His table was close to the counter, near the register. Definitely two tables away from me. I wasn't able to catch him looking my way again while I had him in my sights, but I could tell he wanted to. Every once in a while, his head turned enough to cut his eyes my way. _Wait a minute. Now he's pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket. He's reaching for the counter. It looks like he grabbed a pen. Now he's writing something. Damn it!_ The van took off and I lost my vantage point. _Shit! Where is he?_

"Excuse me."

"Oh God!" He scared the livin' crap out of me. It was him with the paper in his hand.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you?"

"N-no you ... Well, yes. I guess you did scare me a little," I said. I don't know why, but I was making sure I didn't have a strand of hair out of place.

"I'm sorry. I just couldn't help myself. I noticed you over here by the window a little while ago and I just had to say something before I lost my nerve. My name's Daniel by the way."

_Awww, how sweet._ I felt guilty and embarrassed for assuming the worst about him. I forgot I wasn't wearing my wedding ring. When I dressed for work this morning, I decided to try going without it today, just to see if I could. _I can't believe I've been without it for barely half a day and I'm already getting hit on._ "I'm Lydia", I said and flashed him my best smile to reward him for his effort. _He really made my day._ Unfortunately, I hadn't thought it all the way through and wasn't certain how I should handle him. Then the thought of "handling him" woke something down there. He was definitely cute. _Gorgeous green eyes and dark shaggy head of hair._ He looked to be about in his late thirties. Even though he was only dressed in a three-button, sky-blue, rugby shirt and black Levi's, he still managed to look sharp.

"Do you mind if I join you?" he asked.

"But you left your coffee," I said, pointing at his table where an old couple in search of a place to sit were standing, wandering if the lone paper cup had an owner.

He turned to look back at it, then back to me again and smiled. "I wasn't sure you'd say yes."

"Oh." _Uh oh, looks like he needs a little work in the confidence department. Though, I think I might be willing to give him the benefit of the doubt._ Unfortunately, I was hesitating and found myself hoping he would help me out by saying something else. _Oh, who am I kidding? I'm not ready for this._ "I'm sorry." It was just two words, but I could see in his eyes they weren't the ones he'd hoped to hear. I felt bad for him and didn't want say anything more, but I also felt I should explain my situation. "I just recently got over the death of my husband and today was my first day leaving the house without my ring." I felt like an ass. "Sorry, but I guess I'm just not _that_ ready yet."

He glanced down at the paper in his hand and hid it behind his back. "It's alright," he said. "I understand." Then he gave me another quick reassuring smile. "Like I said, I just had to say something."

I knew what was on his piece of paper and got an idea. "Well why don't you give me your number anyway? You never know. Today it was my wedding ring, tomorrow I might try dating."

_Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner! Well, well. I'm on a roll. That makes two guys who gave me a big smile today and it's not even past noon!_ He handed me his number and, to further his reward, I lightly grazed his palm with my fingers as I slowly took it.

"So, I guess I'll go back to my table," he said. His cute smile was definitely no contest compared to Dementyev's. "Hope to see you again," he added. He gave me a quick little wave and almost bumped into someone.

Giving me his number gave him points in my book for having _some_ confidence. It wasn't the first time a guy's given me his number, but it's been a while. Having it on a receipt was a new one. I turned away so Daniel wouldn't see me look at the front of it. _Trader Joe's. He bought pizza dough. Hmm, a man who cooks his own pizza. Interesting._ Don't ask me what I thought I was doing. All I know was that I felt sorry for him and giving me his number would make him feel better. _When will I stop doing things without thinking about the consequences?_ Course when I say "consequences", I'm not saying I was worried about Daniel. I didn't think he thought I was his girlfriend now and that he was going to start stalking me. Anyone will tell you, my judgment of people lately has been 99% of the time dead on. What I was worried about was what _other_ people might think.

_Speaking of which._ Oh, _shit_! I suddenly remembered something I was supposed to do today. I looked at my watch and saw how late I was for meeting Susan at the DMV. I wasn't _late_ , late, but pretty damn close. I chugged the last of my Mocha, grabbed my purse after shoving Dan's number in it and flew out the door. I gave Daniel a smile and a wave as I went past the window.

# Chapter Five

My B.F.F.

Susan Whindall's been my best friend since we were dorm mates at Oregon State. Back then, she was Susan Pendleberg. Yeah I know, right? Sometimes we thought of ourselves as a comedy duo, Berg & Ton. We've been close like sisters from the day we met and never lost contact. I was her maid of honor at her wedding and she at mine. She's one of the few people in the world who knows about my family, but doesn't think we were really that much of a big deal. She's also the _only_ person in the world that I allow the privilege of calling me "Liddy", or "Lyds".

Though my best friend's probably not going to be too happy with me in a few minutes. I forgot I promised to help her study for her test to renew her driver's license and it was getting too close to the time when I told her I'd be there. _I still might make it._ In Oregon, you usually don't need to take a driver's test to renew your license. Only if you let it go incredibly too far past the expiration date. I mean you _really_ have to let it go a long time before you have to take a test. Classic Susan. Course I'm one to talk. I've been known to have a few blonde moments of my own.

My New Balance sneakers were flying over the old uneven sidewalks threatening to trip me as I ran two blocks to Everett Street to catch a bus. I made it just in time to catch a #17 headed downtown. It was still midmorning on a Monday so finding a seat on the bus was no problem. As soon as I got comfortable, my mind drifted back to the case again.

I wanted to go find someone to get those papers translated, but I made this promise to Susan before Vasiliy hired me. _I'm still just a tiny bit unnerved about the challenges I have to face, but not as bad as I was before. I'm not sure if it was the coffee, the idea I had about getting an expert, or Daniel, that made the difference. God this bus stinks. It smells like sweaty feet._

We slowed down and made a right turn onto Broadway. The sidewalk slid past my window and I saw groups of homeless people milling about near some benches and a couple of doorways. Some were socializing with their "band of brothers", while one or two, here and there, were keeping to themselves, looking like they were in need of mental healthcare. Sometimes when I see the homeless, I can't help but wonder, except of course for the mental ones, what happened in their lives that put them in this situation. Foolish investments? Bad advice? Maybe I don't want to know. Then I think of that old saying, "The bigger they are, the harder they fall", and often wonder if that also applies to your social status. _Maybe somewhere out there is a sidewalk with my name on it._ I shuddered at the thought and renewed my vow to do everything I can to prevent that from happening.

The bus moved on as it passed a chain of stops designated for other buses and MAX lines traveling to different quadrants of the city. This section of downtown on SW 5th and 6th avenues is known as the Portland Bus Mall. It's the main hub for most of TriMet's bus routes, which is obvious from the congestion of leap-frogging buses and crisscrossing MAX trains. Since my destination was the downtown DMV, I stayed on as we chugged our way pass the _Shopping_ Malls. I could swear I feel Macy's pulling me toward it like magnet, but I made a promise. I stuck to my heading and stayed on course to the DMV. Just a few short blocks later, my bus came to its last stop on fifth before its route took a left toward the river. I had to get off and walk a couple of blocks in the opposite direction.

I finally made it there, but it was eleven minutes past the time I told her. I was expecting the DMV to be a noisy and active place, but once I walked through the vestibule of this small downtown branch, I was surprised to find it almost as quiet as a Library.

_There she is. Crap! I guess I was right. She doesn't look too happy._ She was in the first row of four sets of fiberglass chairs facing a small line of people moving past her. She had a copy of the driver's manual in her lap open near the beginning. Just as I took a step toward her, she looked down at the manual. _Maybe I mistook concentration for anger._

"Liddy! There you are." Her blue eyes lit up at the sight of me. _This seems to be my day for making people smile._ "I was beginning to think you weren't going to make it," she said. She dog-eared her manual and put it away in her purse.

"I almost didn't," began my little white lie, as I sat next to her. "I had a new client drop by the office this morning." Hey, half of it was true.

"A new client? Is it another background check?" She asked. "I hope it's not like the time where that guy hired you and it turned out he just wanted some 'company'."

"God! I almost forgot about him. He was a real creep." We both laughed. "I hope I never get another 'client' like that again."

"I'm surprised you don't. I mean anyone could come up with some fake case for you to investigate just to get close to you."

_Thank you Susan, for finally not asking me how I'm holding up._ But then there was also something about what she said made me feel a little worried, like there was something I should've been doing. I decided my brain was just alerting me to the fact that I hadn't been too cautious lately and let it go. "You know, you'd think so wouldn't you, but surprisingly it hardly ever happens. Speaking of guys wanting to be with me. I got hit on today."

Her eyes immediately dropped to my ring finger. "Liddy, where's your wedding ring?" She grabbed and thoroughly searched both my hands.

"I thought I'd try going without it today."

"Just today? You went without your wedding ring only for a few hours and some guy asks you out?"

"I know. I..."

"Lydia Pendleton!" She let go of my hands and shook her head. A couple of faces in line turned to look at me when they heard my name. "Are you gonna see him?"

"Well I told him I needed some time and it was only just today that I tried going without my wedding ring."

"You told him you're recently widowed?"

"Yeah."

"Was this on the bus?"

"No. It was at that café I told you about, the one that made those great Mochas."

"The café?"

"Yeah." _Oops_. "He was... behind me in line. Daniel wrote his number on a receipt."

"Daniel?"

"Yeah, that was his name."

"No last name?"

"Well, like I said, I didn't say yes, and I didn't have time to ask. I had to help you study."

She eyed me suspiciously. "I thought you said you were late because you got a new client."

_Busted._ "Yeah, I was. This case is pretty demanding, so I had to stop by the café on the way here. I needed to relax a little." That's still the truth, sort of.

"So where's your Mocha? You couldn't have finished it that quickly."

_Crap! Who the hell's the P.I. here?_ "I finished it on the way?" I said, hoping she fell for it.

She cocked her head and looked at me with an "out-with-it" expression.

_Argh!_ "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I forgot you wanted me to help you. Forgive me?"

"I might." She turned her head away with her nose up. Then she smiled and laughed. "Of course I forgive you. God, Lyds. It's not like you never showed."

"Oh, by the way, this morning I finally got around to listening to that CD you gave me."

"What CD?" She stared at me like I was nuts and said, "You mean the one I got for you last Christmas?"

_What?_ "No. The one you gave me... wait a minute. That _was_ a Christmas present, wasn't it!"

She looked at me like I was being a being a big dumb doof and smiled. Then she gave me a quick pat on the knee and said, "You're welcome."

That was a Christmas present? Where was I when I got it?

"Oh yeah. That new client. So, you never said. Is it another background check? God knows you've been doing enough of those lately."

I realized then I probably shouldn't have mentioned it at all. I probably should have taken the time to come up with some other story, and now I couldn't think of what to tell her.

"Liddy?"

I opened and closed my mouth like a fish, but no words came out. I had to tell her something, but all I could think of was, "No." I shook my head and scratched my forehead. "Well. Actually, this case is, uh, pretty huge. I probably shouldn't have said anything. Especially since the client specifically asked me not to tell anyone."

She had a vague look of incomprehension. I couldn't tell her anything this time and I found it was a hard thing for me to do. I felt bad because, even though I'm actually not supposed to be talking to anyone about any of my cases, I've always talked to her about all of them. I definitely wasn't going to do it this time, not against the Mafia's wishes. I was too afraid of what they'd do to us. I couldn't look her in the eye. I shook my head. "I'm sorry," I said. "I really can't tell you this time." I sneaked a quick glance and saw the way her forehead was scrunching up with little furrows across it. I started thinking she shouldn't do that, it'll put lines in her forehead. Then I thought how funny it was for me to be thinking about something like that now. Then she finally spoke.

"Okay," she said, and shook her head. "I won't ask about it then. I just hope you're not getting into something too dangerous. I mean, I honestly wouldn't know who to call if anything happened to you Lydia."

I rolled my eyes. I actually hate it when calls me Lydia. She's usually right when she finishes a sentence with _Lydia_. _God, it's like she channeling my mother._ I shut my eyes, shook my head and slumped in defeat, but I was still too chicken to tell her anything about the case. "Okay. If something happens you can call... Kris." I had to come up with someone.

"Who's Chris?"

"Kris Koskov. He's another investigator I've bumped heads with a few of times. He _said_ he used to be a KGB agent."

"KGB? Can they do that? How'd he end up in Oregon?"

"I don't know. I think he has relatives here." I hadn't thought about Kris in a while. If I had to choose, Mister "Personality" would never be my first choice as an investigator to share a case with, that's if you want to call it sharing. Sometimes I wondered if he really was Russian. Unlike most Russian immigrants I've come across, he spoke English like a native. _Maybe I should call and ask him what he knows about Dementyev. He could probably enlighten me as to what these guys are up to. It would definitely give me the upper hand._ He _did_ cross my mind earlier, when Dementyev mentioned the KGB, but only because of our history. My thought only went as far as, 'Hey, I know somebody who worked for the KGB,' for one quick second and that was it. I grabbed a change of address form from a nearby table, wrote his number down on the back of it and handed it to her. I was surprised I still remembered it.

"What about Scott?" She asked. "Are you going to tell him anything?" She folded the paper with Kris's number and put it in her purse.

"Oh, Scott? I don't know." Then an idea hit me. I was planning to tell Scott everything, but if Susan were to ask Scott about what I was working on, then he could tell her what he knows. It's kind of like a loophole. "Actually, I was planning to tell Scott as much as I can," I told her. "I'm really sorry I can't tell _you_ anything. Oh, uh... by the way, I think it's been a while since you've seen Scott. Maybe you should give him a call sometime today. Maybe around six?" I winked.

She stared at me for almost a full minute before her light bulb came on and smiled at me. "Liddy! You're so devious." She shook her head. "Well, I guess we should go get started on studying for my driver's test." She picked up her purse and stood to leave. "You know you're right. It has been a while since I've seen my Godson. I think I will give him a call today."

I stood and nodded in agreement. "What a great idea? Scott would _love_ to hear from you." We laughed.

We walked down the street to the nearest Starbucks, which wasn't far. Seriously, try swinging a dead cat. I'm so sick of Starbucks sometimes I actually wish there was a Dunkin' Donuts around here. Or at least a Wawa. Anything to break the monotony.

We ended up thoroughly going over the driver's handbook from front to back for the next forty-five minutes. I asked her questions about the parts she had trouble with and we went over them again until she finally got most of it right. Then we decided if she didn't know it by now, she should probably forget it. We went back to the DMV and it wasn't long before the number she got from the ticket machine was called. I found a seat close by while I waited for her to finish the test. She passed with only one wrong answer. F.Y.I., if you see her at a four-way stop, turn around and go another way.

"Not a bad picture," I said. "Maybe it's a good thing you let it expire. It's definitely better than the one before."

She gave me a look, as if I said something stupid and said, "I thought you were a private investigator." Then she smiled and put her new license away.

# Chapter Six

The Victim's Daughter

It was past three in the afternoon and starting look too much like four when I left Susan at her car in the SmartPark garage. After the DMV, we went downtown and celebrated her being "legal-on-the-streets-again" by doing a shopping spree at the Pioneer Place Mall and had lunch at their underground food court. But the whole time we did our bit to help the economy, I couldn't take my mind off the case and was constantly checking the time. Susan, knowing me all too well, pretended she was the one who had to get going and cut our celebratory shopping short. _I'll make it up to her._ With only two shopping bags to show for it, I got off a MAX blue line at the Galleria stop and headed back to the office.

I was putting my bags down on the floor behind my desk when the floor made its familiar sound again. I turned and saw a thin young girl standing by the door hugging a cardboard box. In the box, standing upright and leaning against one side of it, were two fat manila envelopes and about a half a ream of papers. Behind the envelopes and papers, resting on its side with the backside facing me, was the famous picture frame. "You must be Carina," I said.

The thin little line under her nose almost became what I suspect, under different circumstances, would've been a cute little, girlish smile. "Yes," she replied. "My Uncle asked me to bring you the picture and all this other stuff?"

"Thanks. Let me take that off your hands." I took the box from her and set it on top of one of the short file cabinets. "Please, have a seat," I said as I wheeled my chair out from my desk.

The vanilla chair made a tiny squeak as she slid into it. She slouched with her legs crossed and her hands in her lap. Her dark brown eyes, bloodshot from crying, absently stared at nothing. Her brown lightweight ankle-length skirt looked tattered at the hem. After a second look, I realized the skirt was one of the latest fads the kids are wearing these days. Along with the skirt, she had a young woman's short-sleeved T-shirt underneath a silk vest. Her entire outfit was a monochromatic dark brown, which I thought went well with her black felt clogs and shoulder-length dark hair. She wasn't quite what you'd call a small waif, but close to it.

"Of course your Uncle also told you I needed to talk to you, right?"

She nodded almost imperceptibly, like someone who thought nothing mattered any more.

I was sorely tempted to just leave her alone and let her go home to mourn. _I could probably get what I need to know just by going through the box._ But I was reminded all too well from my experience with her Uncle how important it is to _thoroughly_ interview people before you send them on their way. "First of all, I have to say how deeply saddened I am for your loss. I know what it's like to lose someone so close to you. Especially someone who'd been there all your life."

There was no response. She didn't say anything and I didn't expected her to. She swallowed and attempted to nod her head again, but she was quickly overtaken by a strong urge to cry. She stuck her chin out and blinked a few times as she turned away from me, struggling to fight back the tears. Her hands went up over her face. Her fingertips pressed at the sides of her nose against the corners of her eyes, as if it's always been a reliable method of keeping tears inside. The pinkness of her unpainted nails reddened slightly when she applied pressure.

Since I thought I was still susceptible enough to start crying at the drop of a hat, I had to turn away and distract myself with other thoughts. _I can do this. I can do this. Keep it together Lydia._ I bravely sneaked a peek to see how she was doing and found we were both successful in avoiding a crying session. Her eyes still had a wet shine to them, but there was no evidence of new tears and her hands were back in her lap. She took a couple of small breaths and sniffed a few times. Then she squeaked out a little "Thank you" in answer to my condolence, followed by another sniff.

"Will you to be alright?" I asked. I could feel the mothering part of me desperately wanting to speak up. It _so_ wanted to ask her if she would prefer I talked to her some other time, but the private investigator part of me kept that side at bay. It knew the sooner I talk to Carina, the better. If I wanted to get started on the right foot, I'd have to insist that the mothering part of me take a backseat for now.

"Yes," she answered. "I will be okay. Please. Whatever you need to know to find my Father's killer, just ask me. Ask me... _anything_." The floodgates burst before she could finish that last sentence and she sobbed her heart out. Like her uncle just hours before, she grabbed a handful of tissues from the box left sitting on my desk.

The tears came without warning. I was surprised at how well I was able to keep it together. _I must be getting better, thank God._ I was still crying inside, but it hasn't been on same daily level I'd been experiencing the past few months. _Oh, crap! I almost forgot. I need to take notes. God Lydia, you are losing it._ One of my daily work habits is to put everything away when I leave the office. Some of them I do without thinking. Putting the pad away is one of them. I grabbed it from the middle drawer where I keep it while working a case.

Close to two minutes went by before Carina was able to stop crying. During that time, I had my reading glasses on and was doodling on my pad. That probably sounds a little heartless, but if I didn't doodle, then the mothering part of me would have to take over. If I let that happened then I'm sure I'd be holding her in my arms until she was all cried out. Then I'd be thinking, _investigation be damned_ , and end up sending her home to mourn for at least a year, or two. Not a good idea for me at this point right now. I patiently waited through a few more nose-blowings and tissue-wipes before attempting the interview.

I didn't want to risk making her cry again, so I decided against my plan to connect with her by relaying my experiences with losing loved ones and went straight into the interview. "As you know, your Uncle has given me his version of what happened, but since he obviously couldn't witness _everything_ first-hand leading up to the, uh... to what happened, I would like it if you could tell me everything you know. Now I'm going to ask you to do the same thing I asked him. Give me all the details you possibly can. Tell me from the very beginning about everything that happened leading up to the incident. And if you can, tell me how it happened and where it happened? Omission is the enemy here. Even the smallest insignificant piece of information might be useful to me. Okay?"

She closed her eyes, swallowed her tears and nodded her head a couple of times. After what seemed like almost a full minute, she began. "About three, or maybe two and a half weeks ago, I was working at the antique shop. It was the middle of the week. I think it might have been Thursday. It had to be because it was slow. We're usually busier on the weekends."

I nodded and wrote a couple of notes as she continued.

"Stephen, he's the owner, Stephen Yanovich. He asked me if I could watch the shop for a few minutes while he went to get some supper."

A couple of seconds passed before I realized she wasn't saying anything. I thought she was about to burst into tears again, but she started to talk before I could say anything.

"I... I have a curious nature," she said. "I like to look in things, especially at the antique shop. There was another time when Stephen was out. We had just gotten this old steamer trunk. It was a big, beautiful trunk made of cedar and filled with all kinds of compartments. I've never seen anything like it before. I wondered how many exotic places it must have been and what interesting sights someone had seen with it. It seemed like it had been around forever. It had drawers everywhere and the cedar smell was still strong, as if it were new." She paused again. "I opened and looked inside all the drawers, but there was one that sounded different. It made scrapping sound, like something... stuck in it. I pulled it all the way out to find out why it made that sound and couldn't believe my luck. An old twenty-dollar bill was taped to the back of it. I thought that somebody must have forgot about it and that made me feel sad. You know? Like... maybe if they remembered it they could've used it. Maybe it would've made difference in their life if they remembered it. Or maybe if they remembered they might still have their trunk." She gave a slight shrug of her shoulders, shook her head and fell silent, but it wasn't long before she spoke again. "I was more excited about finding those papers than I was when I found that twenty. I knew when I found those papers they led to something important. I almost laughed when my father told me what it was." She shook her head. "The Czar's Blue Star. I still don't believe it."

"When he told you? Doesn't the message say what it is?" I felt like grabbing the box and searching the translations to see what she was talking about, but fought the urge.

"U-uh, no. No. It only says it was large star sapphire that belonged to the... Motherland." She shook her head again. "Um... I-I didn't know people called Russia the Motherland."

_You're Russian. How could you not know that?_ I thought. _Even I know that._ "Where was the picture exactly?" I asked her. "What was it that drew you to it?" She thought about it, trying to remember what she saw that day, but before she could answer, I had another question. "It was stacked on top of something, wasn't it?"

"Yes." She seemed amazed that I knew, but she probably thought, _I'm a private investigator. Of course I'm going to know._ "I-I forgot," she said. "There were other pictures there and this was on top. It was the first one I looked at. I forgot about looking at the others." She paused again, possibly trying to remember why she didn't continue looking through the stack of pictures.

I jotted down a few mores notes, plus side notes, and looked them over. When I was done with that, I saw that she had the same vacant stare her Uncle had a few times before. "Carina, how many would you say were in the stack?"

"What?" She seemed a little too preoccupied with her thoughts. "Oh. I think there were maybe seven, or ten. I'm not sure. They were gone."

"I'm sorry?"

"When I went to pick up the picture today, to bring with me, the others, they were gone. I don't know why I didn't realize it before."

"The picture was by itself?"

She nodded.

"Where was it, exactly?"

She thought about it. Then her eyes danced back and forth a couple of times and her brows scowled a bit, as if she were beginning to realize something else. "When I came to get the picture. I thought I was going to have to look for it, but I didn't. I found it near the same spot. It was like someone put it aside to pick up the stack of pictures. I think someone bought them. Maybe they thought they would get the one with the papers." She stopped to think again. "Stephen! I told him I was coming by to get the picture. He must've put it aside when someone came in to buy them."

I think I can guess where she's going with this.

"Oh my God. I think the person who murdered my father bought them. They must have thought they were getting that picture. But why?"

I was right. "Okay." I put my hand out to stop her. "It's a little early to be jumping on any conclusions. When something like this happens, there's usually a common reason for it. Like for instance, in this case, it could be just what you said. Someone probably bought them, but _only_ for the reason that they were _for sale_ and nothing more." I could see she was ready to disagree, but before she could, I added, "I know. I'd like it to be that easy, but it hardly ever is. That's why they call what I do a job. It's work, and a lot of times it's _hard_ work." I think I got through to her. She seemed a little less ready to argue with me, but also a little disappointed.

"I guess you're right," she said. "I guess it would be more realistic that it not be that easy."

Satisfied that she no longer felt everything happening in the world had a connection to her father's murder, I tried to steer the interview more into focus. I wasn't about to make the same mistake again and not get all the details this time. "You didn't find anything else in the picture frame, did you?"

Her brow furrowed a moment before she answered. "No. There wasn't anything else."

I jotted that down and asked another question. "Did you show, or talk to anyone else about what you found before you showed it to your father?"

She shook her head. "No. I wasn't sure Stephen would approve of me taking the papers home. Especially since I found them inside something he was selling. I took the papers and hid them inside my backpack before he came back from supper."

"He doesn't check your bags before you leave?"

"He did when I started working there, but after the other part-time worker left, he decided it wasn't necessary anymore."

"Where's your backpack now?"

"I only use it for school. Today was teacher's day off."

I noted that and jotted down the answer to another question beside it that was answered without my asking. _Yes, she's the only other employee._ "You didn't see anyone you know between work and home? Any friends you wouldn't think twice about?" I could tell she didn't like the way that sounded. "I'm just asking so I can track down how many people know about it. Okay? I need follow the flow of information from the time you discovered the papers until your father was ... It has nothing to do with whether or not I think any of your friends or acquaintances might be suspects."

That seemed to have put her at ease a little. She thought about it for a moment before she answered, then shook her head. "No. I didn't see anyone."

_No? What kind of teenage girl isn't always constantly talking to their friends?_ I thought. I wrote down her answer with a question mark. "Okay. So, you found the papers, put them in your backpack... before you put them in your backpack, what did you think? What exactly went through your mind when you found the papers?" I unconsciously wagged my pen in my hand while I eagerly awaited her answer to what I thought was a really good question. I stopped doing it once became aware of it and hoped it didn't distract her.

"I'm not sure," she said. "I think I thought it was strange to find Russian writing on some papers hidden behind a picture. Especially papers that looked so old. Like I said before, I knew they had to be important."

"But you knew what the message said?"

"Some of it. It's written in an older form of Russian, before the last reform. That's how everyone knew the papers might be authentic."

"The reform?"

"Yeah the last spelling reform in 1918. When Russia started using the Cyrillic alphabet it was incompatible with other words." She stopped for a moment, then shook her head. "Wait. Let me think of better way to explain this. It's been a while since I had to learn about it in school." She did, I waited. "Okay, um... ever since the Russian language was created, it had problems with the spelling of some words, it... um... _clashed_ with other versions and every few hundred years, or so, the uh... Academy of... Sciences, I think that's right, they tried to fix by doing reforms. I guess that's best way to explain it."

It was, almost. "How would they do it? Would they eliminate words from the language or... What did they do?"

"No. Not necessarily words. Mostly some letters or characters would be eliminated and replaced with new ones."

"Oh, I see. And that's how everyone realized these papers were probably the real thing."

She nodded. "Yes."

"Huh. Well that's a handy way of telling how old someone's writing is."

"I suppose. I think my Uncle said the person who wrote the papers learned to write from a textbook called _Grot_. He said that was the standard textbook back then."

Even though I really didn't think it had anything to do with the case, I happily wrote that bit of information down with little side notes all over the place. _Google-'Grot'. Search Wikipedia-'1918 reform'_. I looked over what I had so far and came up with a few more questions, but wasn't certain if I should ask her a couple of them. "Okay. You took the papers home to show your father. You didn't see anyone you know along the way, didn't talk to anyone. How did you get home?"

For a split second, she seemed slightly startled. As if a mental oops popped into her head, like I caught her off guard or something, but only for a split second. _I caught it._ "I took a bus," was her reply.

"Where do you live?"

"Our house is on a hillside, on the west side of the Nob Hill neighborhood. I take the #15 to Overton, then walk the rest of the way."

The way she answered sounded a little different this time, as if it might've been rehearsed. I was trying to see if she would screw up by telling me the wrong bus route, but I didn't know where they lived. So unfortunately I had to ask. _She's hiding something. I know she is. Though with my luck, she's probably just trying to keep quiet about some boy she's not supposed to be seeing. He's probably given her a ride home a few times._ "What happened after you got home?"

"I went into the kitchen to ask my Mother where my Father was." She stared at me. I nodded and stared back. Then she got the hint and continued. "She told me he was in his den and asked me why I wanted to know. And I just told her I found something at the shop he might be interested in. I told her it was an old picture of some hotel that used to be downtown. I didn't have to say anything else about it to her. She hears enough about historical stuff from my Father."

"Your dad was history buff?"

"Yeah, sort of. He was always curious about the story behind the old buildings downtown, especially ones with unusual architecture. Like, he thought maybe they were built a certain way for a reason. That kind of thing. You know?"

"Did your Mom ever know anything about the papers you found?"

She nodded. "Yes. My Father told her after I showed him what I found. She didn't believe. But when my Father and Uncle started to prove there was some truth about it, she started to think it might be true."

I extrapolated on the notes I just wrote, making connections with both versions of the facts and events, bringing everything more into focus. Some of her statement confirms her Uncle's side of the story, what I have of it. _Which reminds me._ "I'm sorry to have to ask, but, where was your... where did it happen?"

"It was just before he started to go into the tunnel. My Uncle said they found him in basement of an abandoned building, just few feet from entrance."

I noted it and dreaded having to ask her my next question. Although, after a slight hesitation, she did seem fine with answering that last question. "I'm sorry to have to ask this next question, but I had some difficulty trying to keep your Uncle from straying off the subject."

She smiled a little and nodded. "Yeah, that's Uncle Vasiliy. You ask him how he's been and you end up getting story about something happening when he and my Father were teenagers, or some other off-wall thing. You're lucky you got anything from him."

"Yeah," I agreed. I was hesitating a little and started thinking I should probably stop dancing around it. _She_ did _say I could ask her anything._ "Well anyway. This is something I'd really rather not have to ask you right now, but... How was your Father killed?" I'd prefer to ask Vasiliy, but to quote an old cliché, _time is of the essence_. Plus I think I'd be risking my credibility if I asked my client something I obviously should have asked him before.

I expected tears and hysterics, but there wasn't any. Of course, she wasn't overjoyed to have to answer the question, but she wasn't too upset either. After she blinked a few times and breathed a sorrowful sigh, it took her moment to give me an answer. "It was crowbar," she said. "They found it lying on the ground, next to him."

_Damn! No fingerprints._ Usually when a murderer leaves a weapon behind, it's because he, or she, was careful not to leave fingerprints. It also means they were smart enough not to get caught with the murder weapon in their possession. _Oh well. Who would take it to anyway? You can't bring a murder weapon to any fingerprint expert without telling them where it came from. It's kind of against the law._ I wanted to ask her where they took the body, but decided I could ask her Uncle that question. She'd been doing really great so far. I didn't want to push it. "Did you ever suspect that your Father might be planning to go alone?"

"I guess if I thought about it, I probably would've realized he might do that. That's how he is sometimes."

I noted that with a couple of comments on the side. "So there wasn't anything suspicious that he did that might've caused you to think he was going to go by himself? No suspicious behavior, like he might be hiding something, or trying to keep something a secret?"

She shook her head before she answered, "No." But she stopped for a moment, as if she thought of something and said, "I don't think there was anything specific he did that made it obvious what he was planning. If someone told me what he was doing I probably would've realized it."

It could be nothing, but I didn't want to chance it. "What do you mean? Do you mean, looking back now, you could see there was something he was doing at the time that would've caused you to suspect what he was planning?"

"Yes."

"What was it?"

"It wasn't just one thing. There were little things he did that I would've thought were suspicious. Like he would keep the door to his den locked. That would've made sense, if that was all it was, but it wasn't. He also didn't want my Mother or me to go in there, and I don't think he ever said anything to my Uncle, or anyone else, about what he was doing in there."

"So, your Uncle didn't give any indication that what they were involved in was connected in any way with what your Father was doing behind the locked door."

"No. My Uncle didn't seem to think my Father was doing anything else other than finding proof that the papers were real."

I noted that with the usual side notes and a small comment below it. "So what were the other things he did?"

"Well, there was one day where I hear someone in the basement. I thought it was my Father. I saw my Mother in the living room and asked her what he was doing. And she told me he was in the den working on research."

"She didn't hear the noise coming from the basement?"

"No. The basement door is over on the other side of the house, next to garage. It had to have been my Father. There wasn't anyone else in the house."

"What do think he was doing in the basement?"

"I think he must've been looking through toolbox. He was probably getting tools together to take into the tunnels with him." She paused to think about it. "Yeah, that had to be it. That's what it sound like, tools being moved around in toolbox."

I wrote notes like crazy at this point. She may not know it, but she might have just given me my first real lead in this case, plus something important to ask Dementyev. Something I don't dare ask her. If she started asking people questions before I got the chance, that would be putting the thought in their heads before I could talk to them. Which would make my investigation a little more difficult. I wouldn't be able to tell if it was prior knowledge, or if it was something they heard from someone I'd interviewed. But then, it was an easy conclusion to arrive at. She may be thinking about it now. "Were you there when your Uncle found him?"

Her brow furrowed a bit and she shook her head. "No. I was home in bed. I had a late night, the night before."

I noted that. _I better call Dementyev as soon we're done here._ I asked her another question in an attempt to steer her mind away from that "easy conclusion". "Do you know what time they found your father?"

She shook her head. "No. Not exactly. I guess maybe around eight, eight-thirty."

"In the morning?" I asked, but it was more a statement than a question.

She replied with a quick nod. I wrote a few more notes.

"Was there anything else you can remember your father did that would've given any indication to what he was up to?"

She was quiet while she tried to remember. Then she started to shake her head, but stopped, tilted her head a bit, then shook it again. "No. There's nothing else. I guess it was just those two things."

"Are you sure? Even the smallest, insignificant detail could be useful. Omission is the enemy, remember?" I smiled.

She gave me a look just about any normal teenager would give an adult right after saying something dumb, like _groovy_ , or _Omission is the enemy_. It almost made her laugh. "Well, it's probably nothing, but... he seemed weird. Like, different somehow."

"How do mean? Was it his attitude?"

Her eyes lit. "Yes! His attitude was different, like he wasn't... approachable. I felt as though he was, I guess, being _evasive_ , like he was trying to make himself less obvious." She paused for a moment and seemed to be thinking more about it. "I thought it might've been because researching the papers was occupying his mind and I didn't think anything more about it."

"And that's it? That's all?"

She nodded without hesitation. "Yes. I'm pretty sure that's all."

I was hoping that last bit would reveal something more, but it's clearly nothing. I noted it anyway. You never know. I did a mental review of what we'd gone over and found it hard to think of anything else she might be able to help me with. I checked again, _nothing_. _Wait. There might be one thing._ "What happened after your Uncle told you what happened to your Father?"

Just for a split second, she seemed almost confused by my question. That mental oops again. _Okay, there's definitely something she's hiding. No chance of it being a secret boyfriend this time._ "Nothing," she replied. Then she started to look as though she might start crying again. _Maybe I shouldn't have asked that question. Maybe I made a mistake. Maybe what I thought was momentary confusion was her being on the verge of tears again._ "We didn't believe him first, but we knew my Uncle wouldn't joke like that." _Shit, she's starting to tear up and her voice is cracking. Uh-oh, now she isn't saying anything. A real sure sign she's about to cry._ "We knew _something happened_..." was what I think she squeaked out before she broke down again. After watching her slowly succumb to it, I almost nearly joined her this time.

_Doodle, doodle, doodle._ It felt as though the mothering part of me was giving me a dirty look. _I think that's quite enough_ , she was saying. _Are you happy, now?_ No.

I gave Carina as much time as she needed. I ended up just sitting at my desk while I allowed her the time. I was all doodled out and resorted to thinking of my "Happy Place", as my therapist called it. Thankfully, compared to only a few months ago, that seems to be a more effective technique these days.

Fortunately, her Uncle had reminded me to take the trashcan out from under my desk earlier and I didn't have to do a repeat of the snot rag hand off. She almost emptied the tissue box before she finally subsided into the sniffles and blows. _God, that poor girl._ "If you want to, you can stay here for a little while 'til you have to get going," I said. My mothering part had somehow sneaked past.

Carina looked at me with her watery eyes and red nose and tried her best to smile. "Thank you," she said. A tiny bit of saliva stretched between her lips when she talked. "I must look horrible. What time is it?"

Even though there's an old school clock on the wall next to the office door, I twisted my Swiss Army watch around my left wrist to face me. It was a birthday present from Tom, from a long time ago. I always like to think it was because of its accuracy and not _his_ reason. "Five thirty-three," I said.

She nodded and said, "Thank you." She picked up a black leather handbag, so small I hadn't notice it before, and started going through it. She removed a compact, checked herself in its mirror and returned it to her bag. Then she grabbed some more tissues to wipe the tears from her eyes. She continued doing this until there were only a few tissues left. Then she blew her nose and wiped it. "So I guess we're done?"

"Yes, I don't have anything else ask you right now. But I'm sure I'll have more questions as the investigation progresses. So I hope I can rely on you to be available for that."

She nodded again. "Yes. Absolutely. Like I said before, anything you want to ask me, please ask. I would like to help you in any way I can. Right now, there is nothing more in the world I would like than to catch whoever killed my Father." She almost couldn't get that last word out. She nearly started crying again, but was able to control it this time. She blew her nose again with the tissue she had in her hand. Then she squeaked an "I'm sorry," out and wiped her nose with what was little left unused of the tissue, threw that away, then grabbed a new one.

"Oh, no. No, no, no. This is definitely one of those times where you do _not_ have to apologize."

She sat quietly, slumped in the plastic chair and staring at nothing. Then after only a few minutes passed, she stirred. She sat up, straightened her clothes and smoothed out the wrinkles, causing the chair to squeak out a short symphony that would've probably caused a galactic alien fleet to give a standing ovation. Then she did a quick eye-wipe with her left hand. "I guess I'll go now," she said. She stood, adjusting the spaghetti strap of her little handbag onto her shoulder. "I hope that stuff will help," she said, gesturing at the box as she spoke.

I glanced over my shoulder and said, "I have a feeling there might be one or two things in there that'll answer a few questions." I smiled.

She did a slight nod of her head and smiled back. Then she flinched. "Oh," she said. She took the handbag off her shoulder, sat it on my desk and started digging into it. "I'll give you my cellphone number, in case you need me. Please don't hesitate to call."

I tore off a piece of legal-pad paper and handed it to her along with my pen. She thanked me, wrote her number down and handed both the pen and paper back to me. "Thanks," I said and got an idea. "Do you need a ride?"

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Then she shook her head. "No," she said. "I'm okay. I feel like walking. It might be good. Thank you, though, for asking."

I was hoping she'd say yes. It would've given me an opportunity to find out a little more about the family. Oh well. "Carina I know what you're going through." I thought twice about what I was going to say and decided it wouldn't hurt to let the mothering side of me take over for a minute. "My mother died when I was nine. Then last year, my husband was murdered and... it really hit me hard. I didn't think I would ever get over it." I looked into her eyes and saw exactly how I imagined I must've looked when I lost Tom. "I know right now you think your life has been completely shit on, but one day... you're gonna wake up... and..." I tried to think of the right way to describe it. "And then, knowing that you'll never see your Dad again won't be the first thing you think about when you wake up... instead, you'll probably think about what kind of day it's going to be," was what I came up with.

She stood there, staring at me in awe. Tears started flowing down her cheeks and she smiled. I was right. It was a very bright, beautiful, girlish smile. "Thank you," she said. No squeaks this time. "I think I know exactly what you mean. I think my Uncle made a good choice when he hired you." Then she nodded and said, "Thank you," once again. Then she left.

I wiped a tear away. When I heard her feet hit the lobby down stairs, I immediately dialed Dementyev's number.

"Da," he answered, along with some other Russian words I wouldn't be able pick out of a line-up.

"I have an important question I need to ask you. Well, two actually."

"Ah. Yes Mrs. Pendleton. Please, anything to help. What is it you wish to ask?"

_Mrs. Pendleton?_ Oh well, I'll straighten him out later. "Did Kristyan have any tools on him when you found him?"

"Tools?" he asked. Then he was silent for a moment. Then he said, "No. Now that you ask, it occurs to me how strange that is. If you're going to go looking around inside tunnels you should bring tools." There was silence at his end again. And then, "Maybe his tools were taken," he said. "You don't think this person who killed him took them, do you?"

"I'm considering it. I'll let you know what I find. And the other thing I also wanted to ask?"

"Yes?"

"What did you do with your brother's body?"

It took him so long to answer me I thought I lost the connection. He said, "We took him to the City Morgue."

I didn't even bother to consider asking him how. All I said was, "Thank you. I'll stay in touch."

After he said, "Da," we both hung up.

The City Morgue?

# Chapter Seven

Home

I had the top down and the wind jostled my hair over my eyes giving me occasional flashes of gold-spun strands, courtesy of the setting sun. I shifted my Solstice from third to fourth and made my way past some slow-moving traffic going southbound on I-5. I had my stereo cranked up enough to have _Harajuku Girls_ knock the dust off my speakers with its deep bass beat.

Keeping my shopping bags company in the trunk and occupying thoughts in the back of my mind was the cardboard box. When I left office, I thought I covered everything and had a clear picture of what happened, but the more I kept thinking about this case, the more I realize it's not as straight forward as it seems. And now I've been thinking about it so much it's become a daunting challenge trying to keep everything straight in my head. I thought some of the vital clues I found so far added up to something while others added up to nothing, but now I'm not so sure. They're all overshadowing each other with conflicting views and coming loaded with their own questions that need answering.

My exit came just as I finally over took the lead in the slow moving pack of cars in my rearview. I stepped on the clutch, shifted to neutral and started braking as I coasted to a stop at the end of the off ramp. As usual, the light was red.

Then, as if to make things more challenging, Vasiliy throws a wrench in the soup by telling me he took his brother to the City Morgue. The City Morgue? How the hell did they get a body to the City Morgue without telling anyone what happened? Or more to the point, how did they get it there period? The Morgue is really far and a pain in the ass to get to. It's way over in Clackamas! That's across the river and fifteen miles southeast of the city, in the outskirts! They either had to have called it in, or they had some help from someone who owns an ambulance, or hearse, or something. I'm pretty sure it'd look a little hooky if you just pulled up in a car with a body in the back seat.

The light turned green just as my stereo informed me my CD was about to play a song titled _Crash_. I was hoping it wasn't a prophetic premonition. I revved the engine in first and doubled clutched it to third as I made a left onto Kruse Way, then pressed the CD button for the next song. _I'm just a little bit superstitious._ Usually I take the winding, scenic Kerr Parkway home, but tonight I was anxious to dig into that box. I kicked the Solstice into fourth.

One of the first things I'm going to do before I go digging into that box is crack open the phonebook and see what it has for translators. Or maybe I should just forget the phonebook and just look on the internet. Yeah, that might be better, and probably quicker.

A silver car pulled out of Carmen Dr. up ahead and turned into my lane. I had to downshift to third until, _if ever_ , the car ahead accelerated to the speed limit. Fortunately, it was an Acura and was already putting some distance between us. I kicked it back into fourth.

_I hope I don't have any trouble with those computer discs. My heart sunk a little when I saw that they were old floppies. I hate floppies._ Not too long ago, I used to keep one or two things on file in some floppies. One day I tried to access one, and all it did was make some clickity-clak sound, then nothing. Even Scott couldn't get it to work. _Scott!_ And he did everything. Goddamn floppies! Nowadays I don't touch them, _or_ computer CDs. Thanks to Scott, I was turned on to flashdrives. Best damn computer gadget to come along yet. As long as there's a USB port, I can access my files on _any_ computer. The public library, FedEx Office, _anywhere_. And those flashdrives can hold a hell of a lot more files than any kind of disc. Plus they're small enough to carry on a key ring, which makes them a hell of a lot more portable.

The Acura and I came to the intersection at Lower Boones Ferry Rd. The light was green. He turned right. I went left. I followed Lower Boones until I came to the three-way split and took the road on the far right where it became Country Club Rd. _Almost home. Just one more stoplight, a right turn on Iron Mountain, then zip-zip and its Diamond Head Rd._

Just before I locked up the office, I called Scott to let him know I was on my way. I checked the time on my dashboard. _Ooh, it's getting late, a quarter past six. I hope he fixing us something for dinner._ Back when I was a mess, there was a month or two when I didn't even get out of bed. If Scott wanted anything descent to eat he had to cook it himself. It still bothers me that he had to do that. He didn't seem to mind having to cook, but still, your son shouldn't have to fend for himself, no matter what the circumstances. Nowadays he cooks dinner for us only when he wants to, or I get in late. Turns out that he's actually pretty good at it.

I was approaching the stoplight just after it turned green and there were three or four cars ahead that were just starting to accelerate. I downshifted into third and kept my left foot hovering near the clutch in case I needed second, but I found it unnecessary. They were in as much of a hurry as I was to get home and sped up enough to catch the next light before it turned red.

My turn for Iron Mountain came and the CD started playing a song called _Long Way To Go_ when I was turning into the private drive to my estate. _Yuck! Maybe this isn't such a good CD after all._ I hit the button to stop it from playing, then hit the button clipped to my visor to open the garage door. Scott's forest green Land Rover was parked on the right. I pulled in and parked, grabbed my purse from the passenger seat, popped the trunk, then got out of the car with the keys still in my hand. The garage door hummed as it automatically closed and a few of the panels squeaked reminding me again that I still need to call to have it serviced. I picked the box up from the trunk, along with my two shopping bags and shut the trunk with my elbow. I balanced it all with one hand while trying to get the entryway door open. I was rewarded for that little juggling act by the aroma of dinner greeting me home. "Scott, I'm home!" I yelled as I hefted everything down the long hallway, past our large pantry alcove, which I like to call the _Bat Cave_. Scott didn't answer. _He must be busy. Probably waiting until I reach the kitchen._ I did and I saw him standing over the stove. "Hi Hon. What's cookin'?" I said.

Scott did a quick turn of his head, spatula in hand, and continued doing what he was doing over one of the burners while the pan's sizzling increased. "Hey Mom," he answered. "It's just about ready." The sizzling simmered as he talked over his shoulder.

Our kitchen is pretty much what you would imagine a modern French farmhouse kitchen to look like. It was designed to be large enough to accommodate the large island with a stainless steel countertop sitting in the middle of our pine floor with the dishwasher inside it. I insisted on that big island being there and never regretted it. There's various kinds of lighting illuminating certain parts of the kitchen. Recessed lighting was installed beneath the upper cabinets. Some track lighting and one ornate French ceiling fixture handles the rest. The ceiling fixture has three opaque glass shades surrounded by a dark metal leafy vine design and hangs directly over the island. All the cabinets, including the island's, are deep rustic oak from the Dijon region. I fell in love with them when Marie-Elise, the architect, showed me the samples. The cabinets on the bottom, between the fridge and the stove, are topped with butcher-block countertops and two refrigerators cap off one end. One of the refrigerators is a large stainless steel model with the freezer on the bottom. The other one beside it is a restaurant style with sliding glass doors. A large range hood looms over the six burner stove at the opposite end and between it all sits a white soapstone Corian double sink. All the appliances are stainless steel and large enough to handle a party for a small movie premiere. The restaurant style refrigerator was a late addition by Scott. Don't ask me why. I think it had something to do with certain recipes, or something. I haven't a clue.

"You're home a little late." He said, and pointed his spatula at me. "What's in box?"

"Work, and tons of it." I released my bags to the floor and sat the box on our ten-foot long, mahogany breakfast/mail table. I had to shove aside a growing pile of junk mail to do it. "I had an interview that took a little long. You know? Just someone involved in that 'important' case of mine," I said with an arched eyebrow and a smile. I set my purse beside the box and took a seat at the other end of the table.

Scott was in the middle of plating our dinner when I said "important case" and started moving a little quicker. He sat the empty pan on one of the unused burners and wiped his hands on a dishtowel. "Oh yeah, that's right," he said. He picked up the two plates and set one in front of me, next to my water glass, and the other at his usual spot, opposite me. "Aunt Susan called," he said. "She asked me how I've been and if I heard anything from you about what happened today." Those stormy blue eyes he inherited from his father sparkled as he sat in his chair. He picked up his knife and fork and started in on his share of this _incredibly_ delicious looking pork loin. _Damn!_ "So what's this 'important case' about?" He asked.

"Oh. I uh," I was trying to speak, grab a napkin and dig into dinner all at the same time. _I just realized how hungry I was._ "Mmm... so good!" I said. Scott patiently chewed his food as he waited to hear about the 'important case'. _Let's see, where do I begin?_ "It's a murder investigation," I said. His eyebrows moved up about a quarter of an inch and he chewed slower. "I'm not really certain if I should be telling you this," I continued. "Because it involves the Russian Mafia." Fortunately, by the time I said the "Russian Mafia", Scott had already swallowed. His jaw went slack and his eyebrows were up as far as they could go. "The man who hired me, his name is Vasiliy Dementyev. Apparently, it was his brother who was murdered and I'm supposed to find out who did it without letting the police know about it." Scott sat frozen with his dinner getting cold.

DING-DONG!

_Shit!_ We both jumped when the doorbell suddenly went off. I tossed my napkin on the table and went to answer it. I passed one of the security monitors on the way and checked it. I was a little worried by what I saw and walked a little faster to open the door. "Yes, what is it?" I asked.

"Lydia Pendleton?" asked one of two officers. Moving in between and nudging one of the officers over, was a plainclothes detective. He was a shorter man with a familiar face. "I got it from here guys," he said. "We need to talk Lydia. Mind if we come in?" He looked over his shoulder when he said that last part, as if he were concerned what the neighbors would think.

# Chapter Eight

Everyone Knows?

"Certainly, Lieutenant. Come on in." I stepped aside and they entered our small studio-apartment sized foyer. My interior double doors are always left open so they continued on to the main hallway and into the living room on the immediate right. He wasn't really short, just shorter than his police escort. He still had that olive drab London Fog raincoat he always wore, but his wardrobe seemed to have had an upgrade. He was surprisingly sharp dressed for a change and was sporting a suit right out of a Brooks Brothers catalog. _It's about time._

Lieutenant Henry James, no relation to the author, was an old "friend" of Tom's. Soon after I started working with Tom, he became a "friend" of mine too, but that was when he was a Police Detective. On more than one occasion, the Lieutenant had found it very useful to have Tom on his side. _Maybe he could tell me something about the Dementyevs and why Tom never mentioned them. That's if I could say anything to the police about them._

The three of them were standing in the middle of the mocha brown leather living room set that I'd found at an auction in Lyon. "Please, have a seat," I said. The Lieutenant sat in the overstuffed recliner but didn't bother with the reclining part. The two officers chose to stand near the unlit stone hearth. I took a seat on the couch facing the Lieutenant, but before I did, I caught sight of Scott peeking around the corner. "So. What's this about?" I said.

The Lieutenant had his elbows on the arms of the recliner and his hands resting on his stomach. When I asked the question, he raised his hands and steepled two of his fingers. Then he tapped his nose a couple of times with the fingers then pointed them at me. "I think you might already know," he said. He sat there looking at me, as if I was going to fall for that old trick. The one where you ask a suspect a question and sit quietly, forcing them to say something just to fill the unnerving silence. _He should know me by now. I never fall for it._ I sat like a statue and stared back. _Hmm... his dark brown hair is starting to show signs of graying around the temples._ "This isn't a game Lydia," he said. "This is serious." He moved his hands and rested them on the recliner's arms, then tapped his fingers on them a few times, making a little horse-trot sound as he studied me through squinted eyes. His gold wedding band caught glints of the track lighting above him. "Do you know a man by the name of Vasiliy Dementyev?"

I heard someone take shocking breath. I thought it might've been Scott, but it was probably me. It had to have been, because the Lieutenant looked as if he had his answer. But before he had a chance say anything more, I responded by saying, "He came by our office... I mean, _my_ office this morning. He told me he needed me to find out who killed his brother. He seemed to know Tom, but didn't know he was murdered last year." The Lieutenant nodded and knew I played my hand well with the two officers, plus Scott, as witnesses. If I'd allowed him to continue with what he was about to say, I probably wouldn't have looked too innocent further down the road. Withholding knowledge about an unreported murder doesn't sit too well with a judge in a court of law. And I have a feeling that was something I might've been facing, had I not said anything. "I've been trying to find out all I can in order to be certain what he told me was true. I understand you have to pay a huge fine if you report a murder that hasn't happened." _Touché._ The Lieutenant nodded some more, but I thought I was beginning to detect a little disappointment from him.

"At about three this afternoon, he called 911 and reported the murder," he said. He laced his fingers together and bumped his thumbs against his lower lip a couple of times. He was quiet again, but this time I think it was unintentional. He seemed to be thinking. Then he said, "He mentioned the reason he hired you was so you could find out who killed his brother while he figured out the best way to handle things. His words not mine. Personally, I would've thought it was obvious to anyone that hiring a private eye was not a top five on the list of things you should do when you've found a dead body."

"Yes. Like I said, I've been trying to find out the truth about it. Am I being charged with something? Because I don't think you should trust these people. How do you know his brother's really dead?"

"Because the _body_ is on a slab at the City Morgue. I just came from there."

_God damn it, Dementyev! Why the hell didn't you tell me you told the police?_ Well, that certainly solves the mystery of how they were able to bring him to the morgue. Now I'm starting to think he intentionally made it difficult for me to know where it happened. He probably didn't want me bumping into the Police at the crime scene while they were in the middle of processing it. _Wait, you dumb ass. That doesn't make sense. The Lieutenant said Vasiliy called it in around three._

"Your client didn't tell you that. Did he?" He had a smile that turned into a smirk. Then he shook his head. "I guess you're right, you shouldn't trust these people. He almost had you arrested for not reporting a murder." He pointed at me when said that last part. "If you were so concerned about finding out whether or not there really was a murder, why didn't you at least tell us they came to see you about it?"

"I thought I should try to find out what they were up to before I went running off to the police. They could be... I don't know.... You know, actually, I really _don't_ know. In fact, I have yet to hear someone say it. _Are_ they Russian Mafia?" _Another point for me._

The Lieutenant nodded. "Okay. That's true. I guess you wouldn't know, since you've never met them before." Then he was silent and tapped his fingers a bit before finally answering my question. "Let's just say we believe they _might_ be Russian Mafia. They're either a small time operation or they could just be Mafia wannabes, we really don't know for certain. We suspect they might be illegally importing and exporting shipments. What exactly they ship, we don't know. We haven't been able to verify any of it. And, even if they actually are Russian Mafia, they're a small group and aren't important enough for us to waste any man hours looking into them."

_Now's my chance. I gotta know._ "How do they know Tom?" I asked. "Did he work for them?"

The Lieutenant cocked his head a little to the side, eyed me for a moment and then shook his head. "I don't know. It's possible. You know Tommy and I have helped each other with _some_ cases, but not all of them. I wasn't his _mommy_. I didn't hold his hand where ever he went."

"OKAY! I GET IT!" I snapped. I couldn't take it. I couldn't handle the insensitive way he kept talking about Tom. I'm not ready to hear someone to talk about him like that. I'M JUST NOT READY, DAMN IT! I'd squeezed my eyes shut. I opened them and saw the Lieutenant's face held a look of disapproval. "I'm sorry I snapped." I said. I started to check if Scott had moved to intervene, but just as I started to turn my head I decided against it. It must've looked like a nervous twitch.

"Maybe you shouldn't be..."

"I'm fine! Really." I stuck my hand out to stop him. "It's been a long day. I'm just a little tired is all."

"Yeah right. Okay." He sat motionless. His look of disapproval slightly faded. "Yeah, it's possible Tom might have done some work for them, or maybe they saw him in the yellow pages. Have you changed that ad yet?"

_MY GOD! DOES HE HEAR HIMSELF? Jesus, is he just trying get to me or does he not realize how heartless he sounds?_ I closed my eyes but didn't squeeze them shut again. "No, um," I answered. I tried my best to talk as calmly as I could. "I haven't had a chance." I scratched my head, trying my best to act nonchalant about it. A dumb blonde technique I've used on more than once occasion to my advantage. "Did Dementyev hand over the murder weapon?" I asked, in an attempt to change the subject.

The Lieutenant shook his head. "The perp didn't leave it," he said. "You don't seem to know too much about what happened, do you? On second thought, maybe you do. Why do you ask?"

_Shit!_ What the hell is happening here? Why would Carina say the killer left the crowbar? "Apparently, my secondhand information was inaccurate," I said, shaking my head. "Someone told me the killer had left a crowbar."

"And you're not going to tell me who." He nodded a couple of times and ran his tongue along the inside of his lower lip. "Well, we'll find out anyway. You couldn't have talked to that many people yet. The coroner can't do the autopsy until tomorrow afternoon. By then I'm sure we'll know whether or not if this 'secondhand' information was completely inaccurate, one-way or the other, but I can tell you this. From what I saw, unofficially, it _was_ a crowbar, right on top of the head." He did a reenactment with two hooked fingers coming down on his knee.

_Yuck! Thanks a lot for the imagery._ "Well what exactly did Dementyev say happened?"

The Lieutenant eyed me for few seconds before he answered. "If I tell you, you'll have to give me something."

"Well you know I can't reveal too much about what my client has told me in confidence. It sounds like you already know more than I do anyway. If I knew anything else that could help you with your investigation, you know I would absolutely cooperate by telling you."

"Okay, I guess that'll have to do... for now," he said. "He told us his brother had been missing for a couple of days. He doesn't know what time he left home, or if he left on his own. No one knew he was planning to go out or why. He said they started searching for him in the Pearl District. They claim there was no particular reason they started searching there, which I think is a load of shit. 'Scuse my French. They found his body in the basement of an abandoned building. And, as I said, no sign of the murder weapon."

I nodded, acknowledging that was also what I had been told. "Did he say when they found him?"

He eyed me suspiciously for a moment. Then he said, "He said they found him yesterday at about ten in the morning." _Carina said eight or eight-thirty!_ "That's Sunday. He'd been missing since Friday night, when his wife kissed him goodnight, apparently for the last time."

_I think he just took another shot at me. I'm almost certain he's trying to shake me into letting my guard down._ Fortunately, I've been getting better at handling it and was able to let it go. "Where were they keeping the body? Did they have a freezer or something?"

He raised his eyebrows and nodded. "Good guess, if you want to call it that."

"Yes! A guess is what it is. Come on! It's an obvious guess. I mean, where else are you gonna put a body?" I shook my head. _The audacity! You'd think he was suggesting I helped them hide the body._ "I don't get it. Do you want my help or not? You can't seriously think I had a hand in any of this."

"I can _seriously_ think whatever the hell I want." He sat forward in the recliner and proceeded to lay into me. "This is a _murder_ investigation Lydia, not a mystery novel! You know... to be honest, I can't believe you're still doing this. Tom's dead! You don't have any reason to continue on with it! You're rich! Your family's well known with this town! Hell, in some respects your family is the _heart_ of this town! You don't need to be a private investigator! Tom is gone!"

_YOU BASTARD! YOU GOD DAMN BASTARD!_ I sat there like a dumb little girl, not saying what I thought. Tears filled my eyes and ran down my cheeks. I just stared back at him, completely stunned. _Christ! Did he joke around to his buddies before he got here and said, 'Hey, watch me make her cry'?_

After seeing the damage he'd done, he dropped his head and averted his eyes. "Lydia... I didn't..."

"Stop! I think you've said enough." I started wiping the tears from my eyes and tried to recuperate. "I don't think you need anything more from me. We're done here."

"Lydia..."

"I _said_ we're done!"

He reminded me of a dog with his tail stuck between his legs. He got up without another word. That's when I saw the expression on the faces of the two officers who were the unfortunate witnesses to our little play. Shock, is what I would say described them. I averted my eyes at the same time they did. They followed the Lieutenant out. _Great! Another reason for the police force not to look me in the eye._ "Lieutenant." I stopped him, but he didn't turn around. The officers walked past him. "I think from now on our _relationship_ will be strictly professional. And _don't_ expect it to be too easy for you anymore." He almost turned to say something, but apparently thought better of it and resumed his walk toward the door without an answer.

Once I heard the front door close, I completely broke down and cried even more. _OH GOD. WHY?_

Scott wrapped me in his arms and held me. "It's okay Mom. You'll be okay. He's just an asshole. He doesn't know what he's talking about. He didn't have any right talking to you that way."

God why did Tom have to die? WHY? Oh God. I wish Tom were here.

"It's okay Mom. You'll be okay. It's okay Mom."

WHY?

# Chapter Nine

Back to normal?

We finished our dinner in silence. Even though it was cold, it was still delicious. I was riding a rollercoaster of emotions the whole time we were eating, trying to get past the Lieutenant's callous attitude and the way he talked to me earlier. At first, I felt embarrassed and angry at the same time. Then I was frustrated and a little sad before finally settling on just being plain pissed off.

One thing's for certain, it's going to be a very frigid day in Hell before I ever help Lieutenant James with any investigation that crosses our paths ever again. The guy's usually somewhat tolerable and sometimes even a little compassionate. He might be a bit rough around the edges, but still tolerable. That night they took me in after I shot that bastard, he almost seemed kind and understanding towards me. Of course he didn't know, and still doesn't know, that I committed premeditated murder. Sure, he might suspect I flat out killed the guy, but not that I had planned it.

"So, are you still doing the investigation, or are you going to just let the police handle it?"

I was so deep within my thoughts that I was a little startled when Scott broke the silence. I looked across the table and saw Tom's sad blue eyes staring back at me. I was a confused. I couldn't figure out why Scott would ask me that question, that is until I remembered I hadn't had the chance to tell him the whole story. Then I felt the uncontrollable urge to smile. Then Scott started smiling. And then he said, "What? Do I have something on my nose?"

I shook my head, jerked it toward the other end of the table where the box was sitting and said, "There's more to this than meets the eye." Then it was Scott's turn to be confused, until I filled him in.

"Holy crap! No way! Holy shit!" He kept repeating himself a few more times, looked at the box again, then at me, then the box again, until finally, "Are you going to tell the police about it?"

I rolled my eyes so hard it almost hurt. "Of course not. After the way he talked me? Besides, Dementyev didn't tell him, why should I?"

"Yeah, but he's Mafia. Not only that, the stuff in that box might have something to do with why his brother was killed."

"Well, when that bridge comes up I'll cross it, or whatever. Like I said, until it becomes part of their investigation and they come looking for it, they're not getting any of it. Until then, it's just a little investigative work I'm doing on the side."

He still looked confused. "Yeah but..." He stopped to think. He rubbed his chin and scratched the side of his mouth. _Tom's habit._ "Wouldn't you be risking your license? When they find out about the research, it'll be considered evidence. If the police find out you were withholding it, they could arrest you."

_Party pooper._ Of course I'd already thought of that, briefly, and then ignored it. _Why was that again? Oh... that's right. Because, at the time, it was my case alone and my client didn't want me talking to them. Though now that they're involved, that does put a damper on things. The picture frame is about the only thing in the box that could qualify as a direct link to the murder investigation. The box of research itself still doesn't factor directly into it. Though something tells me it might factor in with it somewhere. Which means there is a possibility that they might consider it evidence._ "Now I'm starting to think you might be right," I said. "I didn't think the rest of it had a clear link to a motive before, but now I'm starting to see it might end up that way." Looks like Scott may have inherited more than Tom's blue eyes. I guess this means, via a generation, I still have Tom's brain to pick. It may be inexperienced, but the thought process is there. Discovering Scott may have inherited more than just the brown hair and blue eyes started to make me feel more relaxed about having to investigate such a complicated case on my own. It's too bad I might have to give it up. _Crap! I just realized this meant I'd have to confront Lieutenant James again. Shit! What in God's name made me think this would be easier if the police were involved?_ "If I tell the police about the box, I'll probably have to hand it over to them. And that'll be the end of that."

"I know," Scott said. "It's starting to look like you might be out of the picture." He probably feels as rotten about it as much as I do. This was the first major case I've had since I lost Tom. Now it looks as though I'll have to hand it all over to the police after having barely started on it. "Wait a minute," Scott said. "Maybe you're not. You're not off the case until your client tells you, right?"

"Well I think he pretty much said that when he called the police."

"Maybe not. Maybe he has something else in mind. He wasn't completely honest when he told the police what happened. Plus, there's the little matter of him asking you not to tell them anything. Maybe he knew he couldn't keep it from the police for very long without getting you in trouble. Maybe he only told you not to say anything because he wanted to do it his way. Keeping it from the police might be something he still wants you to do, even though he called them." _Hmm... he might be on to something here._ "And neither of you mentioned anything about the tunnels, _or_ the Czar's Blue Star."

_He's right!_ "There was another thing that was different from what Dementyev told the police," I said. "Of course, that may only be because it came from two different sources."

"What's that?"

"It's when they found the body. Dementyev told the police they found his brother around ten in the morning. Carina said it was around eight or eight-thirty."

"Yesterday morning?"

_What?_ "No! My God, that's right. She said it was _Saturday_ morning! So, it's not only the time, but the days are different too!" _Damn!_

"Okay. You can _not_ hand that box over to the police. I think the next thing you should do is call your client and find out what's going on. This sounds like it might still be your case. In fact, now I'm starting to think he _definitely_ called the police to keep you out of trouble."

"Well, then he must have a lot of faith in my abilities. 'Cause he really came close to having his P.I. tossed in jail."

I called Vasiliy from the den while Scott added our dishes to the dishwasher. I always use my cell for anything dealing with work, otherwise there's a slight chance my home number might come up on their caller ID. Again, he answered in unrepeatable Russian. "Uh, yeah, Vasiliy? You probably already know why I'm calling."

There was a moment of silence on his end, then, "I am sorry I did not tell you," he said. "They only detained me for a few minutes. I have a very good lawyer on retainer."

"They told me what you said to them. Just to be certain, you didn't mention anything about the Blue Star or the tunnels, did you?"

"Nyet. No, I did not. It is none of their concern. I may be a... 'business man', but I am Russian first."

"Don't you think there might have been a connection?"

"How? No one but our family knows we have those files."

_Hmm. Interesting._ "So there's no reason anyone else might know? Maybe someone..."

"Nyet! No one else knows!" Then he abruptly hung up on me.

"Okay. You have a good evening, too," I said to the call-disconnected beep sounding in my cell's earpiece. _I don't care what he says. No one keeps it in the family. Someone had to have said something to someone. It's human nature._

I found Scott in the living room and filled him in on what Vasiliy told me.

"So I was right," he said. "It is still your case."

_Ooh, that's a scary thought._ Up until now, I wasn't aware of the relief I felt when it started to look like I no longer had this case. _Am I ready or not?_ Ready! I have to be or I never will. "Yeah, I guess you're right, Hon. You sure you'd rather write software for a living?"

He smiled and nodded his head. "I think I prefer to create my own worlds, they're easier to manage."

Ring-ring! Ring-ring!

_Okay, everything can stop scaring the shit out of me now, please!_ This time it was the phone. Scott was closer to it and picked it up, then handed it over to me. "It's Aunt Susan again."

"Hey, what's happening?" I said to her.

"I was hoping Scott would tell me," she said.

"Well apparently it's okay for me to tell you now."

"What do mean? Did something happen?"

"You could say that. I had a little visit from the police. The Lieutenant himself actually." I proceeded to tell her why and filled her in on the rest.

"Holy fucking shit!" she said. "The Russian Mafia? I didn't think there were any of those guys around here. You won't have to do favors for them will you?"

"No, I don't think so. He's already paid the up-front fee."

"Oh. Well that's good." She was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "So I guess you'll be busier than usual for a while?"

"Yeah, it looks that way, but we'll still be able to meet for coffee though. I just won't be able to make a day of it." Even though I've been feeling better these days, I guess Susan still wants to make certain I'm still doing all right. Then again, I like the time we've been spending together. Maybe she does too.

"You could fill me in on how the case is going," she said. "We could maybe do a little brainstorming over mochas and lattes."

"Yes! That sounds great. I like that idea."

"I'm happy for you, Liddy. You're starting to sound like you again. I wish you luck."

"Oh, come on Suze. You're gonna make me cry."

She laughed. "Okay. I'll call you unless you call me first. I gotta go before Teresa completely defrosts my fridge."

Teresa is Susan's oldest daughter out of two. When Susan and I were shopping today, she told me Teresa was home from Berkeley for two weeks during a holiday break. Since she was a baby, she's been a fan of her cool Aunt Lydia. And as she got older, she became interested in what I did for a living and decided to pursue a career covering the legal end of it. So she's currently in the middle of her first year of Law school at the University of California's Berkeley Law.

"Oh, starving your children again?"

"Always," she laughed. "Good night, Liddy."

"Good night, Suze."

I thought about what Susan said. 'You're starting to sound like you again.' I guess she's right. _The question is, am well enough to visit Tom's grave yet?_ I thought. But before I even finished thinking it, I knew I wasn't. It's still too soon for me to go that far in admitting he's gone. _I don't know._ Then it hit me all at once. I suddenly realized how normal I was actually feeling. _I really do feel like myself again._ I was also starting to realize that I was doing something I don't think I've done in quite a long time. I was _smiling_. It was _my_ smile. Not just any smile. It's a smile I have whenever I'm about to kick ass and take names. _Look out world, Lydia Pendleton's back on her feet again._

# Chapter Ten

Help!

Tuesday morning and I over slept. For the first time in months I actually over slept. _The routine is broken! Hallelujah!_ For the first time in over a year Scott had to wake me without depression being the reason. _Yes!_ And with any luck, I'll stay that way for a _very_ long time. I attempted to make a complete break of the routine by brushing my teeth before showering. It didn't work. I got as far as putting toothpaste on my brush before I decided it wasn't a very good idea. I didn't like the idea of feeling funky while I did other things. Since I forgot I wasn't wearing my ring yesterday, I thought it was okay for me to go without it again. But now that I'm more aware of it, I'm starting have trouble wanting to do it. Then I got an idea. I went to my jewelry box, picked up my necklace with the amber stone and slipped the ring onto its chain. It clicked against the amber. I immediately felt better once I clasped it around my neck. I guess some things will need baby steps.

I was getting into my jeans when heard Scott knock on my bedroom door. "I'm going to work now," he said through the closed door.

"Okay Hon," I answered. "Did you get breakfast?"

"Yeah, I had a couple of Pop-Tarts," he said. "Let me know how it goes today."

"Scott?" He didn't answer me. "Scott!" I finished fastening my bra and grabbed the blue T-shirt I was planning to wear when I finally heard him.

"Yeah Mom?"

_Whew!_ I put on my shirt, making sure it was pulled all the way down. Then I opened the door. "Don't say a thing to anyone. Okay?"

"But the police know about it."

"I know, but it's still a case I'm working on and it would be a big help if you treat it that way. Okay?"

"Right. Sorry."

"Where's your backpack?"

"It's Tuesday. Remember? I don't have classes on Tuesday."

I was nodding my head before he finished reminding me. "You're right. I don't know what I was thinking. I knew it was Tuesday."

He smiled. "It's alright Mom." He patted me on the shoulder. "You're just being your usual self." He laughed. "You're back to normal. Gotta go." He turned and ran down the stairs. "Love you," he yelled from below. Then he was out the door.

_Yeah. I am back to normal._ I put on my sneakers and couldn't get my mind off the ring clicking against the amber. I took the amber off the chain and tossed it into the jewelry box. I thought about my plan for today, realized how late it was getting. I ran downstairs to the kitchen.

_The box is still there. It wasn't a dream. Yesterday really happened! Let's see. Do I grab some breakfast, then go box digging, or go box digging, then breakfast?_ My stomach growled as if it were voting. _Breakfast._ I got a bowl of Raisin Bran from 'the Cave' and sat down with it in front of Dementyev's box. I decided the best approach would be to start at the front and work my way back, starting with the picture. I pulled it from the box and laid it on the table while ate a spoonful of breakfast.

It was a black and white photo of the old Portland Hotel, taken at a southwestern angle looking down from atop of what I'm guessing would be the Meier & Frank building, which is now a Macy's. The Portland Hotel was torn down in 1951 and that block was a parking lot for the longest time before it became Pioneer Courthouse Square in the mid-eighties. _The Portland Hotel must have been were our mystery man was staying. That's got to be the reason why he chose this picture to hide the papers. It was probably in his hotel room. I wonder if I could find the name in the registry. And look for what, Smith with a slight touch of a Cyrillic style to it?_ I decided just to make a mental note and move on. I turned the picture over and took a look at the frame's backing. It was a dark brown rough cardboard with a slit in the middle that was shaped like an upside-down simple seven. Connecting one end of the slit to the other was a manufactured crease, allowing the cardboard to fold out and support the picture upright on top of a bureau or a dresser. I tried it out and found it to be stiff and unused. _This picture was hung on a wall._ The frame was a lightweight wood, possibly balsa, with no factory indentations inside the top portion or either side. There was some wear and tear at the top center, as if something were used to hang it on a wall. _Yeah, and if I took a small sample of the photo to a microscope I could probably tell which wall it hung on. Come on Lydia! Focus, damn it. Focus!_ Needless to say, I was gathering more information about the photo than necessary. I laid it down on the table and reassessed what kind of information I was trying to gather here. Then I remembered something I'd planned to do before and decided to do that.

I got my laptop from the den and brought it into the kitchen. I dusted it off, plugged into a wall socket and turned it on. I hadn't used it in a little over a year, so once my Windows was up and running, the update elves promptly informed me of all they needed to do. I tried ignoring them to no avail. They were persistent with all their "ok or cancel" questions. After answering their last "ok or cancel", I let them have the laptop and went back to the den, hoping the desktop had been updated. It had.

I went straight to the online Yellow Pages to find my translator. I found various types, but none of them seemed to be what I was looking for. I narrowed my search to 'Russian' translators, but nothing specific appeared. I finally had to admit defeat. I got out of my chair and walked into the kitchen where my purse was. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed a number I recently discovered I could remember without checking my phone's directory. It went straight to his voicemail. "This is Kris. Leave your name and number. I'll try to get back to you."

"It's Lydia," I said. "I need your help on something." I hung up and sat down at the breakfast table to finish my Raisin Bran.

I spent the rest of my morning getting my laptop caught up to the latest software versions and tested the internet waters with a little surfing. _Did you know about this 'You Tube' website? It's pretty cool!_ Then my cell phone chirped its new melody. _I was playing with the ringtones earlier while I was eating my breakfast._ I checked the I.D. and saw that it was Kris. I answered.

"I heard about Tom," he said. "That must've been tough. How you holding up?"

"I think I'm getting better," I told him. "I'm back at work now and just landed a case, which is what I need your help on."

"A case? What do you need?"

"Some translating."

"What language?"

_Oh, that's right. "Mr. KGB" knows five languages._ "Russian," I said.

"Where do you want to meet?"

Because of a few past incidents that happened between us...I'll tell you about it sometime later, and _no_ it's not what you think... Kris and I have a standing agreement to never go to either one's home when we need to do any "collaborating". I'd forgotten and hadn't thought of a place yet. It was taking me a while to come up with something.

"How about Fenouil?" he suggested. "Around 11:30?"

_Perfect!_ "Yeah, that sounds good. 11:30 it is." Fenouil is a little gem of a restaurant in the Pearl District, next to Jamison Park. They call themselves 'An Urban French Brasserie'. I've found them to be the only place within a hundred miles that actually serves pomme frites, _real_ pomme frites, or at least the closest thing to it. It's something I found I had a taste for while visiting relatives in Philly. I was first treated to this marvelous dish at a restaurant called _The Waterworks_ , down by Boathouse Row on the Schuylkill.

"See you then, Lydia. Glad to hear you back on your game."

"Thanks Kris. See you there." We hung up. 'Back on my game'. _Is it really that obvious?_ Having nothing better to do, I turned off my laptop and went back to the box. I stared at it. I looked at my watch. _8:46 am_ , still a ways before 11:30. Those damn floppies were next and that's when I realized that even if I wanted to attempt to look at them I couldn't. Neither the laptop nor the desktop would be able to open them. Both computers weren't old enough to have the slot for floppies. _Terrific!_ I moved on, hoping I wasn't missing anything. I reached into the box and yanked out one of the fat manilas. I undid the string around the plastic button and pulled a small ream of paper out. The papers were face down. I turned them over and they plopped like a manuscript. _Start from the top, work your way down._ I tried the first page, but it was unreadable. Or, I should say, _I_ couldn't read it. It was all in Cyrillic. Completely _un_ -translated Russian. _Shit!_ I cussed out Dementyev with just about every bad word you could find in an unabridged dictionary before I noticed what the other manila envelope. It had _TRANSLATED_ in big letters written across it. _Okay? So how do I tell which translated material is a translation of what?_ I opened that envelope and felt stupid once I found how easy it was to figure out. There were reference numbers written next to each typed translation. I searched the originals and found little notations next to a few paragraphs and some pages. _Pg. 1-1a_ was found easily on page one of the translated pages. _Cool!_ Their obvious hard work made me feel a little pressured to work just as hard on their case. _Yikes! Okay Lydia. You're being a little ridiculous. This just makes your job a lot easier. That's all._ Yeah, that's right. This just makes it easier. I only hope the rest of it is just as easy. I glanced through the first few pages. It was all about the information they had gathered from their research on the papers. _Wait, what did that say? Tolstoy stayed at the Governor Hotel?_ No. That can't be.

It had been so quiet, I nearly jumped out of my skin when my phone chirped unexpectedly and vibrated across the table. I checked the caller I.D. It was Susan! "Hey Suze," I said. I checked the time. _9:12_ "How's it going?"

"Ugh, don't ask."

"Why? What's wrong?"

She let out a big sigh before she answered. "It's Teresa. Last night, she suddenly took off just after 10:30. She said she was going out to meet her friends somewhere. Just out of the blue! One minute she's in her room, I'm thinking she's probably gone to bed, and the next she's chugging down the stairs. All she says is 'I'm goin' out.' That's all! No explanation, no... nothing. Just, 'I'm goin' out'. I practically had to drag it out of her before she finally said she was meeting some friends. I was thankful I got that much out of her. I just didn't want to push it too much. Christ, I don't know Liddy. Were we ever like that when we were her age?"

"Worse," I said. We laughed. "Her friends must have called her. They hadn't seen her in a while and were probably worried she wasn't getting out and having fun. I mean, no offense, she's in college and this is her first holiday break. You wouldn't want her to spend all of it with you, would you?"

"Well, at least half of it. I'm her mother. I haven't seen her in a while too. I want to spend time with her before were both get too old."

"Hey, you still have Stace. She's not due to go to college for another year."

"True. It's different with her though. She's into this Goethe stuff and... well... I'm not. Teresa's more like me and I'm pent up with all this need to do some mother/daughter bonding. I feel like she's my last real chance for that. You know. I mean, don't get me wrong. I love both my girls. I just find it easier with Teresa."

"I think you might be wrong about Teresa being your last chance. I think Stacy's going to wake up one day and decide all that Goethe crap is stupid. Probably about the same time she starts seriously thinking about college."

"I hope you're right Liddy. I just don't want to miss out on any chances or opportunities to spend time with my girls. You know what I mean? They just seem to grow so fast. Sometimes I feel like time is slipping by too quickly."

"Tell you what. I'm going to be meeting Kris at Fenouil at around eleven thirty today, to help me out with this case. Why don't I meet you after that at that Starbucks on the corner for Mochas and Lattes? We can talk more about Teresa and I could tell you how my case is going."

"Oh, that sounds like a great idea Liddy. I meet you there around noon, or there abouts, whenever you guys are done. This is the same guy you told me about at the DMV, right? Not the one you met earlier, but the one you told me to call?"

"Yeah. I thought about getting a second opinion on what all this Russian stuff says. Just to be certain they were being truthful about their translations. I tried looking on the internet for a translator, but I couldn't really find anything specific or trustworthy. So I handed in my 'last resort' card and called Kris for help. I'm hoping it'll turn out to be a good move. Maybe he could give me some background on the Dementyevs while he's at it. You know, maybe he's heard of them, or, at least, knows something about them."

"Hmm, maybe this will be the start of something."

"What do mean?"

"Well it _has_ been a while."

"What?! Oh, please! Get real. That egotistical bastard? I think not."

"Uh-oh. I think that's denial I'm hearing Cleopatra."

"HA! You've lost it girl. I'm hanging up now. Goodbye."

"Oh, come on Liddy. Go for it."

"Goodbye."

"Okay, I think I hear Teresa getting up anyway. I'll see you later Lyds. Bye."

_Cleopatra. Hah! I'll Cleopatra her._ I sat with my arms folded for a while, thinking about Susan and what she said about Kris. _Why would she think I would have anything to do with Kris Koskov? I can't stand him. He talks down to me. He doesn't seem to show any confidence in me or my work. He thinks he's better than anyone._ I don't get it. Why would Susan say that? She's never even met him. She didn't even know about him 'til yesterday. Is it denial? Nooo. Uh-uh. No way! I just don't see it.

I stared at the piles of paper for a little while. Then I picked everything up, shoved them back in their envelopes, and dropped them back into the box. _Cleopatra._ Hah!

# Chapter Eleven

Mr. Personality

"You're kidding, right?"

"What?"

"I thought you just wanted me to look at a few papers, not _manuscripts_."

"I don't need you to translate _everything_ in the box. I just want you to do a quick check to see if their telling the truth. "

There were four chairs at our table. The one on Kris' side was empty while the one beside me had the box. Turns out, Fenouil wasn't good enough to weather the Recession and was gone. Kris was waiting in front of the vacant restaurant when I arrived. It took me while to find a parking spot. Too bad about Fenouil. Not surprised. It might've been a good place to get pomme frites, but the service can get a little slow sometimes. We settled on sushi at Sinju at the opposite side of the park. I chose it because I was familiar with their menu, having been at the one in Bridgeport Village.

"So what case are you working on anyway? I haven't heard about anything new happening within the Russian circles."

_What? The great Kris Koskov, former KGB agent, had no idea what I'm working on? Quick! Check outside! I think you might see a flying pig or two!_ No, seriously. How is it that he doesn't know what case I'm working on? He always seems to know. "You're kidding, right? I mean, you seriously don't know?"

He didn't answer. He only held out his hands, raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

_Okay. Let's see. What's the best way to go about this? Should I tell it like Dementyev did, or just come out with it? Let's try this for starters._ "Do you know a man by the name of Vasily Dementyev?"

Nothing. He just stared at me with a blank look on his face, then shook his head. "No. Who is he? I hope that's not your client Lydia. You know, you shouldn't talk out in the open like that, especially here. This place looks pretty popular."

_Hah!_ See what I mean. _Asshole!_ "So you _don't_ know him, is what you're saying. Is that right?"

I could see he was already getting exasperated with me. He turned away and shook his head. Then he turned to me and said, "No, haven't heard of him."

_Okay. This is weird. Why doesn't he know these people?_ I would've thought of all people, Kris would've at least known _something_ about them. _Now what? Should I tell him the rest?_ "How about the Czar's Blue Star?"

_Houston, we have a reaction!_ He suddenly looked really pissed and without any warning, he stood up, grabbed the box and took off with it.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I grabbed my purse and was hot on his heels.

He stopped at the door and faced me, but before he could say anything, the hostess stepped in. "Is there problem?" We simultaneously gave her a dirty look. She shriveled and walked away. Kris and my box went out the door.

"HEY! Where the fuck are you going with my box?" No answer. He kept walking at a fast pace down the sidewalk on 10th street, heading north towards the Lovejoy Station Apartments. _Is he trying to catch a streetcar?_ "Hey! I'm talking to you!" Still no answer. And as if that wasn't enough, my phone went off. I answered without looking to see who it was. "Yeah!"

"Is everything alright?" It was Susan.

_Crap!_ "Yes. I'm just peachy. Mr. KGB on the other hand has apparently flipped and is now walking off with my box."

"What?" She gasped.

"Never mind. What's up?"

"I thought maybe you were being mugged."

_What?_ Then I remembered and saw her standing on the corner on the next block over, in front of Starbucks. She waved. "Shit. Sorry. I'll be there as soon as I can. Don't worry. Everything's fine."

"Just as long as you're alright. Bye."

I looked up the street in time to see Koskov look back before turning the corner on Northrop. _Shit! What the hell is he doing?_ I went sprinting after him. My wedding ring hammered away at my sternum. It was making me rethink the chain idea. Plus, it looked like "Alien" was trying burst through my chest. "Whoa!" I turned the corner and almost tripped over him and the box. "Do you mind telling me what the _hell_ is the matter with you?"

He had his arms folded across his chest and was shaking his head. The box was at his feet. "You need to seriously start taking into consideration who might hear you in a public place before you talk about an ongoing investigation," he said.

_Ongoing investigation?_ "What? I'm not the police! Wait a minute! How the hell did you know the police were involved? I haven't told you anything yet."

He shook his head again. "I'm not talking about the local police, Lydia. Dementyev, I don't know, but the Blue Star." He nodded his head. "Yeah, I've heard of it."

_So maybe Dementyev's not his real name._ "Okay. Whose investigation are you talking about?" I folded my arms while I waited for him to answer. We were standing on the sidewalk, facing each other as if in a staring contest.

"This _Vasiliy_ Dementyev, what's he look like?"

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. _He hasn't changed. Still avoiding my questions._ "Okay... I'll play. He's around five foot seven, brown eyes, short, ash colored hair. He's a little pudgy, but not too overweight."

Before I finished describing his build, Kris was nodding. "Yeah. Yeah, okay, I think I know who you're talking about. He's only recently been popping up a couple of times here and there. He seemed a little inconspicuous at first, not too involved with anything, but lately I've been thinking he might be up to something."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a minute. Back up. Why would... Who...?"

He laughed at me. "Don't hurt yourself using those big words," he said. "Don't forget 'what' and 'where'." I believe that little smartass comment promotes him to _shithead_. "Listen. What I'm doing and how it involves your guy, isn't important. What is important is that you might have unknowingly cleared up a few things about him that could probably help the both of us."

_Christ! There he goes again, doing his 'X-Files/Mulder' thing._ "Oh really. And how's that? And _don't_ tell me you're not going to say how, but you'll tell me... something else!"

"I think he's making a move on something. I don't know why it involves you in particular, but it's something that gives him reason to need someone to start investigating the Blue Star mystery. Maybe that part is a diversion. I don't know, but whatever he's been up to, he's putting it into motion." Kris seemed to be thinking about something for moment. Then he turned his attention to the box. "So what's in the box? What does it have to do with the Blue Star?"

_If you didn't know, then why did you run off with it, you Idiot!_ "I told you! I wanted you to look through it and tell me if the translations are bullshit or not! God _damn_ it! What is your problem? Have you ever in your life, just _once_ in your life, have you ever listened to ANYONE before jumping the gun? I mean really! It's like you've got a screw loose or something!"

Nothing. No response. He just calmly stared at me and said, "The box? Are you going to tell me?"

"Aaaaaaaaagh!" I screamed. _I am so pissed! You ASSHOLE!_ I held my head in my hands for a moment, shook it and took a deep breath. _Just tell him Lydia. The sooner you do, the sooner you can get this is over with._ "They said it was their research on the validity of some papers they found that claims to reveal the hiding place of the Czar's Blue Star."

"Why would they bring it to you?" He shook his head. "I don't get it."

_Keep it together Lydia! Don't kill him. If you kill him they'll lock you up this time. Although I still might be able to get away with that self-defense plea again._ I put my hands on my hips and took a minute to take in my surroundings to calm myself before I actually did end up shooting him. "It's not the only reason they hired me," I said. "But it's part of it. Dementyev's brother, Kristyan, was murdered while attempting to find the Blue Star on his own. They want me to find out who killed him. That's what I'm doing, but in order to do that, I have to know..."

He started gesturing with his hand for me to stop and nodded his head. "Yeah, okay. Now I get it. In order to make it easier to find his murderer, you've got to know everything he was thinking leading up to it. You have to get in his head. I am familiar with how a murder investigation is conducted, you know."

Is there a word like 'shitasshole' in the dictionary?

"So what happened was they told you a story and you bought it. Something like, the Czar's Blue Star's been hidden in Portland all this time and they found some documents that prove it."

"Did you know the KGB has tunnels in Portland?"

"What?!" He laughed at me again. "Yeah. I use them all the time to visit Moscow. Cheaper than flying."

I'm starting to seriously think I don't need his help that badly. _Fuck it!_ I took my purse off my shoulder and tossed it in the box on top of everything else. Then I picked up the box and started to walk away.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Don't, Lydia. Come on. I'll help you." He held his arms out, wanting me to bring the box back, then he dropped one of them. "At least let me see an envelope."

Sometimes I find it hard to read him, but this time I'm almost certain he might've been a little apologetic about the way he'd been acting. I conceded and put the box down. "Here." I handed him the un-translated envelope.

He opened it and pulled everything out in one smooth movement with all the papers facing him. He held it all in one hand with the empty envelope in the very back. His hazel eyes quickly danced back and forth as he speed read through the first page, then did the same to the next page and the next. He continued until he was almost halfway through the stack in under a minute. Then he suddenly stopped and looked at me with a question on his lips. "What are they talking about?"

"You're asking me?"

"No I mean... where are the papers they're referring to? The ones behind the picture."

"Wow... It sounds like the translations might not be bullshit." I said it more to myself than to him. Then I remembered. He asked a question. "Oh." I started digging through the box before remembering those papers were the only things that weren't in the box. I retrieved them from my purse and tried to hand them to him. They were still folded into quarters and he looked at me until I got the picture. _He had only one free hand._ I unfolded them and held them up for him to see.

He ran his eyes through the first page and said, "Okay." Then I put the first sheet behind the others and he ran through the second. "Okay." I put the second sheet in the back and he ran through the third and final. "It's Grot! This might be legit!"

_Son of a bitch!_ "You believe me?"

"I never said I didn't believe you," he said. "I just didn't believe them. I thought their story about the Blue Star was bullshit." Then he started looking around as if he'd lost something. "I have to rethink this. I was thinking about this with the belief that he was lying about finding the Blue Star. Now I don't know." He put the stack of papers back in the envelope and handed them to me. "Here."

"You're not going to take the box again, are you?"

"No, I've seen enough. Plus, I think I proved their translations are accurate, haven't I?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I've already gone through some of what you've read." _Barely._ "I think it sounds like it's pretty much the same as the translated version."

"Good. That's good." He seemed almost distracted. "Wait a minute. You said the KGB has _tunnels_ , in _Portland_?"

"Well, they don't use them anymore, of course."

"Dementyev told you this?"

Now I'm getting worried. I don't like the way he looks, like I should be panicking, or something. "Y-yeah."

Then he said something I didn't understand. _I think he was speaking Russian._

"What did you say?" I asked.

"I think they might be Red Mafia."

"Is that bad? How did you guess that?"

"Wait a minute! You know they're Red Mafia?"

"Well he asked for Tom first."

"Oh, of course he asked for Tom! You need to change that ad in the phonebook Lydia."

"Hey! He seemed to know him!"

"Of course he did. Otherwise he wouldn't have been very good at convincing you!"

"Shit!" _Can he be right? No Lydia. Trust your instincts. He's wrong!_ "No. I gotta trust my instincts. I don't think he was lying. I'm sure he knew Tom."

Kris was about to argue, but decided against it. I must have had a look, or stance, or _something_ , that made him realize he shouldn't fight me on this. _I have to trust my instincts._ "You're right," he said.

_Huh?_ Alert the presses! Kris Koskov said I was right!

"If you can't trust your instincts, you may as well hand in your license. I just hope your instincts aren't failing you this time. Though I have to tell you, I really think you're stretching your faith a little too far this time. This whole thing really stinks of bullshit."

"Yeah, but Kris... that's just it. It really does stink. And you said it yourself, if he didn't make me believe he knew Tom, he wouldn't have been that good. And to you and me, to tell you the truth, he really wasn't that good. That's why I believe it might be possible that he knew him."

That seemed to dissuade him. His whole attitude changed. Half a smile showed and he started nodding his head. "Okay." Then he became the first person I made smile today. "I have to be honest Lydia. I was worried about you before. I thought you'd have some trouble getting back to work without Tom, but now you've reassured me. You really are back, maybe even better than before. Hell hath no fury is what you used to say, right? The world shudders at the news."

"Hey, that's what I said!" Almost.

# Chapter Twelve

Bonding

It was a good thing Fenouil had closed. If the scene we made at Sinju happened there, I still would've had to look for some other place to get my pomme frites. Kris had to go, but he assured me he would call if he came across anything relating to either Dementyev or the Blue Star.

My box and I went to the Starbucks on the corner where Susan was waiting. I sat the box in the decorative wrought iron chair next to mine. Ever the nicest of best friends, she had my grande Mocha sitting at the table waiting for me. After I explained what happened, she started acting strange again and continued with her insistence that there was chemistry between Kris and I.

"What did I tell you? I told you there was something there." she exclaimed.

"Oh please. No way! We would kill each other, if I didn't kill him first." I said. "I almost did." I watched her attempt to slurp the dregs of her Latte. She giggled and almost spilled a few drops on her blouse. I shook my head and laughed. _She's acting like a schoolgirl._ "I'm glad you find my life so entertaining."

She laughed and giggled some more. "Oh come on. You know he cares about you. Why don't you go for it?"

"What? No he doesn't! He barely thinks I'm any good at being a P.I."

She shook her head. "No, no, no. He said he was worried about you. _Wor-ried!_ "

"Only on a professional level. You know, like one private eye to another?"

She continued to shake her head. "I don't care what you say. There's no point in denying it. He likes you."

"Oh, is this high school? Are we going to start passing notes in class?" _Oops._ I deflated her. She completely lost her bubbly mood. "I'm sorry Susan. I didn't mean it that way. I shouldn't have said that. I know you're just happy that I'm my old self again." That was it. That did it. She proceeded to blast me with both barrels.

She slammed her cup down on the table. "Yes Lydia! Yes I am! I'm _very_ happy! I'm sorry, I have to tell you this, but I think it's about time you finally came out of that funk you've been in! I know! I know! Tom _died_! But God damn it, Lydia, _you're_ alive. I've always thought you should've been trying harder to move on and continue living your life while you have it. You _really_ have no idea how happy I am that you're finally back to being yourself again. You know, you're not the _only_ one who's feeling better now. What I mean is... you were getting me down so bad that I felt like I was getting just as depressed as you were. You know what I mean?" Just before she was finished saying that last sentence, a tear ran down the side of her face and she wiped it away.

_My God. I had no idea._ "Oh my God. I'm so sorry Susan." I felt a tear run down my right cheek. I wiped it away just as another ran down my other cheek. "Oh great. Just look at us. Aren't we the perfect picture of happiness." We both laughed. Fortunately, our table was outside and around the corner away from prying eyes of strangers. I went for my purse to get a tissue, but Susan was faster. She handed me a handful. "Thanks." I picked out one and left the rest on the table. "Susan, I feel so rotten. I'm sorry I never thought about you and how my depression was affecting you. I... I can't believe how selfish I'd been."

She was having trouble with her tissues. She started crying again before she could wipe away the tears she'd already shed. She attempted to smile and started laughing. "Geez, you'd think I was the one who lost the husband." She looked horrified almost as soon as she said it. "Oh no! Oh God, Lydia. I didn't...."

"It's alright, silly. I'm fine. I know what you meant." I laughed at her. Even though I was a little bothered that she thought she might've upset me, I still felt happy. "Really. I'm fine. I really am fine." I felt a smile on my face. It felt so good I didn't care how goofy it looked, if it did at all. I felt as though I was beaming.

"I'm so sorry Liddy. I guess I could have spilled my guts to you a little better or maybe a little less harsh."

"It's all right. I'm fine. I understand. _I'm_ the one who should be apologizing."

"We still friends?"

"Best friends."

I thought Susan was about to cry for a third time. Instead, she shook her head and started smiling as much as I thought I was. We reached across our tiny green espresso table to hug each other while somehow managing to avoid knocking over our coffee cups.

"Well," I said. "Getting back to the 'Kris' thing." I wiped a finger across a teary eyelid. "Truth is you might be right. I guess I might have felt something between us. I suppose." Of course, it was a lie. I felt bad for ruining her good mood, so I thought I'd throw her a fake bone to cheer her up again. It worked. She started nodding her head.

"Aha, I thought so," she said. "It's what the experts say. The best relationships start with someone you hate."

_Ohhhhh! That's what this is about!_ I put a palm to my forehead and shook my head. _God, I feel like I've finally found the answer to the meaning of life._ It's times like this that makes me glad that Susan's my best friend. There's never a dull moment with her.

"So anyway, how's Teresa?" I asked. "Have you two talked?" Even though I was itching to talk about the case, I felt I should probably start making up for my selfish behavior by letting her go first.

She picked up her empty cup, shook it, and put it down. "Yes," she said. Then she sighed, probably because she'd rather talk about the possibility of Kris and me getting together. "After I got off the phone with you, I made her breakfast and she was the one who talked first." She paused to fiddle with her empty cup again, possibly wishing it weren't. "She said she was sorry for running off last night without giving me any explanation. She said she picked up the habit of doing that after a few months of living in the dorm."

I nodded. "Of course. I remember. I think I may have been guilty of doing it myself, once or twice."

Susan, my former dorm-mate, nodded in agreement. "I know," she said. "Anyway. She said she felt bad about it while she was out with her friends, who, by the way, have now apparently become 'losers'." She laughed. I smiled. "So she came home early around 11:15 and thought I'd gone to bed already. I did, but I wasn't asleep."

"Uh-huh." I could've guessed.

"After she said that, I decided to toss the breakfast...it was only cereal anyway... and we went out for breakfast, down at that café. You know. The one on A Street?"

"Oh yeah. It's been a while since you and I have been there."

"Yeah. Teresa and I had a great time. We sat there for hours and talked. She told me a few stories about her dorm life. Apparently, things haven't changed much in twenty years. I didn't tell her that, of course." She smiled. I laughed. "I felt like I was getting a new friend, Liddy." She started tearing up again.

This time it was my turn to be faster with the tissues. "I'm so happy for you. You guys bonded." I smiled and almost started crying myself. "That's great, Susan! See. I told you it was nothing. It was those losers." Susan laughed. "So, why didn't you bring her with you?"

"Oh, she wanted to go take a drive around by herself. She's probably visiting friends who might not be losers."

"What? She doesn't think her Aunt Lydia's cool anymore?"

Susan pretended to hit my hand. "She'll stop by to see you," she said. Then she turned away, as if in a thought somewhere. "Maybe you'll be right about Stace as well." She smiled.

"Maybe," I said.

"So, Tell me what's happening with your case. Was 'Mr. KGB' a big help?" She giggled and quickly remembered her coffee cup was empty after trying once more to drink from it.

I was happy she asked me instead of letting me risk sounding like I was thinking only of myself. _Okay, enough about me, let's talk about me._ I sat up in my chair and got a little more comfortable. "Well, as a matter of fact, he was."

"So tell me again. Why was he running off with your box before? What was that about?" She tried her empty cup again.

"I'll tell you only if you do something for me first." I grabbed my wallet from my purse.

"What's that?" she asked.

I handed her a five-dollar bill. "For God sakes, go get yourself another Latte."

My mind went immediately back on the case while she was gone. I tried to think about what else Kris could help me with, especially since I fooled him into thinking I might actually know what I'm doing. Sometimes I wonder. A lot of the cases I've had seem so damn simple that I find myself questioning whether or not I'm solving them because I know what I'm doing, or because I'm just lucky that way. Half the time I find it hard to believe I know anything at all about being a private investigator. Sometimes it seems like I'm some kind of savant. A difficult problem comes up and I rattle off some procedure in my head like it's nothing. I swallowed the last drops of my Mocha and wished I...

"Here you go." Susan popped up from around the corner and sat a cup in front of me.

"Marry me," I said.

She laughed. "I'm not sure the competition would approve. Speaking of which." She returned to her seat. "Spill."

I sighed. "Alright." I drank my Mocha as if I just came from the Sahara. _I'm starting to think they put something in their drinks._ I sighed again.

"Quit stalling."

"I wasn't stalling."

She gave me a stern look, reminding me she knew better.

"Alright." I cleared my throat. "I don't know why he took off with my box. He never got around to saying. I think it might have something to do with my lack of adhering to the rule about my client's confidentiality."

Susan looked at me as if she were astonished by that accusation. _You? Miss Tight-lip?_ "Well what did he expect?" she said. "You told him you needed his help. If he knew you were meeting with him to talk about the case you're working on, why didn't he pick a more secluded spot?" She smiled.

I saw right through her. I almost started argue with her about trying to insist on the chemistry thing again, but stopped short. I found myself starting to question his choice of where to meet as well. "Wait a minute."

"Uh-huh. Uhhhh-huuhhhh." Susan raised her eyebrows and nodded her head. "Seeee?"

"Nooooo. No way." I shook my head.

"Alright. Let me ask you this then. How were those pomme frites?"

What?

"Maybe you should close your mouth before you catch a fly, Miss Detective," Susan said, then took another sip of her latte.

What?!

# Chapter Thirteen

Diggin' In!

_"From the tunnel entrance, walk ten paces,"_ was what the instructions said, according to their translated edition that is. Since Kris confirmed they were accurate and Dementyev didn't appear to be deceiving me, _at least not with the translations_ , I moved the box's chair closer to me and started picking through it. My curiosity got the better of me, causing me to forget my start from the front rule, and I'd gone straight for the translation of the letter.

Susan left about ten minutes ago, saying Stacey would be home from school soon. She said she was feeling guilty about spending more time with Teresa than her and thought she would take Stacey shopping, or something. I was distracted at the time. I think I wished her luck, or at least said good-bye. I know it was good _something_.

_"The entrance tunnel terminates with another tunnel running perpendicular to it,"_ it continued. _"Turn right into that tunnel, three paces takes you to a narrow tunnel running diagonally. Continue with twenty-one paces. At this point, you should see a service tunnel on your left. Enter and take seven paces. Again, on your left is a wall of wooden planks. The fifth one from the bottom is loose. This is where I've hidden the sapphire. It will be inside a wooden cigar box, wrapped inside a towel from my hotel room."_

I had to stop reading. Temptation was knocking and I was thinking a lot about going down there to see this for myself. _It's just down the street Lydia. Just down the street. I can't. Well ... I do have to check out the crime scene. But the Lieutenant's men have bagged and tagged everything by now. So what? I still have to check it out._ I checked the time, _1:42_. I shoved the papers back in the box, picked up the box and went back to the Solstice. _To the Batmobile!_

It just so happened, I was parked just a few blocks away from where the alley was and it only took me about a minute to get there. I circled a block close to where I needed to start looking until I found a parking spot. I grabbed the papers from the box and left the box with my purse locked in the car with the top up. Naturally, the page that told me where to find this alley ended up behind some other pages. I had to shuffle them until I found it again. Since I was already in the Pearl District, I skipped over the part where I had to walk from the hotel (Pioneer Courthouse Square).

"... north on 9th until you come to Glisan St., turn left facing west. Continue west until you're standing halfway between 10th and 11th. On your left is an alley between a four story brownstone building and a two story shop. On the side of the brownstone, near the end of the alley, is the door to the tunnel entrance."

I took a quick look around and found my guess-timation to be almost on the money. I was standing just a block away from the alley. I walked at a fast pace down 12th and turned east down Glisan. I was there in seconds. _Whoa! I think if I were Kristyan, I would've checked out some other alleys before assuming this was the place._ There was some marble looking thing of a building standing tall and close to the poor little brownstone. The marble building was so tall that it was giving off an optical illusion making the alley seem like a tight squeeze. Stretching across the alleyway was an 'X' made of bright yellow police tape. _Handy work of the Lieutenant's men._ No one was around, so I ducked under the crime scene tape, walked through the opened door and... that was as far as I got. I had to stop dead in my tracks. I couldn't go any further. _Hey Lydia. Um, remember that 'stupid' problem you had yesterday? Yeah, uh... didn't you say you were putting a stop to it? Shit!_ To say I couldn't see would be an understatement. To be more accurate, I couldn't see a _damn_ thing. In my haste to check out the scene of the crime, I didn't stop to consider that I might not have everything I needed. Most importantly, I didn't have a flashlight on me, or in the car. _That would be the 'not getting the hang of things' issue I was talking about before._ I felt stupid, especially after I tried squinting my eyes to see better. _Idiot!_ I stepped back into alley and started thinking about where I could get a flashlight around here. Then I remembered seeing a RiteAid somewhere earlier. _I think it was just around the corner on 10th. I remember passing it on the way to meet Kris. I still don't believe he picked that restaurant because he knew I liked their pomme frites._ Knowing him, he probably chose it because it was more convenient for him.

I came back to alley with my brand new, bright yellow Eveready flashlight. I got my little Swiss Army pocketknife out and freed the flashlight from its plastic prison, put the batteries it inside and switched it on. I walked back through the open doorway and did a quick sweep of the area with my new beam of light to get an idea of what's what. I discovered I was standing on the landing of a set of rickety old stairs. The middle step was busted, but the rest of it was held up by a support beam beneath it. Below me to my right was the tunnel entrance. The building's brick motif continued into this small little basement. All four walls were brick, but cleaner looking than the ones outside. In front of the tunnel and spread about the basement floor, were little paper numbered evidence cards left behind by the police. In the middle of their little cards was some disturbed dirt with a big dark stain dominating the scene. _Yuck!_ I slowly walked down the steps. I felt unsure about getting a little too close to the source of that metallic smell hanging heavy in the air. Before I reached bottom, I started looking at the footprints and mentally kicked myself again for being so unprepared. _Hello! Camera? Dumb-ass. Damn it! Oh well, I guess I'll have to get it later._ I stood on the last step, knelt down and held the flashlight at an angle that was almost parallel to the ground to get a better look at all the footprints. Most of them were standard police issue, except for the ones leading to the middle of that stain. _Gulp._ I swept the area a couple more times just to be certain. _Wait... go back!_ Not far from where I was crouching, I could see something. It was near the tunnel entrance. I held on to the railing and leaned in closer to my find. I double-checked the ground in between as I moved the beam of light back towards it. Mixed in with a tight grouping of higher dirt mounds was what looked like a smaller set of prints leading into the tunnel. They didn't look like the same ones that belonged to the murder victim. The dirt appeared to be a little thicker there so I wouldn't be surprised if the police had totally missed them. Even though I knew they already disturbed the ground with investigators trouncing through it, I still didn't want to risk disturbing any evidence that may have been left behind by participants of the crime. Not until I had a chance to take pictures. But, I still needed to get closer to check out those footprints. Since people don't usually walk along the outside of a room, I thought it was a good idea to go that way. I stayed in my crouched position, still checking for more prints, or evidence, as I went. When I reached the tunnel, I stood and followed the footprints with my flashlight. They went all the way down to where I thought I could see the end of the tunnel. _Okay, nobody move. I have to get my camera._ Since the police had no idea what Kristyan was doing down here, that meant this clue was all mine. They had no reason to suspect footprints heading into the tunnel. If they saw them, they probably would've just thought they belonged to someone who might know what happened. This meant I caught a break. Even though the police were here before me and I thought they'd made off with all the clues, my coming down here turned out to be an even better idea than I thought. I ran back up the stairs to get my camera.

Once I emerged through doorway, I was immediately assaulted by blinding sunlight. My eyes stung so badly I couldn't open them at all, they hurt too much. _Christ, I hope I'll be dropping this 'not thinking' habit real soon. It's really starting to get old. First, it's too dark, now it's too bright. I think I prefer it being too dark._

# Chapter Fourteen

Earning My Living

I got my digital camera out of my glove box. I saw it there yesterday when I was searching for some music, but it'd been over a year since I'd used it. So naturally, before I could take any pictures I had to make another trip to RiteAid. Of course, the clerk just had to make some comment about how I wasn't getting enough of him, blah, blah, blah. _In your dreams buddy._ Luckily, my flashlight had a pivoting head and I was able to angle it in a way that allowed me to create shadows inside the footprints without having to hold it. The flash on my camera automatically went off on the first two shots before I realized it and switched it to manual. Having it on manual meant I had to hold the camera steady until it had the picture, which wasn't too much of a problem for me. One of the benefits of target practice is that it teaches you how to regulate your breathing. That comes in handy at times like this when I need to keep still. Once I was finished with getting shots of the footprints, I had another look around and decided there was nothing more I could do. I switched my camera back to auto and started paparazzing the whole area. Just in case there was something else here I might've missed.

I was down in the dark much longer this time. So when I stepped out into the daylight, I had to wait a little longer until my eyes adjusted. I couldn't shade my eyes, because my camera was in my left hand and the flashlight was in my right. I had to hold my eyes shut with my back to the sun.

While I stood there, I thought about what must've gone through Kristyan's mind when he found this place. I squinched my eyes open a little and faced the doorway. I was pretending I was Kristyan and thought about what he might've thought when came to this point. That's when I noticed some dirty metal thingy sticking out of the wall and bent at an angle. My quick reflexes reacted and snapped a couple of pictures. My eyes were getting to the point where the light wasn't bothering them as much and I stepped closer to the thing on the wall to get a better look. _I think this was a hasp!_ I whipped my head around to look for the lock, with my camera at the ready. It was lucky for me I was there this late in the afternoon. Even though the pavement was covered with dirt, garbage, and old bits of leaves, I could see something reflecting sunlight near the end of the alley.

I took a look around at the ground where I was standing, in case there was something I might kick away, or step on, before going over to get better look. That's when I saw something in the pavement under the spot where the padlock would've been hanging. _I snapped a photo._ I crouched down to get a closer look. It was a tiny divot that was recently made. _I snapped another shot._ I moved closer and saw a small little scrape line where something metallic was pushed aside. I tried to get a shot of it, but my camera was full. _Crap! I still needed to get a shot of that thing near the end of the alley._ Apparently, there was padlock on the ground, but the police took it for evidence.

I took another look around, but didn't see anything else. I walked over to where I saw that shiny thing earlier and couldn't believe my luck. It was the padlock's shackle! It must have been a really old lock, because the shackle was flat and not round'ish like you'd expect. The fact that I saw anything shining on the ground at all was a mystery, because the shackle was completely rusted. _I must've been standing at the right spot for me to see the light reflecting off it._ I think if I were a religious person, I'm certain I would've thought this were some divine intervention happening here.

I picked up my little find and had a good look at it. One of the things you have to do to have an Oregon Private Investigator's license is to take classes that have to do with investigating. Since one of the classes I took was Material Forensics, it was obvious to me that a pair of bolt cutters was used on the shackle and a small pair at that. _So he_ did _have tools._ The cut had a tale-tale ridge in the middle where the metal was forced together by a scissoring motion. The size and shape of the ridge was slightly radiated in a way that suggested the size of the tool was a little smaller than your average, common, everyday bolt cutter. _How's that for a blonde?_ Just for a tiny fraction of a second, the thought about handing it over to the police popped into my head. Just a fraction. After the way the Lieutenant talked to me yesterday, I believe they can go fuck themselves. I shoved the shackle in my front pocket.

I stood there for a minute and thought about everything I found so far. _The footprints, the evidence of a lock being cut. That door looks pretty old. He probably had to pry it open just a bit._ I examined the edge of the door, but couldn't find any evidence of it having been pried on. _Hmm, that's strange._ I wanted to be thorough, so I ran my fingers lightly along the edges, careful not to get a splinter. _Nothing. That's weird. He must've yanked on the door handle._ I started playing the scene over in my head, in case there might be something else I should check out.

_Okay, we have a very old door with a very old hasp, which I think, judging by the shackle, probably had a very old lock hanging from it. I found the shackle at the other end of the alley, meaning he had to have tossed it._ I stood in front of the door, pretending to be Kristyan again. I thought about everything he might have done leading up to how he tossed the shackle. _Okay, I've got my bolt cutter out, I'm cutting the lock._ Then a thought hit me. _That divot! The lock would have to have landed hard to make a dent like that in the pavement, which would've been loud enough to be heard by someone._ I set my camera and flashlight down on the pavement and clapped my hands to test my theory. The result was a loud resonating echo. _Someone had to have heard that._

The marble building didn't have windows, so I looked at the windows on the buildings across the street. A lot of them were closed, but three were open. One of the windows had curtains covering it, the other two only partially. I made a mental note to keep checking them sporadically, in case someone was watching me now. It's possible that's the same person who would've saw something. I know it sounds like a bit of a stretch, but I've found that trick to work more times than you might think. I went back to my game of pretend and wondered if Kristyan would've done anything else before tossing the shackle. _I think he would've probably been concerned about being heard at this point, and checked to see if anyone did._ It was then that I did my first quick sporadic check. I cut my eyes in that direction and was rewarded with catching some movement. _The building on the right, fourth floor and third from the left._ I saw a curtain move, but it was too quick. I'll have to do another... _check!_ I quickly cut my eyes again. _That time I saw part of a face. There's definitely someone watching me. I think I have my witness!_ At this stage in the game, a witness was more important than a crime scene. I didn't want to spook them, so I started giving off a body language that said I was packing it in and about to leave. I made a point of not look anywhere near my "witness". I picked up my camera and flashlight, gave the alley one last look around just for show and casually walked out of the alley. I ducked under the crime scene tape and continued on across the street, acting as if I didn't see anyone.

I shoved my camera into a front pocket and entered their building's tiny lobby. Like a seasoned spy from some espionage movie, I immediately rang all the door buzzers next to nametags with two fingers running straight down, two columns at a time. As usual, I was rewarded by that never failing trick with some suicidal fool buzzing me in. I ran up the stairs to the fourth floor, walked down the hall to where I thought my witness was and knocked. Almost a full minute had gone by before I got a response. I could hear the clicking of the deadbolt slowly turning, then the doorknob was next. The door opened as far the chain would let it.

"Yes," said a sweet old frail voice. "Who is it?"

# Chapter Fifteen

A Witness!

I could see a corner of someone's gray plastic eyeglass frames peeking out from behind the door. Somewhere further beyond the door I heard a TV trying to sell me a "WackChop" or something. Since I heard the person behind the door ask me what I wanted, I assumed they could hear me as well. "Hi. My name's Lydia. I'm a Private Detective," I said. "I was in the alley across the street just a minute ago. I don't know if you saw me, but I was down there because I'm investigating an incident that occurred there last Saturday. I was wondering if anyone in this building saw anything. Do you mind if I come in and talk about it with you in private?"

The eyeglasses moved further into view, revealing two thick lenses with the owner's face behind them. Meanwhile the TV informed me it couldn't wait all day. The eyeglass' owner looked as though she was on the seventy's side of mid-sixties with snow-white hair down to her hips. A flamingo pink sweater draped her small five-foot frame, which was also wearing an oversized T-shirt, gray sweatpants and pink bunny slippers. Her blue eyes took their time to inspect me as I awaited her answer. Which was, "What are you sellin'?"

I was laughing on the inside. I repeated myself, a little slower and more abbreviated this time "My name is Lydia. I was wondering if you saw what happened across the street Saturday morning."

"Saturday morning?" she said. She stared at the floor while she thought about it. Then she seemed to be recalling something. She brought the index finger of her right hand to her lips and tapped them a couple of times. "I think I saw the police over there. Is that what you're talking about?"

My heart sank. I knew if this were my only witness I'd be in trouble down the road. A prosecution lawyer could take her credibility as a reliable witness and tear it to shreds. I know my line of work doesn't require me to worry too much about something like that too often, but it's always good to think about, just in case. I wanted to tell her I was sorry to bother her and to have a good day, but I figured I might as well find out what I can anyway. "I'm sorry, but no that was yesterday. What I was asking about happened three days ago."

At that point, her neighbor's door popped opened and a young man in his mid-twenties poked his head out. "Are you talking about that guy that was killed Saturday?" He asked.

I smiled, turned to the old woman and politely said, "Sorry to have bothered you. Have a good day."

Quinton Davis, my witness, was the one I'd seen peeking out the window earlier. Apparently, I got it wrong on the first try. Mrs. Miller, his neighbor, lived on the side of the building that faced away from the crime scene. She had one little bathroom window on the corner, but the second and third from the end were Quinton's.

As I said before, he was in his mid-twenties with short brown hair that had been well trimmed and neatly combed. _I think he also might've had a little mousse in it._ He was sitting at the end of an old beat-up brown leather couch covered by a yellow fabric with little flowers all over it and a tassel fringe. He wore a white short-sleeved T-shirt and his arms were crossed over his chest. His legs, covered by a pair of Levi's, were crossed as well with his left ankle resting on his right knee and black Converses on his feet. I clearly remember that part about the right knee because about every two seconds he nervously jiggled his left foot.

"So you think you might have seen who killed him?" I asked. I was sitting across from him in an upholstered lime green armchair. I still had my yellow flashlight in my hand with my camera uncomfortably digging into my hip. Between us was a cheap little coffee table that had seen far better days and his small cathode TV in the corner wasn't selling anything.

"Yeah," he repeated, followed by another nervous foot jiggle. "Like I said, I heard the police were here asking people if they saw anything, but I was at work and didn't get a chance to talk to them."

"Why didn't you call them?"

"Well I didn't think I had to. I thought they'd be back to talk to people who weren't home. I thought if I called, I'd end up talking to someone who wasn't working with the guys who were here. And I'd end up having to repeat myself to them."

_Okay, I guess that makes sense, maybe. Though I'm pretty certain it would be the same detectives._ "What time was it when you saw this person?"

He turned his head toward the window to think about it. His brown eyes stared at the afternoon sun's soft reflection off the marble building across the street. Then his left foot did another jiggle just before he gave me an answer. "It was about... five, maybe seven after six in the morning. I remember because I was looking at the clock wondering who'd be making all that racket that time of the morning on a Saturday. But by the time I got to window to see who it was, there wasn't anyone there. I kept watching in case they came out of wherever it was they went. That's when I saw him."

"And you're sure it was a him?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure."

_Pretty sure?_ That wasn't good enough for me, but I didn't want to push it. We're in his studio apartment, not a courtroom. "Where did he come from?"

"It'd be better if I showed you."

We stood up and he led the way to the window. He stepped aside a little to give me room to see what he saw. "I saw him come up Glisan from 9th St," he said, pointing at the street and tracing the path the killer had taken with his finger. "He stopped when he got to the alley. Then he looked around, walked over to that door and just stood there. Just before he went in, I thought I saw something in his hand."

_The crowbar._ "Could you see what it was?"

He turned his head to look the alley as he thought about it. "I really couldn't see it too well. It seemed like whatever it was, was long and slender, like a... a cane or a stick maybe?" He shook his head. "It was dark colored. I know that much."

I was tempted to ask if he thought it was a crowbar, but I knew if I did, the only thing that would accomplish would be just to put that thought in his head. "Could you describe him?" I mentally kicked myself for not bringing something to take notes with.

"He was dark."

"Dark?"

"Uh... yeah. He had a pair of black pants, black hoodie..."

"Did you see his face?"

Quinton shook his head no.

_Damn it!_ "How do you know it was a him?" I started feeling disgusted with my "witness". I was beginning to think I might be wasting my time.

"Because of the way he walked. You know, the way he carried himself."

_Okay, I can see that._ I think I know what he's talking about. I nodded and said, "Right, right. I know what you mean." After he explained what he meant, I felt better and maybe a little less doubtful about him. "Was he wearing gloves?"

"I don't think so. Though his hands did seem a little pale." He snapped his fingers, pointed one at me and said, "Maybe he was wearing surgical gloves."

I nodded and thought, _Ya think?!_ "Maybe," I said. "Was there anything else you saw? Did you see him come out?"

Quinton shook his head and said, "No. He was in there a long time. I got tired of waiting to see if he was coming back with anyone. You know, like maybe the guy who was making all the noise before." He shook his head one more time. "That's all I saw."

_Oh well. I guess it's better than nothing._ It's definitely more information than I had before. At least I know how many people there were now. "Okay, thanks. I'll call if I have any more questions for you." I would've given him my card, but dummy me fucked up again and left my purse safely locked away inside my car. I started to go, but suddenly realized I had to pee real bad. "Uh, could I use your bathroom?" _Damn Mochas._

# Chapter Sixteen

Traffic and Trafficking

Rush hour never seems to live up to its name and today just _had_ to be no exception. I was moving at a snail's pace down I-5 along with everyone else. Thankfully, I had the forethought to update my glove box's CD collection and was currently "boom booming" to _The Black Eyed Peas_. Even though I was still limited as to what I could do at this point, I felt good. I was heading home after having what I considered to be a very productive day. I wasn't going anywhere in a hurry at the moment, so my mind started to wonder.

_It's strange how everything worked out in my favor_ , I thought. _The place where Kris chose to meet, where I had coffee with Susan and where the alley was. They were all conveniently within close proximity of each other. Not that it was suspicious or anything. It's just interesting. I'm not so sure those footprints belonged to the person who killed Kristyan. Something tells me that's wrong. Probably because they're too small to belong to someone who would commit a murder like that. No, that's not it_ , I thought. _It's something more than that. Wait! I got it. Of course! It's their height! Someone with feet that small wouldn't have been tall enough to hit Kristyan on top of the head with a crowbar. I don't know how tall he was, but unless his was a midget, the killer couldn't have been that short. But then, we are talking about loose dirt here. It could also be that the footprints only look small because some displaced dirt fell back into the print._ After coming up with that possibility, I decided I shouldn't try coming up with any more theories until I had a chance to look at the pictures.

The line of cars I was sitting behind picked up speed, but just as I started to move my foot to the clutch, they slowed down again. _Crap! I hate this shit!_ Some people would argue this would be one of those situations where an automatic is a better choice, but I don't care. I still say they can have my manual when they pry the shifter from my cold dead fingers.

_I'm not really sure what else I can get..._ But before I could finish that thought, my phone began to vibrate. I checked the caller I.D. _Blocked ID._ "Hello?"

"Lydia, its Kris." _Kris? He must be calling from somewhere else._ "I got some more info on your guy."

"Dementyev?"

I could hear him blowing air out his nose and making a _'tsk'_ sound at his end. "Yes, Dementyev. I found out your client is trafficking Icons."

"Icons? What icons? Computer icons?" _What?_

It took so long for him to answer me that I forgot where I was. I had to lurch ahead and close the gap before some idiot tried to get in front of me. _Like that's gonna make a difference._

" _Rus-sian_ Icons!" he finally said. "It's illegal to export any over a hundred years old without a certificate."

"Whoa, whoa!" I said. "First of all, what the _hell_ is a _Russian_ Icon?"

"Yeah that's right. I guess you wouldn't know anything about them would you." _Asshole._ "It's religious art painted on wood. They're usually no bigger than 8 x 10. There are some that are bigger, but they're usually hanging in churches."

"And they're over a hundred years old?"

"Right. I'm not surprised. Icon trafficking always seems to be the preferred choice of crime for the Red Mafia. These guys hardly ever come up with anything original."

"So you're saying, usually if an Icon's been stolen, the culprits always turn out to be the Russian Mafia?"

"Well there've been stories about a few corrupt Ministry of Culture officials, but yeah. Usually if you have a crime involving an Icon, then your perp's going to be connected with the Red Mafia."

_Hunh. Maybe their being here really was a coincidence. Hold on a minute! Yesterday, the Lieutenant said that they didn't know what the Dementyevs were shipping!_ I smiled my "kick-ass-and-take-names" smile. _First the footprints, now this._ I believe that puts me one more step up on the police. "Thanks Kris. You just made my day even better."

"No problem," he said. "Anything else I come across I'll pass on to you. How's the case coming along?"

_Huh? How's the case coming along? What's going on?_ That's a bit out of character of him. "Well... I uh finally got around to checking out the crime scene. Found some footprints I might check out to see where they go. Found a witness, but not sure if I'd label him as good or not. Right now, I'm stuck in traffic, probably because some idiot stopped to check out some flower along the side of the road. You never know with these morons. Why do you ask?"

"Uh. Well, I... just. I'll keep in touch." Then he hung up.

_Giving me information about my client almost made me think better of him. Almost. Asking me how the case was going was a bit strange. Now I'm really starting to think Susan might be right about him. But I'm certain he'll find some way back to being an asshole again. Maybe. I don't know._ I stopped staring at my phone and put it away just as the traffic mysteriously decided it was time to start moving closer to the posted speed limit.

_For some reason, something about Icons was sounding strangely familiar to me._ Then from out of the blue, it came back to me. It was something Tom said. _Icons! Okay, wait a minute. I think he said something about them once. Though, for the life of me I can't remember exactly what it was. Apparently, I didn't know what_ he _was talking about either. Probably thought he was talking about computer icons, too. Maybe that was when he was working for Dementyev. He was always better at that confidentiality thing than I was. Still, it doesn't explain why they hired him. I really should go through his files one of these days._

I finally got back home and went no further than the kitchen table. I plopped my purse down in a chair and set my camera and new flashlight on the table beside my laptop. My laptop was still plugged in where I'd left it. I planned to do a few other things on it besides studying those pictures, but not before I did my daily check-in with Dementyev, minus the part where I know what he does for a living. Even though it confirmed he was a criminal, he was still my client. After I gave him my status report, I told him I needed to go through the pictures thoroughly before I was certain what I'd found. I assured him if I came to any conclusions or discovered something else, I would contact him immediately. He seemed satisfied with that, said goodbye and hung up.

I sat in front of my laptop, went online and did a search to find out all I could about Russian Icons on Google. It came up with 7,590,000 results. Most were galleries and historical websites, but there was one calling itself a store. I clicked on it and found what Kris had said was true. Though most of what they had were 6 x 7s and not 8 x 10s. Their prices ranged from $375 to $7,000. There was one icon that was a small 2 x 3 priced at $12,000. _Good God!_ Further searching revealed that they did indeed have 8 x 10s and others as big as 55 x 26. Their prices ranged from $500 to a whopping $135,000. _Holy Icons, Batman! Talk about a lucrative business. No wonder the Red Mafia is fond of trafficking them._ I went back to the website's home page and was surprised to find the mailing address was in Florida. Though, if I thought about it, I shouldn't be surprised. _Isn't Florida where a majority of the Mafia used to headquarter their operations?_ I thoroughly searched the website's only two pages and couldn't find any mention about it being illegal to ship Icons over a hundred years old. _Hmm, but how can that be? They can't be that stupid, can they?_ I clicked on Google's result for my favorite information site, Wikipedia. After scrolling down the page, I discovered under a section titled "Legalities" that what Kris had said was still true, "it is presently illegal to export any Icon that is over one hundred years in age without a certificate". _Hmm, maybe when you buy one from the people in Florida... hunh. I wonder if should tell someone about it. Nah, let an expert in that department handle it._ Which I'm sure would be soon. I mean all _I_ did was Google Russian icons. 'Course, I only just recently learned what a Russian icon was. For all I know, they might have certificates. Either that or what they're selling isn't over a hundred years old.

I thought I was up to speed on Icons as much as I thought I needed to be and plugged my camera into my laptop. After telling the _update elf_ to take a hike, I downloaded the pictures. I zoomed in and out of each one, searching from left to right and top to bottom. One of the pictures was a perfect shot of where Kristyan was killed. I zoomed closer to where the crowbar would have fallen if the killer _had_ in fact dropped it. After scouring the area, I found out I had a perfect shot of how hard it was to tell if someone dropped a crowbar anywhere. _Damn it!_ I clicked back to the thumbnails and found the pictures I took of the footprints. I discovered my thought about the footprints being bigger than they seemed might have been right. I could see where one had only been partially filled in. Using the flashlight as a reference confirmed there was definitely a slight difference in their size.

_Hmm... Now what, Lydia?_ The answer to that question came in the form of the garage entryway door come flying open and Scott yelling, "I'm home!" I was so focused on what I was doing I didn't hear him pull in. "What's for dinner?" He asked.

# Chapter Seventeen

I Start Cooking

_Oops!_ "Crap! Is it that late already?" I went to the fridge, acting as if I knew what I was doing. I'm not certain why, just thought I should.

"I was only kidding. I could fix..." Scott began.

"No! No, no! I got it." I didn't dare let him. I still felt guilty for being the reason he had to learn to cook so well. And after learning what I put Susan through, I thought it was time I started paying everyone back. I had one of the fridge's stainless steel doors open and found myself staring at nothing but deli meats, wrapped cheese slices, milk jugs, juice bottles and a variety of condiments. _Christ! When was the last time I actually cooked anything?_

"What's this?" I turned around and saw Scott scrolling through the pictures on my laptop. I tried to stop him before he saw too much, but the look on his face told me I was too late. He was turning green before my eyes. "Aw, gross! Is that what I think it is?"

Even though the damage was done, I still slapped laptop shut. "Scott! I thought you knew better!" _I can't believe he did that. Had I really been out of it long enough for him to forget he shouldn't be poking around my work?_ "Are you gonna be okay?"

He swallowed and nodded yes. Though I think he still wasn't sure just yet.

"Go wash your hands. I'll have dinner ready in few minutes. That's if you still want it." I smiled. He got the joke, but wasn't amused.

I found a couple of steaks and a frozen bag of fries in the freezer. I knew I should've thawed them out first, but I decided I didn't care. It sounded too good. A quick turn in the microwave will have to do. I sorted out how much of the fries I needed and decided which steaks I'll be cooking and had them lined up for a quick thaw in the microwave. The fries were first. While that was happening, I looked for something to cook everything in. Once I finally discovered where the pots and pans were living these days, it was time for the steaks to have their turn. While they took their thirty-three second ride on the microwave turntable, I put the fries in an oily pan and had them going. I figured thirty-three seconds was good. I didn't want the microwave to start cooking the blood and making that disgusting grey mish-mash in the middle before I had chance to get them in the pan. While I was waiting for the steaks in the microwave and time to turn the fries, I had a moment to think about some things.

One of the things I thought about was how Dementyev never really explained why he said his family was handling the matter, but hired me to do the investigation. _I'm pretty sure I'm not a member of his family. I know I wasn't adopted. I don't think I was. Nooo, Dad would've told me. I'm sure of it._ My thoughts were interrupted by microwave beeps, signaling the steaks' ride were over. _Yeah, I don't think Dad would've given me such a big trust fund if I was adopted, would he?_

"Wow, this looks great Mom." Scott said, though I knew he was being kind. He sat at his usual spot at the table after I called him for supper. It seemed like ages since I'd done that. It made me feel young again, but it also touched me with a bit of depression. _Back when I used to call him for supper, I'd expect Tom to follow him down the stairs. I still do. I probably should wait a little longer before doing that again._

"So how was work?" I asked. It was a disassociation technique. Something my therapist told me to do whenever moments like this happened. It's supposed to "rewrite" my mental software. For instance, in this case, I would normally ask Tom that question, or something similar, considering I'd already know what happened at work. Since asking him wasn't possible, I had to ask Scott. It's kind of a way of telling my brain to shut the fuck up and stop telling me to do something that's never going to happen. "Anything exciting happen today?"

His mouth was full when I asked. He gave me a look that I think I would have given myself.

I hadn't bothered to think how it would sound to him. I was more concerned about trying to get better. I shook my head and said, "Therapist." That was all he needed. He understood and acted as if I'd always asked him about his day.

"Oh, nothing much really," he answered. "Though there was one problem I had been having with some software fault tolerance... which isn't something you'd... never mind." He looked at his plate and started pushing some fries around with his fork. "Sorry, that's all I got."

"It's alright, Hon. You did great. You had me at 'nothing'." I smiled.

He cracked up at that. "That was a good one," he said. "How 'bout you? I know you're probably dying to tell me. Were those pictures I saw from the crime scene?"

I filled him in on the progress I made today, leaving out the part where found out what my client does for a living. Only because it had nothing to do with the case.

"Wow, you've been busy," he said. Then he put the piece of steak in his mouth and started chewing. "So what happens now."

"Well," I said, still trying figure that one out myself. "I guess I could go back to that apartment building to see if there was anyone else who saw anything or maybe not." I took a drink of my water. I was wishing everything would start clicking into place soon so I could get back into the hang of doing my job again. I feel as though I'm starting to run out of ideas. I thought if I found a witness, I would make some headway, but instead, after all I've found today, I still find myself thinking, _So what._ I don't know. _Maybe I should call in a couple of favors from a few cop connections. See what they've found. No, that won't help. I don't think that's the direction I need to go. Maybe if I think it all through again._

We ended up having our dinner in silence for the next few minutes and I took full advantage of it. I reviewed everything I've found out about this case from the moment Vasiliy ruined "Lydia time" to see if that would help me figure out my next move. _Let's see. The Dementyev's find the papers behind a framed photo of the Portland Hotel. Well, actually it was Carina who'd found it in the antique shop. Hmm, okay. His brother, Kristyan, goes off on his own without telling anyone and gets killed by our mystery man dressed in black._ I shuddered after realizing it sounded like the Grim Reaper was the killer, but with a crowbar instead of a scythe. _Two days later Vasiliy comes by my office wanting... Whoa, wait a minute. What did I just say? 'My' office? I think that's the first time I thought that without thinking twice about it._ Usually, I'd feel guilty after thinking it, but I didn't this time. It wasn't until recently that I felt less guilty for saying ' _my_ office' out loud. I almost feel like calling my therapist to tell her the good news. _Eh... maybe later. Okay, where was I? Oh right, 'my' office. Vasiliy stops by my office wanting me to find out who killed his brother and tells me what they were doing when his brother was murdered._ I still can't shake the temptation to look for that sapphire. _Well... I do still need to find out if the killer has it. Fuck it! I'm doing it. Tomorrow morning I'm getting together all the stuff I'll need and I'm going to find out where those footprints go._

"What?"

I was surprised. I couldn't guess why Scott would ask me that. I hadn't been saying a word. "What, what?" I said.

"You've got that look on your face. Like you're about to... I don't know... do something." He put a couple of fries in his mouth. Then he said, "That's what usually happens when you get that look."

"Is that right?" I didn't say anything more. I just nodded. _Big is right! Tomorrow morning I'm gonna find out if this Blue Star crap is bullshit or not!_

# Chapter Eighteen

I Go For It!

I woke up feeling pretty good. I felt energized and ready to go Blue Star hunting. Going by what I saw yesterday, it didn't look like anyone's been in those tunnels for about a hundred years. Which means, if I'm going to do this, I'm going to get dirty. It was unavoidable. So since how I looked didn't look like it was going to be a problem today, I got an old pair of baggy jeans from the back of the closet along with my faded orange Oregon State sweatshirt. _Go Beavs._

Even though having my wedding ring pounding my chest when I ran guaranteed my survival from a heart attack, I still wanted it around my neck. _Maybe if I shove it in my bra. Ouch! Nope._ The diamond scratched me. _I guess keeping it around my neck isn't an option._ I took it off the chain and tried putting it in my... _yeah, I could just imagine myself losing it in the wash forever._ I nixed that thought immediately. _Hmm. Looks like I've got no other choice._ I either put it back on my finger or back in the jewelry box. _Well... I did do pretty good without it on Monday._ I put it back in my jewelry box and slammed it shut before I changed my mind.

I didn't know what Tom had for tools, or where they'd even be for that matter, so I decided going to the local hardware store would be a better option. I thought I'd be in and out a lot quicker if I went there instead one of those "big box" stores. Especially since I realized the only thing I needed was a small crowbar.

In and out was right. After just a few minutes after it opened, I was back on the road and on my way to following those footprints. Playing Susan's Christmas present the other day put in the mood for listening to some decent _No Doubt_ music, so I had the top down and my _Tragic Kingdom_ CD cranked. The hardware store didn't open until nine, so I couldn't get on the road as early as planned. Though that might've been a good thing, otherwise, I would've had to put up with the rush hour traffic again. I'm sure it probably wouldn't have been as bad as yesterday. It's just a little too soon for me to risk finding out.

With no rush hour traffic to contend with, it only took twelve minutes for me to get back to the Pearl District. I turned onto Glisan and was happy to discover this time of day was also good for finding a parking spot in this part of town. Most of the buildings are condos and apartments, and a majority of the residences were at work. I parked the Solstice at a spot directly across the street from the alley. Then I grabbed my new crowbar and my old flashlight from home from the passenger seat and got out, leaving my purse locked inside and hidden under the seats. I thought the tunnels might get tight and having my purse with me would've made it hard to maneuver. I crossed the street and was surprised to see they'd already taken the crime scene tape down. Personally, I thought it was too soon to conclude that everything there was to find had been found, but that's the police for you. They're always trying to keep their caseloads down as much as possible. I think if this weren't a murder case, they wouldn't have bothered with the tape.

I walked into the alley and turned to look at the building across the street. I was curious to see if Quinton, my witness, was watching, but all his windows were dark and empty. The door to the tunnel was still wide open. So I walked right in with my New Balances crunching the dirt and doing another stress test on the boards of the old landing. Having finally started to feel a little like my old self again, I continued on without stopping, switched on my flashlight from home and was going down the steps without missing a beat. My beam of light found the footprints and also revealed that the crime scene tape wasn't the only thing they removed. The little paper evidence markers was gone as well, leaving the large dark coppery-smelling stain in the dirt the only thing left marking the spot where it happened.

With my little crowbar in my left hand and the translated copies tucked inside my back pocket, I walked into the tunnel and started following the footprints I'd found. They led between some rotting wooden bed frames and turned slightly as if pausing to look at one that had collapsed a long time ago. The footprints continued beyond the bed frames. I followed them, but I was starting to think I should follow them along with the instructions, just in case they did something else. After thinking it over, I decided that was probably a good idea. I walked back to the tunnel entrance, stuck the crowbar in my back pocket, got the copies from my other pocket and unfolded them. Then I took my little crowbar from my pocket and held it in my left hand, along with the copies, while continuing to hold my flashlight with my right. I started over again and discovered that following footprints while trying to count steps was a hard thing to do. I ended up having to make two attempts before getting coordinated. But it wasn't long before I'd gone the required ten steps and was standing in the tunnel that ran perpendicular. I turned right and I was facing the tunnel that ran diagonally. The footprints did the same. The air was cooler at this end and the earthy grave dirt smell was more pungent. Thankfully, it was overpowering the murder scene odor, but the dusty air was starting to make my throat scratchy and my nose run. I tried sticking the collar of my sweatshirt over my nose, but it wouldn't stay up.

The next set of steps I needed to do were only three. The diagonal tunnel looked very narrow and tight, as if it were the inside of a wall, which it probably was. That's when it finally hit me. _It was real. This is all real. It really happened. The original KGB_ had _been spying on us. And this is one of the tunnels Dementyev was talking about!_ The realization of it all made my head spin and the skin on my arms bristled with goosebumps. _Those beds were sleeping beds... for the agents assigned here! And I'm standing in the middle of one of their tunnels!_ I felt my heart pounding as I looked down at the copies in my hand. _I was right! This guy_ was _Okhrana! He was one of the original KGB agents! That's why he chose this place to hide the sapphire!_ I looked back at the beds and wondered if there was anything like _Property of KGB_ carved into the wood somewhere. I decided that would have to wait 'til I was done with following this trail. I didn't want to have to count those steps again.

I brought my flashlight's beam back to the footprints and continued with the instructions. Counting off only three steps didn't seem necessary, neither did the ten now that I think about it, so I just headed for the diagonal. I know that meant I could've gone back to check out the beds, but the truth is, I'd rather get this over with before I lose my nerve. I could see the diagonal tunnel was filthier than the first tunnel, and for some reason the thought of what Amy Lovejoy would say if she could see me now popped into my head.

Amy was a bitch I hadn't seen since my cotillion ball when I turned sixteen. She always had some smartass snide comment about what I wore, or how I looked. It was always something like, "Oh, isn't that last year's hairstyle?" or "Couldn't you find so-and-so's latest fashion to wear?" or some other shitty bitch thing. _I wonder what she's up to these days._ I smiled as I imagined her in some far worse situation. Like cleaning septic tanks, or sticking her hand up a cow's butt.

The footprints continued around the bend, almost as if their owner had been this way before. Even though that should be the case, it still looked like I had to clear away a lot of cobwebs before I reached the service tunnel. I didn't have a clear view of it like I did with the diagonal, so I had no choice but to count off twenty-one steps. I was relieved to find the diagonal tunnel to be more roomier than I'd imagined, but unfortunately, doing everything I had to do now was still going to be challenging. Not only did I have to keep track of how many steps I took while following my trail of footprints, I also had to try to shoulder my way through this narrow tunnel without getting cobwebs or spiders in my hair. I decided my best option was to hack away with the crowbar, like a machete hacking through a jungle, before taking each step. I started doing that while at the same time trying awfully hard not to smack myself in the head with the crowbar.

It got darker the further I went and having to rely solely on my flashlight to see made me feel visually impaired. After counting off four or five steps, I started hearing noises and an occasional conversation from the other side of the tunnel wall. I thought it seemed a bit macabre and eerie considering the reason this tunnel was built. _Wait... was that eleven steps or twelve. Who cares, it's only a difference of one step. I'm sure I'll figure it out when I get close to twenty-one. The sooner I get this over, the better._

After what seemed like an eternity, I finally reached my last step, but didn't see the service tunnel. Not at first, anyway. _Not surprised, considering how hard it is for me to see in here._ I did a third, somewhat awkward, "sweep" of my flashlight in this narrow space and finally saw what looked like a little gap behind me in the wall. _I guess it was twelve._ I backed up. As I did I tried to watch out for the footprints, but I lost them. Making certain I knew where they were in such close quarters without stepping on them had been really difficult. I mean, it was hard enough to see them when I first found them in the larger tunnel. _Where are they? I had them a minute ago._ The ground was covered with far more dust, dirt and sand than anywhere else. I was having such a difficult time trying to find them I started to suspect the reason might've been because they were rat tracks. _Oh. Eww. God damn it! That thing better be there!_ Since looking for those footprints was causing me to imagine bad things, I gave up and had a good look at the service tunnel.

It was thickly covered and full of everything you would imagine finding inside a very old wall. _There's no way in hell someone's been here._ A centuries worth of old cobwebs decorated with dirt and... some _other_ kind of debris blocked my path and filled the service tunnel completely. I really, really, really would rather _not_ touch any of it, but unfortunately I have to. Then I made the mistake of breathing a heavy sigh. I started coughing and hacking after almost choking on the thick dust in the air. My nose has had a river of mucous running through it the whole time, so after my coughing fit I had to take a moment to hawk up some of the phlegm. Unfortunately for some innocent unsuspecting person, I hadn't considered the possibility of the listening thing working both ways. Shortly after my coughing and hacking fit, I started hearing a commotion on the other side of the wall that sounded like someone had been scared shitless. _Sorry._

_Okay, here it goes._ Having done their job, I refolded the copies and stuck them back in my pocket. I closed my eyes for a moment and shook off my fear. _It's only seven steps, Lyddy, just seven steps._ Then I did my best to knock out a path with my crowbar, before counting out the instruction's last set of steps. It only seemed that all I could do with my crowbar at first was move the spot around where it entered the mess until I finally tore a hole in it. _Oh crap! This will NOT be fun!_ Unfortunately, if I wanted to find out if that _damn_ sapphire was still there, I had to do it.

After what seemed like an hour of crowbar hacking, I finally cleared out a way in big enough for me not to freak out too much and took my first reluctant step. _Ew, eww, ewwww! Onne_ , I counted. I learned just how much _NOT_ -fun this really was. There wasn't _any_ shoulder play in this tunnel at all. _Just do it. Just do it._ _Twoo. Ohhhhhhh, crap, crap, CRAP! Shit, shit, SHIT! Threee._ What my crowbar couldn't get, my body was picking up as it slid further in against the walls. _Oh, oh, OH! Nooo, noo! It's in my hair! It's in my hair! Shit, shit, SHIIIT! Foouur. Oh, God! Get it out, get it out, GET IT OUT! Damn it!_ Needless to say, I frantic at this point and was desperately trying to move my arms in this cramped space, trying to knock what I hoped were imaginary bugs off my head. _Yuck! Why does it have to be seven?! God, hurry up, Lyds. Come on Goddamn it, hurry up._ "Ugh... ! The hell with it! Fivesixseven!" I had given up on clearing a _wide_ opening and resorted to just frantically waving my crowbar and flashlight while counting the last three steps. "Pfftoo, pfft, pft, pft." _Ewwww. Oh God, I think something went in my mouth! Oh, yuck!_ "Ptoey." I would've hacked it up, but I was afraid I would inhale something else. _Eww._ "Shit, where the hell's that God damn plank?!" _Okay, there. One... two... three.. four, five. That's it!_ "Pft, ptoey." I had to knock some more crap out of the way before I stuck my crowbar in between plank six and five and started prying the latter loose. "Come on baby, come on. Come loose for mama." After having to go through all that... _crap_ , it was obvious the killer, for reasons I have yet to come up with, did not come this far. _Oh, it's starting to give!_ "Come on baby! Mama needs a shower!" _Yuck! Yes! Here it comes. It's starting to come.... loose!_ "Yes!" When I wiggled my fingers in the space I made between the planks, my crowbar flipped out of my hands and into the... _dirt_ on the ground. I decided it did its job and wasn't worth picking up. I had a good hold of the plank's loose end, but it was heavy. When the other end dropped, it yanked out of my hands, narrowly missing my toes. Not surprising, considering my flashlight was digging into my armpit. Inside the wall was more, _what a surprise_ , gross crap. It was surrounding something I could only describe as being a little furry ball of dirt stuffed into one end of the space previously covered by plank number five.

The instructions said he used a towel from his hotel room to wrap around the cigar box!

"Oh my God." None of it mattered to me anymore. It didn't matter that I probably swallowed a bug carcass. It didn't matter that there might be a small community of bugs in my hair now. It didn't matter that somewhere Amy Lovejoy is probably laughing her ass off. None of it mattered, because I just found... _The Blue Star of Russia!_ I grabbed the furry dirtball, apparently breaking up some bug conversation behind it and freeing it from its hiding place. I could feel the towel's thin texture through the caked-on layer of dirt. Then I felt something hard beneath it, something with corners! Without thinking twice about it, I kept it wrapped and got the hell out of there. "Pfft, pfftooa."

Not having to count or worry about getting things in my hair, I was able to move a lot quicker. Along the way, I tried to see where I lost the footprints and I felt something shift inside the box a couple of times when I took a step. I got more excited each time it did it.

Twenty-one steps go by a lot quicker when you're not counting them. When I emerged from the other end of the diagonal I was thankful for the "fresh" air of the wider tunnel. Before going any further, I tried to see where I went wrong in following the trail of the "killer". _Okay, there's the prints going toward the diagonal tunnel where they turn... no wait. They don't turn! What?_ I knelt closer to the ground to shine my flashlight at an angle to bring out the detail a little better. I was holding the towel-wrapped box like a football under my left arm and its contents shifted again. _Hmm, wait a minute. He didn't turn into the other tunnel. He walked off to the right where there's less dirt on the ground._ After I brought my flashlight down to see better, I saw the footprints went back the way they came, but on the other side of the tunnel. _There! Over there!_ There was an area where the dirt was looser causing a couple of the footprints to stand out better, confirming what I saw. _The footprints_ do _go back the way they came. Crap, if only I'd done a better job of following them, All this time I could've stopped looking for them. If I had known, I could've done a better job of clearing a way through all that spider shit. Speaking of which. Its time I got my filthy ass to a shower. Screw looking for initials in bed frames, I can do that some other time. I'm out of here!_

# Chapter Nineteen

Arrested!

I was driving down I-5 with the top down again, listening to Gwen sing about how she was "just a girl". Having the fresh Fall air blowing through my Halloween hair was making me feel better.

Once I had reached the alley, I ran for my car, unlocked it as fast I could and practically threw the Blue Star at my passenger seat. I yanked my purse from under the seat, got my brush and thoroughly ran it through my hair until my scalp felt raw and numb. Then, for good measure, I bent over, frantically raked my fingers through my hair and shook it 'til my head started spinning. But, after all that, it still felt dirty and icky. Unfortunately, I didn't have _anything_ to help me with that bad taste in my mouth. Not even a lost Tic-tac.

_I can't believe it! I actually have the Blue Star of Russia in my passenger seat!_ I made the mistake of glancing at it. Bad move. _Oh, God! I have a huge disgusting old ball of dirt on my clean leather passenger seat!_ My imagination made me believe there were bugs crawling all over it. _Eeewww._ I shuddered and fought the urge to toss that disgusting piece of crap out of my car. _Well... maybe if I just take off the towel and... Ooohhhh, no-no-no-no, I am not touching that thing! I think I'll try to ignore it for now._ My disgustingly messy passenger and the memory of how it got there made me want to check myself in the mirror, but I thought better of it. How I _thought_ I looked was probably way better than how I _really_ looked. To keep my imagination from taking over again, I tried to come up with something else to think about. Driving was one of them. _That might be a good idea, considering that's what I probably should be doing._ That's when I realized the traffic hadn't been too heavy and I was moving along nicely. _Wow, what time is it?_ I checked the dashboard clock. _11:57. Lunchtime._ However, the thought of food was not appealing to me. _Gee, I wonder why. Yuck!_ Not only that, but I'm pretty sure my appearance isn't even good enough to be seen at McDonalds. _Oh, don't look._ There was only one thing I wanted to do right now and that was take a nice long hot shower. _Maybe I should get a HazMat suit and a mile long pair of tongs to get that disgusting towel off the box._ _Don't look at it! You're driving. Keep your eyes on the road. Thaaatt's it... eyes on the road. Okay. Concentrating on driving clearly isn't helping. Maybe if I tried thinking about the case. Alright. Let's see. If that was really was a K... I mean,_ Okhrana _spy tunnel, then there might be some info on it in Dementyev's box._ Even though it didn't sound like it, that last thought _felt_ like the old me talking. It's like I'm getting closer and closer to being my old self and getting the hang of things again by the minute. _And my next act as 'The Old Me Again' is to stop talking about getting the hang of things. I'm getting tired of it._ Then without even trying, I thought of a way to get everything in Dememtyev's box systematically grouped and categorized _. I could probably learn about everything inside that box before Scott has dinner ready and on the table._ Thinking of that made me smile my kick-ass-and-take-names smile.

At the same moment I had my smile on, and he's going to be sorry he tried, this guy in a white Dodge pickup coming up fast behind me was attempting to cut me off. _Heh, heh, heh._ I did a double-clutch rev-shift maneuver that James Bond and Mario Andretti would've been proud of. The effect was similar to what it'd look like if the traffic suddenly yanked backward, while at the same time I revved high rpms in between second and fourth as I moved with surgical precision up, around and between the Dodge and the car ahead of me with just inches to spare. Just a little something I picked up in England. Though my audience wasn't impressed. They delivered their reviews of my performance via fingers and horns. Unfortunately, just as my fun was getting started, it had to end. The sign for my exit was up ahead.

I did my usual off-ramp routine. Foot off the gas, step on the clutch, stick in neutral and brake for the red light. Once again, I opted for Kruse Way instead of Kerr Parkway. But it wasn't just because I want to open that cigar box, I also had to take that shower. The red light became green and I turned along with a group of cars, but not as quickly as I would've liked. I didn't think ahead and hadn't considered the problem I'd be facing this time of day. This road harbored a few fast food chains and the lunchtime traffic was choking it. I had to wait for everyone to move out of my way while I sat in my filth awhile longer. While I waited, the smell of hamburgers happened to waft past my nose. It almost made me second-guess my decision about lunch. _They_ do _have a drive-thru._ Just as I was about to give in to temptation, one by one the long line of cars started moving out of my way.

The rest of my drive home found the traffic to be light and before I knew it, I was turning into my driveway. I pulled into the garage, shut off the engine and sat there for a moment, staring at the dirty mess in my passenger seat. _I really don't want to pick it up again. But I don't want it infesting my car with bugs either. Just do it._ Thinking of it like ripping off a BandAid was the best I could come up with. I slung my purse strap over my right shoulder, grabbed the dirtball and stuffed it under my left arm before I came to my senses. _Just... don't think about it._ I scooched my butt out of the car without bothering to shut the door. Then I opened the door to the house and didn't bother shutting it either. I walked at fast pace to the kitchen table. _WAIT a minute!_ I stopped myself in time when I realized the unsanitary thing I almost did and walked back to the garage. I placed my ugly souvenir on the floor by the entranceway while fighting the urge to dropkick it far from me and slammed the door shut. That's when I thought of something I wish I hadn't. _I only made sure there wasn't anything crawling in my hair!_ "Oh God!" I wiggled and frantically ran my hands all over my body, trying to get that disgusting crap off of me. "UhhHHuhh!" I dropped my purse on the floor and stripped on the spot in record time, leaving my clothes and shoes where they fell, and ran upstairs as fast as I could.

Its times like these that I am _so_ glad I have multiple showerheads with adjustable nozzles. I felt completely refreshed and sanitized after spending a long, _long_ , time in that lovely hot steamy shower.

_Ding-dong! Buzz!_ I was almost done toweling off when the doorbell sounded, followed by the intercom buzzer. _Who the hell is that?_ I grabbed a pair of sweatpants, sports bra, and a T-shirt and padded down the stairs while trying to put everything on. Its smooth wooden steps tickled the soles of my bare feet as they rubbed beneath them with each step. Then my ears were assaulted again when whoever-it-was started playing a concert between the doorbell and buzzer. _Buzzzz! Ding-dong! Buzz, buzzzzz! Ding-... dong!_ When I thought I was in earshot of whoever the hell it was, I yelled, "Just a MINUTE! Geez!" I stopped to check myself in the hallway mirror before opening the door, but wished I'd checked the security monitor instead. "Yes, what do want?"

She was someone I'd never seen before. I thought she might've been a Jehovah Witness, but I didn't think they were usually that rude. Her dark blue pantsuit was smart and almost casual, and the top two buttons of her white dress shirt were undone. Her blondish, or possibly brunette, hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail and held in place with a navy blue scrunchii. Her serious looking thin eyebrows above her dark blue eyes told me this wasn't a social call. She held up a shiny badge for me to see and said, "I'm Detective Gloria Schmitt". Then she put it back into its hiding place. "Are you Lydia Pendleton?"

Something was telling me I should say no, but I couldn't stop myself from saying, "Yes". I heard something from around the corner where my dining room bumps out past my front door. Standing in my driveway was another "detective" I didn't see before. _That's weird. Don't they usually introduce their partner?_ Since she hadn't bothered, I had to assume he was her partner. He looked more like a police detective than she did. He was wearing a casual gray suit with a loosened blue pinstriped tie and a white dress shirt. That's when I noticed they both were wearing the same black dress shoes. I was thinking of asking her where she got them, but, because of what happened next, I never got the chance.

"Turn around and place your hands behind your back, please," she said. She produced a pair of handcuffs from out of nowhere.

_What?!_ For a count of two heartbeats, I just stood there dumbfounded. Just as I was about to do what she asked, she had me flipped around before I knew what was happening. A cuff was painfully ratcheted tightly around my right wrist and my left was being pulled around behind me into the other.

"I'm placing you under arrest for the murder of Quinton Davis."

Quinton?! What the hell happened to Quinton?

"... anything you say can be held against you..."

My God! Why would someone kill him?

"... if you cannot afford an attorney one will be..."

It couldn't have been because of what he saw. Who would've known?

"Do you understand the rights which just explained to you?"

I nodded. I was dazed by what was happening and stunned by the news of Quinton's murder. I felt my head being forced down into the backseat of their shiny new black Buick and heard the slap of a backdoor with no handles being shut beside me. _But why? Why did someone kill him?_ I looked out the window and saw we were headed back into town on the same highway I was just on. Back when I was starting feel like myself again. _Why?_

# Chapter Twenty

I Have a Nemesis

Detective Gloria was driving and, apparently, the lead detective on the case. She kept looking at me through the rearview mirror. _What the hell is her problem?_ The way she was acting made me think she's probably the reason I was arrested. And the reason she was _allowed_ to arrest me, since I'm now semi-normal, was something that didn't take long for me to figure out. It would seem poor old Mrs. Miller had ratted me out. I don't blame her. She was only telling the police what she knew. I think if I were her, I would've probably done the same. Especially since... _Crap! No wonder this bitch was rough with me. 'Hi, I just wanted to know if anyone saw me down there in the alley.'_ Crappity, crap, crap, CRAP! _That's probably why my telling them I was a private investigator had no effect. Still, that's no reason for these two not ask any questions._ I could feel Detective "Bitch" eyeballing me again. _There's obviously something on her mind._

"I've read up on you," she said.

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah, I know your type. You don't fool me."

"I don't?" I said.

Her partner glanced at her with a raised eyebrow, then went back to watching the scenery.

An ally?

"You're a rich-bitch, Daddy's girl aren't you?"

"You got me. Throw away the key. I'm guilty of being affluent."

She shot dagger eyes at her snorting partner. He liked my joke until he saw the trouble he was in for laughing at it. She was quiet again after that.

I watched the cars go by and thought about my predicament. _I'll have to tell Scott to call my client and let him know what's happened. Maybe Vasiliy can loan me his lawyer._ Then the hair on the back of my neck stood up when I suddenly realized what I'd done. _I left the Czar's Blue Star sitting on the garage floor wrapped in an old dirty towel! Christ! I hope it's disgusting enough for Scott not to throw out!_

We exited the highway into downtown traffic. It was heavy with people returning from late lunches and leaving work early. That gave Detective "Shitt", I mean _Schmitt_ , an opportunity to take a few more shots at me. "I think you planned it," she said.

"Maybe you ought to arrest me." That one got another guffaw out of her partner. I smiled. She didn't.

"No. I'm talking about the first one," she said.

_What?_ "I think you have me confused with someone else."

She shook her head. "Oh no. It was you. Last year. You might have fooled the Lieutenant." She shook her head again. "But not me."

Now she was scaring me. I know I said I was waiting for someone to come for me one day, but now that it looks like it's finally happening, I was wishing it wasn't. _I hope Dementyev_ can _lend me his lawyer, because I think I'm going to need one who can acquit a murderer._ That's what was going on in my head. What she saw was me smiling and shaking my head as if she was out of her mind.

"What? No witty come back?" She said and turned to her partner and laughed. He acted as if he was joining in with her, but I could tell he was faking it. "I watched you," she said.

"What do you mean, you _watched_ me?" I emphasized "watched" by shaking my head and rolling my eyes, still insisting she was crazy.

"That night. It was right after I made detective. My partner and I were assigned to tail that guy. You remember his name?"

"How could I? I never met your partner."

Her current one snorted again. She let it go this time. She was too busy staring me down through the mirror with her steely eyes.

She's good.

I gave in and answered her. "Of course I knew his name." I lied, hoping it would shut her up. "He was someone who tried to kill me," I told her. But what I didn't say was, 'He was someone who I knew for a fact had killed my husband. Someone to whom I had made it my mission to return the favor.' But the truth was, for the life of me, I _couldn't_ remember his name. It was as if my mind blocked it out. Like some automated safeguard was preventing me from being hurt by the memory.

Even though I said I knew, she proceeded to tell me his name as if I hadn't said a thing. "It was Daniel. Daniel Cole."

The name sent a jolt through my body. 'By the way, my name's Daniel.' _Oh my God! Did I imagine him? Was my subconscious projecting him? Oh God! Am I losing my mind? Maybe I'm_ not _getting better. Maybe I'm getting worse!_ Even though I started to think I might be losing it, I still managed to maintain my composure. I continued acting as though an Idiot had arrested me. Which wasn't much of a stretch. I shook my head and said, "I don't know what you're talking about."

She was quiet again after that. I would've said, _'What? No witty come back?'_ , like she did, but I'm better than her.

I was brought down the hallway at the police station, past the "squad" room. I wasn't allowed the chance to put shoes on when she arrested me and the polished beige surface of the air conditioned formica floor felt cold on my bare feet. Along the way, we passed a few officers and detectives who I recognized and were actually making eye contact for a change. They were giving me a look that told me they thought this was wrong. I shouldn't have been arrested.

Hmm, maybe I won't need a lawyer.

Her partner escorted me to a small room at the end of the hall that was hotter than necessary. It had a slight indefinable odor and a two-way mirror. I couldn't decide if the odor was urine, sweaty feet, or stink scented bleach. _Shitbitch_ probably went to the lady's to get off on arresting me. The only thing her partner ever said to me was, "Stay seated. We'll get back to you." He maneuvered me into a metal chair bolted to the floor and left. My hands were still cuffed behind my back and it was making my shoulders hurt. There was a clock by the door, no doubt there because a good lawyer was here more than once, and I saw how late it was. _2:47. God I hope I can make that phone call before it's too late. Scott had classes today, which means he'll be getting home soon._

Minutes ticked by. I did what I was told and stayed seated. Every so often, I tried to alleviate my discomfort by trying to sit in a better position. _Not possible._ I was thanking God I didn't have the chance to drink something to get that bug taste out of my mouth. Even though the room was hot, my toes were cold. I'm pretty sure that would've caused me to have a strong urge to pee about now. Having nothing better to do, I occupied my time by thinking about the case, seeing if anything up to this point was clicking with anything else. _Okay... Let's see. Our agent guy from long ago sticks a three-page message behind a picture in his hotel room. Why? Who did he think would find it?... It was probably a room that's always been reserved for them. Hmm. Okay... and that tells me... nothing that has anything to do with why Kristyan was killed._ Exasperated, I puffed my cheeks and let out the air with a _Ffffllllllppppp_ sound which probably made me seem bored to anyone watching. I tried again. _Okay... So why was Kristyan killed?_ Then from out of the blue, it hit me. _Oh my God!_ But before I could finish that thought, a surprise visitor burst through the door. Though "burst through" was a bit of an exaggeration. It only seemed that way because it'd been so quiet in here.

"Hello Lydia," he said. He was trying to hold back his laughter. "Nice look."

"Kris?! What the hell? What are you doing here?"

He had a smartass smirk on his face. He closed the door and sat in the chair opposite me, clasped his hands together and plopped them into his lap. "So... here you are again."

I leaned in and whispered loudly, "You can't be in here."

Then, as if on cue to help back me up, Det. " _ShittBitch_ " walked through the door. "KOSKOV!" She dropped the file she had in her hands on the table. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Okay, how do they know each other?

He actually did a good job of making himself look innocent. "I'm talking to my partner."

I swear we both had the same look on our faces when we both said at the same time, "Your what?!" Course, I only thought it while she said it out loud. I knew when to keep my mouth shut. _He was up to something, something that could probably get me out of this._

"My partner." He folded he arms and in a very commanding voice asked, "Now, you want to tell me why she's sitting in that chair and still in handcuffs?"

_Shitbitch_ actually looked nervous when she glanced at me. Then she looked at the file she dropped. "She's a murder suspect. Its procedure... _Up-huh_ , Why am I explaining this to you? And what do _mean_ she's your partner?"

He was still sitting with the same posture. Arms folded, commanding voice. "Why is... my partner... still in HANDCUFFS?!"

That did it. She was shaken into getting the key out of her pocket and unlocking the cuffs as fast as she could. _While she was busy, Kris smiled at me and wiggled his eyebrows. I rolled my eyes and shook my head._ She put her handcuffs back wherever they came from and said, "There, they're off. OKAY!" Her right hand was on her hip while she ran her nervous left hand over her tightly pony-tailed hair. "Look. She was the only one seen talking to the victim yesterday. Of course we're going to arrest her."

"WITHOUT QUESTIONING HER!" He stood when he yelled that one. He almost knocked his chair to the floor, but it only skidded a few inches behind him. It scared the crap out of both of us. She flinched. She took a step back and tried to steady herself by reaching for the table.

How did he know they didn't question me?

Kris looked at me. It seemed like he was aiming his cannons my way, but his voice was softer when he spoke. "Lydia. Tell the _detective_ why you were talking to the victim and what was said."

_Gulp!_ It felt as though I were having an out of body experience when I spoke. I was nervous and felt as if I'd been told to write twelve-page essay on the "Accomplishments of Man Since the Dawn of Time". But the words flowed perfectly without a stutter as I told her everything, from the time I found the footprints, up until I told Quinton to keep in touch. Kris kept staring at me.

"You left out a part," he said.

_What?_ , was what I thought for a split second. What I said was, _and I said it convincingly with a smack to the head_ , "Oh right. You were by the door the whole time, letting me go with it." I turned to Detective _EatShitBitch_ and said, "It was part of my probation as his new partner. He was testing me to see how well I could interview a witness."

The look she had was priceless and she stuttered when she asked him, "W-why didn't anyone see you?"

Without missing a beat, Kris replied, "I was late catching up to her. I had to finish with the alley, making sure we had all the evidence we could get." Then he gave her a look that I swear would've made the President call him Sir. "Now give me a GOOD Reason why my Partner is still here?"

She looked as if she were about to cry. Then she looked at me and said with a sulk in her voice, "I guess there's no reason for you to be here.... You can go."

"Come on Lydia, you're not done yet." Then he pointed a very demanding index finger at me and said, "DON'T think you're off this case because you got arrested."

Yes SIR!

Det. Schmitt had her eyes on the floor and mumbled, "Sorry for the mix up," as we headed out the door. _After what Kris put her through, I felt a little sorry for her._

# Chapter Twenty-one

Open Sesame

Besides saying "I could kiss you" when I got into his car, we didn't talk much on the drive home. I wasn't certain what else I _could_ say, or if I should say anything at all. He'd been acting strange. I wanted to ask him about it, but I kept chickening out. Since I still had the rule about not allowing him in my house, I had him drop me on the street out front.

"You want to tell me why..." he started to say, but I cut him off.

"Thanks again for coming to my rescue," I said and shut his car door before things got more awkward. I waved goodbye and ran for the front door. _Whew!_

The first thing I did was search the house for Scott. I know from experience if you don't want someone doing something with something, but you don't know where they are or if they've done it, the best option is to look for _them_ instead of checking to see if that something is still there. It's a proven method. Use it and you're more likely to get there in time. Trust me. If you don't, then you never would've.

"There you are." I found him upstairs in his room, folding his laundry. _What? Since when does he do laundry? Why is everyone acting so different lately?_

"Hey, I tried calling you this... what happened to you?" He looked at my sweatpants/T-shirt/dirty-bare-feet outfit with a furrowed brow.

"Never mind that. Did you throw it out?"

"What?"

"The thing in the garage. DID you throw it OUT?" I repeated, sounding as though some of Kris rubbed off on me.

"There's a thing in the garage?" He looked at me like I was nuts.

_Yes!_ I held two thumbs up and ran back down the stairs.

"What's going on?" I heard him yell as I padded across the cool kitchen floor to the garage door. _Hunh. My clothes are gone. Did he do my laundry too?_

I flung the door open and saw the ugly dirtball still sitting where I'd left it. _Yes!_ I was worried about it for so long that I wasn't freaked out about touching it. I almost thought the big mess was a beautiful sight. I picked it up and searched for an opening in the towel. It made my hands filthy again, but I didn't care. I found the end and unwrapped the towel, but almost dropped the box when I saw the lid. There was an encrusted mummified carcass of a huge dead bug on it. _Oh God, I better hurry before I realize what I'm touching._ I dropped, _or more like flung_ , the disgusting towel and a dusty cloud trail from its flight path hung in the air. I turned my nose away and took a couple of steps back.

Just like the letter said, it was wooden. Most likely made of poplar from the looks of it. Though it didn't seem like it was ever a "cigar" box. It was oblong, cube-shaped and its finish had been stained by floods and rainwater. It looked like there was artwork on top of it once, but the colors were diluted and on the verge of being lost forever. There were no other markings, not on any of the sides or the bottom. Of course, when I tilted the box I heard it shifting around inside again. _It's in there! I have to get this open!_

I looked for a seam, but couldn't find it. I grabbed a hold of the box and pulled on the sides of the lid while trying to avoid touching the dead bug. _Eww. Maybe if I... no, no, no, I'm not touching that towel again. Forget it!_ I searched the garage shelves for a rag and saw a rust color one on a second shelf on the back wall. I set the box on the workbench and stood on my toes to grab the rag from the shelf. I dropped the rag on top of the box and tried to open it again. It wasn't budging. _Damn it!_

"Mom, what are you doing?" Scott was standing in the doorway. He had a worried look and probably thought I was having some sort of a relapse.

"It's okay, I'm fine," I said. I nodded towards the box. "This is it."

"What?" Having decided I wasn't a threat, he came into the garage and walked slowly towards me.

"The Blue Star." I waved for him to come closer. "Come 'ere." I tried to pull the box open again, but no luck. "Agh! It won't open" I started scanning the shelves for something to pry it with. _Come on! There has to be a screwdriver, or something!_

"What did you say this was?" He was standing over me and trying to get a look at what I was talking about.

"Yesterday I decided to do it," I said. "You remember. That 'something big' I was smiling about?"

"Do what?" He asked. Then his eyes got wide before I could answer. "You went down there! Oh my God!... This is it!"

I nodded my head several times. _Duuhhh!_ "That's what I've been saying!"

He whipped the rag off the box and jumped a little when he saw the bug.

"Yeah, sorry. Should've warned you about that." That's when I saw it. There _was_ a seam. A thin line looped in sharp angles around one end of the box. It came down over the edge, ran parallel to the lid and then back up to the top on the other side. It was easier to see after the rag had wiped some of the dirt off. _So, the lid is the type that_ slides _open!_

"You know, this looks like one of those candle boxes," Scott said.

I struggled with the lid, trying to slide it this time. It didn't have anything on the lid to make it easier to grip. All I could do was apply pressure with my fingers while having my hand dangerously too close to touching that dead bug. I thought about smashing the lid, but decided that was a little overboard. I thought about what else I could do, but only came back around to the idea of smashing it.

"Is that why you look that way? You didn't go down there without shoes did you?"

I stopped, looked at Scott and decided I should tell him what happened. I started with the footprints. He laughed when I came to part where I found out they'd turned back the whole time. Then I told him about the narrow "tunnel" that went behind some walls. He was intrigued. When I told him about having to go through the cobwebs and other crap, he couldn't stop laughing.

"Oh my God. I wish you had a picture," he said. He took a couple of gulps of air, then laughed some more.

"Hey come on. I swallowed a bug, for God's sake."

He was laughing so hard I thought he was going to hurt something.

Once he calmed down, I told him what happened after I got out of the shower.

"Oh crap. Someone killed him? That doesn't make any sense. Why would they think you had anything to do with it?"

"I was the last person to see him." My eyes watered from being on the verge of tears. Ever since I learned about his murder, I thought it might've been my fault. I thought it might've been because someone saw me talking to him and I'd been feeling responsible for it since.

Then the next thing I told Scott was what Det. Gloria Schmitt said. "She also thinks my killing that guy wasn't self-defense. That I planned it." I thought if there was ever a time when Scott would ask me about it, if what I did really _was_ in self-defense, then this would've been it. But... he didn't.

He looked at me as if he couldn't believe it. "That's crazy!" Was what he said. "He Killed DAD! He COULD'VE Killed YOU!" He was furious and started pacing. "We should SUE! We should sue HER, and the whole DEPARTMENT!"

This was _not_ what I expected. I really thought he would've asked me to tell him the truth. I had no idea he felt this way. I was crying. _Why didn't I know this was how my Son felt? Why didn't I think this was the reason he never asked me about it?_ I felt his arms around me.

"I'm sorry Mom. I didn't mean to upset you."

"No! No, no." I wiped my tears away. "It wasn't you. I just... I'm just... It makes me feel good to hear you stick up for me is all." Which wasn't really a lie. I patted him on the back. "Come on. Let's get this open."

# Chapter Twenty-two

The Blue Star of Russia!

Scott got a flat head screwdriver from the toolbox and did the honors. He dug in with the tip where the lid should normally slide open. I heard wood splintering when he applied pressure, but saw none of it. After some coaxing and a little elbow-grease-propelled persuasion, the lid finally moved. _Come on baby. Open up!_

After over a century of being down there, God-knows-what must have accumulated or put up residence in the grooves. What-ever-it-was was making it extremely difficult for the box to open. Thus the reason for it now being an overly safe place to hide a sapphire.

The lid slipped an eighth of an inch more, but went back to being stubborn again. _Shit!_ Scott dropped the screwdriver and stuck his fingertips in the opening. He pulled while holding down the box with his other hand. Then he attempted to wiggle the lid as he pulled, but it didn't help. The lid _was_ moving, just not within our lifetime. Scott got tired and had to take a break.

"Here let me try," I said. He stepped aside and I stepped up. I dug in with my fingers and pulled. _Come on baby, give it up!_ I grunted as I pulled with all my might. I only succeeded in making the lid seem to move at the same constant speed, but in fast forward. _That's how it looked to_ me _anyway._

"You're gonna break it." Scott said.

I ignored him and kept pulling. I was thinking breaking it might speed things along and was hoping I did. Then it happened. The lid shifted a full inch, revealing a silver plated chain necklace. "Oh my God! It's a necklace?" We both stood over it staring at each other with our mouths open. I looked in the box again. _Yep... a necklace._

I grabbed the lid again and pulled, more determined now than before. Scott tried to get his hands on it too, but couldn't find space. Then it was like we won a tug of war competition by default and the lid started moving freely. I was pulling hard when it happened and ended up flipping it in midair behind us, then it slid across the garage floor. The sudden lack of resistance almost caused me to fall headlong.

"Whoa!" Scott moved to catch me, but saw it wasn't necessary. I'd taken a quick step and caught myself. Then he became the first person to see it. "Wow!"

Lying in the middle of this dark stained, furry, disgusting, oblong candle box was this beautifully designed, _gold_ plated, necklace. The chain was unlike any I had ever seen in my life. The links looked like tiny curlicue fishhooks. The "fishhooks" had three tiny dots indented into the thicker bottom part where they curled the most. The size of the dots went from big to small up along the curve of the link. This delicate chain was supported by an ornate, eight-scroll cartouche. Each scroll terminated into a tight curl along the bottom edge with a tiny half-carat diamond shining up at me, like little kids begging to be picked up. _That's eight half-carat diamonds!_ Along the bottom edge of the cartouche were five pea-sized pearls, each one attached by two tiny ringlet style links. The pearls were spaced apart within a half inch from each other. There was one in the center and two on each side.

But I didn't see any of it. Not at first. I was totally distracted. My attention was being held-no _demanded_... by the main attraction. Nothing could take away its beauty. Not diamonds, not pearls, _nothing_! It was top dead center of the cartouche and staring up at me as if it were demanding to be adored and admired. It was the gem itself. It was... The Blue Star Sapphire of Russia. Just as Dementyev said, it didn't need a light source for its interior star to reveal itself. The star was shining all on its own. But the gem _wasn't_ just blue, it was Mediterranean Blue. Even with just the dim light of this garage, I could tell it was the kind of Mediterranean Blue you'd see on a beautifully warm, sunny, summer day off the coast of Barcelona. It was modified into a cushion cut for the necklace and was just the right size to fit perfectly in the palm of a hand.

"Oh my God. It's beautiful," said Scott. "I didn't know it was a necklace."

Then I thought of something. I searched the chain, but couldn't find a clasp. I hesitated before I picked up the necklace. _I guess I thought a museum curator, or sales clerk would stop me._ I took a close look at the ends of the chain where the clasp should've been. One of the links was bent a little more than the other. It was stretched, confirming my suspicion. _He took it from around someone's neck and hid it because he didn't want the police finding it._ And that's what I told Scott.

"You mean, a woman was walking down the street and he just walked up to her a stole it off her neck?" He put his own hand over his neck. "Man! Who was this guy?"

"Actually, the important question now is, what do we do with it?" I said.

Scott looked at the Blue Star "Necklace" in my hand, raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

I was holding it by the cartouche. The chains dangled off the sides of my hand. I couldn't help staring at it. It was gorgeous. I was mesmerized by it and found myself wanting one just like it. And I meant "just like it" only because I didn't want to end up having someone ripping this one off _my_ neck. I flipped it around to have a look at the back. _Nothing significant there. No initials, nothing._ I sighed. "Hmm. Well, I for one definitely think this was worth all the crap I had to go through. Speaking of which." I looked down at myself. I was almost as dirty as I was when I got the thing out of the tunnels. "I think I'll go clean up. Again!" I put the Blue Star inside the rust colored rag and wrapped it up. Then the three of us went inside.

"I think we deserve a nice dinner after that," Scott said. "I could have it ready in a few minutes."

"Make it thirty," I said. I made a yucky face and shook my head. _Yuck!_

# Chapter Twenty-three

What happened with Kris

"Then he pointed a finger at me and said, _DON'T think you're off this case because you got arrested_ ," I said, doing my best impersonation of him. Scott laughed.

"How did he know you were there?" he asked.

"Susan called him."

"Aunt Susan? How does she have his number?" He forked up another piece of veal and chewed.

We were having dinner at our usual spots at the kitchen table. Scott outdid himself once more with breaded veal and egg noodles in Alfredo sauce which he made from scratch. He said, since he had a half an hour to work with, it was the perfect thing to make. _Mmmm... delicious._

When I got out of the shower, I called Susan and told her what happened. I assured her that I was all right. Then she told me what led to her decision to call Kris and begged me to tell her more. I promised to give her all the details tomorrow over coffee.

"Remember the other day," I said. "I helped her 'study' for her driver's test." Scott nodded. I continued. "Well, I told her...and this was before I thought I had to keep it a secret... I told her I couldn't tell her anything about the case. Then she said she wouldn't know who to call for help if she thought I was in trouble. And...I couldn't think of anyone else off the top of my head... so I just gave her his number." I took a drink of water, swallowed, then continued. "So...anyway... yeah. She tried to call me, but couldn't get a hold of me. She said it kept ringing, and ringing, and ringing." Scott nodded, having gone through something similar this morning when he called. Though, _his_ problem was he kept getting my voicemail. _Apparently, the tunnels are a dead zone._ "Then she tried the house and, of course, it kept ringing, probably just before you got home." Scott agreed. "Then she said, she thought, okay... something's up. Now, should I call this guy or should I wait."

"Which I'm sure took only two seconds for her to think about while she was halfway through his number," Scott said. I nodded in agreement before he finished saying it.

"Exactly," I said, but I left out the part where she insisted that I "go for it" again. She heard his voice on the phone, so she was sounding more insistent about it. "Now this is where it gets weird," I continued. "She said he didn't ask her how she knew me or what her connection was. He just said he understood and thanked her. He said he knew where to go and that he'd take care of it." Scott had the same look on his face I thought I did. We were both wondering what he meant and how he knew where I was.

He shrugged. "I guess it's a good thing he did," Scott said. "I'd hate to think what would've happened if he didn't."

"Good point." I shook my head. I decided to just let it go and move on, for now. I cut off another piece of veal with my fork, which wasn't hard to do because it was _so_ tender. "Oh, this is really good. I swear Scott. I don't care how many times I've said it. I'll say it again. You could be a chef." Scott was shaking his head. "No really! Is there anything my son can't do?" _Mmm!_

"Are you going to be his partner?"

His question took me by surprise. I thought it was obvious to anyone that the question of whether or not I was contemplating being Kris' partner wasn't an issue. But I was wise to what Scott was really doing. I eyed him with a look that told him I knew he was changing the subject. I just didn't get why. _Maybe he's tired of hearing me saying he could be a chef._ "No," I said. "Obviously, he just said that to help me out." But talking about it caused me to think about it. "I don't even know if he ever works with anyone at all, for that matter." I took another drink of my water. "Something tells me he likes to work alone."

We approached a loll in our conversation. Both of us were busy within our thoughts, off thinking about different questions that popped up for different reasons. My thoughts drifted through the possibility of ever being someone's partner again, wondering if it would be a good idea. _What if I got involved with someone again? Would I...I don't know... would I date another P.I.? I didn't really mind it much when I was pretending to be Kris' partner. Wait... What? What am I thinking? Get a hold of yourself girl! Snap out of it!_

Thankfully, Scott broke the silence. "Did you tell him you had The Blue Star? I mean it is something that belonged to his country."

I shook my head no and said, "I thought it would be a good idea to wait until I found out if was actually in there before I told anyone I had it."

"Yeah, but, even so. He probably would've liked to have known you went down there to get it, at least. You know? I mean, he knew you had the letter your client found that said where it was hidden. I'm sure he would like to know if it was there. He probably would've wanted to be here when we opened it. You know? Witness it for himself, just to find out if it were true."

I nodded my head. I began to see how right he was. I hadn't realized how selfish I'd been. I wasn't thinking about Kris as someone who would want to know if a long lost national treasure from his country had finally been found. I always thought of him as the competition. The whole time he drove me home, I hardly said two words to him. "So what should do? Should I call him?"

Scott checked his watch. "It's not too late."

Crap! That means he'll have to come here. Damn it!

# Chapter Twenty-four

Mended Fences

First of all, let me clarify that I've never had, nor contemplated having, an affair with Kris Koskov. I've always been upfront with my husband whenever I had to collaborate with an investigator other than him. Plus, I wasn't the only one who had the "pleasure" of working with Kris on a case. Before we met, Tom had crossed paths with "Mr. Personality" a couple of times before. As a matter of fact, there was a time where all three of us worked together. _You know, I really_ should _make more of an effort to find time to go through Tom's files._

Now that I've cleared the air on the subject, you should now completely understand the mutual rule we have between us, about not going to either one's house, is definitely one that stems from a professional reason and nothing more. Honest. When I discussed it with Tom, he said he thought it was a little extreme, but that was all. He never said anything more about it. He always respected my decisions and trusted my judgment. Always. Tom's my husband.

_Whatever._ Anyway. To be honest, I _have_ been rethinking things lately. I've been debating it in my head for a while now. It was a good idea at the time and something we both agreed on, but now I'm alone. If there was a situation needing two people, that could be a problem for me. And now this historical artifact from his homeland has popped up, forcing me to make a decision. _This_ is _a special circumstance. I should probably chalk it up as being one of those times where I should make an exception._

All right. I guess it's time I explained the reason for having this rule.

_Sigh._ It was about eleven years ago. I think it was either my sss-second? No, third case! That's right. _The second one was that kidnapping. That's right. Okay._ Anyway. It was my third solo case. It was right after another one that Tom and I had finished wrapping up. It was raining that night and I'd been tailing this guy... well... his wife thought he was cheating on her, of course. I was in the middle of trying to decide what my next move should be. I was either going to pretend to be interested in him and have him pick me up, or just continue watching him until my butt fell asleep. That's when "Mr. KGB" suddenly plopped himself onto my passenger seat and said, "Wow, it's really raining out there."

He took me completely by surprise. My immediate response was to say, "Get Out!" I thought I locked my doors and no one expects anyone to just let themselves into your car. But instead of doing what I told him to do, he starts telling me to "Back off." First, I thought he meant for me to back off telling him to get out. Then I realized he meant the guy I was following, which got me a little worried. I wasn't certain what was happening and I had no idea what he might do next. I didn't know who he was and I wasn't about to let him do anything. Just when I only started to _think_ about going for my gun, he grabs it and says, "Rookie mistake. Never move your eyes before you act."

Well, anyway. _Long story short_ , he told me who he was and why he wanted me to back off. Which isn't really important right now. I convinced him we should work together. _Definitely a bad move._ Then I _really_ got to know him as the case progressed and found out how much of an _arrogant_ s.o.b. he can be sometimes. Unfortunately, it wasn't until after everything was said and done that I got wise to how he manipulated me and completely took over _my_ investigation. I never got to find out if this guy ever did cheat on his wife. So thanks to Kris, I botched the shit out of that! And... _AARRrrgh!_ GOD I hate him! Sorry, but I just can't go into it right now. I should call him back and tell him to forget it.

_DING-Dong!_... "ssssSSSHHiT!"

I opened the door and there he was, standing there like a vampire terrified of turning to ashes if he entered without permission. He smiled his little crooked half-ass smile and said, "Where is it?"

"Hello to you, too," I said. I turned and led the way.

He closed the door and followed. "So why didn't you tell me about this before," he asked.

I looked back at him. He was looking around at everything as he walked. _Should I bother to give him a tour?_ We entered through the kitchen's swinging door and I pointed at the end of the table where I'd left it. "That's it," I said. I picked it up and handed it to him.

_"Holy Fuck!"_ was what he claimed to have said in his native tongue once he unwrapped it. He looked around and dropped the rag on the table. Then he studied every inch of the necklace. He did this for about two minutes. To me it seemed like fifteen. While I waited, I sat in one of the other chairs and looked at my nails. _God! How long has it been since I had manicure?_

I heard him mutter something. I wasn't sure what he said, but I know it wasn't English. All I know is, whatever he said, it didn't sound like something nice. He looked as though he was ready to hurt someone. I had to ask. "What's wrong?" _Wrong question._

I thought he was going to unleash his anger on me, but when he looked at me he seemed to relax. "I can't believe that all this time someone was wearing this around their neck as if it were some cheap decoration."

I knew before I said it, it probably wasn't the right thing to say, or the best time to say it. Don't ask me why, but I thought if I said it, I'd get an idea of how far he would go. How much of his anger would he inflict on me? What I said was, "Actually... someone probably only got to wear it for about a year or two before this guy stole it back, and it's been sitting underground ever since."

Even though that look he had before, the one where he was ready to hurt someone, had returned, he still sounded calm. "I _know_ where it's been. I mean... where you found it." He set the Blue Star down on the table. He put his hands on his hips and sighed. "I'll have to call someone about this", he said. "Tell them the Blue Star's been found." He had something in his hand from out of nowhere that clicked like a camera, then it was gone again.

"What the hell was that?"

"I'll tell them it was you who found it. I'll make certain they show you their gratitude."

_What does that mean?_ "You can do that? I thought you said you were a _former_ KGB agent."

Then the Kris I've always known, the asshole Kris, showed his face. "I might be a _former_ KGB agent, but I still have friends in the right places. Plus, I was given a very excellent 'severance package'."

_That's funny. When he said that last thing, asshole Kris seem like someone who actually joked around a lot. Someone with a great sense of humor. Could I have misjudged him all this time?_ As for the part about giving me the credit, I didn't know what to say. "I'm surprised."

"Surprised?" he asked. "Why surprised?"

I chose my words carefully. I'd been curious about the way he'd been acting. I wanted to find out if Susan had been right. Now that I'm starting to see I might've been wrong about a few things, I found myself wanting to see where tonight could go. I didn't want to ruin it by letting him know the real reason I said I was surprised. Instead of saying, _'I thought you would've wanted to claim all the glory for yourself,'_ what I said was, "Why don't you want to be the one to take credit? Don't get me wrong." _Or right._ "What I'm saying is, it's your country's national treasure, not mine... You know what I mean?"

He stood there. Silent, as if he were deep in thought. His folded his arms and those hazel eyes of his stared at the floor, and then he started nodding his head. "Yeah," he finally said. He unfolded his arms, ran a hand over his tired face and raked his fingers through his dark brown hair. "I know what you mean. I just don't need it... or want it. They might have given me an 'excellent severance package', but I'll never thank them for it." He pulled out a chair and sat down. He put his elbows on the table and rubbed his hands together. "Do you remember Chornobyl?" he asked.

"Of course." _What's this about?_

"I was in Moscow when it happened. I was an agent still. Since I had a high security clearance, I knew about it right after it happened."

Okay... why are you telling me this?

"I'm not... Russian, Lydia. I'm Ukrainian." He stopped for a moment and sighed. "My brother... was a nuclear physicist. The town where I was born, where my parents and my brother lived, was Chistogalovka. It was a village just five miles west of the plant and five miles downwind of the accident."

Oh no!

"A test was being conducted when the accident occurred. They said my brother was the one who was overseeing it. I was told that... thankfully, he died a quick death." He paused for a moment. Then he shook his head. "What I was never told was how bad it was. Even though I had the clearance. Even though I was his brother. They _kept_ it all from me! _Me!_ One of their best agents!" He wringed his hands and flexed his fingers a couple of times. Then he was calm again and breathed a heavy sigh. He turned away from me, looking at nothing. Thinking. "For years, I was always loyal," he said. "I had always done what they asked to do. Things that I'm still not allowed to talk about. And yet... the whole time my parents laid dying in a hospital bed... _days_ after the accident, I was never told what happened to them. Never!" He was silent for a moment and then he said, "But of course because since I _was_ one of their best agents, I eventually found out on my own. They said they didn't want me to know because they knew I would've wanted to be by their side. They said that if I did, I would've died along with them."

_Oh God.... Oh no._ I held my hands over my mouth. I couldn't keep myself from tearing up. _Oh God, I feel so sorry for him._

"That was the last straw, as they say. That's what made me decide to 'thank them for their concern' and leave it forever." He was quiet again for a moment and then he said, "And as if losing my family hadn't been enough. Because of the high Geiger counter readings, the people they sent to clean the area were ordered to demolish every single building of my village. They were instructed to bury the remains and everything inside on the spot where they stood. To this day, the only thing left of my village... my _birthplace_... are small radioactive markers. Nothing was left standing. Not one piece. All I have are memories."

"Oh God." A tear had escaped and ran down my cheek.

"So... No. I really don't care if I were given recognition for returning the Blue Star to Russia."

"Oh Kris... I'm. I'm so sorry. I had no idea." I was crying for him. I thought about what _I_ would have done if I were faced with the same situation. _I think I would've done more than 'thanked them'. I think I would've tried to find a way to return the favor. Oh my God!... His brother!... His parents!... His_ home _!_

Right then, I finally came to a decision about what I should do about our mutual rule, once and for all. I stood and walked over to him. He looked up at me. There was a question in his eyes. I took his head into my hands and gently kissed his forehead. He looked at me and his question wasn't there anymore. I kissed his cheeks and he closed his eyes. I kissed his lips and he kissed me back. And then... Kris Koskov was given permission to be in my house, anytime he wanted.

# Chapter Twenty-five

Girl Talk

"Since the first time we worked together, I've always found it difficult to get you out of my head. It's as if you did something to me. I actually tried to find cases that would give us another opportunity to work together. But whenever we did, I was myself again. I don't know why. When I wasn't with you, I was nuts. I would make mistakes. Sometimes I would blame you for them. And whenever I'd see you, I took some of my anger out on you."

Well that explains a few things. Though, after hearing this confession, I'm not sure if I should be worried or flattered.

"I was actually angry at you for being married." He shook his head and said, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all the insults. I'm sorry for the disrespect I showed you. You never deserved it. You didn't deserve any of it."

I leaned over and kissed him to shut him up before he started to ruin things. He smiled. I think he got the message. He kissed me back and rolled over on top of me.

Thursday morning. Three days had gone by since I was hired to find out who killed Kristyan Dementyev. To tell you truth, I think the only real major progress I've made so far was recovering the Blue Star of Russia. But, thanks to my insatiable curiosity, _and shit luck_ , I've actually made quite a bit of headway toward tracking down his assailant. My giving in to temptation and following the trail of footprints in the Okhrana tunnels yesterday gave me enough clues to actually put together a couple of suspects. And as you can tell by the way I sound, yes... I am completely back to normal. _Apparently, a good fuck was all I needed._

I think I would have to say so far, since I started working this case, Wednesday was the most productive day of all. I think I'd also have to say it was the one that ended with the most interesting night I've had in a long time. Never in a million years would I've ever believed I'd be seeing Kris Koskov to my front door this morning. _Though, it was more like pushing him out._ Thankfully, it wasn't a school day for Scott. Otherwise, he would've been up at this hour and I didn't want him getting the wrong idea, just yet.

_I guess Suze was right about the love/hate thing. Maybe._ Though I do still have some lingering uncertainty about it. Part of me is still wondering if I did the right thing. Right after the first time, I had a slight pang of quilt come over me and I realized during the whole time we were having sex there was a part of me that was questioning my actions. It was like something inside me kept needing to know where Tom was. Kris seemed so different last night. This morning, there were times where I actually caught myself thinking he was someone else, not Kris. At least not the one I thought I knew. It's as if they're two separate people. You know what I mean?

I was busy trying to get him out the door when he told me again how concerned he was for my safety. He said, "If Quinton Davis was killed by the same person who killed Kristyan, then they might be coming after you."

"Don't be ridiculous," I said. "The only reason anyone would come after me, would be because I was getting too close to catching them. And that's far from happening at this point." Short of actually really giving him a good shove, I tried moving this solid mass of muscle again toward the door. Again, my attempts only resulted giving his upper arm a deep massage. What made it even more challenging was having to keep my bathrobe shut while trying to move him. Of course, Kris wasn't helping.

"I know it's a bit out there," he said. "I just want to be sure you're aware of the possibility and that you'll be careful."

_God, why do they always make it difficult? Scott could be coming down the stairs any minute._ I gave him another push and nodded my head. "Yes," I said. "I'll stay alert. I'll watch out. Now go. I'll call you later. I promise."

He finally started moving, but not as quick as I wanted him to. He gave me a peck on the forehead and I almost fell on the stoop as the immovable mass of muscle turned and finally headed out the open door. I had to take a big quick step to keep myself from falling over and shut my bathrobe after giving a neighbor across the street walking his dog a free show. I waved and Kris waved back, thinking it was him I was waving to. "See you later, Lydia," he said. Then he backed his white, mint condition, '63 Impala out of the driveway.

"Goodbye," I called out without bothering to explain. I didn't think it mattered. I was going to wave goodbye to him anyway.

I'll admit it's nice having someone so concerned about my safety again, but I don't believe I'm in any real danger. Until I hear otherwise, I'm now convinced Quinton's murder was more likely a coincidence than anything else. I know it's a pretty strange coincidence, but what else could it be? There doesn't seem to be any other connection, other than him being the one who saw his killer. I know you've heard the old adage, "There's no such thing as coincidences", but, if there's no such thing as coincidences, then what's the word even doing in the dictionary to begin with. This wasn't the first time Kris expressed his concern for my safety. Last night he told me how worried he was as we were drifting off to sleep. That's also when I came up with my coincidence theory and told Tom... _I mean Kris_ , not to worry. _Whoa... major Freudian slip!_ I think I need a second cup of coffee.

Speaking of coffee. I should probably call Susan and get it over with. I know she'll figure it out anyway, she always has. I don't know how, but she always seems to know when I've had sex.

"I _knew_ it!" She yelped, almost breaking my phone's earpiece. "I told you, you guys would hook up!"

"Okay. Alright," I said. "Yes. I guess you were right."

"Looks like you can forget about that coffee house guy, what's-his-name."

_Daniel._ I almost did forget. Talk about coincidences. _Was he really there?_

"Lydia?"

"Oh... sorry Suze. I guess I'm still waking up."

"Heh, heh. I'll bet. I asked you how he was."

It took me a minute to think about it. I guess I do need to wake up a little. _Where's my coffee?_ "Well... uh. Let me think," I said. I found my coffee on the counter next to the fridge where I left it and took a quick sip before giving Susan an answer. "Well if I were to put it in one word I think it would be... interesting."

It was so quiet on her end for so long I thought I'd lost her. I was about say something when she finally said, "Interesting? It's been over a year for you woman and all you got was 'interesting'?"

"Didn't I say _very_? It was _very_ interesting." I nodded, adding emphasis to it as if she could see me.

"Alright. You can give me more details later, Lyds. Teresa and I are gonna go do little shopping and maybe, I don't know, the zoo, or something. We'll figure it out."

"Oh, that's great! So the bonding continues. Are you going to bring her with you when we meet for coffee?"

"Sure. I guess I could do that. She asked me the other day when we were going to see you."

"Really? 'Cause you don't sound too enthused about it."

"Well... it's just that. I thought we were going to dish about you and... _him_ and... _last night_."

I had to laugh.

"What?"

"Teresa's a grown woman. She's probably done _'last night'_ at least a couple of times by now. She'll probably think you're cool if you include her."

"I don't know. Kids usually get grossed out when their parents talk about sex."

"Well, she's not a kid anymore and I'm not her parent." Then I realized my mistake. _I'm_ probably going to be the one who'll end up looking cool. _Oops._

"I guess you're right.... Okay! Yeah, it'll be great! What the hell! Why not!" While she was saying "Why not!" I heard a noise in the background. I didn't have to ask what it was. I knew the sound from experience. "Oh... Teresa just came downstairs. I'm gonna fix us some breakfast. I'd ask if you wanted to come by, but I know you're busy. Oh! How's that coming, by the way?"

I filled her in and finished with telling her about my two suspects.

"Shit! You're good," she said. " _Damn_ good! It's like you know what to do before you do it, then _BAM_ you've solved it!"

"Yeah, well, not quite yet. There's still a few things I need to clear up, but... yeah, pretty much."

"OH! This means we can do something this weekend! Yay!" Then I heard Teresa say something I couldn't quite make out. "Okay. Gotta go, Lyds. We'll see you later. Yay."

"See ya, Suze."

Just as I hung up, _my_ "experience" had come downstairs, still in his pajamas. Scott's eyes were squinting and some of his hair stuck out. He yawned and scratched his shoulder. Then he spoke. "Did you say you solved it?" Then for some reason he looked at the front door.

I turned to see what he was looking at, but didn't see anything. _Did he hear us?_

# Chapter Twenty-six

The Suspects (This is where it gets dangerous.)

Silver bells hanging from the doorknob jangled when I came in. Fortunately, he didn't seem to notice. I walked off to the right and went down a couple of aisles, pretending to be a customer. I was taking a huge risk by being here. If I'm right, then I should keep a low profile. If he knew who I was, then conducting a surveillance on him would be hard to do. It would still be possible, but it'd be a pain in the ass. If I'm wrong, it would still be safe for me to snoop around this time of day. Carina's doesn't come in until much later when school lets out.

The antique shop was on the north side of West Burnside Street in Old Town. It sat between a Chinese restaurant and a vacant storefront that used to be an adult bookstore. _I knew it was an adult bookstore because the signs were still there._ Like any antique shop, the smell of old clothes, cedar, and a hint of furniture polish dominated the air.

Stephen, assuming that's who I was looking at, was within his square, glass display fortification, filled with antique jewelry, long lost keepsakes and discarded mementoes. He seemed like any normal guy. He was wearing a normal looking purple and black striped Kmart polo shirt and a pair of beige khaki pants over his lean, under-toned physique. Nevertheless, I still maintained my distance within the outlying sanctuary surrounding his "fort". I moved down one of the clothing aisles while occasionally stealing another peek at one of my suspects. "Stephen" was standing with his hip propped against a display case, near the register. He was busy reading some old worn out paperback with yellow pages. _He probably stole it from his own store._ While I was watching, he rubbed a hand over the top of his head, mussing a few strands of his short brown hair. Then he turned a page in his book. I continued at slow pace down the aisle, still... pretending. _Wow! This dress looks great! It's in really good condition. I wonder how much it is._ He cleared his throat and I snapped out of it. _Oh, right._ I moved on, but took note of where I saw that dress.

I was almost halfway around the shop when I heard the bells ring again. I froze. _Shit!_ It was Carina! I was near the back of the store in the furniture section when she came in. If it weren't for armoires around me, she would've had a direct line of sight on me. I ducked anyway. I could hear them talking.

"You're here early," I heard him say.

"I had short day. Lots of credits," she said. I heard the display case's tiny saloon door squeak and rumble against its spring hinge when she entered. She dropped her bag somewhere behind the display cases.

"You still have bereave, anyway. Don't you?" He asked.

Then I heard something that sent a chill down my spine. She laughed. _Sometimes I really hate it when I'm right. Oh... wait a minute._ Her laughter started sounding strange, then it sounded muffled. I moved up to where I could see and still not be seen. _She's crying._ Stephen was comforting her and letting her cry on his shoulder. After seeing this, I started feeling guilty. _Could I be wrong?_ It's possible. I've said it myself. My job's _not_ that easy.

"He had to die," Stephen said.

What?!

He was holding her at arm's length. She was hiding her face behind her hands, still sobbing and sniffling. "I know," she squeaked.

_So I_ was _right!_

"He was foolish," Stephen was saying. "He had to have known this would happen."

Carina was nodding her head. "I know," she said. She hiccupped a sob and wiped her tears. "I just wish it didn't have to." Then she cried some more.

Stephen held her while she soaked his shirt with more tears. He looked up and almost caught sight of me. But I was crouching far enough to be too quick for him. _I wonder why he hasn't wondered what happened to me. Didn't he hear me when I came in?_ I stayed down and listened as Carina continued to cry. I heard him patting her on the back a couple times and I was starting to wonder how long I had to keep this up when, thankfully, the bells on the doorknob rang. A couple of customers walked in.

"Hello ladies," Stephen said.

Hunh. He didn't say hello to me!

Carina stepped out from behind the display case and ran to a back corner of the shop. _Probably running to the lady's room._

Even though I didn't actually hear enough to "legally" incriminate anyone, I thought it was as good time to make my escape. I moved out from behind the armoire and continued my original course. I was still moving the same pace so I wouldn't attract attention. I wasn't too worried. I knew from interviewing her the other day that Carina would be a while. Stephen's back was to me, still watching the two ladies, but my internal timer was starting to tell me my time was almost up. I had to start moving faster. Carina could be coming back any minute. I pretended to stop and look at an old Tiffany lamp, then I stole a quick glance at Stephen. He was still watching the two ladies. They were following a similar route to the one I took and one of them stopped where I stopped before! _Hey! Hands off that dress, bitch!_ Unfortunately, I had to keep quiet and accept it as a loss. I had to make a break for it, but I forgot the bells worked both ways. They rang. _Crap!_

"Thank you. Have a nice day," he said.

I did a quick half turn, gave him a backhanded wave and said, "Thanks. You too," and kept walking. _Phew!_

I locked my car doors, but I was still shaking. I sat behind wheel for a little while until could calm down. _Holy shit! Holy shit! Oh my God! They really did kill him!_ I was parked only two blocks away from the antique shop. If you're familiar with the small city blocks of Portland, then you know it wasn't far enough. _Christ! His own daughter. How could she?_ Even though I didn't think I was ready yet, I had to get out of there. I started the car and tried my best to keep my wits in check. I waited for some cars to go by, but then I took off too fast and had to hit the brakes after coming dangerously close to hitting a car. _Shit!_ "Sorry." _I have_ got _to calm down._

I almost hit _another_ car and cut off a bus, but I was feeling a little more relaxed. I was flying down I-5 toward the sanctuary of my house when I smacked myself on the forehead. I got off at the next exit, drove down the road to the other side and back onto I-5 going into town.

In my haste to make my escape, I forgot I was supposed to meet Susan and Teresa for coffee.

Damn it!

# Chapter Twenty-seven

Things Get Out of Control

"Hey, Aunt Lydia! Nice to see you. We got you your favorite, iced Mocha Frappuccino." Teresa held out my tall, cold concoction of chocolaty goodness as if it were an award for tolerating the last gasp of summer heat on this fall day. It's been a couple of years since the last time I saw her. She'd grown more mature since then. Her long strawberry blonde hair was cut shoulder length and accentuated by subtle curls. She looked beautiful. _I was jealous._ I almost didn't recognize her. If it weren't for the nose and chin she inherited from Susan, I don't think I would have. Susan was beaming. They obviously were having a great time.

"You guys seem like you've been having a good day," I said. I sat in the metal chair at the small green espresso table across from Teresa and next to Susan. The table they grabbed was at a perfect spot for taking advantage of a light cool breeze drifting over us. It was right outside the café, under its Kelly-green awning.

It was the same café I went to the other day when I needed to steady my nerves. The one where I met Daniel. _I looked inside, in case he was here again. Nope. Too bad. I'm still not certain if he was real or not._

When Susan and I made plans to meet here, I thought it was a great idea. I was raving about this place to her for weeks. Unfortunately, the timing couldn't be worse. Its close proximity to the antique shop I just escaped with my life from was a little unnerving. It was just five blocks away. I took another long sip of my Mocha in an attempt to keep my "Nervous Nelly" imagination sedated.

Susan was talking, reporting on the day they had so far. "... and I found this great little black dress for under twenty-five dollars." She pulled it from the shopping bag to show me.

"After you stole it from me," Teresa said to Susan. "I found it first." She took a swipe at Susan with her right hand, her fingers just grazing her mother's arm. Her left was busy holding her iced Latte which jostled noisily from the sudden movement. She took another sip as her dark green eyes reflected her jovial mood.

"Well it was only fair, after you grabbed that blouse I going to get," Susan countered.

"Oh, that was _way_ too low cut for you."

Susan's jaw dropped, but she didn't fool us. Her hurt expression toward her daughter obviously wasn't serious. She couldn't hide her happiness. "I could've worn it", she said. "And what do mean it was 'too low cut'. I didn't think it low cut for me. Maybe for you."

Teresa shook her head, expelled a puff of air between her lips, and said, "P'lease!"

I smiled and laughed.

Susan shook her head. "Kids today, no respect for their parents." She took a swipe at Teresa with her left hand. Teresa retaliated and then they went back and forth a few times.

"I don't want to have to separate you two," I said, playing referee to their mischief.

Susan turned to me with a devilish look in her eyes. "So. How's _your_ day been?" She asked, with a slight wiggle in her brow. She glanced at Teresa, who reacted as though she knew what her Mom was talking about. She leaned in closer along with her. "Spill," Susan said.

I looked at the two of them and almost felt as though I were seeing double. _Maybe they're spending_ too _much time together._ I couldn't help smiling at this. Then my smile became a little coy as I replayed last night in my head. _Well... a girl's got to get her facts straight doesn't she._ "There's really not much to tell," I said.

"Yeah, right!" They both said in unison.

Teresa leaned in to Susan without taking her eyes off me and asked, "Who we talkin' about?" Susan, briefly filled her in. Teresa eyes grew wide and her smile had switched on its high beams. She turned to Susan and said, "Nooo! Oh my God! He sounds like a character from a good romance novel. It's like he came to life and rescued you. Damn, he's a real live Hero!" She sipped her Latte some more as they both awaited my report.

But before I could even mention so much as the color of Kris' socks, my veins went cold from the sudden shock I felt from what I saw. Stephen was coming around the corner with a hunting knife in his hand and was headed straight for Teresa. Before I could say a word, he was on top of her. He grabbed her by the arm. Her Latte went flying, landing on someone at a table next to us. It exploded on impact, spraying ice and cold milky coffee everywhere. Stephen had lifted her out of her chair and she was screaming.

Susan screamed her daughter's name, making it almost impossible for me to keep a level head. I don't remember it happening, but I found myself in a standing position, ready to react to whatever Stephen was going to do next. I could hear three tones from someone's cell phone somewhere behind me, as they dialed 911.

"I DON'T WANT TO HURT ANYONE!" He yelled. He was holding the knife to Teresa's throat, who was sobbing and scared shitless. "I just want the Sapphire!"

"What?" I said. "You can't seriously think I have it on me, you Dumb-ass!" Susan was quiet after Stephen yelled his demands. Most likely, too busy praying he wouldn't hurt Teresa. I took a step toward him.

This unnerved him and he started making quick glances of his surroundings from side to side. I could see he was starting to realize what a huge mistake this was. He took a couple of steps back with Teresa still in his grip. "I told you I don't want to hurt anyone!" He took another quick look behind himself and I got a couple of steps closer. He saw that and applied more pressure with the knife, nearly breaking Teresa's skin. "STAY BACK!" He yelled.

A blur came out of nowhere sending him and Teresa into the street. She was miraculously unharmed and tried scramble to her feet, but Stephen got a hand free. He attempted to grab her again and ended up cutting her arm with the knife. After that, the noise level shot way up, making impossible to tell who was screaming what. All I could do was stand there and try to figure out how to get a handle on the situation. I tried to get a good look at who was subduing Stephen, but they were at each other too much and too fast. Stephen gave a good kick to the head of his attacker, scrambled to his feet and ran down a side street. He got away. That's when I realized who our "hero" was.

Susan was busy applying pressure to Teresa's arm, who was still crying and shaking. Then she looked up at me with an expression that said it all. _Why?_

I could hear sirens getting closer and I was hoping there was another ambulance behind it, because my _boyfriend's_ going to need it! "God damn it, Kris! I had him!"

He was holding a red linen napkin full of ice someone gave him to his head as I approached. "You're welcome," he said to me.

Then it was my turn to hit him. It was a fast power hit to the chest with the heel of my right hand. He went down almost a full foot back from where he was standing. Ice went flying from his napkin. The shock on his face was worth every penny of those self-defense classes. "OW! Shit!" He yelled. He held out his hand for me help him up, but I turned my back on him and went back to help Susan.

"You proved your point," I heard him say to my backside. "You feel better now!"

# Chapter Twenty-eight

This Will Only End in Tears

"What the hell did you think you were doing? I had him, Kris! I was about to put an end to it without anyone getting hurt." I shook my head again. "I had him dead to rights! I was one step away from taking him down! It would've been a cinch! The police were already on their way. All I had to do was hold him there for two minutes at best!" I paced some more. Then I stopped to yell some more. "This could've all been over now! No one would've been hurt and we would've been starting a three day weekend by now, God Damn It!" That last statement should've made him more aware of what a huge mistake he'd made, if he hadn't already. I paced again. Then I stopped to yell again. "Not only that, but now it seems that somehow he knows we've figured out he did it! And now he's out there getting away and running off to God knows where." I had my hand out emphasizing the "out there" part and let drop it to my thigh. I paced a few more times, then, "You know? I mean... what's he going to do now, kill everyone who saw him at the café?" I paced a few more times and stopped. "Speaking of which. How the hell _did_ he know where to find me, I wonder?" I said that last question to let him know I knew he was somehow responsible for what happened. I mean, come on! After I left the antique shop, I drove down I-5. Then I made a 'U'-y that not even I knew I was going to make. There's no way he could've been following me. He'd had to be on my ass the whole time in order to do that.

I finally ran out of things to bitch about and was ready to hear what he had to say for himself. I folded my arms to keep from beating the shit out of him while I waited for him to make his plea.

He was still holding the damp napkin to his head. He was looking at me with those puppy-dog eyes the whole time I was bitching. "Yes," he said. "I was the reason he was there." He took the napkin away from his head, realized it wasn't doing anything and tossed it to the glossy white table between us.

We'd been fighting in the waiting room since we arrived. Somewhere beyond the double doors behind the check-in desk, Teresa was probably getting a thousand stitches on her arm. No doubt, her Aunt Lydia made this a real _special_ day for her. _God, Susan! I am so sorry._ The only police who arrived on the scene were some uniforms who hadn't been aware of the other incidents connected to the case. So they only took our statements and wrote out our description of Stephen for the B.O.L.O. Neither of us mentioned Carina, even though we knew she might know where Stephen could've gone. Saying anything about her connection with Stephen would've complicated things even more than they already were.

"After you did your little 'surveillance' and left, I had a talk with him," he said.

I looked at him with my hands on my hips, not believing what he saying. I shut my eyes and shook my head.

"I was trying to lure him away from you! I told him I had the Blue Star. If he wanted it, he'd have to make me a deal. Then that girl, Carina, she came out from the back of the shop. I could see he wanted to keep her from finding out. So I told him to meet me at the corner of 10th and Alder in an hour."

"So you were going to give him the Blue Star?! Christ! I know you're not a fan of Russia, but giving it to him..."

"No! No, I wasn't _going_ to give it to him. I was just buying time until I could figure out some other way to keep him from you."

"So how did he end up at the café? That's nowhere near 10th and Alder."

"He must've followed me."

"Followed you? What happened to those _KGB_ skills?" Right after I said it, I realized what happened . I happened. I felt guilty and sorry for saying it.

"I was worried about you. I was trying to keep an eye on you to make sure you were alright."

_Okay. I guess that's starting to make me feel a little better._ "Keep talking."

"I remembered where you said you going to meet your friends. I thought if anyone wanted to attack you, to silence you like your witness, then that would've been the time to do it. It was when you were the most vulnerable. When he attacked, I couldn't stand by and let you risk your life because of my mistake. I saw my chance when he shifted his grip on the knife handle. I knew by the way he was holding it he might drop it when I took him down. I had to jump in and take care of it. It was my fault he grabbed Teresa. I had to fix it." Then he shook his head and took a step toward me. "Lydia, I'm sorry this happened. I guess he thought I was too smart to keep it on me. He probably thought I had someone keeping it safe for me. That might be why he thought you had it."

Old habits certainly die hard. My habit of hating Kris was totally confused. I didn't know whether to hit him or hug him. _Fuck it!_ I closed the gap between us and hugged him. He put his arms around me. I couldn't see his face, but from the way he moved his arms, I was pretty certain he was a little surprised. I think his old habits were probably a little confused, too. Then I pretended to slug his arm.

"Eh-hmm!"

_Oops! Busted._ We let go and acted like we weren't doing anything.

"Well," Susan said as she walked over to a set of fiberglass chairs. She dropped her purse in one chair and plopped her ass in the one next to it. "Teresa's fine," she said. "They said he cut her pretty deep, but he didn't hit anything vital or cause permanent damage. I guess she'll have a scar now." She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "When she got over the shock of having her life threatened, she realized she'll have something to tell her friends when she gets back to Berkley. So I guess she's thrilled about that." Susan put her head in hands, shook it and sighed. "I don't know Lydia. I just don't know." _Shit! She said 'Lydia'. Not Lyds, or Liddy._ She took her hands away from her face and looked at me. "I'm not sure _I'm_ over it, or if I'm ever going to be." She turned away and shook her head again. "I'm thinking maybe we shouldn't see each other until you're done."

_Thank God!_ I thought she was going to say _ever_ , or _anymore_. "I'm glad to hear you say that, because I was thinking the same thing," I told her. "This case is getting too dangerous for you to be seen with me. It's probably best that we spend time together when I'm between..."

"NO!... Lydia" She turned to face me. "I mean until you're done with being a Private Eye."

_What? But that's worse than ever, or anymore. What am I going to do?_ "No! Susan, come on. Y-you _can't_ mean that. You're just upset." I felt Kris put his hand on my shoulder.

"I hope you're right, Lydia. I really do. We've been through a lot together." Her lower lip was starting to tremble. "We've seen each through tough times, but this... this is just about it for me." Then she burst into tears. "I really thought that man was going to kill my baby."

I fell to my knees in front of her. We held each other and cried together. _No! Susan! I can't lose you! I'm sorry! Please, no!_

# Chapter Twenty-nine

Some Much Needed TLC

When Teresa came through the ER doors, Susan grabbed her and said a quick goodbye to us one last time. Teresa was surprised by this and only allowed time to give me a perplexed look as they both hustled out the main entrance.

Kris drove my car home. We traveled in silence. I was in no mood to drive, or anything else. We both thought it was a good idea that he stayed with me, but for different reasons. His reason was because Stephen was still on the loose, mine was because I didn't want to be left alone. Even though I must have seen it a thousand times, I stared out the window. I watched the scenery go by as we traveled south along the Willamette River on SW Macadam. It wasn't as if I were paying any attention to any of it anyway. I was too busy being punished for having a memory like a DVR. My mind was torturing me repeatedly by replaying the scene at the café and the one at hospital. The one where my best friend said goodbye to me. _Oh God._ I wiped away another tear.

I played a message that was on the answering machine when we got home. It was Scott saying he was going to be late and not to wait up. _Thank God._ I was in _no_ mood to try to explain to him why Kris was here.

"I can fix us something," Kris said. He hugged me from behind and held me. I nodded, feeling numb and completely drained. I just stood there staring at the answering machine. He kissed me on top of my head and went off into the kitchen. Not really knowing what else to do, I followed him and sat at my usual spot at the table. _The two scenes continued to play in my head, again and again._

I was suddenly snapped out of it by something on one of my blue Wedgwood plates that was placed in front of me. It was something warm and smelled good. It smelled of cheese and ground beef. My brain finally got my attention and told me it was time to eat. I stared at the plate for a moment before picking up my fork and going through the motions. I chewed whatever-it-was and started to feel myself become more aware of my surroundings again.

"Is this how you were before?" Kris was sitting at the head of the table, digging into his food with a fork. He picked up a mouthful, put it in his mouth and chewed.

I swallowed my food and looked for something to drink. I usually just have water with my dinner, but Kris filled one of my white wine glasses with orange juice. I didn't feel like say anything about it. I just sighed and drank it. Then I was surprised at how it made me feel. "Oh... That's good. I think it actually made me feel better." I drank some more to be certain. "Did you put something in it?"

He shook his head while he chewed his food, then he swallowed. "No. It's just orange juice. Unless you put something in it. It was in your fridge." He smiled. Which also surprisingly made me feel better. _Geez, what else can he do?_ I was actually starting to feel rejuvenated and had an urge to drink more o.j. Then I ate some more of the... _macaroni hamburger helper?_ I looked up at Kris and he winked at me. Then I couldn't help laughing. Not only did he give me orange juice in one of my wine glasses, he also served me macaroni hamburger helper on one of my Wedgwoods!

After dinner, I went upstairs to shower. Even though I had a terrible day, I was actually starting to feel good. Not great, but good. I was drying myself with a towel and was startled when I saw Kris standing at my bedroom door. It'd been a long time since I've had anyone in my bedroom when I come out of the shower. I guess my indifference toward it had worn off.

"Oh. Sorry," he said and turned around.

I wasn't certain if he mistook my reaction, or if he thought he was being a gentleman. Either way, I wrapped the towel around my body. "It's safe now," I said.

He turned to face me. "I was just curious what the sleeping arrangements were going to be."

I saw this as the perfect opportunity to clear up any misconceptions about my reaction. I smiled and dropped my towel. Then I walked over to him and kissed him on the lips. "Does that answer your question?"

He had a wide grin on his face and replied with a passionate kiss. The sensation I felt from his warm soft lips and the way he grabbed me excited me. My naked body pressing against his fully clothed body made me feel dirty. Kris shut the door with his foot and we moved to the bed.

I took another shower later on, but this time it was with a buddy. The next few times, we were too "satisfied" to bother with the shower. At one point, I thought I heard Scott come home, but he'd gone straight to bed.

# Chapter Thirty

Busted!

The next morning was tough to wake up to, but last night helped take some of sting away. I was trying to get out of bed to quench my thirst for more o.j. when Kris pulled me close to him and caressed me. He reassured me that everything was going to be okay with his fingers moving up the small of my back, then he tenderly kissed my lips. _Woohoo!_

I picked up my pace down the stairs to the kitchen after reliving that moment in my head. But I had to hit the brakes once I reached the bottom. Scott was up and eating a bowl of cereal, but that wasn't all. Seated next to him was a dark haired girl wearing one his sweatshirts and doing the same thing. After hearing me trot down the stairs, he was already looking my way before his friend looked up. He seemed a little unsure and confused. First, all he said was, "Good morning." Then his friend smiled and bumped him with her elbow. Then he said, "Uh... This is Cathy."

"Cathy Harrington," she said. "Scott and I met at school."

Fortunately, I bothered to put on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt before coming downstairs. Fortunate, because it was early and I hadn't expected anyone to be up. Normally, I would've only put on my robe and we all know how well that works. I closed my mouth and smiled at her, hoping I was doing a good job at concealing my shock at finding Scott with a girl. I moved toward the cabinet were we keep the glasses. "Nice to meet you," I said. I caught myself actually thinking about using a wine glass again. _No, I don't think so._

"Scott's told me so much about you," Cathy said. "Are you really a private investigator?"

I looked at Scott. He shyly looked away. "Yes I am," I said. I walked over to the fridge with my glass to get the o.j. and started pouring. That's when heard him yawn. My eyes went wide and I almost dropped the glass. I turned around in time to see Kris step into the kitchen. Then I saw Scott had turned around in his chair with surprised look on his face and a smile that said, 'Busted'.

His girlfriend didn't see our silent exchange. She gave Kris the same smile she gave me earlier. Then she said, "You must be Mr. Pendleton."

Kris' eyebrows shot up and he looked at me, a little confused.

"Wait ... _Didn't you say he died?_ " I heard her whisper to Scott.

I thought I should come to the rescue. "Don't you have a class today Scott?" I said. I took a sip of o.j. and felt my super powers get charged.

"No," he replied. "Our morning class was canceled."

Since we were all apparently going to be downstairs, I walked over to the table and took a seat. Cathy smiled. I smiled back. I gave Scott a look that said it all. _You don't ask, I won't ask._

While he was getting something from the fridge, I happened to notice Kris was wearing a pair of Tom's sweatpants. I felt a little angry at first, but then I remembered he didn't have anything else to wear. My anger went away and I felt relieved that he took the time to find something. _I think I would've really been embarrassed if he put his pants from yesterday back on._ "Oh, by the way Kris, this is Cathy. Scott's friend."

Scott looked at me and mouthed, 'Koskov?'

Kris came back with a glass of o.j. for himself. "Glad to meet you," he said to Cathy. Then he stood before Scott with his hand out. "You must be Scott," he said. Scott was only slightly hesitant before shaking his hand. Then Kris took a seat at the head of the table again.

Cathy seemed to have gotten the picture at this point. I could tell she was starting to realize there was an awkward moment happening. She just smiled a nervous smile and went back to her corn flakes.

So there we all were. Kris and I, and the two kids, strangely looking as though we were a family sitting at the breakfast table. Kris looked at me after taking another swig of orange juice and winked. I just smiled and shook my head. _I can tell already, this is going to be another different day._

# Chapter Thirty-one

We Join Forces

Even with all that's happened, the idea of working together still didn't sit well with me. Well, not at first. Every time we collaborated, it never ended well. Though I'm starting to think I might've been partially to blame for that, I don't know. Kris made a few good points in his argument and thinks the problem between us was resolved. I had to admit there was good chance the change in our personal relationship might've done wonders for our working relationship. So I thought it probably wouldn't hurt to give it shot.

"What about that case you were working on before?" I asked. "What was it?"

"Oh that?" He sighed. "That was just something that I'd been working on, off and on. It can wait."

"Okay." _I guess he'll tell me about it someday._

"Listen. I, uh, I have to go do something."

"But I thought you were my bodyguard," I said. I could smell the scent of my avocado shaving gel on his face when I wrapped my arms around him and kissed his cheek. It seemed a little weird and yet at the same time erotic. It would've been absolutely wrong if I let him borrow Scott's shaving cream.

When we were at the table having our orange juices and cereals, I thought it would've been nice if I cooked everyone some breakfast. After giving each other a quick glance, Scott and Cathy declined, saying the cereal would be enough. They took their bowls to the sink and disappeared upstairs. _Should I be making sure their using protection?_

When Kris told me we were temporarily splitting up, we were in the hallway just past my "Bat Cave" pantry on our way to the garage. He kissed my forehead and said, "I thought I would see if anyone knew anything about Stephen. You know, connect with my sources. I promise I'll meet up with you later. Then we can look for Carina together." He brushed some of my bangs aside and kissed my forehead again. "It shouldn't be that difficult to find her."

I called Carina earlier at the number she gave me, but she wasn't picking up. _Of course she isn't. Like I told her the other day, my job is never that easy._

I loaned Kris my gunmetal-grey Mini with the sunroof and waved goodbye to him from my Solstice. Once I got on the straightaway of Country Club Rd., I opened my cell phone and called Vasiliy. Unfortunately, I had to turn down Fergie's _Big Girls Don't Cry_ before pressing his number.

"Da," he answered promptly.

"Are you aware of what Carina's been up to and where she is now?"

He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "I was surprised you had not called yesterday."

_Oh, crap!_ With all that's happened, I totally forgot. "Sorry about that. I had something come up that required my attention and it took all night." _That's sort of true._

"Ah," He said. "Carina... is my niece. What she does I don't know." He was quiet again and then he said, "Why do you ask?" I could almost hear the wheels turning in his head.

I knew if I mentioned something, he would react this way. Like he said, Carina's his niece, which meant it wouldn't take him long to figure it out, especially after seeing Stephen on the morning news. Just before I was about to give him an answer, I heard him get pissed. Then he hung up on me. _That ought to put the fear of God in those two. Now they might make enough mistakes to cause them show up somewhere._

I was driving into town on Kerr Parkway with Fergie busy singing her heart out about "losing her ground" when my phone rang a different melody. _I know. I like to play with the ringtones._ I checked to see who it was. _Blocked I.D. again._ "Kris?"

"It's me ... Carina."

I was in the middle of rounding a curve when she called. I was so surprised to hear her voice I had to quickly adjust after drifting into the other lane. "Where are you?"

"Outside your office." She sounded upset. "I didn't know where else to go. I don't know what happened to Stephen."

"Stay right there. I'll be there in a few minutes."

I didn't hear anything for almost half a minute. Then she said, "Okay." She sounded as though she was on the verge of tears, then she hung up.

I reached the on-ramp to I-5 and punched the engine into top gear once I joined the flow of traffic. I expertly drove around the various herds of cars as I raced to the office before Carina changed her mind, or someone changed it for her. Just as I got to the Terwilliger curves I saw taillights lighting up on all the cars up ahead like red warning beacons. _Don't come this way!_ I bullied my way to the far right lane and almost came two cars away from being stuck in the jam. I rode the shoulder a little ways to do it, but I was able to get off I-5 at Burlingame. It wasn't long before I found the smooth flowing traffic of Barbur Blvd. and was back on course.

My car found its usual spot in front of A & P's building and parked. I got out knowing this could be a trick. A ploy to lure me in so they could take care of me like someone took care of Quinton. I was on full "P.I. alert mode" with a little "Pendleton kick-ass attitude" mixed in. I scanned the area, searching corners, buildings and rooftops for suspicious characters or snipers. _Okay, maybe I should take it down a notch._

I took off my sunglasses and stuck them in the neck of shirt. Then I carefully opened the building's front door and poked my head in far enough to see. _Nothing._ Even though I knew there wasn't anything there for anyone to hide behind, I continued to be cautious as I entered the lobby. It was one of the reasons Tom picked this building for his agency. The lobby was just a short little hallway with mailboxes to one side and ended at the foot of the stairs. The door next to the stairs belonged to the manager and it was always locked tighter than Fort Knox. I paused to listen, but the building seemed quiet. I undid the snap on my holster at the hip of my waistband. I didn't remove my Ladysmith, but kept my hand resting on it. I crouched down with my back sliding against the wall, under the mailboxes, and slowly moved toward the stairs. My eyes focused on each step as they came into view. I stood once I could see the landing at the top and continued up the stairs. I kept my hand on my gun and watched for anyone or anything above me. Still, I saw nothing. No sound. I reached the landing and was getting the feeling I was being overly cautious, but I still continued to be alert for anything. I was almost burned for listening to my feelings once before.

I reached my floor without seeing anything along the way and turned the corner. I saw her sitting on the floor with her legs stretched out wide without a care beside my office door. _'My' office? I did it again._ She was alone and didn't appear to be a threat. I snapped my holster secure and covered up my weapon with my shirt. Carina stood without a word when I approached. Her eyes were bloodshot pink and her nose was beet red from crying.

"Here I am," I said. The tone in my voice conveyed the message that I wasn't going to be nice. I unlocked the door and let it bang against the wall, conveying the message even further. I gestured her to enter first. I followed close behind, adding yet another memory to that creaky floor.

The office was lit by a slither of midmorning sunlight reflecting off the windows from the building across the street. It spread across our dark pine floor and ended at Tom's desk. Just like any workday, I set my purse behind my desk and sat in my chair. Carina sat in the same chair as before, though the way she was dressed was different this time. A lot more different than I would've expected. She was wearing a gray cotton tank top, pair of Levis, black canvas shoes and no socks. The first time saw her, I pegged her as a high school girl with just a touch of Goethe. Today she looked like a young woman who was one step away from being on the run.

I pulled the legal pad I was using for this case from the drawer and got a bic pen from the cup on my desk. "So, tell me what happened," I said. "And I want the truth this time!"

She was giving off a strong depression vibe and just before she spoke, I could literally see her slipping deeper. "It was Quinton," she said.

What?!

"He was a friend of Stephen. At least that's what I thought, until Stephen killed him."

Uh... What?!

"Quinton was working with Stephen. They were trafficking Russian Icons. I told Stephen my father and my uncle were doing the same thing. Then he started asking questions about them." She stopped for a moment at this point. I squinted my eyes as wrote some extra notes. I didn't want to waste time bothering with my reading glasses. My eyes aren't really that bad anyway. "I don't know why I did it," she continued. "I didn't think anything like this was going to happen. I just wanted Stephen to like me." She was tearing up and was about to cry again. "I only wanted to be with a more mature guy," she said. Then she cried.

Thankfully, my cell phone started ringing. I wheeled around in my chair to get it from my purse. _Blocked I.D._ This time it had to be Kris. "Kris?" I answered, hoping I got it right this time.

"Hey, where are you?"

"The office, talking to someone."

"Stephen or Carina?"

"The later."

"I'm almost there." He hung up.

I turned back after putting my phone away. Carina had calmed down again. I cleared my throat to get her attention.

She lifted her head. Her brown eyes stared back at me, as if begging forgiveness. Then they moved away and stared off into space. "Stephen told me about the picture with the letter in it," she said. "He told me to take it to my Dad. He said it was a gesture to get them to agree to work together."

"Okay," I said. Obviously, I had to stop her right there. I was getting conflicting scenarios about this message. "I have to ask. Am I... am I _right_ in assuming that _none of you_ really believed this was actually the real thing?"

She looked at me again. This time her eyes were begging for an explanation. "What?" she said.

"I mean, Stephen had this the whole time and knew about it. Why didn't he go get it himself?"

"What?" She repeated.

"The Blue Star. It's real. It was there. It was right where the letter said it was."

She shut her eyes and shook her head like someone who'd just found out they'd been taken. She was angry and said a few Russian expletives. I'm pretty sure a few of them were about Stephen. Then her anger carried over to English. "He said it was forgery! I believed him. He lived across street from tunnel. It had to be fake! It was too convenient!"

It was at this point where I saw something that made me think I'd lost my hearing. Kris walked in without making a sound. _No floor creaks. Nothing!_ He walked up beside her, just as she turned to see what I was looking at.

"Hello," he said. His face was void of emotion.

He startled her. Then she said something I didn't understand.

Kris knew what she said and answered her by saying, "That's right."

I've never seen him act this way before. I'm certain I would've remembered if I had. He seemed cold and calculating. His posture was one of dominance. He was behaving like a deadly assassin and it was giving me the willies. All he said were two words, but it was enough to make her fear him.

She held a hand over her mouth while the other gripped her seat. Her face was a mask of horror. Even though the KGB was before her time, he still frightened her. She must've heard stories. She sat motionless while Kris slowly walked around behind her. Her eyes occasionally flickered toward the sound of his voice as he talked to her in Russian. Then she spoke to him, sounding as though she were answering a question. He nodded and said something else. Then she slowly took her hand away and looked at me. Tears welled up in her eyes and trickled down her face as she spoke to me in English with a shaky voice.

"I'm sorry I lied to you." She stopped to swallow. "Stephen told me to say those things so I would misdirect you. He said I had to make you think the murderer bought the pictures so that you would waste time looking for them while we covered our tracks." She sniffed back some tears and wiped them off with a hand, but they kept coming. "I was outside in the alley with Stephen when Quinton killed my father." Her crying got worse. "I didn't know he was going to kill him. After it happened, Stephen said we were there to help cover it up. I thought if I told you the crowbar was there when they found him that you would catch on. Then I could help you put Quinton away." She cried even more. _And now Stephen is gone and I don't know where he is_ , was what I think she said _. I'm sorry!_ She broke down and started sobbing hysterically. _Oh God. I'm so sorry!_

"My God," I said. Kris looked at me. His features had softened. His assassin look was gone. His eyes moved toward the window, looking at the building across the street. I knew _exactly_ what Carina was going through. Even though I wasn't responsible for Tom getting shot, I always felt I was. From the moment I learned what happened to him, I felt entirely responsible. I'll always believe I should have been there with him. _I Should've Been There!_

Kris and I looked at each other again. We spoke without talking. For the past couple of days, I was looking at him through a different pair of eyes. I forgot he was the same Kris I worked with before and that we knew each other well enough to tell what we were thinking.

_What do we do now?_ I asked.

He shook his head to tell me he didn't know.

# Chapter Thirty-two

Witness Protection

Kris told me what Carina said. It turns out the reason the Dementyevs came to Portland was because of the tunnels. The idea was to use them as storage for their icon trafficking, but they discovered most of them actually were cut up by renovations and upgrades. None of them could be used, but it wasn't a total loss. They also discovered how much of a vital shipping hub Portland was and saw its potential for being a prime location for their "business". Best of all, they were surprised no one had taken advantage of it. Or, so they thought.

I called the Lieutenant to inform him our latest development. Then I dusted off the copier to fax copies of my file to him. I never wrote down Carina's name when I took her statement, so my file only says the source of this new information was an "anonymous phone caller". Kris and I discussed it and we agreed we shouldn't turn Carina over to the police. Unfortunately though, I have to add 'not just yet' to the end of that sentence. We'd be risking our licenses if we didn't eventually hand her over to them. It was obvious she'd been manipulated and innocently trapped by a series of extenuating circumstances. We weren't strictly bound by the same legal limitations as the police, so we held off doing what we should be doing a little longer. The situation called for us to help her avoid being locked up and charged as an accessory to murder. And the best way for us to do it was to continue with the investigation with hopes of finding something to help prove her innocence.

"So where do we keep her until we figure this out," I asked. "We obviously can't take her home. That would be the first place anyone would look."

Kris shrugged. "I suppose we could put her up in a hotel, but that would mean one of us would have to stay with her at all times. And unfortunately, that would make it difficult to investigate anything."

She was still in the chair with her hands between her knees, quietly staring at nothing. I listened to the copier play its slow paper-shuffle and fax-hum rhythm while I thought about what we should do. I wanted to take her home to her mother, but I knew that's exactly where Vasiliy would be waiting for her while his people looked for Stephen. If I put her in a hotel, then, if Stephen wasn't _too_ busy being on the run, either him or Vasiliy would be able to locate her in no time. Siccing Vasiliy and his goons on her was a mistake I wish I hadn't made. It never occurred to me that she might've been an unwilling participant. But I knew if I tried to call him off now it wouldn't do any good and would make matters worse. He's Mafia. I don't claim to know much about the Mafia, but I know they have their own brand of justice. In his eyes, she was responsible for all of it. In his eyes, she betrayed their trust and should pay for it.

The copier shuffled, sorted and hummed.

_In my eyes, she just a teenage girl who was only trying to get a guy to like her._ I sighed and shook my head. "She can stay with me. I have a guestroom." I put an arm around Kris.

He smiled and nodded his head. "Don't beat yourself up about Vasiliy," he said. "Either way, we'd still be in the same boat."

He's right. If I hadn't called him, we still would've ended up trying to help her.

Carina cried again, when we informed her of our decision. Though, this time it was tears of joy, now that her nightmare was easier to handle.

Scott and Cathy had left for their afternoon classes when we got back to the house. I had no idea how long we'd be protecting Carina and I assumed Cathy would be staying with us this weekend. I took this into consideration when making plans and arrangements for guard duty. Only because having someone keeping Carina company in itself is enough to be a big help to us. And Cathy wouldn't even have to know she was helping us, as long as either Kris or I were close by of course.

Saying I have a guest _room_ was an understatement. What I have is a two story loft guest _house_. It's only a couple feet away from the main house, on the other side of our pool and slightly higher up the hill with its backside partially built into it. Carina seemed pleased with the accommodations, which was also an understatement. She was excited and animated. The look on Kris' face told me she was giving the guesthouse a five-star review. I had to go by the look on his face because he was the only one who knew what she was saying, as she rambled on excessively in Russian. She disappeared down the eggshell white hallway leading to the small downstairs bedroom, then reappeared on the other side near the olive drab kitchen. She turned to me with her hands held to her chest and said, "Thank you." Then she hugged me. "No one will ever find me here. Thank you."

I was thinking about her attire and it occurred to me she might need a change of clothes until we can do something about getting more. I toyed with the idea of taking her shopping, pretending she was my daughter. Something I normally get to experience vicariously through Susan. _Susan._ I felt a momentary pang of sadness when I thought of her.

I heard a rumor once that shopping was never a good reason to put anyone's life in danger. So I guess, unfortunately, Carina had to remain hidden. _Although, there is a chance that eventually one of the places they'd be looking for her would be either mine or Kris' house, once they found out where we lived. Hmm... why not? What's the harm? Kris would be with us. We could still protect her. It might even be a better plan. Hiding her in plain sight might be something they wouldn't expect. Not only that, but keeping her on the move might also make it more difficult for anyone to find her._

She let go and said, "Thank you," again. Then it was Kris's turn, but her "thank you" to him was said in Russian, minus the hug. _Probably has something to do with him being ex-KGB._

We thought if Stephen were hiding out at the antique shop, he'd still be there whether we ate lunch, or not. Being a fan of not being hungry, I got a loaf of bread, deli meat, cheese and mayonnaise from the main house and made sandwiches for everyone. I even cut them diagonally like my mom did, but I had to throw one of them away. Kris was allergic to the kind of mayonnaise I used, so I made him a new one, sans mayo. _Some oil thing or something._

"I suppose you could wear some of my clothes for the time being," I said to Carina. "Though they might be a little big for you."

We were eating our sandwiches in the guesthouse's breakfast nook at a small, round oak table. The guesthouse was added on to the estate after my furniture-buying spree in France, so I furnished it with what I could get at the local malls.

Carina must have been starving. She barely came up for air when she answered me with a mouth full of ham and cheese. Her "thank you" sounded more like "ftha ftho". She nodded and smiled with a piece of bread stuck to her front tooth. Then she wolfed another bite of her sandwich.

I shook my head. _Kids._ Then I thought of her mother. _She's probably worried about her and wondering where the heck she is._ "I think we should call your mother and let her know you're alright."

She stopped eating. The guilt of how she let her down showed. She sat the remains of her sandwich down on her plate and chewed what she had in her mouth a few more times before she swallowed. She agreed with me by nodding her head. "She'll be worried about me," she said. She turned to Kris and said something in Russian. I'm pretty certain it was something about Vasiliy, considering I thought I heard his name.

Kris looked down at the other half of his sandwich on his plate and nodded. Then he spoke a few words of Russian back to her. He turned to me and said, "Her mother has a cellphone. Carina says she could call her without her Uncle knowing." The look on his face told me he was a little worried about this. He glanced over at Carina, then turned back to me again and said, "Let's get it over with."

# Chapter Thirty-three

A Momentary Respite

"It's beautiful!"

I was holding it out to her with both hands so she could see all of it. I motioned for her take it. "Go ahead," I said.

She was transfixed by the necklace and cautiously picked it up by its chain. She moved it around, allowing the surrounding gems a chance to dance with the light. Her hand slid further down to the cartouche and she admired the dangling globular pearls. Then she took us by surprise and ran down the hall. We followed her and found her in the bathroom. She had turned on the light and was standing in front of the mirror. "It's gorgeous!" she said. She was holding the chain in place with her fingertips and turned to admire how it looked around her neck.

We were stunned when we saw how natural it looked. It was as if the necklace were made for her. I felt jealous at first, then I started to worry. I knew Carina could see it too. I wanted her to give it back before she got any ideas.

But just as I was about to say something, she removed it from around her neck and held it away from her by the chain. I thought it was because it was obvious what I was thinking, but I learned that wasn't the case. She was holding it out with her thumb and forefinger as if it were a disgusting rat. "Please... put it away," she said. She looked like she was about to cry again. "I don't deserve to be seen with it."

I took the necklace, uncertain as to which reason why she was upset about being seen with it. Calling her mother earlier had resulted in putting a damper on her good mood. Which is why I came up with this _great idea_ to cheer her up by showing her the Blue Star. It was working... up to now.

Kris was having trouble getting hold of someone at the Diamond Fund in Moscow's Kremlin Armoury. The earliest he can try talking to anyone is around nine at night, our time. So far, it's been a pain in the ass to get anyone in the Imperial Treasury Department to pick up the phone. Changes had been happening in Russia recently and his "right people" were also hard to get a hold of.

"Please put it away," she begged.

Kris gave me a look that told me he understood why she was acting this way. He subtly tipped his head in a manner that said to let them discuss it alone. _Apparently, it was a Russian thing._

I went back down the hall to the living room and got the red rag from my purse on the floor where I left it. I rewrapped the Sapphire and dropped it back in my purse. I stood there with my hands on my hips doing nothing. I was wishing I hadn't made certain they did such a good job when they built the walls. _I can't hear a thing they're saying._ Then I rolled my eyes when I remembered they would be speaking Russian anyway, _Dumb ass_. Then my eyes happen to fall on the guesthouse's 40" flat panel mounted on the wall. I stared at its blank screen for a moment and decided it wasn't an option. The only thing on now would be daytime TV and it's been decades since I watched any of my soaps. Then I saw the bar, beside the breakfast nook. I checked the time on my Swiss Army, decided it wasn't too early for a drink. I checked the inventory in the mini-fridge, chuckled when I saw the orange juice and decided to make myself a screwdriver. _Mmm... I'm starting think o.j. might be my new favorite thing to drink._ My mind wondered back to the case and I thought about what to do next as I mixed the drink and had a couple of sips. Of course, the first thing I deduced was that I might think better if I took my drink to the couch.

_I think our next course of action should be staking out the antique shop. If Stephen isn't there, we could have Carina show us where he keeps his financial records. Either way, going to the antique shop sounds like a good move. I hope we_ can _get a look at his records. That might help speed things up. It could help us find out where he does his trafficking._

They came back from the bathroom and Carina didn't look any different. She still seemed like she believed she wasn't worthy and plopped down in a chair. Kris saw my drink and decided it wasn't a bad idea. He came back with his and sat next to me on the couch.

Like I said before, the guesthouse was furnished with furniture from the local malls. The couch we were on resembled something belonging in a retirement home in Boca. The catalog said the fabric was "herringbone striped in fiesta colors". I didn't care, because the only people I thought would be seeing it would be Tom's parents visiting from Idaho. It wasn't because I didn't like them. We actually get along with each other pretty well. I just know them well enough to know they would feel uncomfortable if I furnished the place with something extravagant. That's why the rest of the living room set only sort of matched.

I turned to Kris and asked, "So what are we doing? Aren't we going to check out the antique shop?"

"We're waiting," he said.

"We're waiting?"

He watched a drip of condensation run down the side of his glass for a moment and said, "We're waiting for someone to call, someone who knows something."

_What?_ I sat my drink on the coffee table and turned a little more toward him with my arm propping my head up and my elbow on the back of the couch. I started boring my eyes into him until he couldn't take it anymore and explained what he meant. A technique I very rarely use. It's not recommended for the faint hearted. I was surprised at how quickly he gave in. _Maybe it's a technique they should use at the KGB, or whatever they call themselves now._

He sat his drink next to mine and turned toward me with an elbow on the back of the couch and his hands finger-laced together. "An informant of mine told me he dealt with Stephen a couple of times through a friend of his."

Carina's ears perked up and we decided it didn't matter if she overheard.

Kris continued. "He said his friend dealt with Stephen a few times and might know where he could be hiding. He said he would call me as soon as he knew anything."

"Kris!" I sighed and shook my head. "I... I don't believe you! We could find that out on our own. All we have to do is look at his books or go through his mail. It would only take us a few minutes."

"You know that's not always a reliable method," he said. "Look, I know how it sounds. I know this guy. He always comes through for me."

I shook my head again and sighed once more. "Okay. All right. But don't you think we should be doing _something_? Besides... acting like we're on vacation?"

"Well, sometimes you have to take what you can get." He leaned forward and picked up his drink. "Take a moment to relax." He took a sip. "You might not get another chance." He shrugged his shoulders.

"I like it," Carina spoke up. She looked small and frail sitting in that big overstuffed "juicy fruit" striped chair. Probably because my black fleece shorts and gray T-shirt were a little loose and baggy on her. She left her shoes in the bedroom and had her bare feet tucked beneath her. When I went to the house to get the Blue Star, I grabbed some clothes from my closet for her to wear. The clothes she had on were being cleaned in the guesthouse's closet washer. I thought if I couldn't take her shopping, I could at least pretend I was washing my daughter's clothes.

I noticed her eyeing my drink. I knew it would be contributing to a minor, but I've been two and oh on my attempts at cheering her up. I also knew it would be a sure fire way to make it up to her. It couldn't hurt just this once and I'm pretty sure it could be considered a special circumstance. _Besides, she's eighteen. She's old enough to have snuck a drink or two at a few parties by now._ "Would you like a drink?" I asked.

"Yes, please. Could I have a vodka tonic?" she happily replied.

Told you.

An hour or two went by while we sat around drinking, playing board games and snacking on chips I got from the house. I'll have to admit, it _was_ fun pretending to be on vacation. That is until Kris got his phone call.

# Chapter Thirty-four

The Game's Afoot!

I called Scott to let him know what's happening and where we went in case something went wrong, but it went straight to his voicemail, so I left a message. _His class must've been in session._ I didn't dare write a note and leave it on the fridge for all to see. Stupidity is no longer a habit of mine.

As I said, if they realized we had her, they would find out where we lived and come looking for her. So we had no choice, but to take her with us. She was in jeopardy no matter what we did and bringing her with us was the lesser of two evils.

Tom's- _Whoops! Damn it._ Sorry... _Kris'_ guy told us about a warehouse where Stephen was probably doing his trafficking. If it's turn out to be accurate info, then it could be a big break for us. There could be evidence there that could help clear Carina. As it stands now, her testimony alone would be too iffy. We needed a little more than just a witness to keep Stephen behind bars and out of her life. We needed proof connecting him to the two murders. Otherwise, no matter what Carina says on the stand, it's still her word against his. If this does turns out to be something that provides us with the proof we need, she might be able to plea bargain and only have to serve a minimal time in jail, if any. Right now, it's up to us to do this, because the only thing substantial the police have on Stephen is the attack at the café. And it didn't look like they'd be getting anything more than that without out help.

In case he happened to be at the warehouse, or our paths crossed on the way, we made certain we were ready for him this time. He might still have that knife and we didn't want a cafe repeat. Kris checked his Glock and found he was short a few bullets. I went to get some rounds for him from the floor safe where I've kept mine all this time.

He was standing over my shoulder when I opened the safe and saw my Glock. "Are you sure you don't..."

"YES!" I startled Kris with my outburst, and myself as well. "Yes," I repeated a little more calmly this time. I shook my head. "I'm sorry I yelled. I just don't..."

I could see in his eyes that he started to understand. "That was the gun," he said.

I nodded my head. "Yeah... that was it."

He was having trouble trying to find the words. Then he turned away and said, "Sorry... I wasn't thinking."

"Forget it," I said and handed him the bullets.

We wanted to take the Solstice because of its performance and the way it handles turns, but it didn't have a backseat. So we had to take the next best thing: My jet black 2009 Saab 9-3. Kris knows how I drive in situations like the one we might be facing and said nothing when I sat behind the wheel.

We were zooming eastward on the curvy I-84 and I could see Carina in my rearview mirror. For a girl who's got the Red Mafia and a murder suspect on her tail, she seemed to be having a blast. I probably shouldn't say this, but I was impressed by how well she held her liquor. While I wasn't looking, she made herself another vodka tonic and finished it off while beating me twice at Chutes and Ladders. We discovered we had a similar taste in music and my aggressive driving might've added to her enthusiasm. Even though she we might be headed straight into a dangerous situation, she was head bobbing and snapping her fingers to the Tings Tings CD on my car stereo.

The traffic was only on the verge of becoming rush hour, so it wasn't too bad yet. The sky didn't seem too happy and showed its mood by being overcast and grey with a threat of rain. Fortunately, I caught the "visual" forecast before we headed out and left the top up on the Saab. Kris was quiet and stared out his window. I've seen him do this before. I knew what he was thinking, but didn't know exactly how he thought it. I suspected it might be a spy thing.

When we hit the off ramp to 82nd, a few sprinkles wet the windshield and the CD finished playing _Keep Your Head_. A song with lyrics strangely matching our thoughts. I was getting anxious and nervous the closer we got and started having a funny feeling I couldn't shake. It's been over two years since I faced a real gunfight. Logic was telling me he would have a gun, even though there's been nothing telling us he would. I kept telling myself not to panic and focused on doing a mental check of what I needed to remember when the time came.

Remember your point of aim. Is your gun loaded?... Yes. If you shoot him, don't forget to compensate for recoil when you aim. Shoot the legs. Is my gun clean?... Yes ... cleaned it last weekend. Don't forget, compensate! Aim left.

The light turned green and I steered everyone left to where the warehouse was supposed to be, near the airport. My stereo's amber display informed us _Be the One_ was playing as if reading my thoughts. I glanced over at Kris and could tell he was thinking the same thing. _I don't want to 'be the one', either._ Carina mellowed to just a slow head bob to the music and was eyeing a passing pawnshop.

Only the locals are familiar with this route to the airport. It branches off 82nd and takes you on a straight shot to the airport. Since the locals were locals, not a lot of them had a reason to be here. The road was almost deserted. Our turnoff for the warehouse was on the right. We kept our eyes peeled as we passed small buildings with P.O. boxes and mini offices. After we drove under the Columbia Dr. overpass, we found our street.

I turned off the stereo and checked the rearview. Carina's mood had changed. If she was here before it didn't show. She was sitting still, watching to see where we were headed. I made the turn and thought of something I should have asked her before. "What kind of car does Stephen drive?" I said.

"A white bug," she answered. "Volkswagen bug."

Kris and I looked at each other and smiled. _Not the best choice for a getaway vehicle._ Then I asked her something she probably didn't know. "You wouldn't happen to know the license plate number?"

I saw her shake her head no.

I repeated the answer to Kris, who turned to give her a sympathetic smile.

This so-called "warehouse" was more like a large storage facility with other "warehouses" just like it. They sat parallel to each other in two rows of twenty. Each one was an oblong unpainted old cement structure the size of a Cape Cod home with corrugated gable roofs made of rusted tin. The facility was one of those cheap places that didn't bother with paving. Thus, the road ahead was bumpy.

The rain shower got heavier. I turned the wipers up to a faster intermittent speed so we could read the numbers. _105... 106... 107._ They started at one hundred and the one we needed was 117. I didn't see any breaks in the sequence of numbers, so it was apparent that the one we wanted was near the end of the row. _Kind of makes sense. Get the one furthest from the road so you could have some time to get away._ I glanced overhead to see if there were cameras. _None._

We hadn't seen a Volkswagen, white or otherwise. A couple of beat up cars were in front of 109 where someone was doing something that had nothing to do with what we were looking for. The man had dark curly hair and a bushy mustache, and his roll-up door was open. We saw a couple of piles of lumber, saw horses and various power tools scattered about inside as we drove by. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt with a dun-lop belly, and watching the rain beneath dripping eaves while taking a smoke break. He gave us a salute-wave as we passed by. As for the VW, it was the same story all the way to 117. _No sign of it._ I parked the car on the side of the dirt road in front of 115, so it wouldn't be obvious which warehouse we were interested in.

Before getting out of the car, Kris and I did a double check of our weapons and made certain we could get to them quickly. Trying not to sound too cliché, I told Carina, "Try to keep your head down and out of sight. Keep the windows up and the doors locked."

She nodded and slid down in her seat. Her eyes moved from side to side, searching for trouble.

Kris and I gave each other a quick nod and got out of the car. Bushy mustache had flicked his butt and gone back inside. Fortunately, the rain was back to being a light mist. _Still no Volkswagen._

The moment I was thinking Stephen could've borrowed someone's car, I heard a loud bang simultaneously accompanied by a low humming buzz of a bullet zipping past my ear. _SHIT! That was close!_ I felt the left cheek of my butt getting cold and wet. _I was on the wet ground and it was getting soaked._ I pulled my gun and tried to figure out where the shot came from. Then I heard the popping of Kris's weapon as he fired two rounds in quick succession. Realizing I was probably still in the open, I scrambled to get behind my car. I could hear Carina crying when I moved past the back door. _God I hope she doesn't think I was hit._ I yelled I was okay, even though I scrapped my knee on some rocks and got the other wet in a rain puddle. Then I heard the same gun that fired at me return fire. He shot twice. They were a few seconds apart, but this time at Kris. I know because I heard leaves shake on a bush on the other side of him as one went through it. I also got a bead on where the shots came from that time. I fired one round overhead in that direction to draw his fire. I'm a good shot, but at this distance, hitting a target with a .38's a little tricky. I couldn't see who was shooting, but I knew it couldn't be anyone else but Stephen. I heard Kris fire another round. Then there was the sound of a car door and an engine turning over. I poked my head up and saw the tires of a silver Datsun 280ZX kick up mud and dirt between warehouse 116 and 117. Kris shot another round, but the car was gone. I grabbed my keys and jumped in behind the wheel. Just as I started the car, Kris put his hand on mine.

"Lydia!" He yelled, once he finally had my attention. "I got the plate. We don't need to go after him. Come on." He waved his hand for me to follow. "I'll call it in and we can check out the warehouse."

I turned off the engine and sat there for a minute, waiting for my nerves to settle. "I guess we don't have to worry about that knife anymore," I said.

Kris was standing outside the car and staring at the warehouse when I said that. He bent down and looked in at me with a furrowed brow. Then he smiled and shook his head.

Carina was laughing.

God, sometimes I hate it when my instincts are right.

# Chapter Thirty-five

A Little C.S.I. Work

There was barely any light coming in through PVC panels in the tin ceiling. There were three of them, opaque corrugated panels, on the eastside of the roof. It was midafternoon and cloudy which meant there wasn't much for the "skylights" to work with. The only other light we had snuck in through venting turbines along the roof's peak. They were spinning at full speed, venting the residual heat that built up before it rained. My eyes were adjusting to the darkness and I could see some incandescent bulbs hanging from the ceiling with green metal shades. Then I heard a light switch click behind me, bringing electricity to the low watt bulbs. _Kris found the switch._

The warehouse was more like a garden shed on steroids. The door we came through was metal alloy, battleship grey and more modern than the structure it protected. A shiny new padlock hung from a hasp, but it was unlocked. _Guess we got here before he had a chance to lock up._ There was a large roll-up door, like the other "warehouses", but the padlock for that was locked. The smell of fresh cut birch and pine hung in the muggy air from the thousands of plywood crates stacked in piles along the cracked and broken concrete floor. Most were nailed shut, but others weren't. Inside the crates were thick wooden slats with slots on the top and bottom. Some of them had pressed board panels and polyurethane foam inserts, providing a snug protective fit for their cargo. Standing upright and leaning against open crates were the very things I saw on internet the other day. _Russian Icons._

Kris picked one up. It was a 2 x 6, which, if you remember, was worth thousands. He looked over every detail. It was a painted image of Jesus and his mother The Madonna. He carefully put it back and looked around at all the other crates again. Then he said something in Russian, or Ukrainian, I'm not sure which.

Two black objects on a dirty work table off to my right caught my attention. I was drawn to them because they were practically the only thing black in here. I stepped closer to get a better look. One of the objects was a tool belt with small tools inside some pockets. The other was long and slender with a hooked prong at one end covered in dried blood. My hand flew to my mouth. I felt sick. It was the murder weapon. It was the crowbar! "Kris!" _Oh God! Oh my God!_ Before I ran screaming out the door, there was something else, something I almost missed. It was the papers Kristyan had. I pocketed them and got the hell out of there.

The forensics team was in full "fine-tooth-comb" mode from the word go. _I guess the Lieutenant still feels guilty for the way he acted the other day._ They started papparazzi'ing the exterior of the warehouse and focused on the door, peppering it with a black powdery substance and picking some of it off with plastic film. They really went to town when they went inside. The constant flashing would've been enough to give anyone an epileptic seizure.

The detectives arrived not long ago, but were busy talking to the man in 109. I didn't have to hear them to know what he was saying. The waving of his arms and constant head shaking told us he was telling them he didn't see a thing, which was probably the truth. Kris and I were waiting by the car and Carina was still hiding in the backseat. When we finished checking out the warehouse, we checked to see how she was doing. She was nervous, but otherwise fine. Since we accomplished what we set out to do, I was wondering if I should to hand her over to the police. Especially since I got her drunk and put her in the middle of a shootout. _Oh yeah, sure. I'm the perfect mother for a daughter._ I was surprised the car wasn't hit. Stephen was either a good shot, or a lousy one who was trying to hit Carina.

I jumped when she knocked on the back window. We were standing in front of it and I moved over, revealing her worried face. Kris opened the door and she rattled off something in Russian to him, but stopped when he held his hand up. He said something back to her that I could swear I heard before. _I think it was something about me._ Kris waved me over. I stood before her and she repeated herself for me in English. "I know that car Stephen was driving. It was Quinton's. I thought I should tell you in case it was important."

"How certain are you?" I asked. "Weren't you keeping your head down like I told you?" _Oops. That mothering part slipped past me again, damn it._

"I couldn't help it. I had to see if it was Stephen. I'm sorry."

I rolled my eyes. I didn't intend to mother her. I liked it better when we were friends. "It's okay. You did good. Speaking up was the right thing to do." I smiled. "Always remember, omission is the enemy."

She chortled and nearly blew snot out her nose. Kris laughed.

"What?" I asked.

"Omission is the enemy?" he said. "Where did you get that corny line from?"

"Well it is. I say that to all my clients."

He tipped his head the side and shrugged. "Alright," he said. Then I caught him giving Carina a wink as he turned away.

Asshole.

Carina giggled.

Maybe I should stick with only saying that at the office. No ever laughs at me there.

Since what I told the uniforms when they arrived was minus the car knowledge, I had to give the detectives the updated version. But, I had to alter it by saying it was Kris who supplied the info. I told them he called the DMV yesterday to find out which car Stephen and Quinton owned, in case we happened to cross paths. We explained we asked for Quinton's because we suspected Stephen was the one who killed him. "The reason we didn't mentioned it before was because Kris didn't double-check his notes," I said. If we said it was Carina who told us, then they would want to know how she knew. "She's Kris' niece," I told them. "She didn't see anything. She was too busy keeping her head down in the backseat." But they still asked her what she heard. _I guess they still have to do their job too._

Occasionally, one or two forensic guys would come out with small evidence bags in their hot little hands while our statements were being taken. We hadn't told Carina we found her father's tool belt and the crowbar yet. I kept watching for them to come out. I was hoping I could block her view when they did. Lucky for me I saw those papers before the police got here. So far everything I've told them didn't include the Blue Star part of my investigation, which made it evidence I had been withholding. If they found those papers, that would've been it for me. No license, no job, no freedom. With little miss Det."shitbitch" out there looking to nail me for murdering that _asshole_ , I'm certain it would've meant a life sentence.

Thankfully, they left the crowbar and tool belt for last while Carina was busy talking to the detectives. _I pretended to be pacing._ The forensic guy put them away in a portable evidence locker in the back of their truck. I looked back to see if she saw anything, but I didn't have to worry. She was still busy talking to the detectives. _How long does it take them to listen to someone say they only heard a lot of gunfire?_

"Thanks again, Lydia," Detective Wilson said, once he was satisfied he got everything we knew. He was the lead detective on Kristyan's murder case and a little nicer than that bitch that arrested me the other day. He looked a little young for a police detective, maybe late twenties, early thirties. He was wearing a beige London Fog raincoat like the Lieutenant's. Though on him, it made him look more like a stereotypical clichéd detective. His grey suit was herringbone, his tie a solid navy blue. "We'll update the BOLO that's out on Stephen with what you guys gave us," he added. "I'm sure it won't be long 'til he turns up somewhere. Once that happens, with what we have... I'm certain he'll be put away." His green eyes complimented his smile as we shook hands.

His partner, Detective McIntire, was a woman who was a little older and almost the same height as her partner. Her hair was a rich chestnut color which she wore loose and flowed over her shoulders. Her skin tone and freckles verified her ancestry, but her complexion wasn't as pasty as most Irish. I couldn't tell what she was wearing beneath her black raincoat. Her hands were deep in its pockets and she was holding it tightly around herself. Her pale blue eyes smiled as she repeated Det. Wilson's gratitude and fell in step behind him. They walked back down the road to their car, parked two cruisers behind mine. Just before getting behind the wheel he added, "If you find something else, or see him again, give us a call." They waved goodbye and got in their car. They backed up a little, did a U-y and drove off, happy we made their job easy.

"Well that's better," Kris said, as he joined me by my side. "Almost changes my opinion about them." He looked at me and smiled. He folded his arms as the wind picked up a slight chill in the damp air and watched the forensic team through the doorway.

"When do you think they'll figure it out?" I asked.

He looked at me, wondering what I was talking about. "What do mean?"

"That she's not your niece and how much she's involved in all of this." I stepped closer to him and slipped my hand through the crook of his elbow.

"Well considering she's mentioned a few times in your file, and today's Friday, I'd say... maybe Tuesday?"

I agreed. I actually hadn't thought about it that far and realized he was right. A minute ago, I was deciding if I should have the police pick her up, or turn her over myself. I knew, no matter what, that she still had to be taken into custody. Up to now, the evidence hadn't been on her side. In the eyes of the law, she's an accomplice to two murders. Too bad one of those murders was her father, otherwise I'm sure Dementyev's lawyers could have her freed on bail without her ever seeing the inside of a jail cell.

I realized, after Kris said it would be a while before the police figured it out, that we had more time to do more for her. Since we were so successful in getting the evidence we needed, maybe _we_ could try to coming up with something that would prevent her from seeing the inside of a jail cell.

"I guess she'll be staying with us this weekend," I said.

Kris gave me a look. He wasn't angry, but he wasn't happy either. He was... I'm not sure.

"What?" I asked.

"You've got something in mind, don't you?"

"Moi?"

# Chapter Thirty-six

I Deceive My Client

_One down, three to go._ Even though we did some damage to Stephen's freedom, we still have Vasiliy's nightclub-bouncer wannabes on the loose. If we still wanted to help her, we had no other choice but to assume the worst and continue to keep her in protective custody. _That is, unless we came up with another plan._

I was surprised at how late it was. It was almost six o' clock, right about the time when I'm supposed to be calling my client to update him on my progress. As far as I know, he still believes I'm tracking down the person who killed his brother, which in a way is still the truth. The last time I talked to him I sicced him on Carina and Stephen . Hopefully, this call will help rectify that and change a few other things for the better. If this plan works, it will be the last phone call I make to Vasiliy as my client. Which is why if I needed the money I would've been totally against this idea.

He answered on the second ring with a bunch of Russian words again. _I swear, my next client better know how to say 'hello'._

"Vasiliy, it's Lydia," I began. "Before I give you a report, I was wondering if you ever found out where Carina was. I was hoping to talk to her again."

There was silence on his end for a moment. Then he said, "Da. Yes. I'm sorry to say I do not know where she is. When I see her I will tell her you wish to speak to her again."

I smiled and winked at Kris, letting him know Dementyev's still doesn't know we have her. I caught a glimpse of Carina in my rearview mirror. She didn't seem to be upset about who I was talking to. She was calmly watching the scenery of East Portland rush by as we cruised westbound on I-84. There really wasn't much scenery to see. This part of the interstate sits within a shallow concrete canyon where the western end of it terminates. It was laid within a cut-through in a hilly section of town, which is why it's so curvy. What little "scenery" there was passed slightly above us.

"Thank you," I said to Vasiliy. "Now that that's out of the way, I've made quite a bit of progress today. I think I may be getting close finding out who killed Kristyan. I know I told you I had reason to believe it might have been Stephen Yanovich, but I've found someone who informed me he had a partner, Quinton Davis. Have you heard of him?"

Again, there was silence before he answered, as if he were trying to figure out what I was up to. "I... I may have heard of him. I think he was murdered just recently, though. Yes. I think heard of him from the, uh, news on the television. I hope you weren't expecting to speak to him."

I almost laughed at how our conversation sounded. It's as if we were in a spy movie and trying to see who knew what without being obvious. But I wouldn't have laughed too long, because I realized that's exactly what we _were_ doing. _I should've known since the idea came from an ex-KGB agent._ "Oh really," I continued, trying to sound as if Quinton's murder were news to me. "I'm sorry to hear that." The big green sign announcing my exit loomed ahead, almost causing me to lose my train of thought. "That's too bad," I added.

"This person who told you about Mr. Davis, who was it?"

"His name was Bob, or Bobby, I think? I have it written down somewhere." I waited about two beats as if I were actually looking for it. This allowed me to focus on the road at an opportune time with both hands on the wheel. I was holding my cell phone in my hand as I drove. I navigated the Saab through a little knot of on-ramps and lane changes heading for I-5 southbound, which eventually took us over the bridge and would neatly loop us into the middle of downtown Portland. Once we leveled off into a straightaway, I did a couple of quick glances at Kris so I could give Dementyev an accurate description of him.

"Here it is. His name was Bobby Brown. He's about 5'9" and has short brown hair. I think his eyes were green, or hazel. He has kind of a muscular build. I spoke to him last night. Since I wasn't certain if this information was bullshit or not, I didn't think it was necessary to call you about it then. Have you heard of him, or know who I'm talking about?"

There was another moment of silence, then, "Nyet. No, I don't think I know him. I wonder if I could talk to him. Could you give me his address, please?"

I winked and nodded at Kris. _He took the bait._ "Uh, yeah, yes, I have it here, but it wasn't the address where he lived. It was the donut shop where he worked, Voodoo Doughnuts. Do you know where that's at?"

"Voodoo Doughnuts?" he repeated, but it sounded more like he was saying vwoodoh doenots. "No. Where is this?"

"Oh... Okay." I was surprised he hadn't heard of it. _Either he hasn't lived here long or he doesn't get out much. I'll have to remember to ask Carina._ "It's on the corner of Southwest third and Ankeny in downtown Portland. You can't miss it. It's a brick building with a big orange sign with Voodoo in red letters."

"Ah, yes, uh, thank you. Voodoo... Doughnuts. Got it."

"Right. His name is Bobby Brown."

"Da! Yes. Thank you!" Then he hung up.

I put my phone away and gave my driving my full, undivided, attention within the sea of fast moving cars. We were headed toward the exit going downtown that takes us to I-405 and the exit to 4th avenue. The rush hour traffic was in full swing this time of day. Since it was a Friday, it was getting more jammed than usual. Being a born and bred native Portlandian, I knew my way around the freeways circling this part of the Willamette river and forming a left-lane/right-lane maze of on/off-ramps resembling a large elongated 'O' on the map. I knew to stay in the lane next to the one on the far left before the exit signs told us about our exit after it was too late. _Not the far left, the one next to it._ It was the same lane we got in since we left 84. The exit we needed came up and we headed straight into it. We went down the long off-ramp from the I-5 Bridge and found ourselves driving down the right hand lane of I-405, heading straight for the 4th Ave. exit, with little effort. Seconds later, we were going up the off-ramp right after it popped up into view. Kris gave me a look that told me he was completely impressed.

However, his little accolade for my driving skills was quickly blemished when we saw what we were up against. The traffic on 4th Ave. was no better than the freeway's. _In fact, it was worse._ The stoplights and buses weren't helping either. _I don't have any tricks up my sleeve for_ this _mess._ Every other light was red and the buses just _had_ to stop at each and every stop on their route.

It's been a long day and I was wishing we were headed home instead of downtown Portland., I obviously had to admit Kris was right about his informant coming through and the information yielded a big payoff with evidence. We not only got proof about Stephen's involvement in Kristyan's murder, but we also uncovered his illegal trafficking operation. We were also able to provide the police with the make, model and tag number of the vehicle he's currently driving. This meant Stephen would not only find it more difficult to get around, he would also find it difficult to get near Carina. Thus making Stephen's no longer a threat.

However, Vasiliy and his two goons were another story. In order to eliminate them from the equation, Kris came up with this idea that should take care of them. Since he seemed to be having a lucky day, I agreed to go with it. Though I'm not sure if it's because of fate being on his side or how I felt about him that actually made me agree to it.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" I asked, but almost bit my tongue as soon as I said it. It was as if I could see the words floating from my mouth and saw how stupid they were. _I think I'm starting to understand why it was so easy for him to get upset with me before._ I glanced over at him and saw him staring at me. He had that look again, that "he wasn't angry, but he wasn't happy either" look, but this time I didn't have to ask.

"Sorry it just slipped out," I said.

A corner of his mouth moved into a smile. "That's okay," he said. "I think I'm actually getting used to it." We smiled at each other for a moment, knowing the reason why was so used to me now.

"But seriously. I am a little worried," I said. "It's after six and lately the news has been starting to take some notice at what we've been doing. I'm worried he might hear about it before we have a chance to do this."

"I know. It's actually the reason why I thought of it. Don't worry. The local news can't say anything about it just yet. There's a few legal hurdles they have to jump before they can make a report."

I was hoping Kris was right, because we were taking a huge risk. If this doesn't work and Vasiliy catches the latest update about what we've been up to, then we'll _all_ end up having to hide from the Russian Mob.

Twenty minutes after leaving the freeway, we were there.

# Chapter Thirty-seven

The Voodoo That You Do So Well

After explaining what we wanted to do and why, more than once, and pleading for his permission to do it, we finally got one of the owners to agree to let Kris only _stand_ behind the counter and nothing more. _Even though it's exactly what we told him we wanted to do... twice._ I let it slide and thanked him anyway. Of course, we _had_ to show our gratitude even further by buying some doughnuts. _Four Dirts, seven Arnold Palmers, six Voodoo's, six Captain Crunches, and two Memphis Mafias._

I gave Kris a peck on the cheek. "Good luck."

"Stop worrying," he said. He put an arm around my waist, pulled me close and kissed my forehead. "This'll work. You'll see." A corner of his mouth curled into a smile again and he said, "Yes. I do know what I'm doing."

I tapped his shoulder with my fist and said, "You better" and gave him a kiss on the lips for good luck. I picked up the boxes with our doughnuts and headed for the door with Carina. Then I stopped at the door and turned around. Kris was busy tying an apron around his waist, but he looked up in time to see me wave goodbye. He waved back and gave me a look along with nod, telling me again not to worry.

Carina walked ahead of me, chomping down on a Voodoo doll. "Mmm... this very good," she said, though I almost couldn't understand her. Her mouth was so full when she said it.

_Now's my chance._ "Haven't you ever had one before?" I asked.

She shook her head no and chomped down another bite. "Never. I've heard of this place, but this my first time here."

_Hmm... maybe Stephen's operation was the one that was here first. I'm starting think the Lieutenant might've been right. They never knew Tom._ Everything else was starting to click into place though. Stephen and Quinton's operation was the smalltime one Lt. James was talking about. _He must've thought they were working together._ When Carina told Stephen what her family's true source of income was, he and Quinton probably thought the Russian Mob was moving in. Most likely, they started panicking and probably had no idea what to do. Apparently, they thought killing one of Dementyev brothers was the best way to defend their operation. And the convenience of manipulating Carina made Kristyan the easier target. _Looks like Vasiliy was right. The people who killed his brother weren't affiliated with any mob organization. Maybe what Kris said about Russian Icons and the Red Mafia going hand-in-hand isn't always true. I guess._ That's if I trust what Vasiliy said. I'll probably never know for certain.

I was happy to see the sky's mood had done a one-eighty from earlier, but it would've been nicer if it hadn't waited 'til sunset. I still took the blue sky as a sign nothing would go wrong.

Right after I thought that, I saw something that made me want to smack myself in the head for jinxing it. Ivan was coming up the sidewalk two blocks away on Third, same brown jacket, same loafers. He was heading north for Voodoo's. _He must have had to park at that pay-for-parking lot a couple of blocks down._ Fortunately, Carina hadn't seen him. We were walking down Ankeny, on our way to the car. I kept a normal pace, but nudged her closer to the building without being too obvious. If she knew Ivan was there, she might panic and draw attention to us. Ivan had stopped at the corner just a block away from us to wait for the walk light. I kept my back to him and Carina in front of me so he couldn't see her. _Damn it! I was hoping Vasiliy would be coming._

When Carina called her mother, we learned Vasiliy had made Carina's house their base of operations. No doubt, since he heard about Stephen's brazen daytime attack on Teresa, he'd been paying close attention to the local news stations, just in case the cops caught Stephen first. _Though not knowing who Teresa was, he must still be scratching his head as to why Stephen did it. Thank God, the press kept our names out of it._ I was hoping Vasiliy was coming because Kris said a mob boss never goes anywhere without his bodyguards. If Vasiliy was the one who questioned "Bobby Brown", then we would've had a shot having none of them learn about what happened today before we got the chance to pull this off.

I turned my head just enough to watch Ivan in my peripheral vision. _He was casually crossing the street. Good. He didn't see us._

I had to park the car a block away on Second, facing the block Voodoo's was on. Carina walked around to the passenger side and that's when she saw him. He was almost in front of Voodoo's. Her eyes were wide and she started pointing, but I had my hand over her mouth before she could say anything. Ivan went inside, oblivious to our presence. _Whew._ The moment I took my hand away from Carina, she immediately informed me of the obvious.

"That was Ivan! Where's my Uncle? My Uncle was supposed to be coming. What is Kris going to do?"

"You're forgetting. He used to be a KGB agent," I reminded her.

"Oh... That's right. I can't believe I forgot that."

There was something sticky was on my hand. I looked at her face and saw she had some red jelly and doughnut crumbs on the corners of her mouth. The mothering part of me couldn't help herself. She just had to get a tissue from my purse and wipe her mouth. "It's easy to forget he used to be spy isn't it?"

She smiled and nodded her head a couple times. I hit the key remote to unlock the door for her.

We waited in the car for what seemed like an hour, when it was probably only twenty minutes. While Kris was busy inside, I kept an eye out for anyone else who might show up unexpectedly. The spot where I had to park wasn't ideal for it, but I didn't have any choice. It was the closest available spot I could find and surprisingly, being that is was Friday, there hadn't been any employees leaving to get a jump on the weekend. _Then again, some of cars could be here for dinner._ Besides the doughnut shop, there's one or two popular restaurants nearby.

Carina was fine with sitting and doing nothing at first, but after ten minutes, she decided to pass the time by asking me questions. "Are you guys dating?", was her first.

I stared at her for moment while I tried to figure out the best way to explain what our situation.

"I saw you kiss him," she said. "I had a feeling there might've something between you."

"We're... trying things out."

She had a confused look on her face.

I sighed. "It's complicated," I said. "We have a history. I always thought of him in a different way, but things have changed in my life. I was married, but my husband died about a year ago. He was a private investigator, too. He was shot while his back was turned. Now that I'm working solo, Kris has been helping me. We've been spending more time together and it's... changed my opinion of him."

She nodded her head a couple of times. "How long have you worked together?"

I went back to watching for any more unexpected guest. "It's been off and on with us," I said. "Whenever we worked together it was usually for a short time. He was never easy to work with. He always talked to me like I didn't know what I was doing."

"Have you slept together yet?"

That one took me by surprise. It shouldn't have. I mean, she's eighteen. I guess I was surprised because I had no idea what would make her ask that question. Thankfully, I didn't have to come up with an answer. I saw Ivan come outside with a box of doughnuts in his hands, but didn't go any further. A moment later, I saw Kris come around the corner from behind Voodoo's, minus the apron. Carina saw him too. She got out and moved to the backseat. Kris got in.

"How'd it go," I asked.

"Like a charm," Kris said. "He fell for it. The story I fed him made him call Vasiliy on the spot. Vasiliy was so excited I could hear him over the phone. He told Ivan to leave his car. They're coming to pick him up on the way. By tonight, they should be in Seattle trying to find some warehouse in Salmon Bay."

Upon hearing this, Carina let loose a good laugh. Then she said something in Russian to Kris and patted him on the shoulder. Then he started laughing, nodding his head and said something back to her.

I had to ask. "Okay. What are you guys laughing about?"

"It's an old Russian saying," Kris said. "Roughly translated, it's the same as sending your enemies on a journey to chase their own tails on a wild goose chase."

"Hunh. Okay." _I don't get it._ "I'd say that one _really_ got lost in the translation." I guess it was one of those things where you had to be there. Carina was still giggling about it.

# Chapter Thirty-eight

My New Oasis

"This means you're safe. We can take you home."

"No!" Carina's bottom lip stuck out and she looked like she might cry any minute. "I thought you were going to take me shopping tomorrow!"

"Oh honey." We were still in the car and hadn't taken off yet. I turned to face her. "We can still do that. But don't you think your Mom would miss you."

The imminent danger of crocodile tears magically evaporated. She knew I was right. "Shoot! I was really looking forward to staying at guesthouse."

When Carina called me for help this morning, her mother was worried to death, wondering where her daughter had gone. She wasn't able to catch the news until after Carina left for school and saw what her boss did the day before. She called Carina's school, but they said she claimed she wasn't feeling well and went home. Then her brother-in-law showed up at the door and started interrogating her about Carina without telling her why. He eventually did, but she didn't believe him. But she knew what would happen if she revealed her true feelings and started her charade as the loyal mob widow. This was all covertly revealed to us through Carina's phone call at the guesthouse.

"Maybe if we call and ask, she'll say it would be alright for me to stay," Carina said.

"Oh... I suppose?" She surprised me again. Normally I wouldn't have expected such a responsible suggestion to come from a teenage girl. Though I probably should've. I've noticed on more than one occasion how mature she can be. The fact that she suggested the idea on her own was enough to make me want to help convince her mother to say yes.

I knew where she was coming from. I was eighteen once. Despite the reason she was with us, she'd been having fun. She found out how "cool" it was to spend time with me and staying at the guesthouse was like living on her own. It was something she hadn't experienced yet and she was at the age where it would be something she'd want.

Carina called her mother on my cellphone and said a few words in Russian to her. Then she handed me the phone so I could talk to her. While I had her, I thought I'd fill her in on what's been happening, _minus the bit about the shootout_. Plus I could also confirm if our ruse had done the trick.

"Hi," I said. "It's Lydia. Kris and I are the one's protecting your daughter." Carina yelled something in Russian to her mother, loud enough for her to hear. Then I could swear I thought I heard her mother start to cry over the phone. I had to give up on what I was going to say and handed the phone back to Carina. I was acting like it was no big deal and turned to look out the window while I wiped away a little tear. I turned to Kris and saw him staring at me with a big smile on his face. "What?"

He didn't answer me. He only shrugged and kept smiling.

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. _Sometimes knowing each other's thoughts can be a bad thing._

I thought my eardrums were going to bleed when Carina suddenly shrieked, "Omigod!" She kept repeating something in Russian which, if I remember my teenage correctly, was probably something like, _Thank you, I love you. Thank you_. She handed my phone back to me and said, "My mother would like to speak to you."

"Hello?"

"I want to thank you," she said. "I thank you very much! I wondered how she could have go to Seattle when I know you were have her. I could not believe when Vasiliy left. I had feeling you have something to do with. I don't know words I can say to show appreciation for what you do. I hate to think what become of my little Carina if you not there to keep her safe. She has gone through much, um... so much. She tell me what happened and how, uh... hos-hospitable you have been. I know her father would've understood. I feel terrible from not knowing what trouble she had. Please, continue to take care of her and make her happy. I want her happy. I know... I know she go through a lot." I could hear that she was starting to have some trouble telling me what she wanted to say and it was causing me to have some trouble keeping it together. "Please," she continued. "Please. I not allow, but, uh... insist. Yes? She spend weekend with you." At this point, I could hear the tears start to flow. "Thank you! God love you", was what she said before she completely succumbed to them and hung up.

I was seriously having a lot of trouble trying to keep from losing it. I was on the verge of a full-blown crying session. Thankfully, it only got as far as a runny nose. I wiped my nose, tossed my phone in my purse beside me on the center console and started the car. I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror to see how bad I looked and that's when I saw it. That beautiful girlish smile of hers was on high beam, _minus_ the tears this time. Carina leaned over, kissed my cheek and hugged me so hard from the backseat I thought my neck was going to break. "Thank you," she said.

I was starting to wonder whether if things were going so well because Kris was on a roll, or if it's because he really is that good. _Someone that good could be a valuable asset and a terrific partner._ As Bobby Brown, he successfully made Vasiliy and his crew believe Carina and Stephen were on the run together and headed to Seattle. He insinuated to Ivan that he thought Stephen might've been keeping his Russian Icons there. _But Carina's mother fooled him too. Hmm. Maybe the real reason things are working out is because Vasiliy's not that bright._

"We should probably get going in case they drive by us when they pick up Ivan," Kris said.

I agreed. I watched for an opening in the traffic. When one came, one of the tires slipped and squeaked when I took off too fast. _Oops. Get a grip Lyds._

When we got back to the house, Kris told me he needed to borrow the Mini one more time. "I need to grab a few things from my place," he said.

I walked around the Saab and put my arms around him without a word. Then I gave him a kiss I thought would make him want to hurry back. "Don't be long," I said.

His eyelids were droopy and his smile had a slight dopiness to it. _Maybe that was too much of kiss._ He licked his lips and looked at me funny. "Uh... yeah," he said. He blinked and shook his head, trying to snap out it. "Yeah, I'll, uh... I'll be right back." He gave me quick peck on the cheek and headed for the Mini.

Just before he tried to open the car door, I got his attention by yelling, "Hey Kris."

He turned and I tossed him the keys to Mini. He caught it one-handed without thinking. It was almost comical. It was like his hand was a separate entity and acting as his designated driver. I stood there dumbfounded as I watched him get behind the wheel. Carina was holding the doughnut boxes and having a hard time trying not to laugh. I just shook my head and watched him wave goodbye as he drove off.

I knew from seeing the Land Rover in the garage that Scott was home. What I didn't know was whether or not his "friend" had come home with him. I soon found she had and dinner preparations were in full swing. _No doubt, Scott was trying to impress his girlfriend with his culinary skills._

Cathy was busy running around our industrial-sized kitchen with her dark shoulder length hair scrunchiied into a short little perky ponytail and playing Souse Chef. She was at the island chopping up green beans when she stopped for a moment to wave. "Hi Mrs. Pendleton," she said.

Scott was busy taking advantage of his extra pair of hands. He had two frying pans and a saucepan going at the same time and hadn't heard us come in. He turned to see what Cathy said and was a little surprised to see us. "Hey your back!" He yelled over the noise.

I told him about Carina in the voicemail I left him, so he wasn't surprised to see her. However, it was obvious he apparently neglected to tell Cathy. When she said hello to me, she saw Carina come in behind me after having left the doughnuts on a shelf in the "Bat Cave". Cathy hadn't moved since and seemed to have gone into full "threatened-girlfriend" alert mode, especially after seeing the way my T-shirt and shorts were hanging off Carina. _Loose and yet still somewhat provocative._ "Who's this?" she asked, with a smile ready to strike.

This was first time Carina had seen my kitchen and she was busy taking it all in when Cathy asked who she was. Being the naive polite Russian teenager she was, she remembered her manners and almost moved to introduce herself before I stepped in.

"Uh, this is Carina," I said. "She's someone I'm protecting and I'd really like it if you wouldn't let anyone know you saw her." The protecting part was still the truth, just not from the same people.

The expression on Cathy's face no longer suggested an attack was imminent, but it also didn't look like it wasn't off the table either. She seemed to be taking a moment to process this information. _Conferring with her Generals._ Her eyes went back and forth, from me to Carina, a couple of times. Then it became apparent she decided to call off the mobilization. She smiled and pretended to lock her lips with her fingers. "Mums the word," she said. "Nice to meet you." She called back her troops and resumed her duties as Souse Chef.

While this went on, Scott was so busy he was oblivious to it all. "Where's Kris?!" He yelled. "I'm cooking for him too! Is going to be eating with us?" _The sizzling grew louder._ He focused his attention on it for a moment to take care of whatever it was, then looked backed to see if I answered.

"He went on an errand! He'll be back soon!" I jerked my head toward the stairs, telling Carina to follow me to my room. I wanted to find something else she could wear before Cathy changed her mind about her. _Maybe some sweats... or a parka._ As we were going upstairs, I could see out of my peripheral that Cathy was watching.

Usually I'm saying something like, _Scott outdid himself once more with dinner_ , but this time he was impressing a girl and had gone over the top. He made a Shrimp Waldorf salad for everyone, then followed it with Filet Mignon smothered in sautéed mushrooms with a green bean/pine nut side dish as the main course. Then blew us all away with best damn Chocolate Mousse I've ever tasted. _If that's the way he cooks for her then she has my blessing for anything she wants from him. As long as I get to have same dinner she gets, of course._

"I'm sorry," Carina said. "I think I'm pooped." She got up from the table and couldn't stop herself from yawning. It was obvious after the week she had, along with today's stress and excitement on top of it, she was totally exhausted. She waved goodnight to us and went back to the guesthouse to turn in early. The sweats I found for her made her look like someone who recently lost a lot of weight. _And not in the least provocative._

Then Cathy stood up. "Since Scott did all the cooking," she announced. "I'm doing the dishes."

Just about everyone's eyebrows shot up. Directly behind Cathy, within that large island in the middle of the kitchen, was our rather large dishwasher. She saw our reaction and laughed. _To my trained ear, it sounded like it might've been a nervous laugh._

"I know, I know," she said. "You have a dishwasher, but I insist. I like washing dishes."

Marry her Scott.

"I'll help," Scott said. He tossed his napkin on the dinner table, next to his plate and stood.

"No! Uh... no, that's okay." She nervously laughed again and was practically pushing Scott out. "You men can go off and watch T.V."

She had most of the dishes gathered in a sink full of soapy water before I could pick up more than just my plates.

I thought she was acting a bit strange. She didn't strike me as the type of girl who didn't know an opportunity to have a moment with her boyfriend when she saw it. It wasn't until after Scott left to join Kris in the media room that I found out why. I was filling a glass with water from the faucet when she said something.

"Do you mind if I talk to you about something, Mrs. Pendleton."

_Argh! Mrs. Pendleton._ By now I was pretty certain we could lose the formalities, especially since it made me feel old being called Mrs. Pendleton. "No. I don't mind, but after inspiring my son to cook that wonderful dinner we had, I'm pretty sure it's alright for you call me Lydia." _Hell, I wouldn't shoot you if you called me Lyds._

She turned away with a smile on her face. She went through the motions of washing dishes, not really paying too much attention to it, as she spoke. "This morning, when we all met," she began.

I nodded, drinking my water.

"I was confused and wasn't thinking. When I called Kris, Mr. Pendleton, I realized my mistake and felt embarrassed. Then as if that wasn't enough, I don't know if you heard me, but I whispered to Scott that I thought he said his Dad had died." She looked up from the dishes she was half paying attention to and looked at me with sad green eyes. Then she turned to scratch her nose with the crook of her elbow. "I'm sorry about that, the 'Mr. Pendleton' thing I mean. I just wanted you know why I said it. I really didn't mean anything by it."

I smiled and set my glass down on the counter. I shook my head and hugged her. She hugged me back, but held her wet hands out so she wouldn't get me wet. I patted her on the back and said, "It's okay. Don't think anything more about it. I've said some doozies that would make yours seem like everyday conversation."

"Thanks. I'm glad to hear you say that." She let go and stepped back to the sink, but only stood there as she talked. "Scott told me I was being silly." She scratched her nose with her arm again. "But I still felt I should to say something."

I was really starting to like this girl. I found myself hoping Scott would be seeing her for a while, or maybe even marry her. Then I got an idea. "Say... uh, Carina and I were going to go shopping tomorrow. Maybe if you and Scott don't have any plans, you two could come with us. It'll be fun." _And I can pretend to be shopping with_ two _daughters._ Then the reality of it hit me. _I probably_ am _looking at a daughter. Please say yes!_

She stood there thinking about it for a moment, then started nodding her head and smiled. "Yeah. Sure! That would be great! If you don't mind. I wouldn't want to interfere with your job of protecting her."

_Huh?_ Oh, right! "No. No problem. One of the safest places for anyone to be is in the middle of a crowded store. Lots of witnesses. Anyone would be fool to attack her in a crowd full of women with purses."

That made her laugh.

"So... yeah! The more the merrier."

"Okay," she said. Then she looked at the sink full of dishes. I could tell what she was thinking by the way that she was looking at them. "I have a confession."

Without saying a word, I walked over to the sink, stuck my arm in the water, felt around for the stopper and pulled it. "I'll help load the dishwasher."

She smiled, shook her head and laughed. "Wow. You really are a detective."

Actually, it's private investigator, but I didn't think it was necessary to correct her.

# Chapter Thirty-nine

Touching Base With My B.F.F.

After the evening I had and with all the news bottling up inside me, I _had_ to call Susan. I thought it over for minute and decided it would probably be ok. I mean, I could still at least do that. _I hope._

"Hi Lydia," she answered. "What's up?"

_Lydia? I guess the jury's still out on the friendship verdict._ "I was hoping we could talk," I said.

She was quiet for a moment, then she said, "I suppose it couldn't hurt. To be honest, I am happy you called."

_Good. There's still a chance._ "How's Teresa?"

"Well... after her nerves settled, she didn't seem too upset about being attacked. Though I think she might've been wearing a brave face." She sighed and paused to clear her throat. Then she said, "Her two week break was over so she had to catch a flight back to Berkley this morning. She had classes on Monday, so there was no way out of it."

_Crap! It was her last week and I ruined it._ "Oh God Susan. I am so sorry she got hurt," I said. "I had no idea that was going to happen. If it weren't for my overprotective _boyfriend_ , none of this would've happen."

She laughed and said, "Boyfriend? That's funny. Just the other day you kept insisting I was way off base about you two ending up together. And now listen to you. Is he staying over this weekend?"

"Well... yeah," I said. "And even though Stephen's busy trying to evade the police, we still have Carina. I promised..."

"Ho! Whoa! Wait a minute. Stephen? And who's Carina?"

I slapped a hand to my forehead, realizing I hadn't done what I called to do yet, and filled her in on what happened.

"God Lyds! Last time I heard, it sounded like you had it just about wrapped up."

_She said Lyds!_ "Yeah... well, like I said, if it wasn't for Kris being mister macho I probably would've." _Yeah, and then where would Carina be? Dead, that's where._ Okay. I'll have to admit it wasn't entirely his fault.

"Men. Honestly. When will they learn to just shut up and hold the purse? Tim's the same. The other day I was making a comment about how, even though Teresa's been away in college, the girls still have their periods in sync. So the next day he comes home with almost every tampon product in the store. _'I didn't know who used what,'_ he says. Jeez. I didn't even ask him to get any!" We both busted out laughing.

"Oh! This morning I came down stairs and found Scott in the kitchen having cereal with a girl."

"No! He spent the night with her?"

"Yes! Her name's Cathy Harrington. They met at school. She's in one of his classes. She's really nice and she's staying over this weekend too. I was planning to take Carina shopping and asked her to come along with us."

Then Susan got really quiet. I checked my phone to see if I lost her. _Nope. Still connected._ "Susan?"

"Yeah, I'm still here. I was just thinking."

"Oh."

"Sooo where do you plan to go shopping," she asked.

"I don't know. I was thinking we could go downtown to Macy's, or Pioneer Place. Then maybe hop a MAX train and go to Saturday Market for lunch. You know. Basically anywhere where there's a whole lot of people so we'll be able to protect Carina, in case Stephen tries something."

Susan was quiet again. I could sense her thinking about something. Then she said, "Uh .. hunh."

"Would yoouu like to join us?"

"Um... Weeelll... I was planning to spend the day with Stacey. I'm still feeling guilty about spending more time with Teresa than her. So I thought I'd make it up to her by taking her shopping. I suppose if we happen to bump into each other along the way we could join you."

_Yay! I haven't lost her!_ "Great! That's excellent! I'll be watching out for you Suze."

"Okay. Just... hurry up and get that case wrapped up Liddy. I miss you."

"You got it!"

We said goodnight and hung up. _I still have my best friend! Yes!_ I'm _sooo_ happy right now. Before I called, I was only happy about having the chance to experience what it would be like to go shopping with a daughter. Then I got excited when realized I might be able to experience it with two. _And one of them might actually be a future daughter-in-law._ And now I it looks like I still have my best friend.

I was in my bedroom when I called Susan and Kris came in, but he looked tired. _The way I feel, he better not be_ too _tired._

He looked at me, cocked an eyebrow and smiled. _I think he just read my mind._

"Shut the door and come 'ere." I said and flung the blankets off the bed.

# Chapter Forty

Says So on a T-shirt

"You're kidding, right? A crowd can work against you too, you know." It was the first time since we started being a couple that Kris was upset and talking to me as if I were new to being a private investigator again. "Sure you have lots of people for witnesses, but you also have lots of people around for concealment. He could walk up to her and take her, or, God forbid, stab her and get lost in the crowd."

When he got up this morning, he put on a pair of sleepwear pants he brought from home and went to the bathroom to do whatever. When he came back I told him what I had planned for today. And now he was pacing the length of the bedroom, _and paced some more_.

I was surprised by his reaction. _He'd been doing so well lately._ I was in the middle of getting dressed when I finally informed him of what we were doing. I couldn't tell you why I hadn't before, inform him that is. I heard the temperature might get into the eighties today and I was pulling a pair of khaki shorts up over the white Victoria Secret panties I bought the other day with Susan. _I can't believe he's questioning my judgment again._ I shook my head and pulled my pink T-shirt down over my pink lace bra.

Evidently, Kris wasn't finished with his lesson. "Yeah, it's possible he wouldn't be able to run through a crowd without being spotted, if he ran. But in a crowd, if he wasn't spotted already, all he would have to do is turn around and he'll disappear. It's a proven fact, no one can pick out anyone in a line-up from behind. Plus, not only are there other people, there's other faces. When you're looking for someone in a crowd, you have the tendency to look at faces. Even though you know the perpetrator's facing the other way. Whenever you're looking for someone who's turned around, you're always distracted by faces in the crowd." He stopped pacing, rubbed his hands over his face and seemed to be thinking of what else he could teach me.

_Though I will admit, he did make a good point with that last statement. Hmm._ I sat on the ottoman and started putting on some white ankle socks and white canvas shoes. _I would've worn sandals, but I'm 'on duty' and I might have to run._ When I finished, I stood with my hands on my hips, awaiting his compliment.

He looked at me and nodded his head. "You look nice," he said.

_Nice?_ Oh well. You take what you can get. "You comin'?"

He looked down at himself and said, "Yeah. I'll get dressed and be down in a minute."

I kissed him. "Don't be long," I said. I patted him lightly on the cheek, gave him a quick peck on the lips and went downstairs.

Everyone, including Scott, _which surprised me_ , was already dressed and waiting in the kitchen, and munching on Voodoo Doughnuts. _Yes, we do have other rooms in the house._ Apparently, Cathy was a fast learner. She kicked Scott's butt out of bed and got him dressed. _That's almost enough to make me consider letting her move in and live with him._ But getting him out of bed seemed to be as far as she got. From the way he was dressed I could tell she hadn't bothered to straighten him out on what clothes he should wear. _I guess she's doing the easing-him-into-the-idea method._ He dresses okay, but not for a guy who's dating. Everyone seemed to be aware of the warm day we had in store and dressed accordingly. Cathy was wearing Scott's red football jersey with black numbers, a pair of white shorts and beige sandals. Her black hair was no longer in a ponytail and hung loose around her shoulders. Scott had on a pair of jean shorts with a yellow rugby shirt and his white Nikes with white socks.

The clothes Carina had on the day we took her in, the gray cotton tank top and pair of Levis, had been washed by yours truly, so it was a no-brainer for her to wear them again. Plus, nothing I owned would have hung on her well enough to be presentable in public, especially when I take her to Nordstrom's. She was sitting at the table while Cathy and Scott were busy getting something from the fridge. It was Cathy who spoke first.

"Morning Lydia."

Scott was surprised by her first-name-basis greeting. He looked at her and smiled. Then he turned to me and said, "Where's Mr. Pendleton?" Cathy gave him a fast tap to the stomach and threatened to nipple twist him.

True to his word, not five minutes passed before Kris came downstairs in a white short-sleeve linen shirt, a pair of tan slacks and burgundy loafers. _Damn! Now that's how a man who's seeing a woman dresses!_

It wasn't long before we laid siege upon our first store as a force to be reckoned with. The clerks in Nordstrom's looked worried at first after seeing our entourage enter, but that soon changed from worry to panic as they realized a Pendleton was in the building. They immediately began waiting on us hand and foot, thus giving me more points on Carina's cool meter and impressing Cathy beyond words. Cathy started being more attentive to Scott and even toyed with a view pet names. Once we were done hogging three registers, Kris and Scott already had their hands full with bags and boxes, and we'd only just begun.

Our next stop was Macy's. Apparently, someone at Nordstrom's called ahead. They were standing by the doors waiting for us when we walked in. We gave a few of them the opportunity to earn their commissions before we headed to the top floor. That's where I introduced Cathy and Carina to Karen and Jessica, two of Macy's best personal shoppers. _Ding, ding, CRACK went the cool meter as it hit the top and busted._ The look on their faces was priceless. I took out my cell phone to take their picture. _Say cheese_ , it said, then clicked.

"Ha, I think I'll make this one my new wallpaper photo," I said.

Jessica saw the photo and laughed. "That's a good one."

The guys saw where this was going and left to take our purchases back to the Land Rover while us girls spent some time in the salon. Earlier Kris questioned why I chose to take the Land Rover. At the time, my only reply was, _'You'll see.'_

The next place we hit was Pioneer Place Mall and we took command of every sales floor wherever we went. The girls were having a blast. The guys acted like we were crazy, but we knew they enjoyed every minute of it. We eventually made our way to Old Town and the Saturday Market, just in time to have a late lunch.

"Wow, Lydia!" Cathy said. "I wish I could go shopping with you all the time." Then she leaned in close to whisper. "If Scott breaks up with me, can we still be friends?"

I whispered back. "If he breaks up with you, I'll kick him out and you can move in."

She laughed.

Carina was smiling and had her eyes glued to a market stall with funny looking ceramic figurines as we walked passed. I looked behind me and saw Kris was busy being alert and cautious. He was scanning the crowd for Stephen and at the same time, making sure Carina was still with us. We were squeezed in so tight that poor Scott ended up holding up the rear.

After nearly having to resort to elbowing our way through the throng of people, we finally made it to the food court, which is like no other. The dozens of stalls and trucks that encircle a large tented dining area offer a wide variety of food from around the country and practically the entire world. At Saturday Market's food court you can find a sampling of dishes from Greece, Beirut, The Himalayas, Thailand, New Orleans, Guatemala, Hawaii, Africa and the United Kingdom. _Decisions, decisions._

All of us had our guard down when it happened. Hunger was the culprit. We were too busy deciding on what to have for lunch. Out of nowhere, he attacked. _He must've been watching us._

Before I knew what was happening, I heard him say something in Russian, then Carina screamed bloody murder. We turned around and they were gone. Kris had his gun drawn and gave me a look telling me _'I told you so'_. He took off after them, moving swiftly through the startled crowd.

They emerged at Naito Parkway and were heading toward Ankeny. Stephen had a hold of Carina's left arm. He was practically dragging her, pulling her, stumbling across the street. She was struggling, fighting him tooth and nail. Then he realized he would've had trouble being unnoticed. It didn't look like he had his gun and it wouldn't have mattered if he did. If he shot her now, getting away would've been impossible. He let her go at Skidmore Fountain near the old fire station. Kris was almost on top of him. Stephen disappeared from my view when he ran around the other side of a brick building.

I heard Kris yelling something in Russian, most likely ordering him to stop, but he kept going. Kris didn't follow. He stopped to make sure Carina was all right.

It looked like Stephen was headed north on the sidewalk along the light-rail tracks. I was determined not to allow this to make me look any worse than it had. I took off after him around the next block, under the Burnside Bridge. _I'm gonna get the son-of-a-bitch this time!_

But I was having trouble getting through the crowd. They were facing the action and busy craning their necks to get a look at what was happening. That all changed right after I remembered something Tom had told me about chasing a suspect through a crowd; _'A crowd will immediately do what you ask if you use a confident and commanding voice.'_ I found out how right he was after the first and only time I yelled, "MOVE!" Like a flock of birds, they dropped and made a path for me. _Of course holding a gun over my head helped too._

I caught sight of Stephen just as he ran west across the MAX tracks. A southbound Red-line nearly hit him. Its driver blared the horn at full blast. I lost sight of him behind the train as it pulled ahead. _SHIT!_ But I kept running, still holding my gun up with both hands by the side of my head.

As I rounded the other side of the train, I passed an amazed crowd with noses pressed to windows. Out of my periphery, I could see Kris catching up. Up ahead, Stephen rounded the corner onto Couch, still heading west, but I swear I saw someone else running after him. And just as I was about to round the corner, I thought I heard gun shot, but wasn't sure I heard right. Not until I was on top of them.

Stephen was screaming something in Russian and writhing in pain on the sidewalk before a shocked crowd headed for the Market. _Susan_ was standing over him with her gun pointed at his head.

I stood there with my mouth open, not believing what I saw and finally said, "Susan?"

"That was for threatening my daughter with a knife you ASSHOLE!" Then she kicked him in his side.

Kris caught up to us and had the same look on his face that I thought I had. Then he heard Stephen screaming something again and started laughing.

"What? What is he saying?" I asked.

"He's saying, 'She shot me in the ass! That crazy bitch shot me in the ass!"

"I was aiming for your dick, but you were running away from me, you asshole!" Susan said and kicked him again. "You're lucky I didn't shoot you in the head, you SON-OF-A-BITCH!"

"Well it's nice to see you finally caught up with us, Susan. Nice know you've been keeping up with your target practice too," I said and holstered my gun.

# Chapter Forty-one

Where Susan Came From

It's been a while since the last time I saw Susan's younger daughter, Stacey, but not as long as the last time I'd seen Teresa. I didn't recognize her when I ran past her earlier. She was standing by herself on the other side of the tracks. She and Susan came from shopping at Ikea and just got off the Red-line train, the same one that Stephen ran in front of.

"After Teresa was attacked at the café," Susan told me. "I decided it was time I went to the firing range to do some practicing and a little venting for about an hour and a half. I went there right after I dropped her off at the airport yesterday. When that bastard was holding that knife to her throat, I felt stupid and helpless. Most of all, I felt angry. _Very_ angry. I swore I was never going to let myself be put in a situation like that again without being able to do something about it. Since I was hoping to bump into to you while we were out shopping, I made certain my gun was loaded and carried it with me."

When she ended that last sentence, the first cop on the scene, a uniform who was assigned Saturday Market duty, walked up to us to get her statement after interviewing witnesses.

"Stace and I were just about to get off when the driver suddenly hit the brakes and blared his horn," she told the officer. "It scared the crap out of us. Naturally, we had to see what the hell was going on. That's when I saw that son-of-a-bitch running down the sidewalk."

Officer Guevara was a professional looking tall young man. His dark brown hair beneath his starched police cap was clean cut and trimmed just above his ears. The nails of his hands holding his pad and pencil were clean and neatly trimmed as well. His blue uniform was sharply pressed and stain free. "Stace?" He asked, his dark eyes glancing my way. "Is that who this woman is?" Referring to me. _Evidently, he was not only new to the force, but also to Portland._

I was standing on Susan's right. She looked my way to be certain who he meant and shook her head. "No. Stace. Stacey. She's my daughter." Stacey was standing on the opposite side of her and Suze placed a hand on her shoulder to clarify who she was talking about.

Stacey was still dazed by what happened and what was going on. She had her arms folded and watched as Stephen, who was handcuffed to a stretcher still moaning about his ass, was wheeled into an ambulance. As I mentioned before it had been a long time since I'd seen Stace. I was amazed at how much she'd grown. She was less than an inch away from being the same height as her mother. Susan said she was into the Goethe look, but the girl standing next to her didn't seem like a Goethe child to me. _Although she was wearing a black tank top._ She was also wearing a pair of dark brown cargo shorts and, instead of the Doc Marten boots a typical Goethe would wear, she had a pair of black rubber flip-flops on her bare feet. Though, in the bright afternoon sunlight, I could still see a few shiny black dyed strands within her shortly bobbed head of dirty blond hair.

"I wasn't about to let him get away," Susan continued. "I told my daughter to stay where she was while took off after him."

The officer's eyes danced from his notepad to Susan, then Stace, then back to his pad and wrote some more. _Probably checking to see if there were other people who might also be the daughter she was referring to._ Then he cleared his throat.

"I didn't know he was already being chased by Liddy, because the train blocked my view. I had no idea she was there. All I knew was that I was going to put him in a world of hurt."

"Now Liddy," questioned the officer. "that's... who now?"

Susan held out her right hand at me and said, "Liddy! Her. My best friend."

I couldn't help it. I was smiling.

"Now does Liddy have a last name?"

"Actually," I said, expecting a reaction once I said it. "It's Lydia. Lydia Pendleton."

_Nothing!_ He wrote it down without a word. No bright smile. Nothing. Right then I was certain he was not only new and out of the box, but I thought there was a closet involved as well. "Then what happened?" was all he said.

I could see from the look in her eyes beneath a furrowed brow that Susan thought it was strange that he didn't react to hearing my name too. "Uh, well. Well, then I saw him go around the corner and I yelled for him to stop, but of course he kept going."

Then the officer stopped writing and pointed his pencil at Susan. "You yelled stop and that was all, correct?" He didn't move while he waited for her answer.

"Yes," Susan finally said, after trying to see how long he would stay that way.

He continued writing as if someone touched some secret restart button.

I had to bite my lip to contain my laughter.

Kris and I were next. We started by handing Officer Guevara our investigator licenses. Once he got our statements, he immediately contacted his precinct through the mike clipped to his chest. They in turn got a hold of Detectives Wilson and McIntire. Not long after the call went out, the newshounds who had their ears glued to police scanners started pulling up in cars and news vans, hoping to be the first to report the update on Thursday's café attack. The Media circus was in full swing, but were quickly contained by two more squads arriving on the scene before they could hound us for interviews. Officer Guevara raised his eyebrows and acted surprised after seeing how much attention and courtesy was given to us once the Detectives arrived.

Detective Sheila McIntire moved through the media crowd of cameras all pointing at her while she made a short statement to the press, but without her partner. She didn't have her raincoat with her today and I could see that she liked to dress to impress. Her outfit was a lightweight navy blue women's suit with grey pinstripe and a white oxford shirt with the top two buttons unbuttoned. Her ensemble made her dark coppery chestnut hair perfectly stand out with a few arrant strands dancing in the bright sunlight. She struck me as the kind of girl who, if it weren't for the warm sunshine, would probably wear a scarf for a tie.

Since her hands weren't busy keeping her body covered by a raincoat this time, she shook mine after saying hello again. Her smile was framed by lips coated with pink shade of lipstick which I thought was an interesting color. I was going to ask her where she got it when Detective Wilson showed up after having parked the car a block away.

He was still dressed in the stereotypical grey suit and tie, minus the beige raincoat. He held the attention of all the news cameras and microphones, while doing a good job of double-talking and sidestepping. He informed them about Stephen's connection to Quinton's murder and how they were partners in an illegal trafficking operation. Then we heard him finish by saying that the case had been wrapped up by yours truly and thanked them for coming. _Which we all found funny, since it wasn't a news conference._ His partner, standing beside me, shook her head. Then he came over to us and stood beside her. The media tried firing a couple of more questions all at once, but gave up.

"You keep this up and you'll put us out of a job," he said to me and smiled. Sheila had moved behind him and rolled her eyes. "By the way, we heard from Seattle about Dementyev. They say they've seen your client around Salmon Bay, cruising the warehouses and watching people go in and out, but that's all. It seems strange that he'd be up there now. I would've thought he'd be interested in getting the guy responsible for killing his brother. But now that you've caught..."

"Actually it was Susan who got him," I said.

"Of course." He reached out to Susan and shook her hand. "Thank you," he said. "But, when I say 'you' I meant all of you as a team, of course."

Susan cocked eyebrow, but said nothing.

"Yes," he continued, remembering what he was saying before I interrupted him. "Now that _Susan's_ caught Stephen, I guess your client will be coming back. I'd say that does it. Looks like this case is done."

I would disagree, but then I'm not a police detective.

Detective McIntire stepped up and shook Susan's hand, then smiled and said, "You did a good job." Then she said to the rest of us, "We have all your statements and, except of course for what you're going to add to it today, we also have the copies of your case file. So that's it. You guys are free to go."

"Thank's Sheila," I said.

Susan stepped up and said, "Yes, thank you."

Kris gave Detective Wilson a quick nod of his head and they shook hands.

The Detective did the same. _Must be some guy thing._

Even though the gunshot victim lived to tell what happened and wouldn't shut up about it, Susan's gun was still taken into custody as evidence. Just to verify it as being the weapon that was used. _Welcome to the club, girlfriend._ Since they thought Susan was "part of the team", she and Stace were allowed to go. We were told they would contact us if there was anything else. Once again, they thanked us, waved and left.

"So that's it?" Susan asked as the last squad car drove away. "That's all I have to do?"

I nodded and said, "Yep. That's it."

"This means you're free for some girl time," she said. "We can spend the day together again!"

I only nodded my head. I didn't have the heart to tell her what solving such a high profile case meant. I have a feeling "girl time" might become a distant memory.

The sidewalk was clear and the weekend routine of people heading toward Saturday Market resumed as if nothing happened. Earlier, when Officer Guevara finished taking our statements, he told us someone called the police about the attempted abduction and there were other officers on the scene covering that. Since then, I had been worried they'd taken Carina to into custody. But once we came back, I discovered all my worrying was for nothing.

# Chapter Forty-two

Everyone's Free To Go?

The two officers who took statements from Scott and the girls were aware that we got the guy and were waiting for us to return. Otherwise, they would've taken them down to the station to pick Stephen out of a line up, which wouldn't have been too hard. _Yeah that's him. The one screaming about his ass being shot._

What we didn't know was why they weren't arresting Carina, but Scott filled us in once the uniforms left. "We told them she was Kris's niece Christina Koskov. We said we assumed Stephen grabbed her to get back at Kris for stopping him from attacking Teresa the other day." Then he shrugged and added. "You know it really doesn't seem like they care one way or the other. Maybe they're not looking for her."

"Oh no," I said. "No, no, no. Believe me. If they knew who she was, they would prove to you how wrong you are. Trust me. Carina is an accessory to two murders. They'll arrest her." I shut my eyes and shook my head after I suddenly realized what me and my big mouth just did.

When we came back, Carina only appeared to be a little shaken up. She was okay and relieved that Stephen was finally behind bars. But now, after hearing me practically calling her a murderer, that was no longer the case. She was sitting on the lip of the concrete fountain, rubbing her arm where Stephen had given her an indian burn and staring at the ground with a sad look on her face.

I got down on one knee to talk to her. "Carina. Please understand."

"You think I'm accessory?!"

"It's not what I think. It's what they think. It's how the law is. There's no grey area. I know you had no choice, but they don't see it that way. They can't afford to. According to the law, the only chance you'll have of going free is to be acquitted in a trail. And after what we uncovered, you'll have a better chance of that happening, especially if we bring you in under your own free will."

She looked at me with an astonishment in her eyes. "You think I should go turn myself in?" She shook her head. She couldn't believe what I was saying. "I thought you were my friend!" Then she looked up at Kris, who had been standing behind me. She said something in Russian. He said something back to her, but it did no good. She got up, walked a few steps away from us and started crying.

Cathy was standing next to Scott who had an arm around her and was comforting her. She was on the verge of tears herself after learning that her new friend might have to go to jail.

I stood and turned to face Kris. _What do I do?_

He shook his head and said, "There's nothing you can do. It's like you said, she'll be acquitted. I promise you she will." No sooner had he said that, I could see something in his eyes. It was like he just came up with something. And I knew it had to be something that could help Carina, because Kris started to smile. Then he said, "I think I know exactly what we can do."

We told Carina about Kris's idea, but she was skeptical and thought we were up to something. But after everyone, including Stace and Susan, did everything they could to convince her, she cried tears of joy. "My Mother too?" she asked Kris. "Could you really do that?"

He nodded with a great big smile and said, "Da."

# Chapter Forty-three

Back. Safe and Sound

The people at Portland's Russian Consulate were stunned when we showed up Monday morning with Carina, her Mother, _and_ the Blue Star of Russia. Kris told them he would only hand the Blue Star over to them under one condition. That Carina Dementyev and her mother Tatiana be granted diplomatic immunity as the ones responsible for it's safe return.

Susan and Stacey couldn't be with us, but I promised to let them know how it all went. Cathy and Scott insisted on coming. They said there was no way they were going to miss this. Cathy hugged Carina and told her in Russian to stay in touch. This time both Kris and I were the ones impressed. _Wow! My future daughter-in-law can speak Russian!_

Carina's mother was just as tall and almost as thin as her daughter. Her yellow, pink and blue flowered dress with a hemline that fell just above her knees was the kind you make from of a sewing pattern. I thought it was pretty and found myself wanting one just like it. Her brown mousy hair was almost the same style as her daughters and those same brown eyes were wet from crying tears of joy. "Thank you.." She said to me with a thick Russian accent. "Thank you so much for taking such good care of my daughter." Then she gave me a hug. Kris was standing beside me. I could only guess she said same to him and then she gave him a hug.

Once Carina and Cathy said goodbye, Carina turned to me and said, "Thank you so much for all you've done for me. I wish I could stay and go shopping with you and Cathy every weekend." Then she hugged me and kissed my cheek. She let go, then hugged Kris and said something to him in Russian. It must have been something touching and about us. He smiled and nodded. Then he turned to me and put his arm around my waist.

Once all the paper work was filled out and put in order, and all the diplomatic channels were informed of what was headed their way, we said our goodbyes, leaving Carina, her mother and the Czar's Blue Star safe, sound, and homeward bound.

Then it was my turn to wrap up loose ends. I parked us outside the Oregon Historical Society's South Park Blocks entrance and got the box from the back of the Land Rover. We entered the building through the main entrance where Mr. Roberts, whom I called earlier, said he would be waiting for us.

Frank Roberts, who recently became one of the Society's Directors, was an old friend of the family. He was wearing a nondescript grey suit, but his tie was interesting. It was a silk tie with the Historical Society's mural depicting the Lewis and Clark Expedition. "Lydia, it's so nice to see you again. How's your father?"

_How is my father?_ I couldn't believe I was actually having trouble remembering the last time I paid my father a visit. _He must think I'm a terrible daughter._ I felt too embarrassed to admit I had no idea how he was, especially since he's just a few minutes away at the Pendleton Estate in the West Hills. I only nodded and said, "He's doing well." _I guess._

As I said in the beginning, everyone's heard of The Pendletons since before Portland Oregon ever existed. My family played large part in a lot of Portland's creation. Our name has always been listed in the city records from the very beginning, all the way back to when most people only referred to Portland as "The Clearing".

Along with the Lovejoys and the Pettygroves, the Pendletons have always been major contributors to the Historical Society's growing museum collection. But... today's contribution was a different kind. Instead of being something once belonging to a loved one that we no longer have the room for, it was something that was a major addition to the history of Portland's Shanghai Tunnels. _I'm sure once Vasiliy comes back from Seattle, he won't mind that we donated it for him._

Mr. Roberts, _which, by the way, is what I've always called him since I was little_ , led us to an elevator that took us one floor down to a gloss white cinder block hallway with overhead fluorescent lighting. He then led us across the hall, opposite the elevator, through the open doorway of a small windowless room. It was lit by two fluorescent ceiling fixtures and no bigger than a walk-in closet. Its walls had the same gloss white color, but there was also a clean 409 smell to it. A beige wall-phone from the seventies was mounted beside the door we came through. At the other end of the room were two long and narrow white formica-top tables set perpendicular to each other, against the walls. I sat the box on one of the tables and Mr. Roberts started inspecting its contents. After barely going a third of the way through it, he got on the phone and called for a couple of people in the Preservation department to come down and take a look. After he hung up, he turned to me and said, "My God, Lydia. Where the hell did you get this?"

"He wishes to remain anonymous," I told him. If it weren't for my clout, I think he would've insisted on meeting this contributor. But instead, he stared at me for a moment, glanced over at Kris for a few seconds, then never said another word about it.

Before I had a chance to find a polite way to make our escape and avoid questions we didn't want to have to answer, the people he called had arrived. They were a man and a woman, and Mr. Roberts introduced them.

The man, David Green, was tall, probably 6' 1" and thinning on the top. The remains of his hair on the sides of his head were light brown and he looked to be only in his mid-thirties. He was dressed in an outfit that I would've sworn I saw the Professor on Gilligan's Island wear. White long-sleeve cotton oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled above his elbows and beige slacks with a black leather belt. The only difference being was that he was wearing brown loafers. _I believe the Professor wore boat shoes._

The woman appeared to be a bit older, probably about forty-ish, and had her curly strawberry blonde hair tied into a ponytail. She was around 5' 5" and wearing a black and pink flowery chenille blouse with a black cotton skirt under a long white lab coat. The black leather uppers on her feet had heels that were an inch thick, which helped make her small stature less obvious. She was introduced as Dr. Annette McAllister.

"This is amazing," Dr. McAllister said, as she carefully picked up and examined every document while sorting through the box's contents. Then she turned to Mr. Roberts who was standing over her shoulder and said in a low voice, "Did you ask them where they got this?"

Mr. Roberts merely raised a hand, waved it and shook his head, suggesting her not to worry.

The Doctor momentarily glanced my way then went back to her new project. David, her assistant, was at the other table with his back to us and busy sorting everything according to the Doctor's instructions.

Then Dr. McAllister froze at a document that apparently told her something she couldn't believe. "We knew a Tolstoy stayed in The Governor Hotel once, but no one ever really knew why," she said. She turned to us and asked the inevitable question that we knew one of them might ask. "What's this Czar's Blue Star they're referring to?"

"It's nothing," Kris said, in a fake Russian accent. "It's just old Russian mythological story."

It took a lot of my will power to keep from showing how surprised I was at how convincing Kris sounded. _Now I know how he would've sounded if he weren't trained assassin._

The Blue Star Sapphire of Russia had played a part in the history of two countries, more specifically the city of Portland. Had we told them the truth, we would've risked a possibility of creating a conflict over who should claim possession. Which in turn would've made Carina and her mother's diplomatic escape more complicated, or worse, impossible.

The document Dr. McAllister read was the one I came across before. It was a memo to the agents posted in Portland, OR, the ones assigned, by the time this document was written, to the _abandoned_ Okhrana Tunnels. It was a list of things they needed to be aware of. One of them was a "heads up" that a son of Leo Tolstoy, Count Ilya, who was obsessed with finding the Czar's Blue Star, claimed to have reason to believe it was somewhere in an area once known as the Northwest Territory in North America. He was headed their way and they were advised to provide protection should it be necessary.

But Count Tolstoy's visit was something the Historical Society had already known about. Within their vast collection is a guestbook from a roadhouse that once existed above the Columbia River called The Crown Point Chalet. Among the entries in this guestbook were two made by Count Ilya Tolstoy and his wife Countess Tolstoy on January 21, 1921. Next to these entries, as other visitors had done, they wrote down where they were staying during their visit and where they were from.

Count Ilya Tolstoy..........Seward Hotel............Tula, Russia

Countess Ilya Tolstoy.....Seward Hotel............Moscow, Russia

The Seward is now called The Governor, which is still in operation today.

"Maybe tracking down this Blue Star thing was why he did all those lectures in the U.S.," the Doctor added, then handed it, along with a handful of other papers, over to David. And that was the end of that.

What was not in the box was the picture frame and all the research the Dementyevs had done in order prove the letter's authenticity. There wasn't any reason for them to know about that, considering it was only just a "myth" anyway.

I saw my chance for making an exit and went for it. "Well, I think we ought to get going," I said, and glanced at my watch.

"Oh. Yes, of course Lydia," Mr. Roberts said. He touched Dr. McAllister's elbow and asked, "You'll take it from here?"

She nodded her head without looking up and said, "Yes. Go on."

He walked toward us with his hand out to guide us out the door. "Let's leave them to it," he said.

We followed Cathy and Scott back through the door we came in and stood by the elevator.

Mr. Roberts pressed the up button. "Tell Bob... uh, your father, were still on for that golf game," he said.

"Count on it. I'll tell him when I see him tomorrow." Which was the truth. My guilt got the best of me. Since I couldn't remember the last time I saw him, I thought I was overdue. _Actually, I think the last time I saw him was at Tom's funeral._

The elevator dinged and everyone except Mr. Roberts filed in. He waved goodbye as the doors closed. Once I heard the hum of the elevator's motors and it started moving, I breathed a sigh of relief.

The doors slid open at the main floor and we all walked at a fast pace toward the exit. Once outside, Kris was the one who said what we were all thinking. "Glad that's over."

"You said it," I said and sighed. "God, what a week. Let's see now." I counted off on my fingers. "Not only did I find out who killed Kristyan, I also uncovered an illegal Russian Icon trafficking operation. Then, with the help of my best friend, I put the accomplice of Kristyan's murderer behind bars. And then I recovered a lost piece of Russia's National Treasury from an abandoned KGB tunnel. And, with your help, I returned it, along with the victim's family, to Russia, thus saving Carina from a life of being on the run. Now, after having said all that, I think I can officially declare this case closed." I punctuated the "closed" part by lightly tapping my fist on Kris's shoulder.

To say a lot has happened this past week was another understatement. The day Vasiliy Dementyev walked through my office door seemed like a lifetime ago. And after _Stephen's_ illegal trafficking was plastered all over the news, I think it'll be a long time before we ever see Dementyev again. _I'm still not certain if Tom really did work a case for the Russian Mob. If he did, then I wonder what else he's done that he never told me about._ I would've never thought in a million years I'd end up having to lie and deceive a client like that. _In retrospect, I wish it were Carina who hired me._ It all seems like a dream. And now, because of all that's happened, starting today, things will be totally different. All the local news coverage that's been going on about this case this past weekend was just the beginning. From now on work's going to start pouring in. Everyone's going to want to hire "The Pendleton Agency". _T.P.A? Hmm._ Maybe, "Pendleton & Associates". _P & A?_

Everyone had stopped walking and were waiting for me to unlock the Land Rover. I looked at Kris and knew exactly what to call us. "Pendleton, Koskov & Associates". _P.K. & A. Eh... so what if the acronym sucks._

# Epilogue (Or Chapter Forty-four)

My Fifteen Minutes

The Shanghai Tunnels case was still being talked about on every station and news channel in the country on Tuesday morning. That's all they talked about. Some even went as far as doing in-depth reports, asking "could it happen again".

It was only week ago, that I thought I was dragging my ass to the office for the last time and playing hooky until whenever I felt like it. Now my days of playing hooky are over. Both the office phone _and_ my cellphone were completely filled with messages from people wanting to talk to the widowed private eye who single handedly solved two murders, uncovered a system of secret KGB tunnels and a mafia trafficking operation in one week. And I'm sure after Carina and Tatiana safely arrive in Moscow today, they'll all probably want to talk to me about how I retrieved the Blue Star of Russia as well. But it wasn't just the local medias and newspapers who were calling. I was also getting calls from major networks and cable news asking to be included in my itinerary when I do my talk circuit, should I decide to go that route. _A talk circuit?_

# Fast-forward six weeks.

I finally found my third and last piece of luggage from the carousel for, thankfully, _and hopefully_ , the last time in a long while. _Why I ever agreed to end my tour in Ontario, I'll never understand._ One thing's for certain, if I ever do this again, I'm starting on the east coast and working my way home. _Actually, I think next time I solve a high profile case, I'll point to Kris and say he did it. More importantly though, no more airplane food. Yay!_

I did my "transformer luggage" thing for, _fingers crossed_ , the last time, and put them together into one big luggage set on wheels and started wheeling it all toward the exit. _Beat private eye walking! Where's a porter you need one?_ The past few weeks had been _so_ hectic I was shocked when it finally slowed down enough for me to find out how much time had passed. _I still can't believe I actually danced with Ellen on stage! Oh God, why did I do that? Though... I did get to meet George Clooney._ I had to stop daydreaming and get my bearings. I was blindly moving along. _For some reason, I still keep wanting to find that gate in Atlanta. Geez, I'm really tired._

I finally reached PDX's slow revolving front door and saw him waiting outside. He was leaning on someone's car with his arms folded and legs crossed. He smiled when he saw me and popped the trunk of that someone's car.

While I was away doing my tour of talk shows and news interviews, Kris called me every night just before I went to bed. _I still haven't been able to figure out how he knew when to do that._ He kept me informed of what's been happening while I was gone. Our new business, _Pendleton, Koskov, & Associates_ was swamped with cases. Offers for partnerships from agencies wanting to ride our coattails were the only break in the barrage of calls from people needing to hire that "Lady who uncovered the Spy Ring". He said he was so extremely busy and had to turn down so many cases he hated giving up, that he had to hire two more people. _I guess the "Associates" part is no longer a fib._

"Hi Sweetie," I said after wheeling the last final few feet to him. I stood my luggage upright and the top piece fell off and landed on the ground. I left it there. I didn't care and neither did Kris. We kissed long and hard and held each other in a sweet embrace. I dreamed of doing this so often I felt like pinching myself to make sure it was real, but I had to stop. Otherwise, we would've had to start selling tickets. "Did you have to wait long," I asked.

"No," he said. "Not long at all. But then, even if I had to wait an eternity for you it still wouldn't have been that long." I watched him with my tired horny eyes as he started putting my luggage in the trunk. I snapped out of it when he slammed it shut and tried to hand me the keys.

"What?" I said. "Honey... you can't seriously think I can drive right now. I'm really beat."

He quickly palmed them. "Sorry. Your right. I just couldn't wait to surprise you with your new car. I wasn't thinking."

_My what?!_ That was when I realized what it was. A brand new red, soft-top Mazda Miata. "Oh my God!" I screeched. My voice went up into the high octaves. "Kris! How the hell did you buy this?"

He smiled and shrugged. Then I remembered how well the business had been doing.

I hugged the hell out of him. Then I tapped his chest with a fist and said, "Oh, now I want to drive it, but I'm too tired."

He helped me into the passenger seat of my new car. I couldn't help admiring the cloth interior and ran a tired hand over the seats. Kris hopped in and was trying to hand me something else. _Now what?_ Since I knew it couldn't have been something I had to drive, it took it. It looked like a cell phone, but not like any I'd ever seen. "What's this?" I said.

He reached over and touched something and it sprang to life. _Wait. I've seen one of these._ "A new iPhone?"

"Our company phone, but if you prefer, we also have Blackberrys. I just thought you might like this you one because it can also do..." He reached over, touched something else and said, "this."

All of the sudden, I could _swear_ Gwen Stefani was in the back seat, singing a song from her latest album in my ear. I looked down at my iPhone to figure out what he touched and saw that my iPhone was now an iPod. "Oh SHIT! No FUCKING way!" Kris was grinning from ear to ear. I reached over the car's console and tried my best to hug him.

"I put all your CDs in there," he said.

"No FUCKING way!" I wanted to check out the library of music on my phone, but I was enjoying having Gwen sing a song to me so much that I was too afraid to touch anything. I tried to figure it out, but after a couple of minutes of just staring at it and trying to get my brain to function, I had to give up. I had wait until I had enough rest before I could explore my new toy.

I was so tired that we were in downtown Portland without remembering how we got here. Then I remembered, I don't live in Portland, I live in Lake Oswego. "Kris, honey, where we going?"

"I know you're tired, and I _swear_ I will make it up to you, but... it's just that everyone had been waiting so long for you to get back..."

Before he could finish, I got the picture. I was smiling and nodding my head before he finished. I put my hand on his arm to stop him from explaining and said, "You're damn right you're gonna owe me," and poked a finger into his ribs.

But the building we stopped at wasn't the familiar old historical "fortress of solitude". It was a tall, sleek modern building. I felt like I had a little of my second wind after the car ride and got out on my own. "What? Did you get an _iBuilding_ too?"

All he said was, "You'll see." He took my arm into his and led the way.

The front lobby was marble and inhabited by three security guards in white shirts and black ties. They were corralled within a large round marble reception counter. Two of them were leaning against the back section while the other was seated at the front. The one who seated was waving and said, "Hey Kris! That her?"

"Oh yeah," Kris said, then led me to them. "Lydia. I would like you to meet Chuck, Steve and Bill." Chuck and Steve I think I recognized from somewhere. Bill was the youngest and the one who said hello.

Chuck stepped up to our side of the counter and leaned over the front section to shake my hand. His grip was warm, rough and smooth. He smiled with clean white teeth and said, "Nice to see you again," he said. _Now I remember! He used to be a cop. And I think Steve was his partner._ I could tell Steve was the one with brains. He knew how tired I was and stayed put and waved.

"Where you guys working now?" I asked.

It must have been a really good one, because everyone started laughing without answering my question.

"Come on, Lydia," Kris said. He led me away toward a bank of elevators. "See you later, guys."

They answered by saying, "See ya," in unison.

The next thing I knew we were going up. I saw Kris had pressed the button for eighteenth floor in this twenty-two floored "iBuilding". "So... why is everyone waiting for us here? Did you book a conference room or something?"

Kris didn't answer. Instead, he just grinned even more. I was starting to think about beating that grin off his face when the elevator came to stop and dinged. The doors opened and I couldn't believe my eyes. Up on a wall on the other side of a beautiful reception area, were brass letters spelling out the words "Pendleton, Koskov & Associates Private Investigation Agency". I looked at Kris with an amazed look on my face and he said, "Welcome to P K & associates."

_P K & associates! Of course. It does have good acronym!_ When I stepped off the elevator, all my family and friends scared the living shit out of me by yelling "Surprise" from out of nowhere. "Oh my God! You guys!" Exhaustion got the better of me and I couldn't stop myself from crying. Everyone was there, including Susan, her husband Tim and both her daughters, Stacey and Teresa.

My father was the first to greet meet. "Welcome home, Liddy Biddy." _God! When will he stop calling me that?_ Lucky for him I'm too tired to argue. He probably knew he could get away with it this time.

I hugged him and whispered a warning, "I'm only letting the Biddy thing slide just this one time." I kissed his cheek. He chuckled.

Scott left Cathy's side, hugged me and said, "Welcome home Mom." Then it got even harder for me to stop crying.

Some of the other people I didn't recognize I assumed were the new "probies" while others I could tell where cops. They were clustered around Detectives Wilson and McIntire. Wilson was dressed in the suit he had on when we first met, but his partner, Sheila, was dressed to the nines. She was a knock out in a black leather pencil skirt that stopped just above her knees. She'd traded in her patent leather dress shoes for a pair of black stilettos, and she looked especially sharp in a black blazer with a grey tank top. _Wait. I think I saw Gwyneth Paltrow in a magazine wearing that same outfit._ Though, I think Sheila pulls it off a lot better than Gwyneth. Her red hair obviously spent time in a salon. The way her curls framed her face and draped her shoulders was beautiful. _Now that I think about it, it was more like the guys were clustered around her._

"It's so good to be back, everyone," I said. "Thank you. Thank you all for welcoming me home. My new home, with new faces. I just... don't know what to say." _God I'm so tired._ "Thank you."

Kris insisted he would also make it up to me if we stayed until we had the cake he ordered. I was never so happy to see a square sheet cake get eaten. By the time Kris finally led me toward the elevators, my eyelids were having a hard time staying open. I heard the guards say goodnight as we passed the lobby. _Those are_ our _security guards. No wonder they were laughing at me. Goodnight._

I spent the next morning in bed, catching up with the time change, but my stomach wanted to get some lunch. After I had lunch, I went out to visit Tom's office, with its creaky floor and bad memories, to say goodbye. Kris said he took Tom's desk with us and set it inside my new office until I decide what to do with it. I like to think Tom's ghost came with it and there's nothing left within this tiny old office. I dropped off the keys with the owner, Sam Miller, who didn't live in a cave. He took them from me without asking. "Good luck Lydia," he said. "I would say I'm sorry to see you go, but I know you're better off."

"Thanks Sam. Goodbye."

I had to make one more stop before paying little surprise visit to the office just to shake up the newbies. I was playing the _Black Eyed Peas_ through my new iPhone as I drove along a road that wound through hills dotted with gravestones in my new red Miata. I stopped just over the crest of a hill, picked up the flowers from my passenger seat and got out of the car. I walked up the hill past three other gravestones. Then I knelt beside his and placed the daisies at the base of his stone.

In loving Memory

Here lies Thomas Allen Addison

a devoted father and loving husband.

"I love you sweetheart." I kissed my fingertips and touched his marker with them. "I miss you Tom." I sat there with him for an hour and a half without saying a word, remembering as much about our time together as I could, trying my best to make it seem like I really was visiting him. But I had to go.

Goodbye Tom.

The end.

# Behind the Making of #3297

When I did my research for File 3297: The Shanghai Tunnels, I came across some facts that I thought were interesting. Some of them you might already know, others you might not. Of course, determining which is which will be entirely up to you.

Some of what you might already know covers the Chinese migration from China to America's West in the 1800s. After discovering that Chinese immigrants made tunnels in practically every place they lived, I assumed the Shanghai Tunnels were part of their handiwork. As you'll soon discover further on this behind the scenes look, this was not the case. But before I knew that, I took a little dip into their history to find out what motivated them into this migration. I was hoping this would help uncover the story behind their 'obsession' of tunneling under every settlement they called home.

I started at the beginning of their journey. I looked into what was happening with their country at the time and found out China was a horrible, miserable place to live. Their migration stemmed from wanting to escape the poverty and famine that came after the Opium Wars. So naturally, the cause of this major migration was the California Gold Rush. The majority of them fully intended to return home to their families waiting for them in China once they found their fortune. Some did, but the ones who weren't fortunate in finding gold found how prosperous it was to live in 19th century America and how easier it was than in China to obtain their wealth through hard work. Unfortunately, in most cases, this usually took longer than panning for gold and over time their reasons for going home either became lost or no longer necessary.

Some of the facts you might not already know concern what I found on the tunnels. I was never able to find out anything specific on why they built them, but I did find out a couple of interesting things about Portland's tunnels.

In almost every town and city wherever Chinese immigrants settled you'll find stories floating around, some places actually called them 'rumors', about the tunnels they constructed. In Portland Oregon, they believe the Chinese had connected a few of their tunnels with the city's 'service' tunnels (A network of connected basements). These service tunnels were intended for use by the city's merchants to provide a way for them to efficiently transfer supplies from their basements to the ships docked at the Willamette's waterfront and vice versa.

When the 'Great Flood of 1894' occurred, the Oregon Historical Society says this tunnel connection probably helped lessen the disaster and made it possible for the Chinese to conspicuously rescue people who were trapped by rising water.

So, as you've probably already guessed, through my effort to learn the reason behind the Chinese's tunneling, I discovered that not only were the tunnels used to shanghai drunken men for profit, the Shanghai Tunnels or Portland Underground, not part of something built by the Chinese, but they also weren't intended for shanghaiing as I, and others who didn't know, had assumed. They were actually originally meant for serving a purpose as waterfront service tunnels.

Also, another interesting bit of information that I already knew from living here. The practice of shanghaiing via means of these tunnels had actually continued up until as late as the 1950s. Just something to think about next time you're in an old watering hole in downtown Portland.

Hope you enjoyed reading this "FILE" as much as I enjoyed writing it.

\- Greg Wilhelm, _author of the 'The Pendleton Files'_.

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