The Boy Who Stole From the Dead by Orest Stelmach Read Free Book Online Page B

wasn’t the Russian girl next door. She was what the Russian girl next door aspired to look like.
    “Iryna?” Nadia said.
    She spoke so softly Nadia barely heard her. “Yes.”
    Nadia introduced herself and extended her hand. Iryna smiled, shook it, blushed, and dropped her head. The sequence was so sweet and genuine it took Nadia’s breath away. In the time it took to say hello, Nadia found herself questioning her preconceptions about the girl, her ethnicity, and her motives.
    “Would you like to talk in the kitchen?” Iryna said. “More privacy.”
    Nadia followed Iryna through a door into the kitchen. Four stainless steel ovens lined one wall. A matching stove, refrigerator, and sink filled another. A heavyset woman wearing an apron was rinsing utensils. The center island contained a mixer and various pans covered with flour and remnants of dough. The appliances looked new, except for the microwave oven elevated on an old wooden table near a pantry. It was a child’s toy, made of red plastic.
    A woman with pronounced cheekbones entered from a back room. Her skin suggested she was about thirty but the wear around the eyes said the years hadn’t been easy. She wore a chef’s uniform and carried herself with an air of authority. She stopped beside the toy oven.
    “Galina, do me a favor and take the register for a few minutes,” she said. She spoke perfect English.
    The heavyset woman shut the faucet, grabbed a hand towel, and left.
    “I’m Tamara,” the young woman said. “Iryna’s roommate. And cousin. You must be Ms. Moss.”
    “No,” Nadia said. “I’m not. My name isn’t Cynthia Moss. And I’m not in the modeling business.”
    Tamara reached inside the toy oven and pulled out a gun. She aimed it at Nadia.
    “We know you’re not. There is no Lauder Modeling Agency. Who are you and what do you want?”
    Nadia stepped back. She’d miscalculated. She was expecting a verbal confrontation once she admitted she’d lied. Not a gun.
    “My real name is—”
    “Usually it’s men who try to take advantage of Iryna. They say they run their own modeling agency or they’re film producers but they’re really after one thing. You’re the first woman ever. Why did you lie? What is it you want? I got robbed last month. I could shoot you right here—”
    “Don’t.” Nadia raised her hands in the air. “Please. Let me explain.”
    “What do you want from Iryna?”
    “I want to ask her some questions.”
    “About what?”
    “About a boy she’s been seeing.”
    “What boy?”
    “His name is Bobby Kungenook. Iryna knows him.”
    “Of course she knows him. I know him, too.”
    “You do?”
    “Sure. He’s been here four or five times.”
    “He has?”
    “He’s a fiend for my fruit tart. How do you know Bobby?”
    “He’s my…I’m his…I’m his guardian.”
    Tamara’s eyes bugged out. “Oh my God. You’re Nadia Tesla?”
    Nadia nodded.
    Tamara put the gun back in the oven. She rushed to Nadia and hugged her. When they parted, they laughed. Nadia’s laughter was more a function of relief than any sense of humor in the situation. Iryna stood to the side looking more grateful than anyone.
    Tamara insisted they start over. She and Iryna brought in three cups of coffee and three raspberry-chocolate macaroons. Nadia hadn’t eaten dinner yet but she didn’t care. There were only two chairs in the kitchen so they stood at the center island.
    “Why did you pretend you were someone else?” Tamara said.
    “I was afraid Iryna wouldn’t talk to me,” Nadia said.
    “Why did you think that?” Iryna said.
    “It was a mistake,” Nadia said. “I have a tendency to expect the worst from people. It’s my profession. I’m a forensic financial analyst. I tear companies apart and look for something wrong. And I always find something. It’s made me cynical.”
    “It’s not that,” Tamara said. “It’s not a professional thing.”
    “It’s not?” Nadia said.
    “No. It’s a Uke thing.