Don't Say a Word - Barbara Freethy [25]
"There are smaller dolls inside," she added.
He set the doll on the desk and took it apart, one piece after the other.
"What do you think?" she asked.
"I don't know. It's just a doll."
"It's a Russian doll."
"I bet they sell them here in the United States."
His pragmatic answer disappointed her. "Don't you think it's rather telling that I would have a Russian doll?" she persisted.
"Maybe, but it doesn't prove anything. The doll isn't in the photo. And there aren't any marks that identify this doll as being made in Russia."
"Look at the swans. They're just like the swan on the necklace."
"I saw that. Did you notice that there are dolls missing?" he asked her.
She sent him a blank look. "What do you mean?"
"The first two fit together perfectly, but there are gaps between the others. You have five dolls. I'm guessing that there were more."
"I can't imagine where they would be. I went through everything that belonged to my mother. This is all I came up with." She perched on the edge of the desk. "Damn, I thought I was on to something."
"You still might be," he conceded. "We can research this doll, see what we can find out. There might be some way to trace where it came from."
"That sounds like a good idea."
"I've been known to have a few."
"Where do we start? The Internet? 1 have a computer at home. We can go there."
"Why don't we get something to eat first?" he suggested. "I haven't had time to shop for food. Besides, we can kill two birds with one stone. There's a Russian deli near my apartment. The owner came over from Russia about ten years ago. Maybe she can tell us something about your doll."
"Another good idea," she said with a grin. "I'm impressed."
"I'm just getting started, Julia."
The smile on his face and the sparkle in his light green eyes took her breath away. Her body tingled and her heart began to race. She forced herself to look away, focusing on putting the doll back together and regaining her composure. She didn't know why Alex was having such an effect on her, but whatever the reason she had to get over it-and fast. She was engaged. She was committed. She was supposed to be in love. "Ready?" Alex asked.
She nodded, still avoiding his gaze. As he headed for the door, she looked through the glass, catching Tracy 's eye. The other woman gave her a thumbs-up sign. Julia wanted to tell Tracy it wasn't like that, that she wasn't interested in Alex, but she was afraid that would be a lie.
Dasha's Deli was located in the heart of the Haight, where parking was scarce, so they decided to leave their cars at Alex's apartment. The short walk to the deli took them past tattoo parlors, funky art galleries, jewelry stores and shops touting sixties souvenirs, flower children T-shirts, black lights, and beads. "This is a great neighborhood," she said to Alex as they stopped at a traffic light. "Have you lived here long?"
"About six years."
She sent him a sideways glance. Even though he'd cleaned up his act from the day before, his face was still bruised, his dark hair a little too long, his jeans faded, and his T-shirt a bit wrinkled. He was definitely not a nine-to-five business executive or a corporate worker bee. He was a photojournalist who roamed the world, a free spirit. No wonder he'd chosen to live here when he was in town. "This neighborhood fits you," she said.
He nodded in agreement. "It does. Freedom to be different is a luxury in many corners of the world. It's nice to be reminded that it still exists here in San Francisco."
The somber note in his voice reminded her that he'd probably seen some horrific sights in his travels. "Is it hard? Photographing how the rest of the world lives?"
"Sometimes."
"But you love it?"
"Most days I do. Lately, I don't know…" His voice dropped away. "Hey, we're here."
Julia was disappointed to see the deli sign. She wanted to hear what Alex had been about to say. "What do you mean, lately?" she prodded.
"It's a long story, and I'm hungry."
"Will you tell me the story while we eat?"
"Probably not," he said candidly.