hours he would earn finding minute answers to superfluous questions, “That’s fine. I can do a document search at the county and find out about it. Do you know how his property was titled? Was his wife included on anything?”
Kiki cringed and Chad sat impassively looking at the lawyer, understanding how this was going to be expensive. She replied, “I haven’t found all the documents yet.”
Fiske may have been smiling behind his more serious façade, “Again, not a problem. I can do a title search.”
The rest of the hour went pretty much the same way with the lawyer crafting a long list of follow-up activities. Closing the Deboe estate might just end up paying the down payment on the lake house he was planning.
Kiki let Chad drive back to the motel. Her regard for lawyers hadn’t changed an iota. “So Chad, what do you think?”
He was grinning. “That was entertaining, mom. Thanks. I learned a lot watching that blowhard start up the suction machine focused right on grandpa’s wallet.”
“Yeah, you got that? At least he isn’t asking for anything from us directly yet. I guess my only worry would be that we find grandma out there somewhere claiming she owns everything. Then Fiske might come after me for his bills.”
“Can he do that?”
“Sure, I guess. I’m the one hiring him. I don’t even know if I’m supposed to be handling this. Dad didn’t leave a will that I could find.” She was mildly concerned that she was muddling around in her father’s affairs illegally, but tried to hide it from her son.
“Mom, you’re the only relative that ever paid any attention to him. You should get something.”
“We’ll see, Chad, we’ll see. In the meantime, we need to find a funeral home to take care of grandpa’s body.”
“We gonna have a funeral?”
She looked out the window, “Naw, he wouldn’t have wanted one, and the body will be cremated anyway. At most, we’ll spread his ashes out in the orchard. It’s the place he loved the most.”
They went back to the motel.
Detective
Jim Olander had grown up in Jackson County on a farm, similar to the Deboe place. Their farms were a few miles apart, and he had driven past the Deboes with his father growing up, but none of them knew each other. When the rural mail carrier spotted Mr. Deboe’s body, Olander investigated the scene first, then called the county coroner. It looked like the old man probably had a stroke or heart attack, but the case was still open until the coroner filed his report by the end of the week. In the meantime, he had called Carmen Joyce after finding a note in the farmer’s wallet on his desk. All the note said was: Carmen Joyce, daughter, and her phone number. He had made the call to Kiki giving the news about her father’s death. These were usually difficult calls, but she had been composed and put him at ease after he started, “Ms. Joyce, I have some bad news ...” She reassured him then that she wouldn’t get emotional, which he appreciated. She was on a plane the next morning.
When Kiki and Chad had landed and checked into the hotel, she had called Olander, as her only point of contact in town. He’d offered to help her if there were any questions. They were both police officers who grew up in the same town. He had been two years ahead of her in high school, and they both seemed to have a vague recollection of the other, but they hadn’t dated or socialized in the same groups. They’d only talked on the phone, so neither had an image of the other. After arriving back at the motel, she called Olander at the mobile number he’d given her during their first conversation.
“Olander.”
“Hi, Jim. This is Carmen Joyce.”
Sitting at his desk, “Oh, hi, Carmen, how are things going with you and your son?”
“Oh, we’ve been to the farm and just came from the lawyer’s office.”
“Good, sounds like you’ve got things under control.”
She sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing her forehead, “Yeah, I guess so. It’s just hard dealing with strangers on everything. Back home in Tranquility, I know most of the people in town.”
“Yeah, but you grew up here.”
“Sort of; I never liked it and we didn’t socialize much. After I moved to Detroit, I lost all connection, not that I ever had much.”
“Yeah, this is really a boring place. Every once-in-a-while we get someone escaping from Jackson State Prison and things get livelier for us police, but generally we just deal with theft of farm machinery. It’s nothing like Detroit. Your new place sounds nice.” He didn’t know if he was reaching out to her or just bored, but he wanted the conversation to keep going. So far, they’d only talked on the phone. She sounded nice, and he knew they were probably in high school together, but he couldn’t place her. He had no idea if his mother had kept any of his yearbooks.
Jim Olander could have stayed on the farm, but he’d left it for the same reason as Kiki. He joined the Navy and got to see some of the world on a couple Med cruises as a communications technician. The military let him discover life away from Jackson County. He’d been places that most people he knew would never see. He hadn’t decided what to do after the service, but when he got home after four years, he read a poster for the state police academy and applied. He never gave it much thought, yet it turned into a career. After some years patrolling the highway, he applied for an open position as a detective in the Jackson Sheriff’s office. He’d been there now for fourteen years and planned to stay.
He’d always been a lean country boy, almost six one and muscular. His blond hair was cut short from habit begun in the Navy and later as a State Trooper. He got married after returning to civilian life, but when they moved to Lansing for the trooper job, she couldn’t adjust and went back to Jackson after a year. Shortly thereafter, they divorced. It was a complete breakup, and they’d seldom communicated after that. Fortunately, there were no children, although he’d heard indirectly that she had several now. He had neither regrets nor animosity toward her; it had been a mistake for both of them. After that, some of the guys he played sports with had tried to set him up, but his first experience with marriage reinforced his expectations for relationships. He hadn’t found the right girl yet. He would get married again if the right person came along.
“So, how can I help you?”
“I need to find a funeral home to help with Dad’s remains. I don’t want anything elaborate or expensive, just to have him cremated so we can spread his ashes.” She didn’t mention the orchard idea, just in case there was some kind of law against it.
“Okay, I can help with that. There are a couple nice ones that are helpful and don’t kill you on price.” He opened a drawer with some loose business cards and gave her two numbers to try. “I think you can give them your dad’s information, and they can coordinate with the county after that. It should be pretty easy for you.” He didn’t want to ask about a service. It wasn’t any of his business.
“Thanks, Jim. You’ve been great.”
“It’s no problem, Ms. Joyce. Call any time.”
She didn’t know why, but she continued, “Why don’t you call me Kiki?”
He was surprised, but pleased. Was she expecting they could get to know each other more personally? “Sure, Kiki, thanks.” He found himself wondering if she was married.
After the call, he looked around the office, confirming that it was empty. He smiled to himself.
Status
She sat alone in his ornately decorated waiting room, near the Kremlin. The building was one of the pre-revolutionary government buildings that had once belonged to the Romanovs. It had fallen into disrepair during the Soviet era, but the underlying opulence was still apparent, with massively high walls and gilded tray ceilings resting on thirty foot tall columns topped with intricately-carved capitals.
She’d never met Gregori Jelavich before. She’d only talked on the phone with one of his lawyers. The man had explained that they had a project for her that would involve all of her time for a
t least six months at her full billing rate plus expenses. She couldn’t refuse. Even as a talented researcher, she had never been retained full time before.
Echoes resonated as the massive double doors swung open and Jelavich walked out alone to meet her, his designer shoes clattering on the marble floors. She rose as he spoke, “Miss Chuikov, how nice of you to come.”
She simply smiled. He’d stopped appropriately one pace in front of her and kissed her hand. Karina Chuikov had been raised to be gracious and understood formal protocol, but it still made her feel a little odd in the twenty-first century. She was able to hide her uneasiness as he gestured for her to walk with him back into his private office.
The room was immense, like something out of a period historic guide. He offered her a comfortable arm chair, then sat across from her with his massive antique desk as a barrier. “Mr. Jelavich, this is most impressive.”
He looked around dismissively, “Oh, this?” He leaned back in his leather chair, gesturing with his hands. “I own the building. It is a recent acquisition, along with several others in the city. You know the government is promoting capitalism these days.”
She sat erect with her portfolio on her lap, “Yes, sir. I’ve read all about it.”
He smiled. “Of course you have! According to my sources you are the best researcher in the city, maybe in the whole country.”
She