Winter Garden

Meredith tapped her on the shoulder. Nina jumped in surprise and almost dropped the hair dryer. Grinning, she clicked it off and turned. “Way to scare the crap out of me. I need a haircut. Badly. I’m starting to look like Edward Scissorhands. ”

“Mom wants to drop off the tapes tonight. ”

“Oh. Okay. ”

Meredith couldn’t help smiling at that. There, in a nutshell, was the difference between them. Nina didn’t care what time it was, or that it was rude to stop by without calling first, or that Mom had had a hard day and should be resting.

All Nina heard was a call to adventure, and she always answered that call.

It was a trait Meredith was determined to cultivate.

In less than ten minutes they were on their way, the three of them walking up the sidewalk in the direction the innkeeper had shown them. It still wasn’t full-on night; the sky was a deep plum color, with stars everywhere. From here, they looked close enough to touch. A slight breeze whispered through the evergreens, the only real noise out here besides their footsteps on the cement. Somewhere in the distance a boat’s foghorn sung out.

The houses on this street were old-fashioned-looking, with porches out front and peaked roofs. The yards were well tended; the smell of roses was heavy in the air, sweetening the tang of the nearby sea.

“This is the house,” Meredith said. She’d taken charge of the map.

“The lights are on. That’s cool,” Nina said.

Mom stood there, staring at the neat white house. Its porch railing was the same ornate fretwork as they had at home, and there was more ornate decor along the eaves. The embellishments gave the place a fairy-tale appearance. “It looks like my grandfather’s dacha,” Mom said. “Very Russian, and yet American, too. ”

Nina moved in close to Mom, took her arm. “You sure you want to do this now?”

Mom’s answer was to move forward resolutely.

At the door, Mom drew in a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and knocked hard. Twice.

The door was opened by a short, heavyset man with thick black eyebrows and a gray mustache. If he was surprised to find three unknown women on his doorstep at nine-thirty, he showed no sign. “Hello there,” he said.

“Phillip Kiselev?” Mom said, reaching for the bag of tapes in Nina’s hand.

“There’s a name I haven’t heard in a while,” he said.

Mom’s hand drew back. “You are not Phillip Kiselev?”

“No. No. I’m Gerald Koontz. Phillip was my cousin. He’s gone now. ”

“Oh. ” Mom frowned. “I am sorry to have bothered you. We have mistaken information. ”

Meredith looked at the piece of paper in her sister’s hand. There was no error in reading. This was the address they’d been given. “Dr. Adamovich must—”

“Vasya?” Gerald’s mustached lip flipped into a big, toothy smile. He turned, yelled, “They’re friends of Vasya’s, honey. ”

“Not friends, really,” Mom said. “We are sorry to have bothered you. We will recheck our information. ”

Just then a woman came bustling toward them; she was dressed in silky black pants with a flowing tunic blouse. Her curly gray hair was drawn back in a loose ponytail.

“Stacey?” Nina said in surprise. A second later, Meredith recognized their waitress from the Russian restaurant.

“Well, well,” Stacey said, smiling brightly. “If it isn’t my new Russian friends. Come in, come in. ” To Gerald she added, “They stopped by the diner the other day. I broke out the caviar. ”

Gerald grinned. “She must have liked you on the spot. ”

Nina moved first, pulling Mom along.

“Here, here,” Stacey said. “Have a seat. I’ll make us some tea and you can tell me how you found me. ” She led them into a comfortably decorated living room, complete with an ottoman bed and a holy corner, where a trio of candles was burning. She made sure each of them was seated, and then said, “Did Gere say you are friends of Vasily’s?”

“Not friends,” Mom answered, sitting stiffly.