“What do two Russians, a guy from Anchorage, our mystery man—who Landon believes is Russian—a grad student from Cali, and my aunt have to do with each other?” Bailey asked as they made their way back to the Post.
“You think they are connected?” Cole asked.
“I know it sounds absurd, but I have this feeling that somehow it’s all intertwined.”
“Why and to what purpose? And how would Agnes fit into it all?”
“I have no idea. It doesn’t make any sense.” She shrugged. “Maybe it really is a series of weird coincidences, but it doesn’t explain why Agnes didn’t mention anything about the trip to me.”
“Maybe it was a last-minute trip.”
“Why? What could have been so urgent? And why would she go to Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky, Russia?”
“Maybe research . . . or a buying trip. She ran a Russian-American shop.”
“True, but Agnes mostly did her research and purchasing via the Internet and local resources. She went to Russia more often before I came to live with her, though I can remember at least two trips she made after I left. She loved Russia. Went for the first time with her great-aunt Mildred. My mom was so mad she wasn’t the sister chosen to go.”
“That’s when Agnes got into Russian history?” he asked.
She nodded. “She came back and followed her great-aunt’s love for Russian-American history. After Mildred passed, she took over the shop.” Now Bailey risked ending that legacy. By selling, she could never ensure it would remain the Post. But she couldn’t think about that. What happened at breakfast would happen over and over again, and her heart couldn’t take it.
Sure Cole stepped up to defend her, or more likely himself, from Tom’s accusation. Sure he was being kind and attentive now, but what happened when the rumor spread? By nightfall the entire town would hear Tom’s version of events, and how would Cole react then? It’d be easier for them both if she simply left and never looked back.
“So you can’t think of any reason Agnes would go to Russia?”
She exhaled. “I have no idea.” It seemed so out of Agnes’s temperament.
“Maybe there’s something back at the shop that would give us some idea of why she went. Something scribbled on her calendar, an e-mail about her trip,” he suggested.
“Good idea. I’ll take a look before I leave.”
Cole stopped. “Leave?”
“I’m heading back to Oregon tomorrow.” It was time.
“Tomorrow?” The word came out strangled.
She nodded, avoiding his gaze. Afraid of what she might find there—relief, disappointment. Not sure which would be worse.
“Is this because of Tom, because of what happened this morning?”
“Yes and no. If it wasn’t Tom this morning, it would have been someone else some other time. I owed it to Agnes to come back. To take care of the shop, and now that I have, it’s time for me to get back to Oregon.”
“Where it’s safe?”
She increased her pace. She didn’t have to explain to him. He didn’t have to agree with her decision.
“Sooner or later you’re going to have to face your past or you’ll spend the rest of your life running from it.”
Her shoulders slumped. He was right, but it was her past they were talking about, her mistakes. Her choice how she dealt with them. Or ran from them. “It was nice seeing you again, Cole. You take care.”
She slid the key in the lock, hoping he couldn’t see how hard her hands were shaking.
“And the case?”
“I’m sure you all can handle it.”
He braced his hand on the doorframe. “We need your help. You know Alaskan history. You know Agnes.”
She didn’t look up. “I can’t.” I can’t stay here. Not long enough for him to change his mind, decide she wasn’t worth the fight. Once the rumors were in full swing, he’d pull away. They always did. The cold shoulder and indifferent gaze returning until she was nothing but an unwanted memory. She couldn’t face that again. Not with Cole. Not with somebody she truly cared about. It was better to leave before what remained of her heart got pummeled.
“You could be the key to solving this. We need you.” He stepped between her and the door, forcing her to look at him, intensity burning in his eyes. He took a deep, shaky breath. “Agnes needs you. Liz Johnson needs you.”
Disappointment rumbled through her. Of course not him. Why would he ever need someone like her? She was fooling herself even entertaining the idea there could be something there, that he could ever feel that way about her again. She’d burned that bridge, and there was no way to put the ashes together again. How stupid could she be?
“You’re not playing fair.” What was he trying to do? Get her to stay? Force her to endure the rumors, the cruel nickname, all over again? “You don’t need me.”
He never had. Sooner or later he would have realized it. That’s why she’d taken the proactive route so many years ago and given him no choice. At least it’d been on her terms. She’d forced him away before he could leave. Before he found someone better and left her in the dust. Tom and the bevy of guys that followed never really cared about her. They only wanted what she provided them, but that too had been her choice. Never giving enough of herself to get hurt. Never showing who she really was, and therefore never truly being rejected.
“I’m sorry.” His voice lowered. “But was what happened to Liz Johnson fair? Or what happened to Agnes and everyone else on that flight?”
Her bottom lip quivered.
“You may be the only one who has the key to righting that wrong. Without you we run the risk of never catching this guy.”
She exhaled, fighting the almost primal urge to flee. “Fine. I’ll give you one more week, but then I’m out of here. Killer or not.”
Bailey sat at the desk and switched on Agnes’s computer.
It hummed to life and twanged once the dial-up service finally connected them to the Internet. “Here goes nothing.” She exhaled. “And everything . . .”
Cole rested his hands on the back of the chair, studying the screen over her shoulder, trying not to think of what had just passed between them. He’d practically begged her to stay. He’d laid it on about the case, but though what he’d said was true, there was a much deeper truth—he wasn’t ready to have her walk out of his life. Wasn’t ready to let go.
He raked a shaky hand through his hair. He had a week to get ready, because it was clear she wasn’t staying. She either didn’t trust him enough to be honest and vulnerable with him or she flat out didn’t care. Either way she was leaving, and he, once again, had no recourse. She was making a call that would affect both their lives, and he had no say.
“Username and password . . . Let’s pray Agnes truly was a creature of habit.” She tilted the keyboard up.
Cole leaned farther over her shoulder and read, “Odette and Siegfried?”
“Swan Lake,” she said, typing it in. “Bingo!” Her eyes narrowed. “That’s strange. The in-box is empty.”
“Did Agnes get much e-mail?”
“I don’t know, but I e-mailed her fairly often, and everyone gets at least a few a day. There should be something here.”
“Check her sent mail.”
Bailey clicked on the folder. “Empty too.” She clicked on each folder in turn and all produced the same result—empty. “It’s like it’s been wiped clean.”
“Maybe Agnes emptied it out before her trip.”
Bailey shook her head. “That still doesn’t explain why there are no new e-mails.”
“Maybe everyone knew about the crash.”
“She had to be in Russia for some period of time. I’m not certain when she left, but I spoke with her on the twenty-ninth, and her plane went down on the seventh. That leaves over a week she could have been in Russia. Why are there no e-mails during that time?”
Cole sighed, frustration, hurt, and anger reeling through him. “I don’t know.”
“Great.” She blew a loose strand of hair from her face. “Another dead end. What do we do now?”
“We find out for certain when she left for Russia.”
“How? Not to sound crass, but the pilot is dead. . . . I suppose we could call the airport and see if we can track down Agnes’s reservation.”
“Got that covered.”
Her brows pinched together. “How?”
He sank against the desk. “Don’t know why I didn’t think of this before, but Agnes probably flew to Anchorage on Henry’s plane too—and it was a family-run operation.”
Hope filled her eyes. “And you know the family?”
“Beauty of a small town. I’ll give Ginny a call.”