what I kept telling myself, too,” Shari said, her brow creased with distress. “I’ve been wrestling with it for days. But think about it. Dmitri moved here in the late eighties. The woman talks about a trial and that other guy going to jail. Maybe Dmitri has been hiding from the law.”
“All this time? In Trillium Bay? You think Dmitri is actually a jewel thief? That’s absurd. He might be the man in the photos, and he might be this Jimmy Novak, but that doesn’t make him a criminal.”
“Then why would he move here and change his name? Besides, if you read the letters, you’ll be as convinced as I am.”
Did I want to read the letters? Did I want to find out my dear friend was a liar and a thief? “This is crazy, Shari. Maybe we should just give the letters to my dad.”
Her hand shot over as she grabbed my wrist. “No, we can’t do that. Harlan would be obligated to turn Dmitri in to the authorities, and whatever he might have done in the past, we know him. He’s a good man. He should have a chance to explain.”
The brass bell over the front door jingled, and we both jumped as if someone had fired the cannon right through the post office wall.
“Helloooooo? Share-bear? Are you here?” It was Gloria Persimmons-Kloosterman. Definitely not a person we wanted to draw into this moment of drama.
“I’ll be right there, Gloria!” Shari called out, her voice thin and shaky.
“Take your time. I’ll just help myself to these macaroons out here while I wait. This baby loves macaroons!” Gloria called back.
I leaned toward Shari to whisper. “Can I take the letters with me? So I can read them tonight?”
Shari hesitated for a moment, then nodded and stuffed the pictures back in one of the envelopes. She wrapped the rubber band around the stack, and then grabbed a big manila envelope to shove the whole stack inside. She hugged the bundle to her chest.
“I swear I will not discuss this with anyone. Do you?” she whispered, holding up a manicured pinky.
I wrapped my pinky around hers and we shook on it, and everyone knows a pinky-swear is legally binding. “Of course. I won’t tell a soul. I’ll come back tomorrow, and we can talk about this more.”
We walked together to the front lobby, probably looking guilty. It’s why I never tried to keep secrets. I felt as if there was a big neon arrow pointing at me that said she’s up to something!
“Well, hey, hello, and hi, Brooke,” Gloria said, giving me a quick hug. “What have you got there? You’re holding on to that envelope like it’s trying to get away.”
I loosened my grip. “This? Oh, nothing important. Just some boring government papers. Nothing even remotely interesting. Goodbye.”
“Wait!” she said. “Do you want to have lunch?”
“I’d love to,” I answered, “but I’m late for a meeting. We’ll have to do it another day.”
I left the post office and walked straight to my office, clutching that manila envelope with all my strength and constantly looking behind me to make sure I hadn’t dropped anything. I would rather read these letters at home, but my office was closer and the curiosity was killing me. Gertie was away for the afternoon getting her bangs trimmed, so I locked the door behind me. I didn’t want someone wandering in and finding me with old pictures of Dmitri Krushnic all over my desk with no explanation as to why. I even closed the blinds and turned the bust of Ronald Reagan around. I didn’t want him staring at me while I read.
Then I sat down and rolled my new chair toward the desk, took a big, deep breath, and opened the manila envelope.
Chapter 23
A wet, drizzly snow was falling from an overcast sky as I stood on Dmitri’s front porch. My canvas tennis shoes had gotten soaked as I walked from my house to his, and now I was shivering, both from the chill and from my own nervousness over what I was about to do.
Shari had been right. After reading those letters, there was no question that Jimmy Novak was running from the law, and the photos left little doubt in my mind that Jimmy Novak and Dmitri Krushnic were one and the same. I knew with certainty that taking the letters to my father would be the right thing to do, but I just couldn’t. Dmitri was his friend, too, and my father