for a reply she was doomed to disappointment. The light changed to green and they drove in silence, slowed by a city bus with a black and white paint job that made it look like a diesel powered Black Angus. The title
"THE MOOOOVER" was painted on the side, surprising an involuntary smile out of Ekaterina.
"You ought to see the one with Bart Simpson on it," Kate told her.
"Who?"
"Never mind. It's better you should not know." The bus stopped between E and F, at the Egan Convention Center. Kate pulled up behind it. "I'll drop you off. I've got to run an errand."
Ekaterina looked at her. Not a muscle moved in her face.
Kate sighed. "It won't take long, emaa. An hour at most. I promise I'll come right back."
Ekaterina kept her gaze fixed on her granddaughter's face for a full minute before putting her hand on the door.
"Emaa," Kate said.
Ekaterina looked over her shoulder.
"It might be interesting to find out just who did pay for Enakenty's trip to Hawaii." And for the condo in Anchorage, she thought.
There was a brief silence. "Yes," Ekaterina said, and opened the door.
Her legs too short to reach the ground, she slid off the seat and landed on the sidewalk with a solid thump. "It would be very interesting."
Kate's brows snapped together. "Emaa? Do you know? Emaa! Talk to me, dammit!" Ekaterina's broad back disappeared into the convention center.
Kate sat back in her seat and fumed in silence for a moment, before slamming the Blazer into gear and peeling out into the traffic.
The side-by-side duplex was a single-story dwelling with a peaked roof and two carports. The lot was large which meant that it was an old one.
There weren't that many large lots in Anchorage.
At one time a habitat fit only for moose and mosquitoes, the Anchorage Bowl was squeezed between Elmendorf Air Force Base on the north, Chugach State Park on the east, Cook Inlet on the west and Turnagain Arm on the south. It was a land-poor community and new housing developments fought Costco, K-Mart, Walmart and a few homegrown strip mall kings for rights to develop what little land remained. The eight-member municipal zoning board, seven of whom were real estate agents and all of whom were nominated by the mayor, himself an insurance salesman, zoned city tracts with gay abandon and no forethought. This resulted in abortions like Arctic Boulevard, where at one point a welding business dispensed acetylene, argon and CO2 in happy proximity to an elementary school, a residential subdivision and several churches, not to mention a pair of busy railroad tracks on which vehicles were regularly hit by trains at four in the morning. But it made for a solid tax base, and that was all that mattered to the zoning board and the mayor.
The Dickson Street neighborhood had fared better. Dick son was lined with older houses on large yards filled with birch and mountain ash and honeysuckle and lilacs. In Jane's yard there was a choke cherry tree some twenty-five feet high, a veritable giant among Anchorage trees. It was neatly trimmed and the grass, still green in mid-October, had been recently mowed. The coat of paint, she knew from her sneak peek at the bills, had been applied only last fall. She kept going, down the street and around the corner, pulling into a driveway and turning around to drive back again. She stopped the Blazer a half a block away, killed the engine and reached over the back seat for the camera bag she had stowed there that morning. It was an old Canon, an AT-1, with an assortment of lenses. She loaded it with the roll of Tri-X she'd picked up on the way and after a few fumbling attempts managed to attach the telephoto lens.
As expected the battery was dead, and she replaced it with the one she'd gotten when she bought the film. She shot a few frames, getting the feel of the camera. It had been a long time since she'd looked through a lens at anything. She hoped she hadn't forgotten how.
Both carports in front of the duplex were empty. Most of
"THE MOOOOVER" was painted on the side, surprising an involuntary smile out of Ekaterina.
"You ought to see the one with Bart Simpson on it," Kate told her.
"Who?"
"Never mind. It's better you should not know." The bus stopped between E and F, at the Egan Convention Center. Kate pulled up behind it. "I'll drop you off. I've got to run an errand."
Ekaterina looked at her. Not a muscle moved in her face.
Kate sighed. "It won't take long, emaa. An hour at most. I promise I'll come right back."
Ekaterina kept her gaze fixed on her granddaughter's face for a full minute before putting her hand on the door.
"Emaa," Kate said.
Ekaterina looked over her shoulder.
"It might be interesting to find out just who did pay for Enakenty's trip to Hawaii." And for the condo in Anchorage, she thought.
There was a brief silence. "Yes," Ekaterina said, and opened the door.
Her legs too short to reach the ground, she slid off the seat and landed on the sidewalk with a solid thump. "It would be very interesting."
Kate's brows snapped together. "Emaa? Do you know? Emaa! Talk to me, dammit!" Ekaterina's broad back disappeared into the convention center.
Kate sat back in her seat and fumed in silence for a moment, before slamming the Blazer into gear and peeling out into the traffic.
The side-by-side duplex was a single-story dwelling with a peaked roof and two carports. The lot was large which meant that it was an old one.
There weren't that many large lots in Anchorage.
At one time a habitat fit only for moose and mosquitoes, the Anchorage Bowl was squeezed between Elmendorf Air Force Base on the north, Chugach State Park on the east, Cook Inlet on the west and Turnagain Arm on the south. It was a land-poor community and new housing developments fought Costco, K-Mart, Walmart and a few homegrown strip mall kings for rights to develop what little land remained. The eight-member municipal zoning board, seven of whom were real estate agents and all of whom were nominated by the mayor, himself an insurance salesman, zoned city tracts with gay abandon and no forethought. This resulted in abortions like Arctic Boulevard, where at one point a welding business dispensed acetylene, argon and CO2 in happy proximity to an elementary school, a residential subdivision and several churches, not to mention a pair of busy railroad tracks on which vehicles were regularly hit by trains at four in the morning. But it made for a solid tax base, and that was all that mattered to the zoning board and the mayor.
The Dickson Street neighborhood had fared better. Dick son was lined with older houses on large yards filled with birch and mountain ash and honeysuckle and lilacs. In Jane's yard there was a choke cherry tree some twenty-five feet high, a veritable giant among Anchorage trees. It was neatly trimmed and the grass, still green in mid-October, had been recently mowed. The coat of paint, she knew from her sneak peek at the bills, had been applied only last fall. She kept going, down the street and around the corner, pulling into a driveway and turning around to drive back again. She stopped the Blazer a half a block away, killed the engine and reached over the back seat for the camera bag she had stowed there that morning. It was an old Canon, an AT-1, with an assortment of lenses. She loaded it with the roll of Tri-X she'd picked up on the way and after a few fumbling attempts managed to attach the telephoto lens.
As expected the battery was dead, and she replaced it with the one she'd gotten when she bought the film. She shot a few frames, getting the feel of the camera. It had been a long time since she'd looked through a lens at anything. She hoped she hadn't forgotten how.
Both carports in front of the duplex were empty. Most of
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