“Semyon, hurry up!”  

The little boy at the bottom of the stairs frowned and let his lower lip poke out. “No,” he pouted. Stefan had been hurrying him all afternoon and he was tired of it. “I want to show Mrs. Damirov my picture.”  

“Why would you want to show anyone that stupid picture?”  

Little Semyon stomped his foot. “It’s not stupid!” he shouted. “You are!”  

Stefan’s brown eyes narrowed as he came down the stairs. Semyon’s brown eyes widened and he stepped back. He’d gone too far. Stefan grabbed his little brother’s wrist and forced him up the stairs to their flat.  

“You’re hurting me, Stefan,” he whimpered, trying to pull his hand away.  

Stefan whirled around and glared down at his five-year-old brother. “I don’t care. And if you say one word to Mama-“  

“I won’t,” the little boy whispered.  

Stefan continued to glare at the child for a long minute. Then he opened the door of their flat and let go of Semyon. The boy immediately ran to the kitchen for a hug from their mother and to show her the picture he’d drawn of a little bird.  

Stefan took his schoolbooks to their room and hid Semyon’s little teddy bear. The eleven-year-old then joined his brother in the kitchen. She didn’t notice the dark frown on his face. In Stefan’s mind, she was once again too busy with Semyon to notice him. She didn’t even notice when he turned and left the room.  

***

Frank and Joe dropped their suitcases just inside the door of the hotel room. The ten-hour time difference said it was early afternoon, but their bodies said it was past bedtime. Joe had suggested they grab a bite to eat at the airport, and Frank had readily agreed. Now all he wanted was a nap. Each dropped onto a bed, Joe falling asleep first. Frank set the alarm, then rolled over and went to sleep himself.  

When the alarm buzzed two hours later, Frank was instantly wide awake. Joe heard it too and just groaned. Shaking his head, Frank went over to the window and opened the drapes. They were staying at the Marriott Tverskaya Hotel just a few blocks from Red Square. It was only 8 floors, so he didn’t have a panoramic view of the city. But that didn’t seem to matter. Stepping off the plane and onto Russian soil had given Frank the strangest sense of coming home.  

“The message light is blinking on the phone.”  

Frank turned around to see a sleepy-eyed Joe sitting up. Going to the nightstand between the beds, he picked up the receiver and listened to the message. Joe wandered into the bathroom to wet his hair down as Frank scribbled on the notepad by the phone.  

“That was Milov,” Frank said as he hung the receiver back on the hook. “We meet him in two hours at a café by St. Basil’s.”  

Joe leaned against the doorframe. Milov was the one who had told them to stay at the Marriott, so the call hadn’t surprised either of them. “What do we do till then?”  

“There’s an open air market down there. We could check that out.”  

“How do you know?”  

Frank bent over to put his shoes on. “I remember going a few times. Be a good place to get something for Vanessa.”  

“Okay,” Joe agreed. He too put his shoes on and minutes later the brothers left the hotel on foot.  

Frank ignored the taxis all around them while Joe watched the cars whizzing past. “And I thought the drivers in New York were bad!” he commented.  

Frank couldn’t help laughing. “It gets worse, brother.”  

Once they arrived at the market, Frank was assaulted with memories he’d kept long buried. He’d been there more than just a few times, he’d been many dozens of times. Every Sunday afternoon to be exact. There was an old man who owned a woodshop by the market. He sold exquisite matroishka- nesting dolls. He made them, Sophia painted them. She had promised to teach her youngest son how to do it when he was old enough. But then she died, making the set she had painted in Semyon’s favorite colors Frank’s most treasured possession. And the only thing he had to remember his mother by.  

Unable to bring himself to go that section of the market just yet, he steered them in the opposite direction, answering Joe’s questions as they went. Rounding a corner to go down the next aisle, Frank came face to face with the old man. He stared at Frank for the longest time, and then he spoke.  

“Semyon?”  

Frank just nodded. No one had called him that in fifteen years. “How do you know?”  

Old Nikoli smiled. “Because you look just like your mother. Come, I have been keeping something for you. And I want to know where you’ve been.”  

Frank motioned for Joe to come too, and they followed Nikoli to his little shop. In addition to selling matroishka, he sold trays and trinket boxes, wooden eggs and even nutcrackers. Everything he sold was traditionally painted.  

Joe went straight to the trinket boxes to find one for Vanessa’s ever-growing collection, leaving Frank to talk and renew an old friendship. He couldn’t understand the conversation anyway!  

“Tell me where you have been,” Nikoli said as he went into the workshop. Frank followed him and sat down on a stool as the old man began rummaging through a large box.  

“I was adopted. The blond out there is my brother, Joe.”  

“Your parents now, they are good to you?”  

“They’re the best. Dad’s a private detective. Me and Joe are too, but we’re not licensed yet. Have to finish college first and then we’ll work with him full-time.”  

“Is dangerous?” Nikoli turned to look at the young man.  

“Sometimes. It’s fun though, and we’re really good at it. In fact, that’s why we’re here, following a lead for Dad.”  

“As long as you are happy.” Nikoli went back to the box. A minute later he exclaimed, “Ah-ha! I have found it.” He shuffled over to Frank and handed him a rather beat-up cardboard box.  

Frank recognized it immediately. It was the kind of box his mama packed the dolls in to take them to Nikoli. Fighting back tears, he gently lifted the lid to reveal a set of exquisite matroishka. Inside lay the last set Sophia had completed before she died. He remembered watching in awe as the intricate and lacy design emerged on the dolls. They were painted in shades of blue, lavender and pink, accented with gold.  

“Why?” he asked softly.  

“It sat on the shelf for years. People would look, especially American tourists. Then they would put it back. One day, my Ludmilla, she tells me it is a sign from heaven that the dolls belong to you. So I pack them away, and we pray that one day you will come for them. And here you are, and the set is yours.”  

Setting the box on the worktable behind him, Frank hugged the old man tightly. “Spasiba,” he whispered. Thank you.  

Thirty minutes later the brothers exited the shop, Joe had picked out two boxes for Vanessa since he couldn’t make up his mind, and continued on their way to the café where Boris Milov waited. Neither was aware that they were being watched.

 

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The authors have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.