Read Online Waking Anastasia by Timothy Reynolds - Free Book Online Page A

discovering that his own family was from pre-revolutionary Boston, where the Thieftaker series was set. He ate and read in silence, kept company by Sushi, whose flexed and fanned fins indicated that he was happy to be back in his own tank and on a solid countertop rather than in a sloshing, unadorned bowl in a box bouncing in the back seat and not feeling like eating much at all. Jerry grinned at his sturdy companion, dropped a pinch of food into the bowl, and went back to savouring both the book and the omelette.
     
    HAVING USED GOOGLE Street View to find the antique store, he knew exactly what to look for when he rounded the corner and looked up at a small shop with fine gold and black lettering on the windows indicating he’d found Ipatiev Antiques & Fine Furniture. The storefront was only fifteen feet or so wide, with the inset door bracketed by the two bay windows. Whereas some of the shops sharing the street were showing a little bit of wear and tear, the front of Ipatiev Antiques was in impeccable condition. There wasn’t a chip in the paint or a spot of rust on the iron fittings. The brass door knob and plate were gleaming and the windows all looked like they’d been hand-polished to invisibility. Jerry was impressed.
    The display in the left window featured a variety of small European pieces on a solidly carved dining table. The antiques in the other window were all of an Asian origin, from Indian brass to Chinese jade. Jerry had no idea how old or valuable any of it was, but he was definitely impressed by the spotless selection spread out before him. Oh, to have a job that could allow him to purchase such luxuries, he thought. Someday, he supposed.
    He checked his watch to confirm that it was after nine, then entered the shop with the old Kodak camera and the book of Blake’s poems wrapped in left-over bubble wrap in a cloth grocery bag. A pair of delicate brass bells announced his arrival as the door bumped their spring hanger and set them to ringing. Inside, the shop was as dust-free as the window displays, yet the area was full of pieces of all sizes, from French armoires to Fabergé-type jewelled eggs in a strong, stunningly lit display case. A gentle voice with the soft rasp of a lifetime smoker and a decidedly Russian accent addressed him.
    “Good morning, sir. Welcome to Ipatiev Antiques. How can I be of service? I am Ivan Petrov.”
    Jerry turned to find a diminutive man about seventy-five years old, dressed like an old-school banker in tailored, navy blue, wool trousers and vest, with a jeweller’s loupe hanging from a chain around his neck. “Doing a little Christmas shopping, sir?”
    “Sorry, but no. You’ve got some gorgeous stuff, but right now I’m hoping you can do a rough appraisal on a couple of things I’ve inherited. I just moved here and my insurance agent wants to know their value as soon as possible, so he can include them in the coverage. You were recommended by one of his Victoria associates.”
    “Of course, sir. I am honoured by the recommendation. If you have the items with you, I would be pleased to take a look.” He moved behind the display case, reached behind it, and came up with a rubber-backed, dark green velvet matt. He flicked a switch on the back of the display case and the lights inside it were replaced by a crisp halogen lamp from above.
    Jerry could see that Petrov was obviously a professional who took what he did very seriously. Placing the bag on the glass next to the matt, Jerry gingerly retrieved his great-grandfather’s camera and book. Petrov put on a pair of fine cotton gloves and waited patiently while Jerry unwrapped the treasures and placed them on the velvet. As the old man examined the camera, Jerry retrieved the pocket watch from inside his jacket and gently placed it on the velvet next to the book.
    “Very nice. The camera is a Number 3A Folding Brownie, made by the Eastman Kodak Company starting in April 1909. It has seen better days, but it is