Seven Deadly Samovars (7 page)

For the first time since she came in, she actually looked around. “Geez Sis, this is really a mess.”

“Yes, that’s what I was trying to tell you. This has been a horrible morning.”

Godiva nodded. “I need more information. Why don’t you start from the beginning?” She sat on the edge of the sofa, listening to every gruesome detail. In the end she said, “You are so right, Goldie. It must have something to do with the missing samovars. Obviously your friend Ollie doesn’t want to hear about murderous Russians. After all, he thinks he has his man.”

Goldie produced a yellow lined pad, and they started to brainstorm, but after a few minutes Rudy interrupted. “I hate to break up the tea party, ladies, but we gotta get a lawyer for Taku. You said you’d call someone Goldie. What about that friend of yours who has an office above the bank? You always say he’s the best.”

“Oh, Rudy, what was I thinking? It’ll cost a fortune to hire a hotshot like Perry Pinkwater.”

“We can’t just throw Taku to the wolves.”

Godiva held up her hand. “Stop! Call this guy Perry Pinkelheimer, or whatever his name is, and get him over there ASAP. I did feel sort of sorry for Taku when I talked to him at the party. If I pay part of the bill, maybe this Perry character will agree to do the rest pro bono. Then both of us can figure out how to write it off.”

Rudy executed a proper English bow. “Many thanks, yer Majesty. Turns out you ain’t so bad after all. I take back every nasty thing I said about you.”

Godiva fixed him with a cold stare. “Nasty things? Watch it, Rudy, I could still change my mind.”

By the time they broke for lunch, the first page of Goldie’s legal pad was full. They continued to brainstorm as they ate and Godiva oohed and aahed over the delicious salmon at the Twisted Fish. After wiping crumbs off her designer jeans, and donning the unfashionable slicker, Godiva was ready to slosh back across the street with Goldie.

They walked into the shop and Goldie let out a low whistle. Rudy rushed to the front, all in a dither. “Rudy, you’re incredible. I can’t believe you cleaned up the mess so fast.”

“Forget the clean up, Goldilocks. You won’t believe what’s happened now. There’s a gol dern crime wave right here in Juneau, boss.”

Goldie calmed him down and Rudy said, “The heck with what Ollie says. I do believe you’re right, them samovars is cursed.” He took a deep breath, snapped his suspenders and continued.

“I just got a call from Dora. She said they gave Father Innocent his gift. My! Did he love it!”

“So, that’s good news,” Godiva chimed in, “what’s the crime wave you’re bellowing about?”

Rudy threw her a venomous look. “The crime wave, Miss Fancy Pants, is that he ain’t got it no more. No sir. According to what Dora heard, two strange Russians came into the church. Father Innocent bein’ such a nice old guy, welcomed them in, and how did they thank him? They turned on the pore ol’ priest, beat him up, and wouldn’t ya know it, made off with...”

“The samovar?” the twins said in unison.

“Yup!”

Goldie sighed. “Where was his assistant Rimsky when all of that was happening? Isn’t he usually by Father Innocent’s side now that he’s slipping a bit?”

“Rimsky told Dora he was fixin’ some lunch. Came back in the church lookin’ for Father Innocent, and there he is, a-layin’ on the floor with a lump the size of a goose egg on his head. Dora said when she walked in, her friend Nora and that worthless Rimsky were a-fussin’ over the poor ol’ priest. He was a-bleedin’ and mumblin’ somethin’ about not letting those hoodlums get away with his samovar. They loaded the ol’ duffer into Nora’s car and took him to the emergency room.”

“This is too much! Attacking a helpless old priest! What else did Dora say?”

“Dora wanted to know if you could get them another samovar.” Rudy shook his head. “First that nice young priest…dead as a doornail…and now this business with Father Innocent. Does yer friend Ollie have any ideas about who kilt Father Augustine yet?”

Goldie looked at her twin and raised an eyebrow. “No. At least nothing I’ve heard about. Belle says he’s clueless, I’m beginning to think she’s right.”

Godiva’s eyes suddenly widened. “Oh no, we forgot about Belle! Sis, I think your big bold boisterous birthday girl might be in real danger.”

TEN

       “So Goldilocks, what do you want me to tell that pesky Dora?”

“Tell her I’ve decided never to sell another Russian samovar. Maybe her twelve-year old nephew can help find one on e-Bay.”

Just at that moment the phone started to ring. Goldie went to the desk and lifted the old fashioned receiver. “Silver Spoon Antiques, Goldie speaking.”

Exasperation flitted across her face, rapidly turning to astonishment and then fear. “What…what are you…Oh no, I can’t believe it. Calm down, we’ll be right over.”

Goldie stood there stunned as Godiva and Rudy threw her questioning looks.

“Who was that, Goldie? What happened?” Godiva said, “Not more bad news?”

She swallowed hard, brushed a wayward strand of silver hair from her eyes and choked out, “I’m afraid that’s exactly what it is, Sis. They’ve already gotten to Belle. Her flat was broken into and her samovar was stolen. Geez, this is starting to feel like the plot of some Russian novel.”

“Yeah, did Tolstoy ever write a book called ‘The Seven Deadly Samovars’?”

Rudy had no patience for academic questions. “Well, what else did Belle say? Is the ole gal okay?”

“I didn’t get the whole story, she sounded pretty shook up. You know it takes a lot to freak Belle out. I think she might be injured.”

Rudy threw his hands in the air. “See there, this just goes to show it can’t be Taku what killed Mimi. It’s them Ruskies! Samovars disappearin’, people gittin’ robbed and killed and what all. I tell ya, there’s more here than meets the eye. You gals better get over there pronto, I’ll watch the shop.” He hustled the twins out the door.

* * * *

Goldie and Godiva got off the elevator on the fourth floor. Across the hall Belle’s door gaped open. She was propped up on the sofa, her foot wrapped in ice and elevated on a yellow silk ottoman. She called out, “Come on in girls. I think I sprained my darn ankle.”

Hair disheveled, bosom heaving, Belle sighed dramatically. She seemed to be holding back a sob as she fanned her face with a jewel encrusted hand, her chubby arm flapping like a bird’s wing. “My beautiful things. My beautiful, beautiful things. Look what they’ve done.” Her teary eyes swept the room.

Godiva took in the gaudy artifacts and doodads scattered all over the pink and orange area rug. A lamp had crashed against a carved, gold-leafed credenza, leaving a huge gouge right in the middle of one door. Crystals, knocked from a chandelier glittered around the room. It looked like a herd of elephants had stampeded through Belle’s living room.

Goldie’s mother-in-law crossed her arms and got a smug look on her face. “Well, girls, I may look like a fragile flower right now, but I want you to know I gave those goons a run for their money before they got my samovar.”

Godiva sent her sister the silent message…
fragile flower?

Goldie smiled at the thought and said in a soothing voice, “Now, Mama Belle, Godiva will fix you some tea and you can tell us what happened.” She shot Godiva a look.

Her sister raised an eyebrow. “Tea? Me fix…oh, yes, of course. You just rest there, Belle, and I’ll get you something.” She headed for the kitchen.

Belle called out, “First cabinet on the right, Godiva, dearie.” She settled back into the poofy cushions and fanned herself dramatically.

Godiva came back into the room with three fancy cups on a gaudy silver tray. She offered tea to Belle and Goldie, and then sat in the chair nearest the window.

Belle began her dramatic presentation. “Well, I was taking a little nap when I heard some heavy clodhoppers stomping up the back stairs. Those stairs come up right beside my bedroom, you know. At first I thought I was dreaming, but the noise got louder and then I heard some jiggly sounds, then a huge thunk. Lordy! That really woke me up. Then I heard a voice in my living room, speaking in some strange language.”

“Could it have been Russian?” Goldie asked.

“Yeah, it might have been. Swearing is more what it sounded like to me. Good thing I’m no shrinking violet. I’ve shot a few bears in my day. Did Red ever tell you about the time his Mama saved him from a grizzly sow with twin cubs?”

Goldie rolled her eyes.
Oh no, not again!

Godiva jumped in, “Tell us about the Russians.”

“Well, I was loaded for bear this time! I got my shotgun out of the closet, and threw open my bedroom door. I was standing there in my purple muumuu looking down the barrel at those two ugly bullies, and screaming like a banshee. Honey, I think I scared the bejesus right out of them.”

“Mama Belle, those guys are dangerous.”

“Not as dangerous as ol’ Belle Pepper.” She thumped her chest. “They started arguing about something in Russian, and I yelled ‘You get the hell out of here or I’ll blow your damn heads off!’ That’s when they began to back up.”

Goldie gave Belle a big hug. “Mama Belle you shouldn’t take chances like that. Your visitors were the Dumkovsky brothers, and they’re crazy. You should have just let them take whatever it was and clear out.” She glanced at Belle’s swollen, ice-wrapped foot.

“Hmmmph. Listen here, Babycakes, I wasn’t about to let them hoodlums just break in and take my stuff without standing my ground. Wanna know what happened next?”

Godiva leaned forward. “I can’t wait.”

Now that Belle had her audience’s attention, she took a deep breath, pulled a hankie from her bosom and wiped her face.  “The bigger one grabbed my samovar and they both made for the door. Knocked over all my beautiful things trying to get out.” She dabbed her eyes, “That’s when I took aim and winged the bastard. Guess that’ll show ’em.”

Godiva noticed the empty frame above the dented credenza, mirror shards all over the top of it reflecting the light from the damaged chandelier. “What happened to your mirror and your crystal chandelier? Did they smash those too?”

Looking embarrassed, she said, “Nah. Tripped over my muumuu after that first shot and the gun went off a couple more times. Too bad. I can fix the light, but I really liked that mirror.” She repositioned the ice pack on her bandaged foot. “Twisted my darn ankle, too. By the time I got back on my feet they were gone. And so was my beautiful birthday gift. Gone. I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Goldie asked. “That samovar almost got you killed. I’m the one who should be sorry—”

“Belle,” Godiva broke in, “maybe you don’t realize what a close call you had. Did you hear about Mimi Mendoza’s murder this morning?”

Belle’s bravado melted away and tears filled her eyes. “Yes, Dearie, I’m afraid the news is all over town. My friend Molly was walking her cat this morning down on Franklin St. and spotted the police cars.”

“Speaking of police, did you call them and report this break in yet?”

Belle shook her head.

Goldie picked up the phone and handed it to her mother-in-law. “Mama, you call Ollie Oliver right now and tell him to come over here himself. I know how much he respects you. Maybe you can convince him that those Russians are connected to Mimi’s murder. He’s sure it was Taku Ted. He is so dense sometimes.”

“I don’t know. Molly said they found Taku with the bloody murder weapon, and it was his own halibut bat.”

“Well, that’s true Mama, but you know he couldn’t have done it.”

“Honey, I’ve seen stranger things in my seventy-five years. But then again, those ruffians looked like they could do anything. I’ll talk to Ollie, but you know that boy’s about as smart as a box of rocks.”

Goldie turned to Godiva. “I’ll bet you money Ollie won’t do any more than he has to. I guess it’s up to us to find out what’s going on.”

Godiva pointed to the trail of blood leading from the living room to the back door. “Well, Belle definitely injured one of those Russians, so it should make them easier to track.”

Goldie looked surprised at her sister’s enthusiasm for the hunt. “So you think we should lend Ollie a hand?”

Godiva gave her the thumbs up. “There are still two more of those jinxed samovars out there,” she gulped, “and my Caesar has one of them. Count me in.”

ELEVEN

       “If we’re going to track these Dumkovsky guys, the first thing we need is a sketch or something to show people. Maybe someone has seen them around town.”

Goldie and Godiva navigated the crowded little downtown streets after leaving Belle in the capable hands of her friend Clara, who happened by to get the latest gossip.

“I don’t know,” Godiva said, “a couple of big Russians ought to be pretty easy to spot.”

“Then again, maybe not.” Goldie stopped in front of the Viking Bar and looked at a sign in the window that read, WELCOME SIBERIAN NATIONAL SOCCER TEAM. “There’s likely to be lots of husky Russians in town this week.”

“Great, what’s next?” Godiva plodded along beside her sister. Her feet were beginning to sweat in the floppy rubber boots.

“I’ve got an idea, we’ll go over to the docks and find Maurice Flambeau.”

“Who?”

“Maurice Flambeau, he’s a caricature artist. You know, hangs out at the docks and draws quick sketches of the tourists.”

Godiva raised her eyebrows. “Tell me that’s not his real name.”

“Well, he’s actually Marty Feldstein, from the Bronx. But he really plays up the bit with the beret and the French accent. There he is over there.” She pointed to a canopy tent that protected the artist and model from the light drizzle. “Don’t blow his cover.”

There was a line of five or six cruise ship passengers beside Maurice’s tent. They wore clear plastic ponchos that said “Golden Nugget Gift Shop” over their pastel sweat suits. The sisters bypassed the queue and ducked into the tent. Maurice looked up. “Ah, Goldie,
ma Cherie
, ’ow lovely to see you.” He turned to Godiva, set down his colored pencils and kissed her hand. “And this must be your charming sister,
n’est pas
?”