Seven Deadly Samovars (14 page)

“Godiva, you are insufferable! This sucks, plain and simple. You’re thinking about jewelry and there are human lives at stake.”

“Speaking of humans, this human needs to turn in. It’s after twelve and we have a busy day tomorrow.” Goldie put the pad back in her purse while Godiva went across the room to turn off the laptop. “You’ve Got a Message” was flashing so she opened up her e-mail and saw one from Ricky Thompson.

She read out loud, “Just wanted to let you know that your Romeo is safely tucked in bed—at least the lights are out in his house, and nothing strange has happened. Some guy was walking past on the other side of the street at about eleven and stopped to look at it for a while, but then he kept walking, so I’m guessing it didn’t mean anything. Nice looking place. That sculptured iron gate on Caesar’s Palace is really a work of art. It’s probably what the guy was looking at. Ivan is over at your house keeping an eye on Chili, so you can relax, at least for tonight. I’ve been…”

Godiva abruptly stopped reading, turned off the laptop and didn’t say another word.

“Okay, out with it, Sis. What else did Tricky Ricky say? It’s not like you to just stop flat like that. You know I’ll pull it out of you, so you might as well read the rest of his message.”

Godiva threw her arms around Goldie and then held her at arm’s length. “You’re always one step ahead of me, aren’t you? Well, if you must know, Ricky said he’s been thinking that he’d like to keep a lot closer eye on me. Somehow, it didn’t seem like he meant security surveillance.”

Goldie snickered. “Just what you need. A blast from your past.”

* * * *

Before she turned out the bed lamp, Goldie realized that her cell phone was off. She had turned it off during the banquet and forgotten to turn it back on. Never one to miss a call, she hit the button and the little screen lit up. There were three voice messages.

First she played the one from Mrs. Wurlitzer. A still shaken voice said, “Goldie, call me if you get this before midnight. Otherwise call me first thing in the morning. Emma is conscious, but in critical condition. She tried to tell the police what happened and kept saying something about a foreign man with a funny accent. She’s heavily sedated, so that’s all she said. I thought you might want to know. The police will be talking to her again in the morning. I don’t understand why someone would hurt poor Emma just to get a darn teapot.”

The next one was from Belle. “Goldie, call me in the morning. There’s some interesting news about Father Innocent and that fool Rimsky.”

And the last one was from a number she didn’t recognize. An unfamiliar voice with a very thick Brooklyn accent said, “Hiya, Miss Silver, you don’t know me. This is Rosario Burrito calling from Palm Beach. I’m Caesar Romano’s mother. I wanted to talk to you about that lovely samovar my Benny...um sorry, Caesar, gave me for my birthday.” She left a call back number.

I thought Caesar was from Italy. How did his mother get an accent like that? Sounds more Puerto Rican from New York than Italian from Naples.
Goldie looked at the clock on the nightstand flashing 1:30. The return calls would have to wait until morning. She’d call Mrs. Wurlitzer first and then call Belle and Caesar’s mother. She made a mental note to tell Godiva about Mrs. Burrito’s New York accent.
And what’s with this Benny business?

TWENTY ONE

       Goldie’s brightly colored skirt made from old quilt tops fluttered in the breeze as she danced a lively two-step with Taku Ted. The bluegrass music playing in the background was getting louder and louder. A split second after she grabbed the pillow and put it over her head, Goldie realized the music came from her cell phone on the nightstand. She opened one droopy eye and looked at the clock. Five-thirty in the morning?

She flipped the lid and managed to croak, “Goldie speaking.”

“I’m glad I caught you before you started your day.” It was a woman with a heavy Brooklyn accent. Before she was able to say something sarcastic to her early caller, like “
Yeah, I’d better get up and milk the cows,”
the cheerful voice chirped on, “This is Rosario Burrito…but you can just call me Rosie. I’m sorry, did I wake you? You sound half asleep.”

Goldie remembered that this woman purported to be Caesar’s mother, so she resisted the urge to blurt out something nasty. “That’s all right Mrs. Bur… um... Rosie. I guess you forgot about the time difference. It’s only five-thirty here.”

There was a profuse apology, then Mrs. Burrito said, “Ya know, my Benito—whoops—it’s crazy, no matter how many times he corrects me I still have a hard time calling him Caesar, like the Roman emperor!” She gave a hearty laugh. “Anyway, he wouldn’t give me your number so I could call you to tell you how much I love that gorgeous old teapot. Oh, I forgot, he called it a samovar. Russian, isn’t it? Said he’d thank you for me. But I just had to tell you myself.”

Goldie, the sleuth, was now wide-awake.
Hmm. There’s more mystery to Caesar than Godiva imagined. This hardly sounds like the wealthy Italian dowager who spent her youth in a lavish villa in Naples.
She questioned Mrs. Burrito in a very friendly way. “If Caesar didn’t give you my cell phone number, Rosie, how did get it?”

“Hey, Goldie, I’m a New Yorker. When you grow up in Brooklyn you learn your way around the block. So what if my snooty son didn’t give me your number? It’s not like it’s a government secret.”
No, but it looks like there are some other secrets around here.
“I just called Juneau information like any person with half a brain would do. The name of your shop was on the gift box, ya know. By the way, Silver Spoon is cute. I like it.”

Goldie sat up in the luxurious bed and rubbed her eyes. “Oh, I see.”

“Yeah, took no time. So much for Benny, er,…Caesar and his airs. The guy who answered the phone at your shop surprised me with his Texas accent, kinda strange for Alaska, I thought. So I told him I’m Caesar’s mother and he says his name is Rudy Valentino, you’re off traveling and he’s watching the store. I just joked around and pretty soon we were yakking away. Nice guy, that Rudy, probably named after the old silent movie star, Rudolph Valentino, such a sexy guy. He died the year I was born, ya know.”

There was a titter on the other end. “Your Rudy said he didn’t look like a movie star and he was never silent. Anyway he gave me your cell phone number. Hope you don’t mind.”

Goldie was picturing a very different Caesar Romano than the one she and Godiva knew. Now she was determined to ferret out the story. “So, Rosie, you said you grew up in Brooklyn. Did Caesar grow up there, too? For some reason with that lovely accent, I thought he grew up in Naples.”

Rosario let out a huge belly laugh. “That’s my boy, Benny. Guess he had you fooled. Yep, he was raised right on Coney Island Avenue. That boy always loved to act. He played an Italian in the high school play, ya know, it was
Roman Holiday
.”

“Well,” Goldie ventured, “he does have a good stage presence.”

“So you thought he was Italian? Well, Puerto Rican isn’t too far from Italian…sort of.”

Goldie pressed on like a bloodhound. “Rosie, I never would have guessed. Imagine. Right on Coney Island Avenue. So where did he learn to cook like he does? And that wonderful accent.”

Rosario hesitated. “Uh, gee, Goldie, I’m not sure he would like me telling you all of this.”

Time to nail it.
“Look Rosie. With the romance he and my sister have going, we could be family some day. It will come out sometime.”

That’s all it took and the floodgates opened. “Well, we lived in this little apartment above a restaurant. His father, the creep, took off when Benny was only five. My Benny was always saying, ‘Mom, it’s gotta be better than this. Someday we’ll have lots of money and I’ll buy you a big house.’ He made wild promises, like young kids do. But my Benny, bless his heart, he delivered.”

“Wow, Rosie. I never suspected.”

Rosario snorted. “Anyway, when your great chef Caesar was fourteen he goes downstairs and asks Luigi, the Lasagna King, to take him on as a kitchen helper after school. You shoulda heard Luigi spin the tales about Italy. So romantic. Benny would repeat every one like he was Luigi himself. He even mimicked the accent, said it was more elegant than Puerto Rican.”

Goldie was amazed. “So Caesar worked for Luigi and learned the business—”

“And the language, and the airs. You know what Luigi’s last name is? Romano. And my boy has become just as pompous as old Romano himself. But I’m not complaining. You should see my place here in Palm Beach. It’s like a palace.”

After they hung up, Goldie reran the entire conversation in her head. The story would knock Godiva on her behind. Her elegant Italian stud was from Brooklyn, not Naples, and his real name was Benito Burrito. She almost told Rosario Burrito about the seven deadly samovars, but then thought better of it. No point in distressing the old woman.

Goldie was certain that Mrs. Burrito unknowingly had a precious alexandrite in her possession, but she wasn’t sure what they should do. The samovar should be safe with Rosario for the time being. There was no way the Dumkovskys could know their quarry rested on a shelf in a cantaloupe-colored condo in Palm Beach.
Unless they beat it out of Caesar. Thank heavens it’s next to impossible to get past Ricky.

Goldie jumped into the shower and cleared her head. The sisters had a lot to do before leaving Seattle in the afternoon, not the least of which was herding Flossie and Sterling to the airport.

She sat down on the edge of the bed in her robe, a vintage smoking jacket of burgundy silk brocade, and pulled out her yellow pad. First on the list would be finding out what Emma had to say, if she was alert. Goldie reached for the phone to call Godiva in the next room.
She’ll love this. A six thirty wake up call followed by an eye-opener about her Latin lover. Hope she doesn’t shoot the messenger.

TWENTY TWO

       Goldie decided to wait a few more minutes before dropping the bomb on her sister. She put the receiver back in the cradle and pulled out her cell phone. A moment later Rudy’s phone was ringing nine hundred miles away. Rudy, an old ranch boy, was usually up with the chickens. Surely he would be awake and dressed, puttering on some project before heading over to the City Café for the breakfast special.

A sleepy voice that sounded like tires crunching on gravel growled, “Who are ya and whadda ya want?”

“Rudy,” Goldie said sweetly, “why so grumpy? I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Goldarn it, Goldilocks, it ain’t time to open the store yet, izzit?” She heard him fumbling for the bedside clock. “Hey! It’s flippin’ quarter-to-six in the mornin’. Did you forget the time difference?”

There was a quick intake of breath as Goldie realized that she did the same thing to Rudy that Rosie had done to her. “I’m so sorry, Rudy, it’s six forty-five here, I figured you’d be up.”

“Well, I ain’t.”

“I have some hot news to share with you.”

“Did ya catch them Ruskies?”

Goldie sighed. “No, not that kind of news. I thought we could have a good laugh about Caesar’s mother. She just called me and I haven’t broken the news to Godiva yet.”

“If you’re gonna tell Miss Hoity-Toity that her Romano is really a Burrito, then you’d better duck when ya say it.”

“Who would have dreamed my sister’s classy Italian chef actually comes from Brooklyn, not Naples? She’ll love it.”

With that Rudy let loose a big hee-haw. “Yeah, she’ll love it like a bear loves a bee sting. It’s a hum dinger, ain’t it Goldie? Fancy Eye-talian, my ass! I’d love to see Godiva’s face when she hears the news. Might bring her down a peg or two. But, y’know, that Rosie sounded like a pretty nice ol’ gal, straight shooter if ya ask me. A lot straighter than Godiva’s lover boy.”

“I agree. I liked her, too. So how’re things in Juneau?”

Rudy snorted. “I’ll tell you what, Goldilocks, I’m plumb worried. Went to see Taku at the jail yesterday, and I think he’s goin’ downhill. Like he gave up. Ollie doesn’t seem to be doin’ much. All he keeps talkin’ ’bout is how they found him with that derned bloody halibut bat. Last time I talked to him it didn’t sound too good for Taku. Goldie, you’ve gotta prove it was them goons and not Taku that kilt poor Mimi. He just couldn’t have done it. I was up all night worryin’ ’bout what could happen to him. Me and Jack Daniels finally came to an agreement and I got a little sleep...till you called.”

“Look Rudy, if it makes you feel any better, all of us, even Mom and Sterling, are chasing after those Dumkovskys. And Belle’s got a Mad Hatter friend in L.A. whose husband’s a police captain. I’m going to call and see if we can get some help from him.”

“I gotta tell ya, the prospect of Flossie and Sterling and Belle helpin’ out doesn’t make me feel a whole lot better.”

Goldie changed the subject. “How’s everything at the shop?”

“Fair to middlin’. Lotsa tourists. There was somethin’ weird, though. Went to look up one o’ them Russian icons in the ledger book and the whole dern sheet with the samovars sales on it was missing. Did you take it?”

She gulped. “I most certainly didn’t. It was there when I left Juneau. Do you think someone might have taken it while you were waiting on a customer?”

“Don’t know. I was pretty dern busy. How was the banquet?”

They talked for a few minutes about the award and Flossie and Sterling’s performance. Then he asked, “So, how’s the chase going?”

“It isn’t good. Yesterday they beat another poor woman senseless and then grabbed the samovar our cruise ship customer bought. We’re going to the hospital to talk to her before we fly back to L.A. Maybe she’ll be able to tell us something.”

Rudy harrumphed. “There just ain’t no justice. Got poor Taku locked up and them Dumkovskys runnin’ all over tarnation, beatin’ people up and stealin’ them dern teapots. So they beat up that snooty Mrs. Wurlitzer, did they? I remember that old snob with her nose in the air. Maybe she got what she deserved.”

“It wasn’t Mrs. Wurlitzer, Rudy, it was her maid.”