Seven Deadly Samovars (3 page)

When Angel spoke again, her voice brightened, “Goldie, there is one glimmer of hope. Maybe the samovars were sent out before the fire. I sweet-talked the guys at Pistov Forwarders and they agreed to at least check and see if they received that shipment. I figured, who knows? You’re supposed to call a…a Mr. Slackanov. He’s the one going through the bills of lading. Let me know what happens.”

Goldie looked up the number for Pistov while mumbling to herself about the moon being on Mars and other astrological portends of disaster.

After several rings she heard a barrage of Russian on the other end. “English, please,” she shouted into the phone.

“Okay. Okay. Slackanov here. What you want?”

“Mr. Slackanov, this is Goldie Silver from Silver Spoon Antiques in Juneau, Alaska. Angel Batista called you this morning about my problem with the missing shipment of samovars. She said you were checking to see if you ever received them from Minsky & Pinsky in Vladivostok. What did you find?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah. I talk two times to some guy in your shop. I tell him I can’t find. He yell at me and I hang up. But now your little Angel call and she very nice, so I look up.” There was a silence on the other end of the line.

For a moment Goldie thought they had been disconnected. “Well, did you find the shipment?”

“No, no. No shipment. But maybe you didn’t hear about Minsky & Pinsky? Whole place up in smoke. Poof! Like burnt shish-kabob. Only thing we are sending to Alaska, week and a half, maybe two, is shipment of Siberian parkas to Anchorage. Handmade, very good quality. No samovars to Juneau. Sorry.”

The next thing Goldie heard was a click. After years of experience, she knew that a high percentage of shipments coming to Alaska, especially from Russia, were subject to some mix-up or another. Armed with the information from Slackanov, she decided to check with customs in Anchorage.

When the customs agent heard her story, he scoffed. “Lady, do you have any idea how many files I have to go through to find out if some fool in Russia mistook a crate of samovars for a crate of parkas?”

Goldie put on her sweetest voice, syrup dripping from every word as she convinced the reluctant bureaucrat to check the reams of paperwork. When the customs agent came back on the line Goldie let out a whoop of joy. “You did. Thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me. I’ll make all the arrangements. Thanks again.”

She hung up the phone and dialed a number in Anchorage, which was followed by a call to Alaska Marine Lines. Five minutes later she called out, “Rudy, come over here. You’ll never believe what happened.”

“Hold yer horses. I’m comin’.” He skidded to a stop in front of her. “Okay, what in tarnation happened that’s got you so het up?”

“Apparently some idiot at Pistov bundled our crate in with parkas going to Anchorage. The customs office got a call three days ago from Wilderness Wear on Spenard Road. Seems like they received someone else’s shipment of samovars and Russian antiques along with their fur coats. Of course, no one bothered to track us down. Apparently our name was misspelled on the packing slip.”

“Well, that’s just great, Goldilocks. Them church ladies will be plum tickled. How long do you reckon it’ll take for those dang teapots to get here?”

Goldie frowned. “That’s the hitch, Rudy. The customs guy said there’s all kinds of paperwork, and Alaska Marine lines only load on Fridays, so they still won’t be here for about a week and a half.” Goldie threw up her hands in exasperation. “Why can’t just one thing be easy?”

FIVE

       Godiva slumped down in the plush limo seat, clutched her latte vente, and grumbled all the way to LAX. “It’s inhuman, getting up so early to catch an eight o’clock flight. What were we thinking? Couldn’t we travel at a civilized noon?”

Caesar patted her knee. “There, there my love. Once we get on the plane you can sleep all the way to Seattle.”

Chili looked over her shoulder. “And you can sleep all the way to Juneau, too, Auntie. Glad we didn’t get the ‘milk run’. That one stops at Ketchikan, Wrangell and Sitka. It takes forever and I can’t wait to get there and show Caesar my home town.”

They crawled along in the security line for over an hour until they finally made their way to the gate and arrived just in time for boarding.

As they settled into their seats in the second row, Godiva looked around and mused, “Well, at least we’re traveling First Class, although there’s really nothing very classy about it. Can you imagine being crammed into one of those coach seats? Ugh.”

Chili leaned across the aisle. “The coach seats are a little tight, Auntie, but if you think that’s bad try flying in a float plane.”

Caesar patted her arm and gave her a peck on the cheek. “You know, Godiva, I’m pretty excited about seeing Alaska. I’ve been all over the world, but that’s one place I’ve never been.”

Godiva smiled up at him. “Well, Caesar, don’t be surprised if there’s a whole hoopla at the airport. After all, those small town hicks don’t get to see celebrities like us very often.”

* * * *

The plane coasted to the gate as Caesar gawked at the majestic mountains and scenery showcased by a glorious summer day. For some reason, he expected to see snow in June but not only was there no snow, there was not even a drop of rain in sight. Instead, the intense green of the Northern rain-forest took his breath away.

At the bottom of the escalator a huge crowd had gathered, waving banners and cheering. Godiva looked behind them and saw lots of kids in matching outfits. She nudged Caesar. “Must be cheerleaders or something…they should know better than to do all that jumping and shouting on the moving stairs.”

“Never mind about those kids,
cara mia
. You better put on your best smile because that’s quite a crowd waiting for us down there. I guess they’ll be wanting autographs.” He ran his free hand through the silver hair at his temples.

As they reached the bottom of the escalator, none of the adoring fans approached them. She tugged at Caesar’s sleeve. “They must be overwhelmed by us.” Then her eyes widened as she heard the crowd chanting, “Juneau Jumpers, Juneau Jumpers. You’re our champs.” Caesar read the lettering on the banners aloud, “Welcome Juneau Jumpers. National Champions.”

Chili clasped her hands and let out a cheer. “Wow, this is sooo cool! Isn’t it great? Our Jumpers won the National Title!”

Godiva huffed. “What, may I ask, are Jumpers?”

“It’s a jump rope team. They’re really hot!”

Godiva and Caesar squeezed past the cheering mob. How humiliating! No one even glanced at them. When they rounded the corner, Caesar caught a glimpse of their own welcoming committee. He tugged at Godiva’s sleeve and pointed toward the baggage carousel. “Look at that. Over there.”

On the other side of the room, Belle Pepper, larger than life in a purple muumuu covered with yellow and red flowers, waved wildly. Her broad-brimmed yellow hat, decorated with a stuffed hen nestled in deep purple plumes, set off flaming red hair.

A short, plump woman in a violet pantsuit hovered near Belle. She wore a luscious lime green derby topped by an orange velvet flowerpot overflowing with silk poppies. Goldie, whose dress might have been made with fabric from discarded draperies, was wedged between them.

Godiva snickered. “Caesar, my dear, that’s
our
cheering section.” She pouted. “Humph! Imagine that, all those people were here for a silly jump rope team and no one even noticed us.” She waved to the colorful trio as she dragged Caesar toward the baggage carousel with Chili trailing behind.

Amid a wild flapping of her muumuu, Belle wrapped her arms first around Chili and then around the astounded chef and bellowed, “Welcome to Juneau, Chef. This here’s my friend Clara.” She merely nodded to Godiva, focusing all of her attention on Caesar. Goldie hugged her twin and stifled a giggle as she whispered, “Guess she’s after your boyfriend. Better look out.”

Alaskan travelers claimed duffel bags, duct-tapped suitcases, insulated fish boxes, and chain saws while matched sets of Samsonite, American Tourister and Ricardo bags were rolled away by the tourists. The luggage carousel was nearly empty; still no sign of Godiva’s three Louis Vuitton traveling cases or Caesar’s leather valise.

“Don’t worry,” Clara said. “They lose luggage here all the time. One time they lost a whole suitcase full of
lutefisk
my brother was bringing me from Petersburg. They sent it up to Fairbanks, and from there it went to Memphis. By the time I got it back it smelled pretty bad. But they found it! They’ll find your stuff, too. Hope it doesn’t have any fish in it!” Belle and Clara howled with laughter as Caesar and Godiva exchanged bewildered looks.

“Sorry to rush,” Belle said as they made for the door, “but we promised to meet the Gastineau Gadabouts for a Mad Hatter’s fashion show. See you back at my house later.” They made their way across the parking lot and climbed into Belle’s pink Cadillac.

Godiva raised hell with the baggage handlers, the ticketing agents and the Assistant Manager of the airport, but in the end they filed a lost baggage report and left. Godiva took a handkerchief from her purse and wiped the dusty seat of Goldie’s beat-up old Subaru before sliding in.

“So, did you manage to get us a hotel room?”

Goldie cleared her throat. “Um, not exactly. Everything in town is still booked solid, but Belle has offered to have you stay with her; unless you would like to grab the one unbooked cabin at the Last Resort B&B.”

“I knew you’d find us something, Sis. Tell me about the Bed and Breakfast place.”

Trying to keep a straight face, Goldie answered, “It’s a charming group of cabins on Thunder Mountain Road. You’ll really like my old friends Moonbeam and Stoney who own the place. Of course it is pretty rustic…”

Godiva didn’t sound as sure as she did a moment before. “And, rustic means…”

“A private outhouse for every cabin. I’m sure you’d be more comfortable there than in my little ‘closet of a guest room’.”

Caesar broke in, “Surely you don’t mean one of those little houses with the half moon on the door and a hole in the floor.”

“Oh no, they’re much more modern than that. Last year they replaced the lanterns with electric lights and put padded toilet seats over the holes in the plank benches.”

Caesar’s voice sounded strained as he said, “And your mother-in-law’s accommodations?”

Goldie hopped right on it. “She’s in the heart of downtown so you can walk around on Franklin Street and do some tourist things on your own without having to trudge up and down my hill.”

Godiva threw up her arms in protest. “Oh, no you don’t. You’re not going to get away with that. I’ll take the closet before I take Belle. That woman is unbearable.”

Caesar chuckled. “Oh I don’t know, my love. Maybe it’s just because you’re jealous. Look how she welcomed me. Shouldn’t we take a look?”

Godiva chose to ignore the last suggestion and changed the subject. “What happens if they don’t find our luggage? Maybe we should go shopping for something to wear to the party. After all, Caesar and I have to keep our images. Do you have any decent stores here yet? Nordstrom’s? Saks?”

“’Fraid not, Sis. Your choice is Fred Meyers, Gottschalk’s, or the Nugget Outfitter. We could try some of the little stores downtown, but by the time we get there, they’ll probably be ready to close for the night.”

“You could try Mom’s favorite place, the Salvation Army Thrift Shop,” Chili offered. “And I like this really cool shop in the Nugget Mall.” She looked at her aunt and hesitated, then added, “No, forget that, they only go up to size ten.”

“Those are the choices? Nothing else?” Godiva groaned.

“Nope. Don’t worry, you can borrow something from me, and Red can lend Caesar some clothes. Might be a little big, but no one will notice.”

Caesar made no comment. Godiva sighed. “Maybe the luggage will show up in the morning.” Avoiding the subject of Belle, Godiva said, “So, Goldie, Angel said you found the samovars after all. What happened?”

“She got me through to the right guy. She’s the best, but they couldn’t find the records. Rudy was ready to throw in the towel but I called customs and discovered that my samovars wound up in Anchorage with a crate of Siberian parkas. They’ll be delivered sometime tomorrow. Good thing, too, because the women in the Sisterhood of St. Nicholas were ready to tear me limb from limb.”

“Did they find out anything more about that young priest’s murder? I was shocked when you told me. Who would have expected something like that to happen in sleepy little Juneau?”

Goldie shook her head. “Nothing yet, the police are stymied. Father Augustine was so nice. Why would anyone want to kill him? Poor old Father Innocent is waiting for another replacement. He’s really been going downhill, you know.” She tapped her forehead to indicate mental decline. “According to Nora, one of the church ladies, his assistant does almost everything around the church now. I hope another priest gets here soon.”

Goldie drove downtown and parked in front of a four-story building. The Grizzly Bear Gift Shop and the Hitching Post Saloon occupied the entire ground level with offices on the middle floors.

“What are we doing here?”

“Please Godiva, just look at Belle’s guest room. You can make up some excuse why you can’t stay there, but I don’t want her to feel like she’s been snubbed. We need to keep peace in the family, after all.”

“All right, I’ll look. But I’m relying on Caesar to save us from this fate.” She squeezed his hand. “You’re the actor, darling, break a leg.”

They rode the elevator to the top and Belle met them at the door. “Still no luggage?” she boomed. “Well, don’t worry, I’ve got lots of extra clothes.”

Godiva looked at Belle’s huge shocking orange tunic covered with hot pink flamingos, and bit her tongue.

Goldie’s mother-in-law showed them around her flat, which spanned the entire fourth floor of the building, one of five she owned in town. She led them into a huge living room and dining room decorated in more crystal and gold leaf than an imperial palace. Statues and doodads adorned every available surface.