Seven Deadly Samovars (5 page)

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Goldie stumbled through the door as Rudy was attacking the crate with hammer and crowbar. The tiny bells on the fringes of her Balinese vest tinkled softly as she hurried into the storeroom.

“Hard at work already? Looks like you’re having a little trouble opening that crate.”

“Yes’m, two things them Ruskies know how to do, make vodka and build crates.” Rudy handed her the customs papers, waybills and packing slips that were attached to the shipment. Flamboyant headings in English and Cyrillic proclaimed the shippers as MINSKY & PINSKY, Importer/Exporter, Moscow, Vladivostok, Minsk and Pinsk.

She sighed. “Poor Uri and Vladimir. It breaks my heart to think about what happened to them and all their wonderful antiques. Rudy, do you realize this must be the last thing they sent out before the big fire?”

“Yup. When ya think about it, it’s kinda like shipping off the Tsar’s crown jewels while the commies is bustin’ down the back door.”

“Well, I hadn’t meant it quite like that, but it does feel kind of creepy knowing this is all that’s left of Minsky and Pinsky.”

Midnight strolled by, rubbed against Goldie’s legs and let out what sounded like a little growl. Goldie tried to nudge him away and he rewarded her with a puff of fish breath accompanied by a loud meow. Goldie went to the front counter and dropped a handful of Nature Nuggets Kitty Kibble into the antique silver bowl she kept beside the wrapping paper.

By the time she returned to the storeroom, Rudy had the huge crate open. The worktable and floor were covered with Russian artifacts and seven bubble wrapped samovars, each about the size of a medium coffee urn.

Goldie’s face lit up. “Lucky for us they didn’t send us the crate that was full of Siberian parkas. That would have been the final straw. I’ll be glad to get those church women off my back.”

Rudy wiped his damp forehead against his pinstriped sleeve. “If you ask me, I think ya bought too damn many of these fancy teapots.” He unwrapped one and held up the elaborate samovar by its ivory handles.

“Oh, don’t be such an old grump. I’m giving one to Belle as a birthday gift. Mimi down at the tea-shop wants at least one for her samovar collection, and of course the one for Father Innocent. That only leaves four and we have three ships in port today. One of the Mad Hatters from Belle’s group says if I have one left after tourist season, she’ll buy it at my ‘locals’ discount.”

Goldie started to inventory the smaller items, writing down each of the nesting matrushka dolls, religious icons, military paraphernalia and a beautiful clockwork automaton in her ledger.

Rudy pulled the wrapping off the rest of the samovars. “Will ya lookit that?” He whistled. “These samovars musta come outta some Ruskie palace or somethin’.” Each one was more ornate than the one before.

Goldie swung around and brushed a strand of silver hair from her eyes. “Wow, Rudy. These are incredible.” She picked up one that was particularly beautiful and inspected it closely. “Rudy, these are not the ones I ordered from their inventory catalog. I’ve never seen such fabulous pieces.”

“You ain’t complainin’, are ya?”

“No way! I just wish I ordered more.”

At eight o’clock she phoned Mimi Mendoza. Belle’s group was meeting at her teashop that afternoon, and Goldie knew Mimi would want to show off a new samovar.

“Hey, Mimi, are you up and dressed? We just unpacked the samovars, and if you hurry over you can have first pick before the tourists have at them. Trust me. You’ve never seen anything like these.”

Mimi lived above her shop, Tea & Sympathy, on South Franklin. The cozy little Russian tearoom with its lace curtains, crisp white tablecloths and glass pastry case was a popular gathering place for some of the groups in town. Four different types of tea were dispensed from antique samovars on the marble counter. A gilded shelf along the back wall displayed the rest of Mimi’s collection.

Goldie looked out the front door as Mimi, a spry, no-nonsense looking woman with shiny black hair and a copper complexion, bounced down the street toward the Silver Spoon. The thing Goldie liked best about Mimi was the perpetual twinkle in her eye. “Hey Goldie! Hi Rudy! Isn’t it a beautiful day? The forecast is for partly cloudy but you know what that means? The other half is partly sunny.”

As she looked over the exquisite assortment lined up for her inspection, Mimi’s twinkle became a laser beam. “Goldie, where did you get these? They make the rest of my collection seem so ordinary.” She picked up the one with the ivory handles. “How much?”

The wholesale price, even with shipping and handling was just a fraction of what they were probably worth. Goldie thought for a moment, before quoting a price that was much lower than what she could have asked. After all, Mimi was a friend and a good customer.

Mimi said without hesitation, “I’ll take it.” Then she pointed to the one with fluted panels and lion paw feet. “And that one too, if the price is as good.” After sharing some local gossip, Mimi headed out the door with the ivory handled samovar in her arms. Rudy trailed behind balancing the beautiful vessel with lion paw feet.

By nine o’clock, when Dora and Nora hustled into the shop, Goldie had entered the remaining five samovars in the inventory book and slapped some heavy price tags on the new additions. The church ladies headed right for the counter and without wavering picked exactly the one they wanted for Father Innocent. Goldie gave them the fifteen percent discount she reserved for certain locals and put the gift in a big box covered in royal blue paper with silver spoons and swirls on it.

“Father Innocent will be so excited when he sees this,” Nora said, grinning from ear to ear. “Poor old dear, he’s been beside himself since Father Augustine’s murder.”

“Yes,” sighed Dora, “now Rimsky has had to do everything but give the Sunday sermon. He’s really a vile man, you know, but what can you do? He is a big help.”

“Any news on the investigation?” asked Goldie.

Dora shrugged. “Nothing. That young priest was such an engaging person. And so smart, too. According to gossip in the church, the police don’t even have a clue why he was killed. Who would want to murder him?”

All three women shook their heads in dismay. Nora picked up the box and the two ladies bustled out, their flowered dresses disappearing into a cluster of tourists on South Franklin Street.

At noon, Belle blasted into the shop in a flurry of magenta and purple. She gave Goldie a hug. “Wasn’t the party fun? I just love that handsome devil your sister’s got hold of. And did you see that dress Emily Pickle had on? Were you there when that windbag, Senator Smiley made a pass at me?”

“The party was a great success, Mama Belle, you really outdid yourself. Did you come to get your birthday gift?”

“Yes, Dearie. What have you got for me? I love surprises.”

Her eyes opened wide as Goldie led her to the counter with the four remaining samovars. She swept the expanse of the display with her right hand. “There you go, Mama, choose any one.”

“Are you serious? What a wonderful gift!”

As Goldie expected, Belle chose the most ornate one.

At two o’clock a small group of tourists came into the shop. An impeccably dressed woman with hair the color of mango sorbet zeroed in on the remaining samovars. She examined each piece carefully and settled on the one with floral ornaments and a rich coppery patina. “These are exquisite!” she said. “I never thought I would make such a find out here in the sticks. I’m surprised you have anything of this quality so far from civilization.”

“Well, we aren’t as isolated as most people think.” Goldie answered politely, while secretly gritting her teeth. “Where would you like us to ship this?”

“Oh, I’ll take it with me. I live in Seattle, so I won’t have far to go when I end my cruise.”

She handed over her platinum credit card and wrote down her address information for Goldie’s ledger book. All but one of her cruise ship companions had moved on, and she sweet-talked the remaining old duffer into carrying the bulky package back to the ship for her.

At quarter past three, Caesar and Chili came by the shop to bid farewell on their way to the airport. They were headed back to L.A. on the next Alaska Airlines flight. His luggage finally showed up that morning, so Caesar was dressed in a casual, but expensive, suit.

“Bye, Mom, I really hate to leave so soon.” Chili gave her mother a big kiss. “But we’re due back at the studio first thing in the morning. The show must go on, you know.”

While mother and daughter exchanged hugs, Caesar caught sight of the two samovars still on display. “So these are the notorious wayward samovars, eh?” He ran his fingers along the bronze fluted edge of one. “Goldie, these are magnificent. I would love to buy one and send it to my dear mother for her birthday next week. She collects antiques and I know she will adore this.”

A few minutes later Caesar headed out the door with a package, expertly wrapped by Rudy to withstand the rigors of air travel. “That will fit right in the overhead,” Rudy assured him. “Don’t you go checkin’ it now, might wind up back in Russia.”

At closing time, Goldie looked wistfully at the last remaining samovar from the Minsky & Pinsky shipment. “There, you see, Rudy? This morning we had seven of those ‘fancy teapots’ and now there’s only one. Let’s take it off the counter. I’ve decided to keep it for myself. Somehow I just can’t bear to part with the last one.”

Rudy was carrying it to the back room when two burly men in ill-fitting suits pushed their way into the shop, nearly knocking over a departing customer. The men looked menacing as they walked toward Goldie and Rudy.

“These guys don’t look much like antique buyers,” Rudy whispered in his boss’ ear.

One pointed to the samovar Rudy held. “You got more samovars like that? Maybe seven?” he growled.

“Sorry, gentlemen, I had quite a few this morning, but it’s been a busy day. I sold the ones I had, and this one’s not for sale.” She smiled sweetly, displaying her dimples and pearly teeth.

“You got wrong shipment, lady. They are precious antiques, not like your other junk.” He waved his beefy hand to dismiss her entire stock. Then he lunged at Rudy as the little man nimbly fled to the back room. “You must give back to us this one and tell us who is buying other six.” His beady eyes flashed.

“Or else!” the other goon chimed in.

Goldie looked from one to the other. By now she was shaking. “Really, gentlemen, you must be kidding. I paid for them, they belonged to me.” She held up the invoice and customs papers. In the back room she heard Rudy dialing the police.

They advanced a step closer. “Give samovar and names!”

“Or else!”

“How dare you threaten me? I’m sorry, I have no more samovars for sale and my customer information is confidential.”

Both men fixed her with evil stares as they exchanged angry conversation in Russian. The smaller of the two giants said, “You be sorry, lady. Boris and Igor Dumkovsky no play games. You must…”

Just then Goldie heard the siren coming down Franklin Street and felt a little braver. She cut them off in mid-sentence. “Gentlemen, the police are coming, I must ask you to leave now or they will escort you out.”

Both of them quickly stormed out of the shop. The larger man shouted over his shoulder, “We be back!”

As the cruiser pulled up to the curb, Goldie tried to regain her composure and keep her breakfast down.

EIGHT

       Goldie had her key in the lock when the phone rang. Still rattled from her encounter with the Russians, she wanted to ignore it, lock the door and hurry home, but curiosity won out. Unlike her sister, who could turn her back and walk away, Goldie could never resist a ringing phone. “Good evening, Silver Spoon Antiques, Goldie Silver speaking.”

“Thank goodness I caught you.” Mimi Mendoza’s voice was strained. “Can you stop by the tea shop in the morning before you open up? I want to show you something really weird about those samovars.”

Goldie thought of all the things she had to do the next day and groaned. “Can it wait until later, Mimi? Maybe I could stop by with Godiva tomorrow afternoon. What do you say?”

After a brief silence, Mimi said, “I know how busy you are but I really want to you to see these. If you come by early I’ll fix you a cup of my special blend with some of those poppy seed cakes you love so much. It’ll only take a few minutes to show you what I found.”

Goldie thought about the pastries and gave in. “Okay Mimi, I’ll be there around quarter to eight.”

As she locked up, she regretted answering the phone. It was like the samovars were cursed from the time they left the warehouse. Starting with the demise of Minsky and Pinsky, then all the shipping mix-ups, those horrible thugs, and now Mimi found something strange. What next?

Goldie walked up Franklin Street. When she turned on Sixth and headed toward her little house on Starr Hill, she looked over her shoulder. She had the vague feeling she was being followed, but all she saw were some neighborhood children playing ball in the Chicken Yard playground.

* * * *

A light morning fog hung over Gastineau Channel and little droplets of mist settled on Goldie’s rain jacket as she headed down the hill toward downtown. Before she reached Mimi’s shop, she heard a siren. Her eyes swung across the street and focused on a police car parked in front of Tea & Sympathy. She craned her neck to get a better look as a second car came around the corner and skidded to a halt.

Juneau’s Police Chief, Ollie Oliver, jumped out of the second car and was directing his officers by the time Goldie reached the tea shop.

She ran over to him. “Good lord, Ollie. What’s going on? Where’s Mimi?” Not waiting for an answer, she headed for the front door.

Ollie reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Ummm, I can’t let you go in there right now. I got a crime scene here, and I’m gonna have to clear the sidewalk.”

Goldie huffed at him, “Wait a minute, I’m supposed to meet Mimi for breakfast. If something’s happened here she might need my help.”

Ollie clamped his hand down on her shoulder as she edged toward the door. The color drained out of his face and his expression softened. “Goldie, honey, I’m not sure how to tell you this, but your friend Mimi is dead.”