Seven Deadly Samovars (15 page)

“There you go, another breech of justice. She let her maid take the punches for her, eh?”

“The lady wasn’t home. Anyway, we figure they’re on their way to California next. Godiva has her old high school boyfriend Ricky Thompson and his crew guarding Caesar and Chili. And since Rosie’s got the samovar, the Dumkovsky brothers won’t get their bloody hands on that one.”

“The way I look at it, Caesar might need that Ricky Thompson to protect him from your evil twin when she finds out he’s not an Eye-talian stallion.”

Goldie rolled her eyes skyward, knowing that Rudy was right. Her sister had one heck of a temper. “Well Rudy, my first challenge is to figure out how to get the hot potato out of Rosie’s hands.”

Except for Flossie and Sterling, the sisters hadn’t discussed the theory about the hidden alexandrite gems with anyone. The less people who knew, the better. So she left Rudy in the dark.

“I don’t know what’s so special about them teapots, but if anyone can get it back from Rosita without rufflin’ her feathers, it’d be you. Don’t let your sister near that poor woman or fur will fly.”

She thanked Rudy for his help with the store and made him promise to call if there were any problems. He gave her a few choice tidbits about Belle and then he said, “Ya know, them church ladies was in again the day after you left, wantin’ to know didn’t we have another samovar. I told ’em no we didn’t and they’d have to wait till you got back. But you know that Nora. Stomped right to the back of the shop and started pawin’ through everything. Like I was hidin’ one back there.”

“Oh well,” Goldie said. “You know Nora’s pretty pushy.”

Rudy continued. “Ain’t there a stronger word than pushy? I figured let that old busybody see for herself. No samovars. Anyway, while she was in the back, I had a good talk with Dora and she said the old priest jest ain’t been the same at all since he was banged up.”

“Isn’t Rimsky looking after him?”

“Nah. Dora said they couldn’t find him anywhere. He prob’ly up and quit. It’s a lot of work takin’ care of a sick old guy.”

By the time she called Godiva, it was 6:55. Getting past Rudy’s grunting was nothing compared to trying to break through Godiva’s stupor. After a few attempts to engage her sister in coherent conversation, she finally decided Godiva needed a java jolt. “Listen, get your pampered posterior out of bed. Now! We have a lot to do today before we head to L.A. I’ll call room service and have them deliver some breakfast and a pot of strong coffee to your room. Then I’ll call Mom and tell her we’ll be leaving for the airport about one. We can slip out and talk to Emma at the hospital before Mom and Unk even know we’re gone.”

Godiva answered with a mumble that sounded like, “Good luck slipping past Mom.”

“Cut that out, Sis. Listen, room service should take about half an hour, so get up and get ready. I’ll be knocking on your door at 7:15. If breakfast comes sooner, let me know. I’m starving.”

“Yeah, coffee, that should wake me up.”

A little smile played around the edge of Goldie’s lips.
You’re going to need some strong coffee when you hear what I have to tell you
.

TWENTY THREE

       Goldie came down the hall just as a young woman in a crisp hotel uniform pushed the room service cart into Godiva’s suite. She slipped past the server and crossed the sitting room. A weak morning light filtered through the dainty sheers.

The woman laid out the food on the dining table while Goldie sat on the edge of a blue satin chair, half anticipating but half dreading what would happen when she told Godiva about her conversation with Caesar’s mother.

Godiva tipped the server and called out, “Well, if it isn’t Little Miss Sunshine, have you finished feeding the chickens?” She poured herself a cup of coffee and motioned Goldie over to the table, now laden with eggs, fruit, toasted bagels, small pots of jelly, orange juice, coffee and tea.

“I’m glad you ordered us a lumberjack’s breakfast, Sis. For some reason I’m really hungry this morning.” She sipped her coffee. “And do I ever need this caffeine! Give me a few minutes and then you can lay out your plan.”

Goldie took her time spreading butter and strawberry jam on a bagel. She said between bites, “The hospital. That’s the main thing, Sis. We need to talk to Emma. See what really happened.”

Godiva forked some eggs, then took a few sips of coffee. “Goldie, I think that’s a waste of time. We know who broke in and took it. The Dumkovskys, of course. We also know they’ll be going after Caesar next, even though the samovar isn’t there. It’s all such a no-brainer, what could we find out from Emma that would be of any importance?” She rubbed at a little spot in the center of her forehead, and Goldie hoped her sister wasn’t getting a headache.

“You know what Mom always says, you never know until you ask.”

“Well, I say we have better things to do, like, maybe, go back to sleep.”

“And, I say we need to talk to Emma. She might be able to tell us some little details we
don’t
already
know. When I think of poor Mimi.” Goldie wiped her eyes with the edge of the tablecloth. “If she had only survived.”

“All right, Goldie, let’s talk about our next moves on the way to the hospital. I guess we do owe it to Mimi, and Taku, to track down every lead.”

As Godiva went into the bedroom and pulled out her teal and taupe raw silk pantsuit, Goldie leaned against the doorway, her arms folded across a vest that was made of 1950’s upholstery fabric. She cleared her throat. “Um…I have something else to tell you and—umm…well it’s about Caesar. I’m afraid you won’t like it.”

Godiva buttoned her blouse. “Goldie, don’t be silly. What could I possibly not like about my sexy Italian stallion?”

Goldie took a deep breath and prepared for the worst. “Well, for one thing, your stallion
isn’t Italian!”

“What are you talking about?” Godiva slipped her feet into a pair of Prada pumps. “Of course Caesar’s Italian! Where do you think he got that magnificent accent?”

The words just tumbled out of Goldie’s mouth. “He’s Puerto Rican and he got that accent from Luigi, the Lasagna King on Coney Island Avenue in Brooklyn.”

Godiva balled up her fists and took a step toward her twin sister. Goldie held out her two palms and stepped back. “Wait a minute, Godiva, I’m not making this up. If you want to go after someone, try Caesar’s mother, Rosita Burrito. She called me at 5:30 this morning to thank me for selling him such a wonderful samovar.”

Godiva sat on the edge of the bed. “Tell me I’m having a nightmare.”

“Would I lie to you? Your Latin lover’s real name is Benito Burrito. He grew up in Brooklyn and loved acting. He and his single mom lived above a restaurant and when he was a teenager he worked for the guy who owned it, Luigi Romano. Caesar learned how to cook, mimicked his accent, and even took his last name.”

Shock and anger spread across Godiva’s face like puddle of spilled red ink. “She told you all this?”

“I admit, when I found out who she was and heard that accent, I pumped her for information.”

Godiva’s voice grew very cold and flat. “From Brooklyn. I can’t believe it. My dashing
Romantic Chef
is from Brooklyn. He isn’t even Italian. Now that’s a laugh.” But she wasn’t laughing. Her eyes flashed, and Goldie could only imagine what her sister was thinking…or plotting. This was one time the twin ESP hit a short circuit.

Goldie almost got frostbite from Godiva’s icy voice. “Looks like it’s time to have a little talk with that Puerto Rican imposter!” She snatched the exquisite raw silk jacket from the bed, slammed the bedroom door with a thunk and said through clenched teeth, “Let’s go. We have work to do. I’ll deal with Caesar later.”

The morning went from bad to worse. As the elevator doors opened, they framed the figures of Flossie and Sterling, sitting patiently in the two wing-backed chairs that faced the elevator.

Sterling held his hands up. “Not my fault.” He sheepishly pointed to Flossie. “The she-devil here called and said that Goldie told us to be ready at one. But, you know your mother, when she called back, Goldie wasn’t in her room.” He snuck a look at Flossie who was grinning like a Cheshire cat. “So that’s when she called and woke me up.”

Flossie squirmed a little. “Well, yes, I told him to get his
tuchas
out of bed. I figured you girls were up to something and I didn’t want to miss out on the action.” Flossie got up from the comfortable lobby chair and pulled Sterling to his feet. “I don’t know what you girls are doing this morning, but count us in.” She put her handbag over her shoulder and marched to the lobby door.

Sterling tried to protest but, as usual, Flossie overruled him.

Godiva sighed in resignation, mumbling, “I should have known better than to think we could pull this off. Okay, you old geezers can come along. We’re off to visit Mrs. Wurlitzer’s maid, Emma. If she’s conscious, maybe she can tell us what happened.”

They drove to Humana Hospital at the end of John Street and found Emma Poletzski’s room. Emma, her head swathed in bandages, appeared to be sleeping and there wasn’t a nurse in sight. Flossie approached the maid’s bed and touched her arm, then recoiled as though she felt an electric shock. Flossie turned around to her daughters and said, her voice quavering, “This woman is cold as a carp.”

They all drew closer and it was quite obvious that Emma wasn’t sleeping. She was dead. Just at that moment, Mrs. Wurlitzer flew through the door with a nurse in tow. Tears were streaking her carefully made up face. “You see?” she said to the nurse as she pointed to poor, cold Emma. “Don’t you people ever check on your patients?” The nurse approached the bed and confirmed that her patient was indeed beyond help.

Mrs. Wurlitzer suddenly became aware that there were four others in the room. “What are you people doing here?” She spat out each word.

Flossie put her arm out and said in her best Jewish mother way, “My girls just came to check on your poor maid, Mrs. Wurlitzer. I’m their mother, and this is their uncle.” She motioned toward Sterling who was trying to melt into the wall. “We’re all so sorry.”

Mrs. Wurlitzer turned on her with fury blazing through the tears. “Your daughter and that awful samovar! If it wasn’t for her, my poor Emma would be dusting and vacuuming right now. Instead, well, look at her.” She extended her finger toward the still figure in the hospital bed.

Goldie tried to say something, but she was cut off by another angry outburst.

“Ms. Silver, do you have any idea how hard it is to find a good maid in this town?”

When Mrs. Wurlitzer finally calmed down enough to talk, it was apparent she cared more about her personal comfort than the fact that her maid had been beaten to death. She showed no interest in locating the dead woman’s family in Poland and grudgingly agreed that she would call Emma’s friend who worked for her neighbor, Mrs. Bettington.

While the hospital staff bustled about the room, preparing Emma for transfer to the morgue, the sisters dragged Mrs. Wurlitzer to a quiet corner of the visitor’s lounge. Goldie got her attention long enough to ask if she said anything before she died. The woman hesitated for a moment and said, “She was talking a bit last night. I really thought she was going to be okay. Emma said she came in with the groceries and found the front door ajar. She apologized for not being more careful.”

She looked over at Flossie and said, “Hmmph. Emma really was a careless girl. Help is all the same, don’t you think? I tried to impress upon her how important it was to lock up every time she went out, but did she listen?”

Godiva headed off her mother’s inevitable lecture about how to treat others by saying, “So last night she was awake and talking about what happened, and this morning the poor dear was gone. How sad! Did she say anything else?”

Wrinkling her brow, Mrs. Wurlitzer tugged at an emerald earring. “She mumbled something about bringing the bags in, she finished putting the groceries away, and then I think she said there was a knock on the door.”

All of the Silvers perked up. “Are you sure? The burglars actually knocked?”

Mrs. Wurlitzer’s anger flared up. “Well! I’m not sure. After all, the woman was babbling and mumbling. Hard to tell if any of it made any sense. She remembered someone pushing his way in, demanding the samovar from Alaska. When she couldn’t find it, he hit her.” Mrs. Wurlitzer bit her lip. “Emma lapsed into Polish, said something I didn’t understand, and then drifted off to sleep. I guess that was the last thing she ever said.” A crocodile tear slid down her cheek.

Goldie offered support. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Mrs. Wurlitzer looked up and snapped, “Yes. You can give me a refund for that stupid samovar. And while you’re at it, find me a new maid!” She turned on her heel and headed for the elevator.

TWENTY FOUR

       They went back to the hotel, did a last minute check of all of the rooms and called the bellman.

Flossie settled into one of the plush chairs in the lobby to wait for the Town Car. “
Totelahs
, I hate to leave. A woman could get used to this luxury. People doing all the tidying up and fussing over you.”

Sterling glared at her. “What are you talking about, Flossie? Martina and Lupe do all the housework and cooking. The only time you have to lift a finger is when you treat us to some of your home cooking. And now that you’ve taught Martina to make chicken soup better than any Jewish mother, you don’t even have to do that. Thanks to your daughter and all that money Max left her, you get fussed over by everyone.” Sterling poked his finger toward her, “Listen, Sister, you’ve got it good, and don’t you forget it.”

“Gee, Unk,” Godiva said, “thanks for the vote of appreciation. But it looks like Mom doesn’t want to leave. What’s eating you, Mom?”

Flossie bit her lip and said nothing.

Goldie walked over to her mother and gave her a hug. “Come on. What is it?”

Flossie’s eyes watered. “I’m gonna miss Harry once we leave, that’s what.”

They all looked at each other, afraid Flossie had gone around the bend.