Chorus Lines, Caviar, and Corpses (A Happy Hoofers Mystery)

by Mary McHugh

  “I can’t, Barry,” I said, torn between pleasure and duty. “I have to gather my troops and rehearse for our dance tonight. But I’d love to talk after our performance.”

  “Looking forward to it. See you then.”

  He leaned over and gently smoothed my hair back. Something I hadn’t felt in a long time, that feeling that I wanted a man to kiss me, enveloped me, but I stepped back and said, “See you then.”

  Tina’s Travel Tip: If you’re going on a Russian cruise ship, make sure the chef is Russian. A British chef probably isn’t a good idea.

  Chapter 3

  Make ’em Laugh

  I signaled to my pals, who moved to surround me.

  “Who was that guy you were talking to, Tina?” Mary Louise asked. “He’s gorgeous.”

  “He is, isn’t he?” I said. “His name is Barry. He was in Bill’s class at law school. What are the chances of that?”

  “Work it, honey,” she said. “It’s time you got back in action.”

  “No action. Just a drink after our performance tonight.”

  “You know what they say,” Mary Louise said. “Some things you never forget how to do.”

  “Bite your tongue. I’m not ready for that either.”

  “It’s not really a question of being ready,” Mary Louise said teasingly. “It just happens. You know, it’s like riding a bicycle. You never forget how.”

  “That reminds me of something Gloria Steinem said,” I said, thinking aloud.

  “What?”

  “A woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle,” I said.

  “One of these days you’re going to want another bicycle,” she said, laughing.

  “I think we should rehearse our dance for tonight,” I said, changing the subject. “We’re doing ‘Singin’ in the Rain’ and we need to figure out how we’re going to do this in the Skylight Bar. Most people are on deck or unpacking, so let’s go in there now.”

  “Good idea,” our official worrier, Pat, said, “We’ve never danced there before.”

  There was nobody in the bar except the teenagers, Stacy and Andrea, who were sipping lattes and giggling.

  “Will we bother you girls if we do a little rehearsing in here?” I asked.

  “Are you kidding?” Stacy said. “We’d love it! Can we watch?”

  “Sure.”

  We turned on the CD player and swung into our flaps, shuffles, hops, cramp rolls, ball changes, buffaloes, grapevines, time steps, riffs, and shim shams. Stacy and Andrea could not sit still. They got in back of us and tried to copy our steps. They improvised their own moves and then did an impromptu performance for us when we finished. At the end, we were all panting to catch our breaths.

  “Not bad,” Mary Louise said. “You can fill in if one of us breaks a leg.”

  “We don’t want you to break anything,” Andrea said, her blue eyes twinkling.

  “No,” Stacy said, tossing her head. “Maybe just a sprained ankle or something.”

  “Thanks a lot,” I said. “That’s all we need.”

  My phone vibrated. “Hi, Caroline,” I said. “Are you looking for your granddaughters? We’ve decided to keep them. Do you need them? I’ll tell them.”

  “Your Nana is looking for you girls,” I said. “She wants you to come and help her find something.”

  “We’ll be back,” Stacy said. “Don’t go away.”

  We were about to swing into our routine again when we heard the sound of tapping coming from the other end of the room. Janice’s new friend Brad danced across the floor like a spinning top, leaping and jumping and cartwheeling to the music, making Donald O’Connor faces as his blond hair flew. His dancing was funny, graceful, effortless.

  “Hey,” Janice said, “you’re good. I didn’t know you could dance too.”

  “I try to learn everything—dancing, singing, acting, mime—so I can keep working,” Brad said. “I can’t really dance—I just pretend. And that coffee I had with Ken was so strong, I feel like I could dance over the moon.” He flopped down on a chair. “But not right now.”

  “Want to do a couple of cartwheels and spins in our act when we change costumes in the middle?” I said. “You’d be great.”

  “I can’t,” he said. “I’d love to, but I promised Ken I’d meet him tonight after dinner.”

  “How come you’re not with him now?” Janice asked.

  “He had to go browbeat the kitchen staff. He says they’re terrible. None of them speaks English and they don’t know how to make the things he wants to serve. The whole thing is a mess. I feel sorry for him. I’m going to meet him after lunch and we’re going to talk about starting a restaurant together in New York.”

  “You make it sound easy,” Janice said. “Where are you going to get the money for all this?”

  “Ken said we’ll figure it out. He says if I can just help him get to New York, we’ll do it.”

  “Why does he need you to help him? Can’t he just go on his own?” Janice was clearly skeptical of the chef’s fantasies.

  “Well,” Brad said, and hesitated, “I don’t know what happened exactly, but he was in some kind of trouble and is having a problem getting a visa. He said if I sponsor him, he could get into the United States at least temporarily and then figure out how to stay permanently.”

  This didn’t sound right at all. I didn’t want to say anything because what did I know about visas and getting into the United States?

  Gini, of course, had no trouble wading right in.

  “What are you—crazy?” she said. “You better find out what kind of trouble he was in before you start sponsoring him. You don’t know what he did.”

  “That’s all in the past,” Brad said. “The thing is, I really like him.”

  “Why?” Gini said. “He doesn’t seem all that great to me.”

  Brad crossed his arms, seeming to hug himself. “It’s the way he looks at me.” He looked embarrassed, then continued. “I can tell he really cares about me. He makes me feel good about myself. He really listens to me, lets me pour my heart out to him about Maxim. I need that right now.”

  “You just met him,” Gini said. She tried to speak calmly, but for Gini that’s hard. “You don’t know anything about him.”

  “She’s right, Brad,” Janice said. “Don’t get too involved with him. He doesn’t look very reliable to me. I’m only telling you this because I don’t want to see you get hurt. Are you sure he’s not just using you to get to New York?”

  Brad pushed back his chair and stood up. “You don’t know anything about him either,” he said angrily. “I like him and I want to know him better.”

  “Just be careful,” Janice said.

  He looked at her and started to say something, but then turned abruptly and walked out of the bar.

  “I hope he knows what he’s doing,” Janice said, her face reflecting the worry she felt for this boy. “I hope that he doesn’t rush into anything. He’s so vulnerable right now.”

  “Stay out of it, Jan,” Gini said. “It’s none of our business.”

  Nobody said anything. We all felt uncomfortable. Then Mary Louise, our peacemaker, who hates it when we fight, said, “Are we going to rehearse or what?”

  I looked around at these good friends and smiled. “Let’s do it,” I said. “Too bad Brad won’t be here to do a little clowning, but we’ll have to do without him.”

  “You need clowns?” Stacy said, coming back into the room with her sister. “We can do that. Watch.”

  She and Andrea proceeded to do a perfect clown act complete with tumbles, cartwheels, and even did a split.

  “You’re hired,” I said. “See if you can come up with some kind of clown outfit by tonight. You can be part of our act.”

  “Wait til Nana hears we’re in show biz,” Andrea said, running off with Stacy, both of them giggling.

  “They’re so young,” Pat said with a sigh. “I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to be a teenager. They’ve got their
whole lives ahead of them. Hope they make the right choices.”

  “Did you make the right choices when you were their age?” Janice asked. “I was already pregnant by then. And I’d probably make the same mistake again today. You’re just not wise and careful and sensible when you’re that young.”

  “I was,” Pat said sadly. “I was too sensible, too afraid to take chances, too cautious. But I see what happens every day in my practice when you don’t follow the rules, when you just do whatever you feel like. You hurt yourself and you hurt others.”

  “I’d rather take chances and make mistakes and put up with the pain,” Janice said. “I’d rather die than just sit huddled in a corner worrying that I might do something wrong, playing it safe . . .” She paused, looked at Pat, and added, “Drinking too much.”

  “I don’t drink any more than the rest of you,” Pat said defensively. “Anyway, it relaxes me.”

  “I’m not the one who had vodka in my orange juice at breakfast,” Janice said. “But hey, who cares? It’s your liver.”

  “At least I didn’t end up like you, with three failed marriages and a daughter who doesn’t speak to you,” Pat said. It was unlike her to react so sharply, but it was obvious she resented Janice’s remark about her drinking. We had all noticed that Pat seemed to be drinking more lately than she usually did, but this was the first time any of us had brought it up.

  Janice looked as if she’d been slapped. “Leave my Sandy out of this, Pat. She’s been drug- free for three years now and is doing well. I’ve always loved her and tried to shield her from my own problems. One of these days, she’ll understand that I did my best and we’ll be friends again. But right now, it hurts to talk about her.” There were tears in her eyes.

  Pat put her arm around her friend. “Oh, Janice, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. I was just hitting back at you for making me realize how cautious I’ve always been, how dull my life has been most of the time.”

  Janice hugged her back. “You’ve helped a lot of people, Pat,” she said. “I wish I’d known you when I was eighteen.”

  “Me too,” Pat said. “I would have had a lot more fun.”

  “Let’s go get some lunch,” Mary Louise said, obviously relieved that her two friends had made up. Mary Louise hates any kind of anger or unpleasantness. She wants everything to be nice-nice-nice all the time. I guess that’s the way she’s dealt with George, who is angry a lot. She just smiles and waits out the storm. I would have left him years ago.

  We found a table in the large, bright dining room. Through the windows on three sides we could see the boats sailing by—some pleasure yachts, some working vessels, all churning the water to white foam behind them. Around us the tables filled up with the other passengers. Most were Americans, with some Russians and Brits sprinkled in. The atmosphere seemed livelier than when we ate breakfast in there a few hours before. We heard more laughter and spirited conversations.

  The young Russian waitresses lined up along the side until everyone was seated before approaching us to take orders. They looked nervous.

  Our server Olga appeared unsmiling at our table. “What do you want?” she asked.

  “How is the Petrosavodsky Sudak?” Gini asked.

  She shrugged. “Maybe good,” she said.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  The waitress pointed to the menu, which described the dish as “pike perch in potatoes crust with Mediterranean vegetables.”

  “Potatoes crust sounds terrible—sort of like what’s left in the pan after you cook the potatoes. But I’ll try it,” Gini said.

  We all ordered the perch, and looked around at the other passengers while we waited for our meal. There was an American family at a table nearby, a mother and father and their two well-behaved small children, who had obviously traveled a lot with their parents. At another table, four women traveling together all talked at the same time, laughing and interrupting each other like old friends. A young couple, obviously newlyweds, were holding hands across a table. I remembered my honeymoon in Hawaii. Bill and I couldn’t stop talking to each other. We were so glad to be married and together all the time.

  When our lunch arrived, Gini took one bite, put down her knife and fork, and said, “This is inedible. The vegetables taste like my mother sneaked into the kitchen and boiled the life out of them. I think I’ll try our other choice—braised lamb leg with green beans and potato gratin on thymus. Is that a gland or do they mean thyme?”

  Heidi stomped over to our table. She must have noticed our dissatisfied expressions.

  “You are enjoying your lunch, no?” she said.

  “Right, Heidi,” Gini said. “We are enjoying our lunch, no. This food is really bad. I was hoping for some delicious Russian meals on this trip. You know—some stroganoff or chicken Kiev or blinis. How come you hired a British chef? Couldn’t you find a Russian one?”

  “Mr. Allgood is very good at preparing Russian food so that the Americans and the British passengers will like it.” She delivered her line with stern seriousness, as though she had memorized it.

  “Well, not this American passenger,” Gini said. “This is really bad.”

  Heidi looked distraught. Her voice dropped an octave. “Vould you like the lamb instead?” she said “The British are very good with mutton.”

  “It’s worth a try, Heidi,” I said. “This is not good.”

  Heidi strode off to the kitchen. We heard loud voices shouting at each other and pots and pans banging on counters. The kitchen door slammed open. Chef Allgood stormed over to our table and glared at us.

  “Are you the ones complaining about the lunch?” he demanded. His words were slightly slurred, and a strong smell of beer wafted around him. “I should have known. Americans wouldn’t know good food if they fell in it. Anyway, you should try cooking anything on this crazy ship. Nobody understands English. In spite of what you think, I’m a good cook. You’re not helping by sending Heidi into the kitchen to yell at me. I’m doing the best I can.”

  “Well, your idea of Russian cooking is really bad,” Gini said. “It’s not even good British cooking.”

  “I could make great food in that kitchen if they’d give me some decent people to work with,” Allgood said, “or at least one person who can speak English and understand what I’m trying to tell him. A bunch of food snobs, you and your friends are.” He pulled himself up straighter. “I studied at the Manchester Culinary School. It is the best.”

  “Maybe you should open a restaurant in Manchester,” Gini said.

  “What do you know? You’re American. All you Yanks eat are hot dogs and cheeseburgers.”

  “We know good cooking from bad,” Gini said. “Whatever gave you the idea you could cook Russian food?”

  “That’s what they hired me to do,” he said. “They told me ‘Americans and Brits don’t want real Russian food. They want Russian food that tastes like the junk they eat in restaurants at home.’ ”

  “Well, whoever they are—they’re wrong,” Gini said. “Some of the finest restaurants in the world are in New York, and we know good food from bad. We’re not the only ones who are complaining, anyway. Look at the faces on the other passengers.” She pointed to a table near the window where two couples were poking at their food, frowning, and grousing about it to each other in Russian.

  “I’m warning you,” he said, pointing his finger at Gini—always a mistake, “if you send anybody else into my kitchen like you just did, you’re gonna find something rotten in your chicken Kiev.”

  “Are you threatening me?” Gini said, throwing her napkin on the table and standing up to confront him. The fact that he towered over her didn’t faze her in the least.

  He leaned closer to her. “I’m just telling you I’m not putting up with any more of your criticisms.”

  A uniformed arm grabbed him. Heidi’s angry face, nose to nose with the chef, glared at him. “Mr. Allgood, you are needed in the kitchen—NOW. I suggest you march yourself in there imme
diately and prepare some lamb for these ladies.”

  Allgood glared back. “You try to get those dumb Russians to do what I tell them to do,” he said. “No one could turn those idiots into cooks.”

  He turned and tripped over a chair nearby. The other passengers looked away as he stumbled past their tables on his way to the kitchen.

  “I am very sorry,” Heidi said to Gini. “He has been drinking. I cannot put up with him until the end of the cruise. One way or another, I’ll have to get rid of him.” Her voice seemed to get deeper with every sentence.

  “How did he get this job, anyway?” Gini asked, calming down.

  “Someone in the cruise line’s home office in London hired him,” Heidi said. “I think he is somebody’s brother-in-law. Obviously they didn’t investigate him very thoroughly. Now I’m stuck without a decent chef on this cruise. My problem is I don’t know vare to find another chef in the middle of the Volga River. If I were back home in Stuttgart, I would have my pick of great cooks.” She seemed on the verge of tears.

  “The cruise line should send you a replacement, Heidi,” Gini said. “They’re losing customers this way. Who wants to go on a cruise and come back hungry? Food is the main topic of conversation on a cruise and it shouldn’t be ‘Ugh’ or ‘Yuk’ or ‘What is this stuff?’ ”

  “I know, I know,” Heidi said. “You vant the lamb? I get it for you.”

  “Don’t bother, Heidi,” I said, trying to reassure her. “I’m not really hungry anyway. We’ll get something to eat later.”

  “No later,” Heidi said. “Ve eat at mealtime. That’s it. This is not a Carnival Cruise.”

  “We’ll be fine, Heidi,” I said, determined not to laugh.

  I looked around the table at my four best friends. Their usual cheerful faces were glum. I felt guilty. I was the one who persuaded them to come on this crazy cruise, which was turning out to be a horror story.

  “I’m sorry, gang,” I said. “Fine mess I’ve gotten us into. Forgive me?”

  “It’s not your fault, Tina,” Pat said, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “How could you know it would be like this? It’s only for a week. And we’ll probably lose a couple of pounds. Won’t be all bad.”