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

by Mary McHugh

  “Right,” I said, looking at my watch. “Probably at half past never. I’ll never find anybody like Bill again. Hey, it’s 6:30, girls. No time for dinner. Let’s just get some appetizers and a glass of wine here, and get dressed for our performance. ”

  We nibbled on some blinis, some eggs stuffed with salmon caviar, some sauteed shrimp, and a yummy salad, and headed for our rooms, laden with our shopping bags and carefully wrapped gifts.

  Mary Louise and I took turns dressing in our narrow cabin. We were going to wear our Judy Garland outfits—black silk tuxedo jackets with black and white camisoles underneath, black stockings, and black tap shoes.

  “Are you nervous, Tina?” Mary Louise asked.

  “Not really,” I said, and realized I wasn’t. “We’ve done this so many times before. And, anyway, I’ve given up getting nervous. My attitude is, I’m doing my best for you, and I know you want to like us. You’re not nervous when you get out there, are you? You sure don’t look it.”

  “Well, sometimes I am, but I know what you mean. It’s fun doing this.” Mary Louise paused for a second, a guilty look on her face. “You’re the only one I’d say this to, Tina, but I like getting away from George once in a while. No meals to fix, no house to clean, no complaints to listen to. I love him, but some of my happiest times are away from him. I always feel I’m not living up to his expectations.”

  I’ve never understood how such a terrific woman could stay married to a grouch like George, but I keep my mouth shut. If she gets fed up enough, she’ll leave him. Only she can make that decision.

  I put on my makeup. My motto is less is more, but I tried to make my eyes look bigger, my cheeks rosier, and my lips glossier. I often remember how easy it was when we were Andrea’s and Stacy’s ages. All you had to do was stand there. Now, we have to try a little harder. My hair will stay blond until I tell it not to. And it helps that—with a lot of work—my body is still slim and firm. And we all have great legs. Of course, black stockings make them look even better. Fifty is the new thirty, I reminded myself with a wink at the mirror. Then, I sat on the bed to give Mary Louise her turn to primp.

  At nine o’clock, all the chairs were filled in the Skylight Bar.

  Heidi stood center stage and drew herself up to her full six feet, two inches to speak to the crowd.

  “I haf the great pleasure of presenting the famous Happy Hoofers from America who will knock your socks off,” Heidi said, smiling at her mastery of the English language, “with their vunderful dancing. Please give a varm velcome to the Happy Hoofers.”

  The grumpy old man looked as if he was trying to smile, and actually clapped with the rest of the audience. We had converted him into one of our fans—or at least into someone who didn’t hate us.

  Gini pushed the PLAY button on our CD player and we took our dancing feet to Forty-second Street, flapping, ball changing, scuff heeling, lunging, and kicking up our heels, flaunting our beautiful legs for all to see, on the Volga River on the way from Moscow to St. Petersburg. Ypa! as the Russians would say. Hooray!

  The gentleman in the front row sat up straight when we danced onto the stage in our short jackets and black stockings. His eyes opened wide and he clapped along with everybody else when we finished the first number.

  We smiled, bowed, and march-stepped into “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy from Company B,” ending with a rousing “Tap Your Troubles Away.”

  The place exploded with cheers and cries for more, more, more.

  We thanked them and worked our way back to our cabins, ready for bed and whatever would happen the next day, which turned out to be not at all what we were expecting.

  Tina’s Travel Tip: A few laps around the deck early in the morning is good exercise on a cruise ship—unless someone is chasing you.

  Chapter 11

  What’s Behind Door Number Two?

  When I woke up the next morning, it took me a minute to remember where I was and that somebody had been killed on this ship and nobody knew where or who the murderer was.

  I pulled my notebook out of the drawer and started to write my “morning pages.” It’s something I do every day. I guess you could call it a kind of meditation. A writing meditation. I love the quiet, the feeling that it’s a new day and anything can happen.

  I started writing my thoughts every morning after Bill died. It seemed to help. I got rid of all those nattering, chattering complaints and whining. It was a way to clear my mind for the day, leaving it open to creative ideas, new experiences.

  When I first started my morning pages, I would write about missing Bill, or about my mother and how she didn’t have a clue about what I really cared about, or my children’s failure to call me. Gradually my left logical brain switched over to my right creative brain and I began thinking of new ways to get where I wanted to go.

  It was my way of getting to the heart of whatever was most important that day. I really needed it on that ship. As I wrote, I tried to think of all the people who could have killed Ken Allgood and to figure out where Brad Sheldon had disappeared to. Did Heidi kill the chef so he wouldn’t reveal the secret of her gender change? Did Sergei want Allgood’s job so badly he murdered him for it? Did Brad kill him and get off the boat somehow? Or did he witness Ken’s murder and also get killed by the murderer? If that was the case, where was Brad’s body?

  As I was writing down my thoughts, someone slipped a piece of paper under our door. I picked it up and found a notice from Heidi.

  Attention, all passengers. We must ask you to stay on the ship today while the police investigate the death of Chef Kenneth Allgood. Please report to the Skylight Bar at ten A.M. to meet with the police inspector, who will ask you a few questions. As soon as he has finished his interviews, the ship will sail to St. Petersburg and you will be allowed to go on shore for a tour of the city. We apologize for this inconvenience. All drinks for the rest of the cruise are complimentary. Again, we apologize for this unexpected turn of events. Heidi Gorsuch, Cruise Director

  Time for a couple of laps around the deck. I put on my running clothes and shoes and sneaked out of the cabin, leaving Heidi’s notice for Mary Louise to find when she woke up. It was a cool, clear morning and once again I was glad we were in Russia in June. People were already on the banks of the river fishing. A couple of them waved as our ship glided by. The landscape was dotted with multicolored onion domes in every town. Not just solid-colored domes, but striped ones, and some even decorated with stars or diamonds.

  There weren’t many people on deck. Just a few dozing in wooden chairs, waiting for the dining room to open. As I was starting my third lap, a man with gray wispy hair and uneven teeth caught up to me.

  “I say,” he said, “do you know what’s going on? I can’t find out anything because everybody is speaking Russian.”

  I realized he must be one of Tatiana’s group of Brits.

  “Someone seems to have murdered the chef,” I said, amazed that this man didn’t know that.

  “Oh, too bad,” the man said. “His meals were so good.”

  “Well,” I said, “His breakfast wasn’t bad.”

  “Will there be breakfast this morning?” he asked, looking worried.

  “I’m sure there will be something to eat,” I said. “Did you get the announcement about the Russian inspector questioning us in the Skylight Bar this morning at ten?”

  “There was a piece of paper on the floor when I left the cabin, but I just assumed it was about laundry or something,” he said, stopping to pull his socks up out of his shoes.

  “No, no, it’s important,” I said, jogging in place while he struggled with his feet. “The inspector wants to ask us some questions.”

  “I say,” he said, looking as if he had discovered the answer to all his questions. “Is this one of those mystery cruises? Will Inspector Morse turn up? Did you know his first name was Endeavor?”

  “Really?” I said, trying to follow this non sequitur. I tried to think British. “His name was Endeavo
r Morse?” I asked. “Did they call him Dev? Endy?”

  “Just Inspector Morse,” my British companion said, starting to run again. “He never told anybody his first name.”

  “I’m afraid it’s not a mystery cruise,” I said. “Too bad. That would have been a lot safer. No Inspector Morse. We’re going to be questioned by a real Russian inspector. There was a real murder with a real body and they’re trying to find out who did it.”

  “Bother!” he said, and ran on ahead of me, his shoelaces untied, his socks bunched up in his shoes again. I knew I shouldn’t laugh, but I couldn’t help it.

  “What’s so funny?” Gini said, running up next to me with Alex by her side.

  They were obviously together and I knew they didn’t just meet on deck for a run. Something about the way they looked at each other, the way their arms touched, the happiness on Gini’s face, made me think their friendship had moved up a notch.

  “Good morning, you two,” I said. “I just had a British moment. You’re up early. Hope you slept well.”

  “We didn’t do much sleeping,” Gini said.

  “Oh?” I said, pretending to mind my own business.

  “We were talking about the murder most of the night,” Alex said, not looking at me, his eyes on Gini.

  “Did you solve it?” I asked.

  “Well, we really wonder about Brad,” Gini said. “I know it seems unlikely that he could kill anyone, but no one has seen him since the chef disappeared.”

  “I just can’t believe that Brad would do it, Gini,” I said. “I think he left the ship and the police can’t find him.”

  “Then who do you think did it?” Alex asked.

  “I think it was Sergei,” I said. “He hated Ken and wanted the chef’s job himself. Janice told me that Ken pulled a knife on him one time, and Sergei might have decided to retaliate later on. I’m going to ask Tatiana what she knows about him. What do you think, Alex?”

  “It might be Sergei,” he said, his expression conveying his doubt. “But I keep remembering what the inspector told me about Heidi. Remember, he said that she used to be Gunther Gorsuch. And he also said that Allgood threatened to tell people she used to be a man if she fired him. Heidi could have decided to get rid of him because of that. She’d be strong enough to strangle him and throw him overboard.”

  “I forgot about that,” I said. “It’s possible, I guess, but Gini’s probably right. Much as I hate to believe it, the most logical suspect is Brad Sheldon. He was the last person seen with the chef. By the way, did you get a note telling you to come to the Skylight Bar at ten this morning?”

  “Yes, and I know that inspector,” Alex said. “His name is Ivan Gregarin, and he has a solid reputation. I’ve interviewed him for the Times often. He’s very smart and very thorough. It will probably take him several hours to question us. He’s a former KGB guy. So don’t count on seeing St. Petersburg today. Let’s go shower and get some breakfast.”

  “See you later, Tina,” Gini said, her face radiating happiness.

  I envied them. Bill and I used to look at each other like that even after almost thirty years of marriage. I knew what he was thinking. I could see the love in his eyes when he came home at night—and he always came home at night. He wasn’t a cheating kind of man. We had a date every Friday all the years of our marriage, when we went into New York for dinner and a foreign movie. We always made sure to hire a babysitter and keep our date, even when the children were little. It lit the spark again and made us realize how much we loved each other and enjoyed being together. We never ran out of things to talk about.

  I wanted that feeling again—part old shoe, comfortable, lived-in, and part sex and laughter. I wanted him back so fiercely it was like a sharp pain, like a deep, empty place in my gut. I wanted his arms around me. I wanted to talk to him, play with him, make love to him. I wanted him back.

  I crave excitement, adventure, a little danger. It doesn’t seem fair to have the desires of an eighteen-year-old in the body of a fifty-three-year-old woman. But there it is and I’m not giving up.

  I headed for the door that opened onto the stairs leading down to my cabin and tried to open it. It moved a little but something was blocking it. I couldn’t open it all the way. I thought I heard a groan, but I couldn’t be sure. I yelled to Alex and Gini, who were leaving the deck and heading toward their cabins. They heard me and came back.

  “What’s the matter, Tina?” Alex asked.

  “It’s this door,” I said. “I can’t get it open. Something or someone is blocking it. I thought I heard a groan.”

  Alex pushed against the door with his shoulder and it opened a little more, just enough for us to see the legs of a man lying on the floor.

  “Wait here,” Alex said. “I’ll go through the other door and come back.”

  Another moan came through the door from the man lying on the floor just a foot or so away from Gini and me on the deck. We both tried to shove the door open but it wouldn’t move. In less than a minute, Alex was next to the man.

  “Come around the other way,” he said to us. “I don’t want to move him. Looks like he’s been shot in the head.”

  “Who is it?” Gini said.

  “I can’t tell because he’s face down. He’s still groaning, though. You’d better go and get help. Find a doctor and tell him to get here fast.”

  Gini and I ran through the other door and found Heidi going down the stairs to the dining room.

  “Heidi,” I said, “Quick. Get a doctor. Hurry. A man’s been shot on that stairway off the deck. Hurry up. Alex is with him. He’s still moaning.”

  “Gott in Himmel,” Heidi said. “Ach du leiber!” She ran off to get a doctor.

  Gini and I ran to find Alex, who was kneeling beside the victim.

  “It’s Sasha,” he said when he saw us. “Did you get a doctor?”

  “Heidi’s getting one now,” Gini said. “Is he still alive?”

  “He won’t be much longer, even if that doctor gets here right away,” Alex said, his hand on Sasha’s wrist. “I tried to ask him who did it, but he just kind of gurgled something. I couldn’t understand him. He was shot close up, but he’s got some hair under his fingernails. They can do a DNA test and find out who shot him.”

  Heidi came running up to us with one of the passengers on the ship, a thirtyish woman I’d seen swimming in the pool with her two young children. “I’m Dr. Bennett,” she said in a crisp British accent. “Stand aside, please.”

  We moved back to let her through. She knelt beside Sasha, felt his wrist, then looked up with a serious expression.

  “Get the police,” she said. “Tell them there’s been another fatality.”

  “Sasha,” Heidi said, bursting into tears. “Oh, Sasha, vy did he have to shoot you? You didn’t do anything.”

  “He must have bumped into the murderer unexpectedly and whoever it is shot him,” Alex said. “That means he’s still on this ship.”

  Gini and I stumbled back to our cabins to tell our friends what had happened. The five of us perched tightly on the beds in Gini’s room, our knees nearly touching each other.

  “That’s it! ” Janice said. “I’m not hanging around a ship that has a murder a day. How do you know we won’t be next? Tina, let’s get off this crazy boat now and go home. Even if they don’t give us our full fare back.”

  “I agree,” Mary Louise said. “This is getting way too weird. Why would anyone kill Sasha?”

  “Maybe he found out something he wasn’t supposed to find out. Or he saw something he shouldn’t have seen,” Pat said. “But let’s not rush off the ship. Let’s at least hang around to see what happens next.”

  “Pat’s right—”

  “Well, I’ll stay until I get some breakfast,” Janice said.

  I knew that meant she would stay for the rest of the trip.

  “First things first,” Gini said. “I need a shower. See you in the dining room.”

  Tina’s Travel Tip: A cruise is
not a good place to count calories. Change your mantra to eat, eat, eat!

  Chapter 12

  How’s Your Pojarski?

  I stood in line at the buffet table and looked around at the young Russian waitresses lined up at their stations, ready to serve coffee or tea or hot chocolate. They were in their usual disorganized condition, with worried looks on their faces.

  “Good morning, Olga,” I said to our server. “Are you all right?”

  “Is true?” she asked. “Sasha is dead?”

  “I’m afraid so, Olga.”

  She covered her face and ran back into the kitchen.

  Tatiana came in and joined me at the buffet table. She was wearing a bright red top with black pants. As usual, she was a vivid, dramatic contrast to the rest of us dressed in pastel shirts and blouses.

  “Tina,” she said, “I heard there has been another murder. That Sasha, poor Sasha, was killed.”

  “It’s terrible, Tatiana,” I said, sipping my cocoa. “Alex and Gini and I found him after our morning run. He was lying at the top of the stairs.”

  “This is getting really bad,” she said. “What are the police doing, anyway?”

  “I guess we’ll find out later on,” I said. “The inspector is supposed to ask us questions at ten. I have a few questions I’d like to ask him.”

  “Come sit with me,” Tatiana said. “My Brits aren’t all that talkative in the morning.”

  I joined her at her table with the Brits and said hello to a middle-aged, pinched-faced woman looking down at her plate. “This certainly turned out to be an exciting cruise, didn’t it?” I said. “Who would have expected one murder, to say nothing of two?”

  “Mmmmppphhhmmph,” she said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I don’t usually . . . uh . . . talk this early,” she said in a muffled voice.