by Mary McHugh
“Bad for the tourist business if you get killed, cutie,” he said. “You’re semi-famous. They won’t want that kind of publicity.”
“So when are you going to do this?” I said, wondering what was holding me together.
“Ten minutes and then we’re out of here.”
“Whatever made you decide to become a chef when you can’t cook?” I asked, saying anything I could think of to keep him talking.
“You don’t know anything,” he said, glaring at me. “I went to one of the best cooking schools in England. I would have been fine if they hadn’t made me cook that Russian slop.”
“Well, why did you take a job cooking on a Russian cruise ship, then?”
“It was the only job I could get. I was working in a crummy little place in London, but they wanted me to be a lousy sous-chef—standing around in that sweaty kitchen cutting up carrots and onions and celery, doing all the crap the main cook didn’t want to do. He was from some African country and he didn’t know anything about food. I made such a stink about him, I was fired. My stupid brother-in-law who works in the London office of this cruise line got me a job on this ship just to get rid of me. That’s when I made up my mind I was going to get to America, where you can get a decent job and good pay. In New York City, there’s a restaurant every couple of feet. With an American passport, nobody’s going to ask me any questions. I’ll work there until I get my own place.”
“You didn’t have to kill anyone to get to New York,” I said, trying to edge closer to the door. “You could have gotten a visa and worked there. Eventually, you could become an American citizen.”
“I tried that! But I have a record. I was in juvenile detention from the time I was fifteen until I was twenty, when I was a kid in Manchester. They said I was selling drugs, but I only gave some to my friends, and they put me in that stinkin’ place. After I got out of there, I got sent away for robbing a liquor store.”
“So you’re going to change your name to Brad Sheldon?” I said. “The police will know you have his passport. They’ll find you if you get a social security card under that name or sign anything with his name. You’ll be hunted down for the rest of your life for these two murders.”
“Or three murders if you don’t do what I say,” he said, thrusting his gun forward. “Once I get over there, I won’t need his name anymore. I’ll take another name and just disappear. There are ways to get fake working papers anywhere, and I know how to do it. Anyway, it’s none of your business what I do. You’re my ticket out of here. The less you open your yap, the better I’ll like it. Enough chitchat, baby. We’re leaving.”
“You’re going to miss a great routine,” I said, improvising with the first thing that came to mind. “For our final performance, we’re doing a whole routine from Chorus Line. You know, One singular sensation . . .” I swung into a tap-tap-tap, stomp-stomp-stomp, tap-tap-tap step, which I hoped was the Morse code for SOS. I really didn’t know why I was doing this. The chances of anyone even hearing me, much less someone who knew Morse code, were nonexistent.
“Now that you’re almost an American, you should learn some American show tunes,” I babbled on. “That’s the way people really know you’re an American.” I sounded ridiculous even to myself.
“I’ll have plenty of time to learn American songs when I’m in New York. Anyway, your dancing is terrible,” he said. “Why would I want to see you do more of that?”
“Come on, give me a chance to prove you’re wrong,” I said with a smile. I started to sing the words to “Singin’ in the Rain” as loudly as I could. At the same time, I tap-tap-tapped, stomp-stomp-stomped, tap-tap-tapped. I flung my arms out, and he brought his gun closer.
“Shut up with the singing. It’s worse than your dancing,” he said.
I hummed, instead. And tapped and stomped in threes, praying that someone would hear me and realize what I was doing. I couldn’t think of anything else to do since I’d already used up my Lysol escape. When in doubt, tap, I always say.
“That’s enough,” he said. “We’re getting out of here, so move your butt. I’m right behind you with this gun, so don’t try anything funny.”
He opened the door slowly, making sure there was nobody in the corridor, and pushed me ahead of him toward the exit. I walked as slowly as I could, holding onto the wall.
“Hurry up,” he said. “You can walk faster than that.”
“My legs are all wobbly,” I said. I pretended to cry. “I can’t walk any faster. Please, let me sit down for a minute.”
“Shut up and walk.” He shoved me and I fell forward on my knees. He tripped over me and held onto the railing in the corridor to keep from falling. Then suddenly somebody grabbed me and covered my body with his. I heard the gun go off, but I couldn’t see what was happening because my face was pressed to the floor. There was the sound of scuffling and a body dropped to the floor.
I heard a mixture of Russian and English, and I could see men’s feet all around me. I didn’t move.
“Put your hands behind your back,” I heard, then, a lot of Russian words as the police officers shoved Allgood against the wall.
Whoever was on top of me smelled very familiar, but I didn’t dare move to see who it was. A voice said in my ear, “Tina, darling, are you all right?”
“Peter, is that you? What are you doing here? Am I still alive? Where’s Allgood?”
Peter turned me right side up and held me in his arms so tightly, I almost couldn’t breathe.
“You’re all right, honey. The police shot Allgood in the leg. They’re taking him off the ship.”
“How did you get here? What are you doing here? I tried to call you but you didn’t answer. Did you get my message?”
Peter brushed a stray curl back from my face. “I booked a flight as soon as you told me there had been a murder on the ship. I went to St. Petersburg first because I thought you were there. Turned out the ship had sailed to Moscow. I rented a car and drove here as fast as I could—it’s three hundred miles—and just got here now.”
His brown eyes were full of worry.
“I’ll never forget you did this for me,” I said, pressing my face against his chest.
“When I got to the pier, there were police officers everywhere,” he continued. “I found one who spoke pretty good English and asked him what was going on. He told me they were looking for the chef’s murderer, who had held you at gunpoint back in St. Petersburg. Tina, how could you not tell me that?”
“I didn’t want to worry you, Peter. I got away from him by spraying him with Lysol. I was sure he had left the ship.” I knew I was babbling again, but I couldn’t stop.
“From now on, feel free to worry me. I want to know anytime someone points a gun at you!”
I looked at his face, this face I had seen so many times, and realized how attractive he was. Was what I was feeling for him now love? Or just gratitude that he had saved my life?
“Oh, Peter, I’m so glad to see you,” I said, holding onto him tightly. “But how did you know where I was?”
“I ran into Mary Louise. She said you went back to the cabin and told me your room number. I got to the corridor and I heard you tapping in Morse code.”
“I can’t believe that Morse code you taught me saved my life,” I said. “I never dreamed that I’d have to use it—much less that you would be the one to hear it.”
“Good thing I learned it in Boy Scouts for one of my badges.”
“What badge was that—the Rescuing Damsels in Distress badge?”
“Anyway, I was just about to pound on your door, when I heard a man’s voice telling you to get moving. I ran for the police, who were right outside on the deck. They tackled the guy when you tripped him, and I pushed you to the floor. He tried to get away. They shot him in the leg.”
“Oh, Peter, you could have been killed.”
“All I could think of was getting you away from him,” Peter said, his voice breaking. “I couldn’t stand it if an
ything happened to you.”
I was crying too hard to answer him.
After the police took Allgood off the ship, my friends came running down the stairs.
“I knew I should have stayed with you,” Mary Louise said.
“Oh, Tina—we thought you’d been shot,” Pat said.
“Can we go somewhere and sit down?” Peter said. “I’m a little weak in the knees.”
“There’s a bar on the top deck,” Gini said.
“I could use a drink,” he said, still holding me. “Tina, can you walk OK?”
“If I can lean on you. I’m not sure my legs are working.”
“Hang on, kid.”
The Skylight Bar was filled with people who had heard what happened. When they saw me come through the door, they surrounded me to see if I was all right.
“Tina, we heard shots. Are you OK?” Mark said.
I told him Allgood was the only one shot and that I was fine. A little shaky, but not wounded.
I told my friends what Allgood had told me about Brad Sheldon and why he killed him.
Janice covered her face. “Oh, that poor boy,” she said. “I should have made sure he didn’t go to Allgood’s cabin. He had nobody to look after him. I should have protected him.”
“I don’t think anyone could have kept him from going to Ken’s cabin, Jan,” Pat said. “He was lonely. Allgood seemed to offer what he needed.”
“I could have tried,” she said.
“You did try,” I said. “I heard you.” I put my arms around her.
Caroline grabbed my hand. “Tina, we thought you had been killed. Oh, my dear, I’m so glad you’re all right.”
Stacy and Andrea came up for a group hug.
Alex, who was holding onto Gini as if he were afraid she would disappear, said, “Tina . . .” For once, he was speechless, but I could see the relief on his face.
Heidi was so glad to see that I was safe, she actually patted me on the head. “Ach!” was all she could manage. “But what did he tell you about Mr. Sheldon? Is he still alive?”
I took another sip of my drink and I told Heidi the story.
“The chef is still alive?” Heidi said, totally confused. “He didn’t kill himself because I threatened to fire him?”
“No, Heidi, he killed Brad,” I said, and tried to tell her more clearly what the chef had told me.
“Ach,” Heidi said, still confused. “He had a gun. He could have killed you.”
“He’s under arrest now,” Alex assured her.
Stacy let go of her grandmother’s hand and pulled me over to the side. “Tina, that could have been me. I almost went to his cabin. He seemed so nice. I mean, I kissed him! And he’s a murderer.” She started to cry.
I put my arms around her. “Your passport wouldn’t have done him much good, Stacy. He wouldn’t have killed you.”
“I’ll never kiss anybody again,” she said.
“Oh, yes, you will,” I said. “Don’t start thinking that every man you meet is a possible murderer. Most of them are just boring—not murderers.”
She laughed and wiped away the tears and went back to her grandmother.
“Are you all right, honey?” Caroline asked her granddaughter. “Didn’t Andrea say something about you and the chef? He gave you a tour of the ship or something?”
Stacy glared at her sister over her grandmother’s head. “I really didn’t know him very well, Nana.”
Her grandmother looked at me. She’d been in this world for eighty years, after all.
“That’s good, dear,” she said to Stacy. “I know you always tell me the truth.”
Stacy looked like she was about to cry again.
The Russian waitresses tried to express their sympathy with body language. Olga covered her face and mimed crying. She put her hand over her heart. I smiled and said, “Spasiba.” She attempted a “You’re welcome.” We had connected.
Barry pushed through the crowd around me and said, “Tina, are you all right. I’m here now. You’re safe—”
Peter moved between me and Barry and said, “Hello, Barry.”
“Peter? Peter Simpson? What are you doing here?” Barry took a step backward.
“Almost getting killed. I’m a friend of Tina’s. I flew here from New York when I heard there had been a murder on the ship.”
“I did my best to take care of her,” Barry said.
“Shoulda tried a little harder, Barry,” Gini said, and he glared at her.
“Well, I’m here now,” he said. “I’ll make sure she’s all right.”
Peter put his arm around me and said quietly, “I don’t think so, Barry. From now on, that’s my job.”
“Dasvidaniya, Barry,” Gini said. “So long and don’t let the door hit you as you leave.”
Barry started to say something, but seeing himself surrounded by hostile stares, he turned and left the bar.
Heidi came over to our group again.
“If you think you can eat, Sergei has prepared a feast for your last night on this ship.”
“Sounds good to me,” Peter said. “I can’t remember the last time I ate. I’ve been trying to get here for days and I didn’t want to take time for food.”
“Poor baby,” I said. “Come with me.”
I tottered to my feet and headed for the dining room, holding on to Peter, when Tatiana ran over to hug me. “Tina. Are you all right?” she said. “I heard you were shot.”
“No, I’m all in one piece, for now,” I said. “Tatiana, this is my friend Peter. He crossed oceans and forged rivers to save me.”
Tatiana shook his hand. “I’m so glad. We all love Tina.”
Peter just looked at me. “Yes,” he said. “We do.”
“Tatiana, please have dinner with us.”
I saw Sue and Mark and Caroline and her granddaughters nearby. “Come on, you guys. You have to join us for our last dinner on the ship.”
Chapter 23
Tina’s Travel Tips You Can Really Use
Heidi had several tables pushed against each other so we could all sit together. I sat down, holding tightly to Peter’s hand.
“Would you mind if I gave thanks?” Caroline said when we were all seated in a circle.
“Please, Caroline,” I said. “Please do.”
We all bowed our heads, even our atheist, Gini.
“Thank you for keeping us all safe and for watching over our Tina,” Caroline said. “Thank you for giving us another day to enjoy every breath we take, every mouthful we eat, every friend we cherish, every time we get to say I love you.” She paused, and then smiled at me. “And for another chance to put on our tap shoes. Amen.”
“Amen, Caroline. See you at Macy’s next Tap-a-thon.”
Olga brought our first course and actually smiled as she served it.
“What is this, Olga?” Gini asked.
“Blinis with sevruga and salmon caviar,” she said proudly.
One taste and we were all clinking our water glasses with our spoons and chanting, “Chef, chef, chef.”
Tatiana ran into the kitchen and came out dragging a reluctant Sergei.
“Sergei, this is just perfect,” Janice said.
Sergei blushed, and said something to Titiana in Russian.
“Sergei says thank you, but wait until you taste his main course of sautéed prawns in saffron sauce with a seafood risotto.”
We all cheered and an embarrassed Sergei retreated into the safety of his kitchen.
“So, my American friends,” Tatiana said, “what do you think of my country?”
We were all quiet for a minute, trying to think of a way to sum up this complicated, fascinating country.
“We saw things we would never see anywhere else,” Sue said. “Mark and I have traveled a lot, Tatiana, but Russia is so different from all the other places we’ve been—especially Europe, where most people speak English, and we could figure out the language better.”
“It’s the Cyrillic alphabet,” M
ark said. “We can’t read the signs and most people don’t speak English, so it felt strange. But that’s why we love to travel. To see and hear and taste things we’d never experience at home.”
“I was impressed with the beauty of the cathedrals and palaces in St. Petersburg,” Sue said. “We grew up with a whole different impression of Russia.”
“Yes,” Mark said. “We were expecting no frills. You know—no nonsense. Just work and no dancing or singing or beauty.”
“And now?” Tatiana asked.
“We saw beauty everywhere,” Janice said. “In the colors of your clothes. In the theater—the plush maroon seats, the gold chandeliers. I loved seeing the velvet and ermine clothes of the tsars in the Armoury—and I especially loved those Fabergé eggs. They were exquisitely made.”
“I thought St. Petersburg was one of the most beautiful cities I’ve ever seen,” I said. “I always thought Paris was the most exquisite city in the world, but St. Petersburg—with all those canals and the palaces, the modern buildings, the rich cultural life—is almost as lovely.”
“Hey, Tina,” Pat said, “you’re writing about this trip for your magazine, right? What kind of travel tips will you give your honeymooners who might decide to do this?”
“First of all, they should carry a can of Lysol spray everywhere they go, in case they meet a murderer,” I said, and there was a loud burst of laughter from all my friends.
“No, seriously,” I continued, “I already made my list of things to do and not do if you take this trip to Russia. Want to hear them?”
“Yes, please,” Stacy said. “One of them should be: Don’t kiss the chef—he might turn out to be a killer.”
“You kissed the chef?” Caroline said. “When did you do that?”
“Oh, I meant to tell you about that, Nana,” Stacy said. “I’ll explain later.”
Caroline rolled her eyes. “Go ahead Tina. What else?”
“I’m not putting this in the article, but it might be a good idea to make sure there’s a Russian chef in the kitchen,” I said. “But here are the tips I’m using in the article: