Candy teared up and wiped at her eyes furiously trying to staunch the tears. Mascara trailed down her cheeks. “You guys...I love all of you.”
Sterling harrumphed at the emotional exchange and turned to Chris. “So tell me, boy, what will you do with all that bastard’s money when you inherit it? And by the way, I think you deserve every bit of it. I hope you’ll live like a king.”
“Well, sir, I already feel like a king.” His adoring eyes devoured Candy, who was seated next to him. “So I plan to make a huge donation to The Crossroads, that’s a teen shelter where I used to live. They need a new dormitory, a new kitchen, more counselors. I want to set up a trust fund that will give scholarships to two or three kids a year. Someone did that for me and now it’s my turn.”
Candy stood up, smoothing the bit of fabric that was masquerading as a skirt. “My Chrissy is so wonderful, he cares about everybody.” She cleared her throat, “Listen, you guys, now we want to propose a toast.” She held up her wine glass. “To the Silver Sisters and Flossie and Sterling, Torch, Chili and Caesar. Thanks for being our friends...and for believing in us.”
They raised their glasses, and clinked each other’s across the table.
Torch got up first. “Sorry to be a party pooper, but I have to be on location at four o’clock in the morning. Tomorrow I’m blowing up Brad Willis and Chuck Morris. I’ll kiss you goodbye now, Auntie.” He planted a smacker on Goldie’s cheek.
Waldo loped into the dining room looking for attention. He laid his head in Goldie’s lap and started to croon in soft doggie tones,
daaance...daaance
...
“Okay. You all heard it. Waldo is asking for the last dance. He knows I’m leaving.” She looked at Caesar, Candy and Chris. “Let’s all go into the family room...you ain’t seen nuthin’ till you’ve seen Amazing Waldo the Wonderdog do a Viennese waltz.”
Godiva turned on the stereo, slipped in a CD and soon the strains of the
Merry Widow Waltz
filled the room. Waldo got up on his back legs with his front paws on Goldie’s shoulders, she put her arms around his furry midsection and they glided around the room in an acceptable imitation of a real waltz. Chili hugged Flossie. “He’s still got it, Grammy. I tell everyone that no one waltzes better than old Waldo.”
Flossie made a face. “Well, honey, Fred Astaire he’s not.”
Goldie peered out the smudged window of the 747, watching the great tapestry of Los Angeles get smaller and smaller as the plane rose above the smoggy haze. She was heading home at last. She tried to squelch her sadness at leaving Chili behind and reminded herself for the umpteenth time that it was all for the best, but still she needed a tissue.
She slipped her hand into the pocket of the embroidered silk jacket Godiva had insisted on giving her in a moment of generosity.
This will go great with that vintage velvet skirt I picked up in San Rafael.
Her fingers found not a Kleenex but some folded stationary.
Oh lord, not another one of Godiva’s damn letters from the lovelorn.
She pulled out the crumpled envelope and was about to stuff it in the seat pocket, but couldn’t help herself. She had to read the letter inside.
Dear G. O. D.,
I’ve prayed to The Lord for guidance, but he doesn’t answer. Time is running short now, so I’m turning to you. Is it a sin to kill a monster?
The longer I stand by and watch, the more I know my mission. Please tell me I won’t go to Hell if I rid the world of this human piece of garbage. I don’t do well in extreme heat.
—Mr. Clean
What kind of
crackpot would expect Godiva to have the answer to a question like that?
She huffed a sigh of annoyance. The cowboy sleeping in the seat beside her snorted, blinked at her and buried his nose in the Alaska Airlines magazine.
Goldie stared at the letter and then turned the envelope over and saw the return address.
L.R.
2265 Bay St.
Redondo Beach CA 90277
Her hand flew to her mouth and she started to shake. The cowboy turned to her. “You okay, lady?”
She tamped down her fear and took a deep breath. “Thanks. Yes, I’m fine now.”
And I’m alive.
ENJOY THIS EXCERPT
Enjoy this delicious excerpt from the next
Silver Sisters Mystery
Seven Deadly Samovars
Goldie Silver slammed down the phone. Can’t trust anyone these days. Late again. I’ve had it! She stomped over to the stairs at the back of the Silver Spoon Antique Shoppe and yelled, “Rudy, get down here.”
A balding beanpole in his mid-sixties flew through the open door and ran down the stairs. He tripped over an inert ball of black fur at the bottom and caught hold of the stair rail for support. The fat cat stretched, blinked and slinked toward his favorite perch in the front window. The man turned his back on the finicky feline.
With his shirt sleeves rolled up, orange fluorescent bowtie askew and purple suspenders attached to neatly pressed trousers, Goldie’s assistant Rudy was an odd looking duck.
“What’s up, boss? Need something fixed?” He looked at her expectantly.
She squinted to see the notes on her pad. “Yeah! See if you can fix my problem with the D-C-C-R-M-F-R-R!”
Rudy looked heavenward and blinked, “The what?”
“The Russian customs department. You know all of their agencies have names a mile long. I know that’s asking a lot. Maybe you could just call that darn Pistov Forwarders to see if you can get them to track our shipment of Russian antiques. I swear, Juneau has to be the hardest place in the world to get freight delivered. I’ll never get those samovars here in time for the church ladies.”
“Don’t get your britches in a bunch, Goldie, it ain’t so bad. There’s plenty of places worse’n this.”
“Like the moon?”
“Hey, take Sitka, for instance. That church waited a whole year for a stained glass window from some fancy Eye-talian glassmakers. They sent it to Stuttgart instead of Sitka. When it finally arrived, they opened the crate and it was a Star o’ David. They went ahead and put the darned thing up anyway, didn’t they? What the heck? It’s a window, ain’t it?”
A little smile played on Goldie’s lips. “That’s not a very comforting story, Rudy.”
“Well, yeah, but it’s a big point of interest now. Gives the tourists something to talk about. So see, things work out.”
“Okay.” She reached for a dusty pleated skirt in McGregor tartan and waved it in his face. “So, if the church didn’t mind having a Jewish star in their window, maybe the Sisterhood of St. Nicholas could give Father Innocent a nice Scottish kilt instead of an antique Russian tea urn.”
“Calm down boss. Our boys in Vladivostok probably just sent the order out a little late.”
Goldie Silver plopped down in her chair trying to control her anger. Rudy was right, it could be worse. So far her samovars were only two weeks late.
The door banged open and two plump women in cheerfully flowered dresses marched purposefully to the back of the shop.
Nora, the taller one, smiled. “OK, Goldie. Let’s see what you’ve got to choose from. Father Innocent is going to be so surprised when he opens his retirement gift and sees a genuine Russian samovar. We’ve even collected a little extra money from everyone.”
The shorter lady broke in, “You know, in case there is something really special but it’s more expensive.” She grinned, exposing a chipped front tooth.
Goldie winced. Every morning for the last two weeks the tenacious Russian Orthodox women had appeared the moment she opened. The dear old priest would be leaving them soon, and she could understand their excitement at the prospect of giving their beloved Father Innocent such a wonderful gift. His replacement, Father Augustine, had already arrived. Time
was
running out.
“I’m sorry ladies, the shipment still isn’t here. I’ve got Rudy checking on it right now. I don’t…”
The two women glowered at her. Nora loomed angry and menacing. Dora shuffled back and forth as though she had to go to the bathroom.
“You said the shipment would be here two weeks ago and you still have nothing to show us,” Nora huffed.
Goldie shot Rudy a desperate glance. “Anything on the samovars, Rudy? These ladies... ”
Nora pushed up her sleeves, like Popeye getting ready for a fight. “These ladies are going to bust some chops if that shipment doesn’t get here before Father Innocent leaves.”
Dora was more diplomatic, “We can’t wait much longer, you know. That nice young Father Augustine has already come to take his place. Nora thinks he’s too young, wet behind the ears, you know,” she tried to stifle a giggle, “but I think he’s real handsome. Clever, too.”
Rudy leaned over the counter and patted Dora’s arm, “Now don’t you ladies get your blood pressure up, we’ll get them samovars in time.”
They all turned around as the door flew open again, and the bell jingled furiously. A whale of a woman with bright red hair, wearing a caftan covered in red and gold swirls, huffed and puffed as she lumbered into the crowded antique shop.
Belle Pepper was three hundred and seventeen pounds of pure drama. She took a crumpled hankie from her purse and mopped her damp forehead. “I just came from the Russian church,” she gulped, trying to catch her breath as her multicolored bosom heaved up and down. “He’s dead! The priest is dead!”
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
MORGAN ST. JAMES
and
PHYLLICE BRADNER
Sisters MORGAN ST. JAMES and PHYLLICE BRADNER team up to write the Silver Sisters Mystery series, featuring identical twins based upon their own personalities with a cast of characters inspired by zany family members and friends. Each book in this series stands on its own. The audio version of the debut book in the series, “A Corpse in the Soup” was named Best Mystery Audio Book-2007 by USA Book News.
MORGAN, a former interior designer, splits time between Los Angeles and Las Vegas, belongs to Henderson Writer’s Group and Sisters in Crime. She also writes her own novels and short stories in addition to the Silver Sisters series. Morgan frequently appears on author’s panels and is an entertaining speaker. Published short stories include contributions to two Chicken Soup for the Soul books, The World Outside the Window, Writers Bloc II, and Amazon Shorts and as well as magazine articles on diverse subjects.
After living in Alaska for many years, PHYLLICE, an award-winning graphic designer, published writer, and former antique shop owner moved to a quaint 100 year old house in McMinnville, Oregon. She has been a political print consultant for campaigns including four gubernatorial races and five candidates for U.S. Senate. Over the years Phyllice has won four Alaska Press Club awards and two National awards for newsletter publications. She is the co-author of an Alaskan cookbook and Touring Juneau. Phyllice owns Katz and Dawgs Boutique in McMinnville.
Both sisters have marketing backgrounds and are vigorous self-promoters. They have become best friends through writing the Silver Sisters Mysteries series.