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Belle’s salmon bake still in full swing. Rudy didn’t get there until after eight o’clock, when he closed the Silver Spoon. The shipment of wayward samovars had finally arrived late that afternoon.
    By two in the morning, the last of the revelers headed home and Red’s ship pulled out of the harbor.
    The next morning, while the others slept off the effects of the party, Goldie sat at her hundred-year-old round oak table sipping a cup of ginkgo biloba tea. Feeling a bit groggy from less than four hours sleep, she took a few more sips, hoping the blend would sharpen her mind. It wasn’t working.
    She definitely didn’t look forward to unpacking the crate of Russian antiques this morning, but she agreed to meet Rudy at seven to inventory the items before opening the shop.
    She pictured Rudy, in his little apartment above the Silver Spoon, buttoning on his suspenders and straightening his bow tie right about now. He would head down the back stairs and over to the City Café for a cup of java and the breakfast special just as he did every morning. That gave her about 45 minutes to get her butt in gear.
    * * * *
    Goldie stumbled through the door as Rudy was attacking the crate with hammer and crowbar. The tiny bells on the fringes of her Balinese vest tinkled softly as she hurried into the storeroom.
    “Hard at work already? Looks like you’re having a little trouble opening that crate.”
    “Yes’m, two things them Ruskies know how to do, make vodka and build crates.” Rudy handed her the customs papers, waybills and packing slips that were attached to the shipment. Flamboyant headings in English and Cyrillic proclaimed the shippers as MINSKY & PINSKY, Importer/Exporter, Moscow, Vladivostok, Minsk and Pinsk.
    She sighed. “Poor Uri and Vladimir. It breaks my heart to think about what happened to them and all their wonderful antiques. Rudy, do you realize this must be the last thing they sent out before the big fire?”
    “Yup. When ya think about it, it’s kinda like shipping off the Tsar’s crown jewels while the commies is bustin’ down the back door.”
    “Well, I hadn’t meant it quite like that, but it does feel kind of creepy knowing this is all that’s left of Minsky and Pinsky.”
    Midnight strolled by, rubbed against Goldie’s legs and let out what sounded like a little growl. Goldie tried to nudge him away and he rewarded her with a puff of fish breath accompanied by a loud meow. Goldie went to the front counter and dropped a handful of Nature Nuggets Kitty Kibble into the antique silver bowl she kept beside the wrapping paper.
    By the time she returned to the storeroom, Rudy had the huge crate open. The worktable and floor were covered with Russian artifacts and seven bubble wrapped samovars, each about the size of a medium coffee urn.
    Goldie’s face lit up. “Lucky for us they didn’t send us the crate that was full of Siberian parkas. That would have been the final straw. I’ll be glad to get those church women off my back.”
    Rudy wiped his damp forehead against his pinstriped sleeve. “If you ask me, I think ya bought too damn many of these fancy teapots.” He unwrapped one and held up the elaborate samovar by its ivory handles.
    “Oh, don’t be such an old grump. I’m giving one to Belle as a birthday gift. Mimi down at the tea-shop wants at least one for her samovar collection, and of course the one for Father Innocent. That only leaves four and we have three ships in port today. One of the Mad Hatters from Belle’s group says if I have one left after tourist season, she’ll buy it at my ‘locals’ discount.”
    Goldie started to inventory the smaller items, writing down each of the nesting matrushka dolls, religious icons, military paraphernalia and a beautiful clockwork automaton in her ledger.
    Rudy pulled the wrapping off the rest of the samovars. “Will ya lookit that?” He whistled. “These samovars musta come outta some Ruskie palace or somethin’.” Each one was