Manicotti's face turned beet red. "He's where? He's what? But that can't be... he's a Gourmet Gladiator. He's due on stage at the Kitchen Coliseum in ten minutes. We can't hold up the show for him."
 

"You don't understand Mr. Manicotti," he squeaked. "The man is dead as a mackerel. D-E-A-D. He can't come to the Kitchen Coliseum, he can't cook on your show, and he's not goin' anywhere except the morgue."

Large patches of sweat appeared on the producer's hirt. His eyes bulged and his mouth opened and closed like a carp out of water.

 "You're sure? You touched him? He's dead?"

"Yes, Sir. I'm still on his set. I'm about to call the police, the medics, the swat team, the FBI, I don't know what all. I've never seen a corpse in a soup bowl, ya know."

Manicotti's massive jaw went slack. "Wait, Hal," he shouted into the phone. Then, looking around, he cupped his hand over the receiver and lowered his voice. "I've got an idea. How would you like to make a cool ten grand? Under the table, right now?"

"What are you talking about, Boss? I gotta get off the phone and call the cops. What do you want me to do?"

 www

 

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!"

Nora and Dora stared at her with open mouths. They chorused, "Father Innocent? Dead?"

Belle shook her head wildly. "Not Father Innocent. Father Augustine! He's been murdered. Right there in the church."

With that, Belle collapsed on one of the antique settees in the middle of the store and Goldie held her breath, praying it would support her mother-in-law's weight.