Bossa Novas, Bikinis, and Bad Ends Read online

  Standing Ovations for Mary McHugh’s Happy Hoofer Mystery Series

  CHORUS LINES, CAVIAR, AND CORPSES

  “The Happy Hoofers bring hilarity and hijinks to the high seas—or in this case, a Russian river cruise where murder is nothing to tap at. The cruise finds them kick-ball-changing and flap-kicking their way across Russia on a ship where murder points to more than a few unusual suspects.”

  —Nancy Coco

  “A fun read . . . the elements of hilarity and camaraderie between the characters make Chorus Lines, Caviar, and Corpses intriguing and worth the read.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “A page-turning cozy mystery about five friends in their fifties, dancing their way across Russia. From the first chapter, McHugh delivers.... The cast of characters includes endearing, scary, charming, crazy, and irresistible people. Besides murder and mayhem, we are treated to women who we might want as our best friends, our shrinks, and our travel companions.”

  —Jerilyn Dufresne

  “Featuring travel tips and recipes, this series debut features plenty of cozy adventure for armchair travelers and mystery buffs alike. Sue Henry and Peter Abresch fans will be delighted with this alternative .”

  —Library Journal

  “Spasiba, Mary McHugh—that’s Russian for ‘thank you.’ Chorus Lines, Caviar, and Corpses is a huge treat for armchair travelers and mystery fans alike, as five spirited tap dancers cruise from St. Petersburg to Moscow undeterred by a couple of shipboard murders. Vivid description and deft touches of local color take the reader right along with them.”

  —Peggy Ehrhart

  “A fun book! Mary McHugh’s Chorus Lines, Caviar, and Corpses is, quite literally, a romp. It has a little bit of everything, from tongue-in-cheek travel tips to romance and recipes (and oh, are they good). Not even the most jaded reader will be able to resist plucky Tina Powell and her cadre of capering cougars aboard a cruise ship where death is on the menu, along with the caviar. What could be more delicious?”

  —Carole Bugge

  “If you can’t afford a Russian cruise up the Volga, this charming combination murder mystery travelogue, which mixes tasty cuisine and a group of frisky, wisecracking, middle-aged chorines, is the next best thing.”

  —Charles Salzberg

  “I just finished Chorus Lines, Caviar, and Corpses! Oh, WOW, was it great! I read it in less than two days. So good! Thank you for writing this book, and I can’t wait till the next one!”

  —Shelley’s Book Case

  “I really enjoyed reading about the Happy Hoofers’ trip on a Russian river cruise. This book had a lot of action. I learned a lot about Russia that I never knew before. Great job, Mary. I look forward to the next installment in the Happy Hoofers Mystery Series.”

  —Melina’s Book Blog

  “I loved ‘The Happy Hoofers’ immediately. What a fun group. This mixes some of my favorite things in one book—a cruise ship setting, a group of friends, and a murder mystery. What could be better? This book moved along at a fast pace and had engaging characters—some nicer than others, of course. Add those things to a great setting and it’s off on a wild adventure with a very interesting cast of characters.”

  —Socrates’ Book Review

  FLAMENCO, FLAN, AND FATALITIES

  “Flamenco, Flan, and Fatalities serves up just what it says: good entertainment, good food, and good mystery! I am looking forward to reading other books in this series.”

  —Back Porchervations

  “Talk about transporting the reader—I felt as if I were in Spain for the last few days.”

  —Socrates Book Reviews

  “I enjoyed this book a little better than I did the first Happy Hoofer mystery. There were a lot of twists and turns in this book that kept me guessing.”

  —Melina’s Book Blog

  “I adored this cozy mystery; everything is wonderful: the places, the plot, the characters, the food . . .”

  —LibriAmoriMiei

  “The characters have depth with unique characteristics and conflicts.”

  —Christa Reads and Writes

  “I think I’ve fallen in love with this series! No joke. How can you not love a cozy series with a group of dancers called the Happy Hoofers? It’s impossible, I tell you.”

  —A Chick Who Reads

  “It is a delightful trip with these ladies covering dancing, information about Spain, photography tips, a little romance and drama, and some great food and recipes.”

  —Lilac Reviews

  “I especially liked the descriptions of the scenery and the places they visited, including the restaurants, and that there were recipes for some of the things that they tried along the way.

  —THe GaL iN THe BLue MaSK

  “It was fun to see how all the characters interacted and how their thought processes worked.”

  —Laura’s Interests

  “You will laugh your way through this fantastic read. The characters are hilarious and the story line will keep you moving through the pages until the end.”

  —Shelley’s Book Case

  “This is a first-time read for me by this author and I adored her book . . . The characters are a hoot.”

  —Bab’s Book Bistro

  “I loved this book and reading about the great recipes included in the story. This book was full of adventure and mystery and had pulled me in and wouldn’t let go!”

  —Community Bookstore

  “Flamenco, Flan, and Fatalities is a lot of fun, a great read! I liked reading about the camaraderie of the five friends, and their sightseeing in Spain, just as much as trying to figure out whodunit. I really enjoyed it, and recommend Flamenco, Flan, and Fatalities to Cozy Mystery fans—armchair travelers, especially, will enjoy touring northern Spain on a luxury train with the Happy Hoofers.”

  —Jane Reads

  “A very humorous mystery with a key emphasis on friendship. There is a bit of romance, and the recipes are great too. This can be read as a stand-alone, but I recommend starting at the beginning with Chorus Lines, Caviar, and Corpses. They are quick, entertaining reads and a great way to spend an afternoon.”

  —Escape With Dollycas Into a Good Book

  Also by Mary McHugh

  The Happy Hoofers Mystery Series*

  Chorus Lines, Caviar, and Corpses*

  Flamenco, Flan, and Fatalities*

  Cancans, Croissants, and Caskets*

  Cape Cod Murder

  The Perfect Bride

  The Woman Thing

  Law and the New Woman

  Psychology and the New Woman

  Careers in Engineering and Engineering Technology

  Veterinary Medicine and Animal Care Careers

  Young People Talk about Death

  Special Siblings: Growing up with Someone with a

  Disability

  How Not to Become a Little Old Lady

  How Not to Become a Crotchety Old Man

  How to Ruin Your Children’s Lives

  How to Ruin Your Marriage

  How to Ruin Your Sister’s Life

  Eat This! 365 Reasons Not to Diet

  Clean This! 320 Reasons Not to Clean

  Good Granny/Bad Granny

  How Not to Act Like a Little Old Lady

  If I Get Hit by a Bus Tomorrow, Here’s How to Re-

  place the Toilet Paper Roll

  Aging with Grace—Whoever She Is

  Go for It: 100 Ways to Feel Young, Vibrant,

  Interested and Interesting after 50

  *Available from Kensington Publishing Corp.

  Bossa Novas, Bikinis, and Bad Ends

  Mary McHugh

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

/>   http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Standing Ovations for Mary McHugh

  Also by Mary McHugh

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One - Welcome to Rio—Or Not

  Chapter Two - Magical Mystery Tour

  Chapter Three - What’s Another Murder Among Friends?

  Chapter Four - Thank You, God

  Chapter Five - Slow Down!!!

  Chapter Six - Sing, Samba, Swim

  Chapter Seven - And a Very Bom Dia to You

  Chapter Eight - Come to the Garden of Eden

  Chapter Nine - Have Another Bite, Honey

  Chapter Ten - And When She Passes By . . .

  Chapter Eleven - Did Somebody Call a Doctor?

  Chapter Twelve - May I Have This Dance?

  Chapter Thirteen - What’s Shrimp Bobo?

  Chapter Fourteen - What Are Those People Doing?

  Chapter Fifteen - Not Again!

  Chapter Sixteen - Surprise!

  Chapter Seventeen - One More Time and I’m Out of Here!

  Chapter Eighteen - God’s Gift

  Chapter Nineteen - Travel Tips for Rio

  High Kicks, Hot Chocolate, and Homicide

  Acknowledgments

  About The Author

  Cancans, Croissants, and Caskets

  Chorus Lines, Caviar, and Corpses

  Copyright Page

  To Riva Nelson, who has been such a good friend

  to me and an enthusiastic reader of my

  Happy Hoofer series

  Chapter One

  Welcome to Rio—Or Not

  When I told my friends in New Jersey that the Happy Hoofers had been hired to dance at the Copacabana Palace, in Rio de Janeiro, they said, “It’s a beautiful city.” Then they would add, “But be careful. Hold on to your purse.”

  I was a little worried when we got on the plane in Newark, but I figured I was used to New York where I hang on to my handbag without even thinking about it, so I quashed my anxiety. I tend to worry too much about things anyway. I imagine all the bad things that can happen before I do anything and try to prevent them ahead of time. Of course, there’s always something I couldn’t have possibly foreseen. Like a murder or two, for instance.

  I’m Pat Keeler, a family therapist, and I’m going to tell you the story of my adventure in Rio with my four best friends. We’re a bunch of crazy, fiftyish in age, thirtyish-in-attitude tap dancers, known as the Happy Hoofers, and we were hired to perform at the luxurious Copacabana Palace. But our visit to Brazil turned out to be way different than any of us had expected. In fact, it was downright terrifying. We had been through some scary times in some of the other places where we danced, but this one beat them all.

  Gini is always trying to get me to relax. “You just can’t predict everything, Pat,” she says in her usual exasperated way. “So you might as well relax.”

  Gini is great. She’s my favorite of all my friends in this dancing troupe because she says what she thinks and is always honest with me. As a therapist, I’m used to people fooling themselves, trying to make me believe the illusions they foster about their relationships, so I cherish people who see life as it really is.

  After we landed in Rio on a bright April afternoon, we loaded our bags and ourselves into a black limo provided by the hotel. The driver, whose bright smile more than made up for his fractured English, pointed out local attractions as he took us past a beautiful beach that stretched for twenty miles along the coast of the city.

  We were staying at the Copacabana Palace Hotel on the Copacabana Beach. It really is a palace, pure white, and it seems to go on for acres. Built in the twenties, it was the place for movie stars and other celebrities to stay when they came to town. It was the only hotel for Marlene Dietrich, for instance, who, they told me, asked for a champagne bucket filled with sand in her dressing room because her dress was too tight to use the regular ladies’ room. Ava Gardner trashed her room because she had just broken up with Frank Sinatra. Orson Welles threw furniture into the swimming pool after a fight with Dolores del Río. Even Edward, the temporary Prince of Wales, got drunk there and tried to catch fish in the fountain. It was a hotel for legends.

  The manager, Miguel Ortega, greeted us at the front entrance. He was really good-looking, with black hair, dark, wicked-looking eyes, and a black beard and mustache surrounding a sensual mouth. He exuded a sexiness that was overpowering. He wore a charcoal-gray, expensive suit, and shoes that were definitely Prada.

  “Welcome to the Copacabana, lovely ladies,” he said with a slight but charming Portuguese accent. “We have been looking forward to your visit.”

  When Janice, our actress Hoofer, got out of the car, he ignored the rest of us and moved in on her like the ocean caressing the shore. “And you are?” he asked, taking her hand and kissing it. People always respond to Janice that way. She’s used to it but can never understand what the fuss is about. She’s so much more than just a beautiful face. She’s won awards for her acting and directing, and she raised her daughter alone.

  “I’m Janice Rogers, Senhor Ortega,” she said, pushing her blond hair back from her face. “Your hotel is magnificent.”

  “As are you,” he said, unable to take his eyes off her.

  A woman who had been standing in back of Ortega stepped forward and put her arm through his. “We are so glad to have you here this week,” she said to us. “I’m Maria Oliveira and will be your translator and guide while you’re here. I will show you Rio, and I hope you will allow me to help you with anything you need.” She was a slender woman, in her early thirties, her hair in tight braids all over her head, her skin a pale brown. Her English was flawless, with no trace of an accent.

  She gently pulled Miguel away from Janice and asked, “Which one of you is Tina Powell?”

  Tina, a magazine editor and our fearless leader, held out her hand. “I’m Tina,” she said. “We are grateful to have your help, Maria. None of us knows Portuguese, so we will rely on you.”

  Miguel tore his gaze from Janice to Tina and kissed her hand. “We will do everything we can to make your stay here a pleasant one,” he said.

  “I’m sure you will,” Tina said. “Thank you, Senhor Ortega.”

  She introduced him to Gini, a documentary filmmaker, Mary Louise, our housewife Hoofer, and me. He guided our group into the imposing lobby of this incredible hotel. Everything about it was grand. The lobby was huge, and the marble floors and columns gleamed in the afternoon sunshine. The Happy Hoofers were definitely moving up in the world.

  “After you get unpacked and rested and have some dinner,” Maria said, “I’d like to take you to one of my favorite places in Rio. I don’t want to tell you much about it because I want it to be a surprise. It’s a typically Brazilian experience.”

  “Sounds intriguing,” Tina said. “We’re looking forward to it. See you later, Maria.”

  We got our keys at the desk and went up to our rooms.

  When I saw the suite I would share with Gini, I was impressed. It had a huge sitting room with a balcony that had a view of the beach, an iPod dock, a wide-screen TV, a fully stocked minibar, and WiFi. There was a sleek modern bedroom with abstract paintings on the walls, an enormous marble-tiled bathroom with a bidet, a separate shower and bathtub, and a little kitchen with an espresso machine. Gini and I grinned at each other when we saw our home for the next week. “Sure beats New Jersey,” Gini said.

  “Oh, yeah!” I said. “Look at that beach. It’s huge. You could fit the whole Jersey shore on that sand.”

  Gini went out on the balcony. “I know,” she said. “Acres of sand and water just waiting for us to dive in. Want to go for a swim?”

  “Do you think it’s safe?” I said, worrywart that I am. I try not to be one, but it’s no use. I was born that way.

  “Unless there’s a demon undertow waiting to drag us out to
sea, never to be heard from again, I think we’re fine,” Gini said, throwing one of the ten silk-encased pillows on her bed at me.

  “I’ll go ask the others if they want to come with us,” she said and left the room. “Don’t go without me.”

  I unpacked and put my clothes in the drawers and closet. By the time Gini got back into the room, I had slithered into my two-piece, black bathing suit that, I have to say, really showed off my dancer-slim, flat-stomached, terrific-legged, figure. Tap dancing will do that.

  “Way to go, Pat,” Gini said. “That bikini is perfect for you.”

  “Come on, Gini,” I said, embarrassed. “You’re the one with the big boobs. Are Jan and Mary Louise and Tina coming to the beach with us?”

  “No, they wanted to finish unpacking and shower. Maybe rest up for a while.”

  “They don’t have your energy, Gini,” I said. “But then, who does?”

  “Too little time, too much to do,” she said, putting on her own swimsuit, which proved my point. “I want a swim first.”

  We threw shirts over our suits and grabbed some sunblock, dark glasses, and towels and headed for the elevator.

  As we walked out onto the beach, which was crowded with sun worshipers, we felt overdressed. Others on the beach wore string bikinis and thongs so tiny, our swimsuits felt like granny gowns by comparison. Topless bathing was not allowed on the beaches in Rio, but the tops the women wore were practically nonexistent. They left very little to the imagination. The sun blazed down on us. It felt like it was about ninety degrees, so the thought of the cooling ocean was enticing. The sand was gleaming white and clean. Cleaner than any of the beaches I’ve seen at home. We dropped our stuff near the water’s edge and ran into the sea.