by Mary Daheim
“Has the story been on TV?” Judith inquired. Paul nodded. His taut face seemed to have acquired fine lines overnight. “It said Magglio Cruz died of unknown causes during a prelaunch party. There was no mention of foul play, but the language was full of innuendos. Viewers may think we were having an orgy.”
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“And now,” Renie remarked, moving away from the window, “they’ll have Dixie’s death on the five o’clock news.”
“Yes.” Paul was silent for almost a minute, staring straight ahead as if he’d forgotten that the cousins were in the room.
“Sorry.” He offered a crooked little smile. “Someone told me you actually saw Dixie in the cab.”
Judith nodded. “I couldn’t tell anything. About how she died, I mean. There was no sign of violence. She’d been shopping, and maybe out to lunch. Did you know of her plans?”
Paul shook his head. “She loved to shop. She loved to lunch. She’d made a lot of friends in different ports of call over the years. She could have been with anybody.” His eyes narrowed. “You aren’t thinking of . . . ?” He couldn’t finish the question.
“You have to allow for the possibility,” Judith said. Paul must have understood that Judith meant murder. He put his hands over his face. “My God!”
Seeing his distress, Judith couldn’t help but think herself callous. She’d witnessed so many other tragedies in recent years that it was hard to imagine what it was like for the uninitiated to confront evil.
“Are you talking about a homicidal maniac?” Paul asked, removing his hands and revealing his stricken face. Renie put a hand on his arm. “Don’t overreact,” she cautioned in a calm voice. “Maybe Dixie did die of natural causes. It just seems strange so soon after Mags was killed. You’re a levelheaded business-as-usual kind of guy with a thorough knowledge of the company. Can you think of any reason why somebody would want to harm anyone connected with Cruz Cruises?”
Paul sat down in the chair by the desk. “Of course not.”
He seemed to be gathering himself together. “I’ve been with Cruz for almost ten years. I joined the company right out of graduate school, when Mags had only one ship and a couple of sightseeing boats. There were some rough times, especially when those viral illnesses broke out on some of the 128
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other lines. But since then, growth has been phenomenal. After 9/11, our business slowly picked up. People seemed to feel safer on cruise ships than in airplanes or big cities. The demographics favored us, too. Retirees living longer, a more affluent younger crowd—the downswing in the economy only marginally affected us because cruises are always booked so far ahead.”
It struck Judith that Paul was talking by rote, as if he’d memorized his speech for an investors’ presentation. Maybe he had.
“Has the company gone public?” she asked. Paul shook his head. “No. And we haven’t any plans to do that. It’s all private investments. We’re hardly a megacorporation.”
“And,” Renie noted, “I always assumed that Mags wanted to stay small.”
“Yes,” Paul replied. “It’s a cruise line, not a conglomerate. We’re not looking to buy resorts or hotels or any other vacation property as a tie-in.”
Paul’s phone rang. He jumped in the chair, gave the cousins an apologetic little smile, and answered the call. It was a short conversation. Paul repeated “yes” three times and hung up. “It’s Captain Swafford,” he said, getting to his feet. “He wants me to meet him and Émile in the lobby.”
Judith and Renie had no choice but to follow Paul out of the room and down the elevator.
But the hotel seemed calm enough. Captain Swafford was waiting in a wingback chair next to a wall of built-in bookcases. Miya was behind the desk, conferring with an older woman Judith didn’t recognize. There was no sign of the police or the reporter. It seemed as if nothing untoward had happened at the Fitzroy in the last hour. Swafford looked up when Paul approached, but the captain didn’t acknowledge the cousins. Maybe he didn’t remember them, either. Judith discreetly dropped off Dixie’s key at the desk and led the way out of the hotel.
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“Now what?” Renie asked, keeping an eye out for the irksome panhandler or any of his numerous brethren. Judith surveyed their surroundings. “We’re only a couple of blocks from the St. Francis. Let’s walk.”
The wind chased them down Post Street. The skies had cleared, but it felt more like deep autumn than early spring. Discarded paper, plastic, and other bits of debris flew around their feet as they joined the busy pedestrian traffic. Judith and Renie were accustomed to March breezes at home, but in San Francisco, the wind seemed sharper, just as the city itself appeared more vital and more dangerous.
“Lack of familiarity,” Judith murmured as they waited for a stoplight to change at the corner.
“What?”
“I was thinking of this city,” Judith said, noticing that unlike at home, pedestrians seemed perfectly willing to risk walking against the warning lights instead of patiently taking their turns. “San Francisco has always been more exotic. Its past clings to it, just like the buildings hang on the hills. The Barbary Coast, Alcatraz, Chinatown, the fire and the earthquakes—along with romance, its history suggests drama and menace.”
Renie glanced at her cousin. “Your imagination is running away with you.”
“My deductive powers certainly aren’t going anywhere,”
Judith grumbled as they reached the hotel entrance. Inside, she gazed across the spacious lobby to the registration desk.
“Let’s check for messages before we go to the room.”
“They’ll be on our voice-messaging system,” Renie said.
“Save yourself some steps.”
Judith agreed. Their suite, which had been cleaned and freshened in their absence, was a welcome relief from the city’s bustling noise and brisk winds. Judith collapsed on the couch while Renie checked phone calls, and immediately began making notations. She took so long that Judith sat up straight, anxiety mounting.
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notepad. “Joe wants to know why we haven’t left port. Your mother asked him to ask you if her check got deposited. Arlene Rankers can’t find the spot remover. Phyliss Rackley didn’t show up today because she has a plantar wart. Rick and Rhoda St. George want us to meet them at Farallon for dinner at seven.”
Up until the final message, Judith had felt inundated with relative trivialities. “Why the urgency on the St. Georges’
part? We just saw them.”
Renie shrugged. “I repeated Rhoda’s message almost word for word, except for the part about Farallon being a nearby restaurant on top of the elks’ swimming pool.”
“What?”
Renie waved a hand. “Maybe it’s the Elks Club building. We can look it up in the phone book. Are you going to call Joe?”
Judith sighed. “Yes. I’ll do it now. Hand me the phone.”
Arlene, not Joe, answered at Hillside Manor.
“Judith! Where are you? Halfway to Hawaii, no doubt. Is it rough? How’s the food? Have you met any interesting people? Why doesn’t the oven turn on?”
Judith was used to her neighbor’s rapid change of topics and occasional self-contradictions. “We haven’t left yet. I’ll explain in a minute.” She paused to think. The Flynns had renovated the kitchen after a fire two years earlier. The new double oven was much more sophisticated than the old one, with digital controls that required only a touch. Judith realized that Arlene might not have had occasion to use the high-tech model until now. After offering directions, she asked what the spot remover was needed for.
“A guest spilled bean dip on one of your new sofas,” Arlene replied. “Unfortunately, it was after he ate it.”
Judith flinched. “You mean he . . . got sick on the sofa?”
“Yes, but it’s fine no
w. I cleaned it. He’s fine, too. At least I haven’t seen him since last night.”
After all that had happened since leaving Hillside Manor, Judith couldn’t remember who or how many guests had
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been registered at the B&B the previous night. It seemed as if Heraldsgate Hill was a world away. She’d have to back off and let Arlene handle any problems on the home front. That was, in fact, the reason she had gone with Renie. To rest. To relax. To regain her strength. To find herself in yet another murderous mess.
“Where’s Joe?” Judith asked, forcing a normal tone.
“He’s with Bill,” Arlene replied. “They’re in jail.”
Judith shot Renie a startled look. “What do you mean, Joe and Bill are in jail?”
Renie had to catch herself from slipping off the arm of the sofa. “What the hell . . . ?” she muttered as she hurried into the bedroom to listen on the extension.
“It has something to do with one of Bill’s patients,” Arlene explained. “He’s been arrested for reckless embarrassment. Or something like that,” she added just as Judith heard Renie pick up the other receiver.
“I’m here, too, Arlene,” Renie said.
“What?” Arlene sounded taken aback. “Where?”
“On the other line,” Renie replied. “What are you talking about?”
“Someone named—” Arlene stopped. “I don’t know the name. Bill wouldn’t say. Your husband can be very secretive sometimes, Serena. It bothers me.”
“I’ve explained that a hundred times,” Renie said impatiently. “It’s doctor–patient confidentiality. Ethics prevent Bill from revealing names.”
“Hmm.” Arlene was silent for a moment. “Is it someone I know?”
“I doubt it,” Renie retorted, though Arlene’s circle of friends and acquaintances spanned the city and half the state.
“Is he between the ages of thirty and sixty?” Arlene inquired. “Is he average height, brown hair, blue eyes—”
“Do you have someone in mind?” Renie broke in.
“No,” Arlene responded, sounding offended. “I was just trying to get an idea who he might be.”
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“Forget it,” Renie snapped. “Just tell us what happened.”
Arlene sighed loudly. “Apparently this man tried to jump off a building. Bill helped him, and the man was taken to the county hospital, and now he’s under arrest for . . . whatever I said before.”
“Reckless endangerment,” Renie murmured.
“Yes, yes, something like that.” It was Arlene’s turn to be impatient. “So Bill went to see him in the prison hospital or wherever he is, and Joe went along to help with the ransom.”
“The ransom?” Renie gasped.
“Yes,” Arlene said, still huffy. “This lunatic is holding Oscar hostage. He wants a helicopter and sixty-five dollars in unmarked bills.”
“Oscar does?”
“No, no,” Arlene replied. “The lunatic.” She hesitated.
“Or maybe not. What would Oscar do with a helicopter?”
Judith was holding her head. Through the bedroom door she could see Renie, who seemed to be gnawing on the satin counterpane.
Apparently, Arlene interpreted Renie’s silence for understanding. “Anyway, I must dash. Now that I know how to turn the oven on, I must prepare the guests’ appetizers.”
“Wait!” Judith cried. “How’s Mother?”
Arlene laughed in her merry way. “She’s just wonderful!
It was nice today, so we had a little picnic lunch on the patio. Carl brought her some pickled pigs’ feet. She says you never buy them even though they’re a great favorite of hers. Tonight she’s having tongue sandwiches and sweet pickles.”
Judith controlled her gag reflex. “Good.”
“I’ll tell Joe you called,” Arlene promised. “Don’t worry about a thing. You’re not seasick, are you?”
Judith felt like saying that her stomach had been in great shape until Arlene mentioned Gertrude’s menu. Instead, she explained that their sailing had been delayed because of a crew member’s illness.
“I thought Joe mentioned something about you not leav-
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ing on schedule,” Arlene said vaguely. “I hope it’s not one of those viruses that gets loose on cruises.”
“It’s not contagious,” Judith asserted, nervously wondering if what had befallen Magglio Cruz and Dixie Beales might not yet have run its course. “Thanks, Arlene. Bye.”
As soon as she hung up, Judith swore. “Damn! I forgot about Mother’s check.”
Renie was staggering out of the bedroom. “I should call Bill,” she muttered, leaning on an Italianate credenza.
“Later, I mean.” She focused on Judith. “What check?”
“I told you about it,” Judith said, searching her purse for aspirin. “From the movie people. I was supposed to put it in the bank for her, but I ran out of time before we left. I hope to God she hasn’t mislaid it. Again.”
“It’ll turn up,” Renie said, sinking into an armchair across from Judith. “Oscar’s another matter. I hope Bill’s been able to get him back from that nutty Lorenzo. It makes me sick to think what a maniac like that might do.”
“Oscar? Bill? Lorenzo?”
Renie shot Judith a dirty look. “Don’t be a wiseass. You know that Oscar is part of the family, and has been for almost thirty years. I’d just had the upholstery cleaner freshen him up last week. He was looking very spiffy.”
Judith decided to keep her mouth shut. It was always pointless to argue about Oscar’s place in the Jones household. Sometimes she wondered why Renie and Bill didn’t legally adopt the stuffed animal and be done with it. Besides, she had problems of her own. Ignoring Renie, who was still moping, Judith dialed Joe’s cell phone. But all she got was a recorded message saying that the customer was unavailable and to try later. Either Joe didn’t have his phone on or he was someplace where the call couldn’t reach him. Like jail.
“The phone book,” Judith said suddenly. “We were going to check the G restaurant listings and also find Farallon’s address.”
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Judith got out the directory, which was in the drawer of the table where the telephone was sitting along with a fax machine. “We should call Rhoda back, to acknowledge their invitation.”
Renie still evinced indifference.
“I found Farallon,” Judith said. “It’s also on Post Street, just a couple of blocks from the Fitzroy. Let me take a quick look at the G listings, especially anything with GH.”
Renie was staring off into space.
“Ghirardelli Square?” Judith murmured. “No, that’s not near Neiman Marcus . . .”
Renie’s words were barely audible. “If only Bill didn’t hate the telephone so much . . .”
Judith looked up from the Yellow Pages. “What?”
“I said,” Renie repeated, “if only Bill didn’t hate using the phone, he’d have his own cell. Then I could call him directly. Now all I can do is wait until I think he might be home. I’m sure he won’t try to call me. He might not even realize we’re still here, men being what they are.”
Regarding her cousin with a less-than-sympathetic expression, Judith uttered an impatient sigh. “Come on, coz, stop fussing about that . . . Oscar. You’re supposed to be helping solve a homicide.”
Renie hadn’t seemed to hear Judith. “Oscar was kidnapped once before, years ago. Bill and I were out of town, and our kids had a party. A couple of them made off with Oscar, and it took three days to get him back. Unharmed, thank God.”
Judith kept a straight face. “How could you tell?”
“Physically unharmed,” Renie said, equally serious.
“Emotionally—well, it took time.”
“We’re not going to talk about this anymore, okay?”
Judith said, keeping her voice calm. “You’re making me as crazy as you are.” She fixed her eyes on the restaurant listings. “Ah. Maybe I’ve found something—Grandviews Restaurant in the Grand Hyatt off Union Square. That’s close to Neiman Marcus, right?”
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Renie nodded in a despondent fashion.
“Let’s go over to the hotel and see if we can find out if Dixie had lunch there,” Judith said. “It’s just across the square. But first,” she added, “I’m going to take some aspirin.”
Judith was in the bathroom when the phone rang. She heard Renie scrambling around in the sitting room, apparently diving for the receiver. By the time Judith joined her cousin, Renie was hanging up.
“Who was that?” Judith asked.
Renie looked disappointed. “I thought it might be Bill, but it wasn’t. Rhoda called to make sure we could meet them for dinner.”
“You told her yes?”
Renie nodded.
“Did she say why they wanted to see us tonight?”
Renie nodded again.
Judith felt like shaking her cousin. “Well? Why?”
Renie finally met Judith’s gaze. “Rhoda and Rick have found out what weapon was used to kill Magglio Cruz.”
ELEVEN
“YOU DIDN’T ASK what kind of weapon?” Judith demanded.
“No.” Renie looked contrite. “Sorry. I’m still in shock about Oscar.”
“Get over it!” Judith had shouted so loud that she startled not only Renie but herself. After jumping halfway off the sofa, Renie lost her temper. “Okay, okay! You don’t have to yell! What if it was Sweetums? You practically had a nervous breakdown last year when that awful cat wandered off for a few days.”
“That’s because Sweetums isn’t a stuffed . . .” Judith shut up. Again, it was pointless to argue. “Look,” she said, lowering her voice and trying to keep on an even keel, “it’s almost five o’clock. We’ve just got time to go over to the Hyatt and show the staff a picture of Dixie Beales. There’s one in the cruise brochure, right?”
Renie nodded. “By the way, Rhoda told me they’d tell us what the weapon was when we saw them. I guess she didn’t want to mention it over the phone.”