Dead Man Docking (12 page)

“Not to mention our mothers,” Renie said without enthusiasm. “If a reporter is down in the lobby, I'll bet this whole damned story has broken.”

“Not necessarily at home.” Judith pointed to a folded copy of the
San Francisco Chronicle
that Paul had left on the desk. “Look. That headline is about pollution in the Bay Area.”

“The bays here certainly are a different color,” Renie allowed. “Both San Francisco and Oakland's bays look really dirty.”

“We've got our own problems,” Judith said. “In more ways than one.”

A few words of Paul's soft-spoken conversation filtered through: “…Not to worry…Must rest…Arrangements are under way…Yes, I'll check her file…”

With a sad shake of his head, Paul rang off. “Poor Connie. She's had more than she can bear. She really should have complete rest, but that's not her nature. I'm doing my best to take whatever load I can off her shoulders, but she insists on taking part.”

Judith hazarded a guess. “You mean about her husband's services?”

“Partly.” Paul turned on his laptop. “I'm sorry, I should check my e-mail, too.”

“There can't be a funeral until the autopsy is complete,” Judith said. “That is, so I understand.”

“True.” Paul was still studying the computer screen. “My God, nothing but trouble. The passengers are getting impatient to sail. I don't blame them.”

Renie had wandered over to the window, which looked out onto a now relatively calm Post Street. “Will you cancel the cruise?”

“That's not up to me,” Paul replied, closing the laptop with an almost defiant click. “Captain Swafford and Connie and maybe even the board of directors will have to make that decision. They'd better act soon. This is a publicity nightmare. I already had to dodge some creep from one of the papers in the hotel lobby.”

“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.”

“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
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.

“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.

Finally clicking off, Renie began to read off of the
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 now. 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
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.”

“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
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.”