Dead Man Docking (13 page)

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.”

“Oh. Right.” Renie didn't seem interested.

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?”

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.”

“Y
OU 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.”

“Did she say anything about Dixie?”

“No. Rhoda sounded like she was in a big hurry.”

“Oh.” Judith wondered if the St. Georges knew about the most recent death. Maybe not, she thought. Rhoda—and possibly Rick—had been involved with taking
Asthma to the vet that afternoon. “Let's check the news before we go,” Judith said, clicking on the big screen in the living room.

Renie had already put on her raincoat, but sat down again. “Do you want me to call Fitzroy's to see if they've heard anything about Dixie?”

“Go ahead,” Judith said. “You phone, I'll watch.”

Renie's call was fruitless. “I got a recording saying that all lines were busy and to leave a message or call back.”

“They may be overwhelmed,” Judith remarked, waiting out a series of hour-turn TV commercials. “The police, the cruise personnel, the press. Not to mention other guests, who must be asking all kinds of questions.” She ought to know. She sympathized with the Fitzroy's staff.

The headlines had nothing to do with Cruz Cruises, unless, Judith noted, she counted the persistent stories about pollution in the bay. Certainly, she thought, a murder most foul ought to muddy the waters as well. But social issues and city politics were the main topics.

“We'd better go,” she said at the first commercial break. “We have to be back here in time to get dressed for dinner. And for heaven sakes,” she added, noting Renie's lingering expression of gloom, “stop dwelling on that damned ape! You're driving me crazy!”

Rain was slanting down across Union Square when the cousins left for the Hyatt. It was only a long block away, but they kept their heads down and their faces shielded from the chilling drops.

“Why do people who've never been to the West Coast assume that California is all sun?” Renie muttered as they entered the sanctuary of the hotel lobby. “And wouldn't you know, we brought cruise clothes.”

“San Francisco's weather is very different from anywhere else on the West Coast. It was about ninety when we came here that first time,” Judith reminded her cousin. “Late September, too.”

“We wore wool and smelled like sheep.” Renie pointed to
a sign that informed them of the hotel's features. “Grandviews is on the top floor.”

San Franciscans dined late. The restaurant was open, but at five-thirty, it was virtually deserted except for the staff. Judith barely had time to take in the spectacular view of Coit Tower and the Oakland Bay Bridge before a chic and efficient-looking dark-haired woman approached them.

“I'm confused,” Judith said, and looked it as she fumbled in her purse for the photo of Dixie that Renie had clipped from the cruise brochure. “We're supposed to meet someone, but…” She made a helpless gesture before showing the picture to the woman. “Could she have meant lunch, not dinner? Do you recognize her?”

The woman put on a pair of half-glasses and gazed at the color reproduction. “Is she from the South?”

“Yes,” Judith replied eagerly. “She has quite an accent. In fact, her nickname is Dixie.”

The woman didn't look as if she approved of nicknames. “It would be,” she remarked drily. “No, I don't remember seeing her.”

“But…” Judith stared as the woman removed her glasses. “I thought…”

“I
heard
her,” the woman interrupted. “She had a very carrying voice, inappropriate for a dining room where guests enjoy quiet conversation. I asked the server to request that she speak more quietly.”

“Is the server here?” Judith asked.

The woman shook her head. “Dominic is breakfast and lunch only. But he did ask her to keep her voice down. Apparently, she'd had too much to drink and was quarreling with her companion. Excuse me,” she said abruptly as a distinguished-looking older couple entered from the elevator area. “I'm busy.”

Renie snatched the cutout picture away from Judith and thrust it in front of the woman. “And
she's
dead. Is food poisoning the soup du jour?”

The woman froze. The couple approached.

“Good evening, Amalie,” the silver-haired man said pleasantly. “We're early. As usual.” He laughed softly. “Did I hear someone mention
poisson
soup for tonight?”

“Our usual savory seafood stew,” Amalie replied, managing a ghostly smile. “Delighted to see you both. Would you mind waiting just a moment? Your favorite table isn't quite ready.”

The couple nodded affably and withdrew a few paces. The woman called Amalie moved out of the newcomers' line of sight. “Is this extortion?” she demanded in a low, angry voice. “Explain yourselves, or I'm calling the police.”

“They're already involved,” Judith said quietly. “All we want to know is who Dixie—Ms. Beales—was with today.”

Amalie looked Judith straight in the eye. “I don't know. Dominic mentioned it was a young—and attractive—man. They had a disagreement. They left. I'd appreciate it if you'd do the same.”

A pair of waiters and a man in a dinner jacket had appeared behind Amalie. None of them, especially the formally clad man, looked friendly. Judith knew when she was about to get the bum's rush.

“Thanks,” she said, and started out of the restaurant.

“Thanks?” Renie repeated, trailing behind Judith. “For what? Being almost no help?”

“This is a very nice establishment,” Judith declared, pressing the elevator button. “We intruded.”

“We usually do,” Renie noted.

“This is different,” Judith said, entering the elevator. “It's not only that this city is much more formal and less relaxed. We're not at home. We're not comfortable in this environment. People here have standards. Or something.”

Renie sighed as the express car took them straight to the lobby. “I've rarely seen you give up so fast.”

“I'm not giving up,” Judith countered with a sly little smile. “Of course I want to know who lunched with Dixie Beales. And why they had a quarrel.”

“So?”

The cousins had exited the hotel, once again facing the blustery wind and rain. “This isn't our town. This isn't our style.” She leaned forward into the elements. “This is a job for Rick and Rhoda St. George.”

 

The difference in style was evident when Judith and Renie met the St. Georges at Farallon: Judith had brought along a navy-blue shirtwaist dress for the cruise; Renie relied on sleeveless basic black. Rhoda swept into the restaurant wearing a green silk georgette evening gown with spaghetti straps and a swath of white fox fur draped over her arms. At first glimpse, Judith thought she was wearing the dog.

“This,” said Rick, whose dark suit might have come from London's Savile Row, “is the next best thing to being at sea. How do you like the ocean theme? The restaurant's named for some islands just off the coast.”

Judith had admired the blue glass sculptures and the mosaic tiles upon their arrival. They were now seated in the vaulted dining room, which was indeed above the Elks Club swimming pool. It wasn't hard to imagine that they were on a ship.

“It's lovely,” she said, though the decor wasn't uppermost in her mind. “I hear you have news. So do we.”

“All in good time,” Rick said, summoning a waiter. “The usual for us, Marco. Ladies?”

After the cocktail orders had been taken, Rick offered advice about the menu. “Definitely the seafood,” he asserted. “There's a touch of French in the edibles, but mainly this is a place to let your palate explore.”

“Yes,” Judith said tersely. “We'll do that.” She offered Rhoda an encouraging look. “You told Serena you'd discovered what weapon was used to kill Magglio Cruz.”

Rhoda cast a smile in her husband's direction. “That was Ricky's doing. Oh—here come the drinks. A toast, darling,” she said. “You do the honors.”

Rick raised his double martini. “To new friends from the woodsy world of the great Northwest.” The foursome
clicked glasses. “To old friends who have sailed beyond the bar. Poor devils.” They clicked again.

If there was supposed to be a moment of silence, Renie broke it: “Are you including Dixie Beales in that toast? Because she is—toast, I mean.”

Rhoda looked a bit wistful. Rick inclined his head to one side. “Yes, I suppose I am,” he said quietly. “Poor woman. There's no autopsy report as yet. I heard you were actually at the Fitzroy when she arrived.”

“She'd already departed,” Renie put in.

Rick chuckled. “Well put. Biff questioned the hotel staff late this afternoon. Dr. Selig will keep us informed as to cause of death as soon as he finds out.”

Rhoda was shaking her head. “Such a waste.”

Judith's expression was sad. “Yes. She must have been quite talented.”

“What?” Rhoda seemed taken aback. “Oh—yes, I suppose. I mean to waste all those clothes she'd bought at Neiman Marcus. Of course, Dixie's taste was a bit florid.”

“To get back to the weapon,” Judith began, turning to Rick, “what was it?”

Marco returned, sliding up to the table as smoothly as olive oil on a baguette. “May I recommend the crab with cardoons?” he inquired.

“Cartoons?” Renie said. “Are they animated? How about Donald Duck or Porky Pig?”

Rick smiled in his urbane manner. “I recall advising the seafood.”

“Cardoons are similar to artichokes,” Marco explained, managing to look as if he didn't believe Renie was an out-of-town idiot.

Renie was undaunted. “Is the crab Dungeness?”

Marco didn't even blink. “Of course.”

“Okay,” Renie said. “Sounds good to me.”

At Rhoda's urging, Judith selected sea urchin custard with caviar. The St. Georges settled on lobster-and-scallop stew—along with another round of martinis.

Judith was in a stew of her own. But as soon as Rick had his second drink in hand, he picked up his table knife. “Items such as this should be dismissed immediately as the weapon. Dr. Selig informs me that Mags was stabbed to death, but not with a knife of any kind. Rather, it was a puncture wound. Quite deep, and in a vital spot, which I won't detail because we're at dinner. Suffice to say that death came quickly.” He paused to sip his fresh drink.

Judith had long ago stopped being squeamish. “Did he bleed out or was it internal?”

Rick raised an eyebrow. “My, my. That sounds like the voice of a hardened expert.”

“My husband is a retired policeman,” Judith said in a noncommittal tone. “Homicide, in fact. I've heard stories.”

“Ah.” Rick smiled again. “The answer is internal bleeding.”

“Gruesome,” Rhoda murmured, though she seemed unfazed.

“But tidy,” Rick remarked. “So we eliminate the usual type of weapon associated with stab wounds. We also must consider what was at hand.”

“You mean as a weapon?” Judith put in.

Rick nodded. “Think back to the party. There were other means.”

“Like part of the decor?” Renie offered.

Rick's expression was droll. “If you're referring to someone dismantling the ship, no. Nothing was found to be out of place, missing, or damaged. The solution is quite simple. Think beef.”

“Darling,” Rhoda said in a reproachful voice, “you're being obscure. You already ruled out knives.”

“But, my dove,” Rick inquired with a twinkle in his eye, “what do you use to make those knives work?”

Rhoda snapped her fingers. “A sharpener! Of course! They're long, pointed, and can be very dangerous.”

“That's right,” Judith agreed. “I often plunge the sharpener into a roast to remove it from the oven. Those things are extremely strong.”

“Gack,” said Renie.

“The carving sets were right in plain sight,” Judith declared. “I remember watching one of the servers slice the roast beef. I assume there was more than one set. Has the sharpener that killed Magglio Cruz been found?”

Rick shook his head. “Too easy to toss overboard. An inventory of the galley has been taken, but frankly, it's not exact. Carving sets, even standard ones such as they use on the cruise line, come in all kinds of assortments—carver, slicer, fork, sharpener, and variations thereof.”

“But,” Judith persisted, “the medical examiner is sure that was the weapon?”

“It has to be,” Rick replied. “I figure Mags's murder wasn't premeditated. The killer used whatever was at hand—in this case, a knife sharpener. It would be easy to hide under clothing, and not missed right away as a knife would be.”

Rhoda was applauding. “Fantastic, darling. You've done it again!”

Rick, however, didn't seem that pleased. “We know how, but we don't know why—and more importantly, we don't know who.”

The appetizers arrived. Judith had never eaten sea urchin, and wasn't sure she wanted to now. But the custard presentation was invitingly nestled in an eggshell. To her delight, the taste was delicious.