Dead Man Docking (15 page)

“Rhoda mentioned that Dixie's tastes were florid,” Judith replied, noticing that the morning was as pleasant as it looked.

“That's a help,” Renie said as they stopped to wait for the traffic light to change. “What do we expect to find out from the sales staff?”

“If Dixie was with anyone, if she mentioned meeting a specific person—you know, all the things that women chatter about when they're trying on clothes. She might even have—” Judith stopped as a headline in the news box next to the street lamp caught her eye. “Coz! Look!”

Renie looked.

 

MURDER COUNT UP TO TWO;
CRUZ LINE SINKING FAST

Judith managed to find exact change in her purse and bought a paper. “The byline belongs to Flakefield Smythe,” she said. “I overheard Rick and Biff talking about a reporter by that name last night. Apparently, he'd gotten some information out of Biff's rookie partner.”

The light had changed and changed again. Judith waited impatiently until they were able to cross the street and enter Neiman Marcus. The atmosphere was quiet, almost stately, with customers moving at a leisurely pace. The place reeked of affluence and self-indulgence.

“Shoes,” Judith said, gesturing straight ahead. “We can sit down and read the article.”

“Whoa!” Renie cried as they passed the first display table. “Check out the Manolo Blahnik ruched pumps! And how about these patent Giuseppe Zanottis with the—”

Judith yanked Renie by the arm. “Sit down and shut up. We're here to read, not buy.”

“But we have to pretend,” Renie reasoned, allowing herself to be dumped into a chair next to a grouping of evening shoes. “Thus we must at least try on a pair or two.”

“You try, I'll pry,” Judith muttered, spreading the newspaper out in her lap. “Okay, here's what it says…”

But a sales associate was already standing in front of Renie, materializing as if from a genie's lamp. He was dressed almost as nattily as Rick St. George and his name tag identified him as
REUBEN
.

Judith did her best to disassociate herself from Renie and Reuben. Hiding behind the newspaper, she read Flakefield Smythe's semisensational coverage.

Judith wondered if
observers
should be singular, and that the opinion was that of the writer.

“…Seven medium,” Renie was saying. “I have a narrow heel, but my…”

The next paragraph was mainly factual, dealing with the ship's proposed maiden voyage, the VIP party, and the ensuing events.

Judith frowned. Even Biff McDougal wouldn't be so crass—or indiscreet. The quote—if it was authentic—had to come from his partner. Judith searched her memory for the rookie's name. Bub…No, that was Bill's brother…Bud…That didn't sound right, either…
Buzz
. That was the name. Buzz Cochran. Judging from his loose tongue, Judith didn't think Buzz had a very bright future with the San Francisco Police Department.

“Real snakeskin?” Renie said to Reuben. “Goodness, at three seventy-five, that's quite a bargain.”

The next paragraph related how Beales had died in a taxi en route to her hotel from a shopping expedition. The rest of the article was devoted to a brief history of Magglio Cruz and the company he'd built.

Judith emerged from behind the paper just as Renie slipped her feet out of a pair of Kate Spade slides. “I'll take those, too,” she informed Reuben. “I want them all shipped to my home address.”

“‘All'?” Judith repeated.

“Just three pairs,” Renie replied, digging out her Neiman Marcus credit card. “I couldn't resist.”

Reuben, having gathered up the three shoe boxes, accepted the card and smiled invitingly at Judith. “Was there something I could show you, madam?”

“The door,” Judith murmured.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The floor—the floor where they carry dresses,” she said more loudly.

“Of course.” Reuben managed to cover his disappointment. “Take the escalator…”

“How much?” Judith demanded as the cousins glided up to women's apparel.

“Don't ask. I won't tell.”

“I already did. Ask, I mean.”

“A little over a grand, okay?” Renie was defensive.

“Good grief!”

“I know.” They reached the second floor. “Now I feel guilty. I'll have to start handing out twenty-dollar bills to homeless persons.”

Judith, however, was ready to put Renie's extravagance aside. “Where do we start?” she asked, gazing around at the various sections.

Renie also studied the layout, then gave a start. “Why not over there where Anemone Giddon is pawing through the racks?”

Judith spotted the young woman instantly. “She's alone. This is a piece of luck.”

“It's probably where she shops,” Renie said as the cousins strolled in Anemone's direction. “Where else besides Neiman Marcus and Saks would old-line rich women go after I. Magnin went out of business? Erma has undoubtedly influenced her daughter's buying habits.”

“Why, Anemone!” Judith said in mock surprise. “How are you?”

“Oh!” Anemone almost dropped the black silk shantung suit she was holding up by its hanger. “I know you! The Cousins!” She grasped the hanger more firmly and blinked several times. “Mrs. Flynn and Mrs. Jones?”

Judith nodded. “That's a very smart suit.”

Anemone scowled at the garment. “I guess. I don't like black, but Mumsy told me I had to buy something for Mr. Cruz's funeral. It's going to be held Monday morning at the cathedral.”

Judith tried to gauge the young woman's attitude, which seemed unfeeling despite her customary appearance of fragility. “So the
San Rafael
won't sail until after the services?”

Anemone shrugged. “I suppose. The cruise was Mumsy's idea. I hope the whole thing gets canceled, so we won't have to go.”

“You don't like cruises?” Judith asked.

“Not particularly,” Anemone replied, putting the suit back on the rack. Her big blue eyes glistened with tears. “I certainly don't want to take one without Jim. He could only join us during his spring break,” she explained, regarding the rest of the dark-colored ensembles with something akin to revulsion. “The postponement means he'd have to take time off from classes. If he doesn't go, I don't want to, either.” She burst into tears.

A sales associate, who had been drawing nigh, stepped back a few paces and began rearranging a mannequin's silk scarf. Judith watched Anemone try to find a handkerchief in her handbag without success.

“Here,” Judith said, taking a packet of Kleenex out of her
purse. “Wouldn't you like to sit? There are some chairs over by the dressing-room entrance.”

Anemone accepted the Kleenex and wiped at her eyes. “I'm so embarrassed!” she murmured. “I don't even know you!”

“Actually,” Judith said gently, “you do. We've met, we've shared a tragedy, we've got a sad sort of bond. Come, sit down. You're shaking like a leaf.”

Anemone allowed Judith to lead her to the matching easy chairs, which Judith figured were for tired men waiting for their women to try on clothes. It wasn't until she sat down next to Anemone that Judith realized Renie had disappeared.

But her cousin's defection didn't divert her. “I'm surprised your mother still wants to go on the cruise, at least until her jewels are recovered.”

The tears had been stanched, but Anemone was sniffling and snuffling, using tissue after tissue. “Once Mumsy's mind is made up, there's no changing it. Besides, she's not going to look for the jewels herself. If you see what I mean.”

“I take it she wasn't that close to Mr. Cruz? I mean,” Judith amended, “that his loss wouldn't ruin the voyage for her?”

Anemone shook her head. “She knew him, of course. And Connie—Mrs. Cruz. Mumsy's own circle is very small—and very tight.”

And, Judith was certain, didn't include a mere employee such as Dixie Beales. “So your mother and you and Mr. Pankhurst and Mr. Everhart will be going on the cruise—if it's not canceled?”

“That's her plan.” Anemone's expression was gloomy. “Except Mr. Pankhurst won't be going. He and Mumsy…well, it just wouldn't work out right now.”

Judith thought before she spoke. “I understand they've had a difference of opinion.”

“Yes.” Anemone's small, perfect lips clamped shut. She got to her feet and went back to the racks. Judith had no choice but to follow.

“I'm puzzled,” she said after a brief silence. “I mean, your
mother resigned from the Cruz board of directors. Yet she still wants to sail on the
San Rafael
?”

Anemone had selected another black suit. “As I said, when Mumsy gets an idea in her head…” She shrugged. “This one won't make me look forty, will it?”

“I don't remember what being forty looks like,” Judith admitted. “But it's got some pizzazz. The white touches at the collar and cuffs make it less severe.”

“I'll try it on. It's nice seeing you again, Mrs. Flynn.” Anemone made her way toward the dressing rooms.

It would be too obvious for Judith to traipse after her prey. Pressure would make Anemone really shut down—or dissolve into more tears. Instead, Judith went in search of Renie, expecting to find her in the midrange designer section, which carried some of her cousin's favorite brands. Only two other customers were browsing through the department. There was no sales associate in sight. Apparently Neiman Marcus let its clientele study the merchandise without interference. Judith paused by the sale rack where the previous winter's trend featured tassels, fringes, and short, short skirts. Not her style, and certainly not appropriate to her age. Judith passed on the mark-downs, but a red ruffled cocktail dress hanging next to the customer-service counter caught her eye. It was Judith's favorite color. She couldn't resist inspecting it more closely.

She might have carried off the halter top and even the plunging neckline, but while the ruffles in back dropped to midcalf, in front they ended abruptly at high thigh. Furthermore, the dress was a size six and a memo attached was stamped
SOLD
. She moved on.

The more classic spring and summer designs looked as if they might appeal to Renie. Judith found the entrance to the dressing rooms. Aggravating as it might be, she guessed that her cousin had succumbed to another shopping impulse.

“Coz,” Judith called softly, moving down the narrow hallway. “Coz?”

She was halfway to the end of the corridor when she heard her cousin's angry voice.

“Beat it, you pervert! Get the hell out of there or I'll set fire to your alligator shoes!”

“Coz?” Judith shouted, trying to determine the exact location. No one else seemed to be in the area. Except, Judith realized, Renie and the pervert.

The door on her right flew open. Judith saw her cousin wearing a purple halter with matching slacks and an irate expression.

“I've got a peeper,” Renie announced, standing amid a pile of clothing. “He won't budge.”

Judith's eyes followed her cousin's finger, which pointed at the shortened divider between the dressing rooms. At first she saw nothing except for an Ellen Tracy jacket and a pair of shoes.

But the shoes didn't belong to Renie. They were men's alligator shoes, and Judith realized that they were protruding just under the shortened divider that separated the dressing rooms.

Mouth agape, Judith stared at Renie. “He's peeping with his feet?”

“He must have lost his balance,” Renie snarled. “Or maybe he passed out when he saw me in my underwear.”

“You don't look
that
bad,” Judith remarked, using her toe to nudge garments aside as she made her way into the dressing room.

“I don't look that good, either,” Renie retorted.

Judith kicked gently at one of the alligator shoes. There was no response. “Maybe he did pass out,” she said in a concerned voice. “We'd better get help.”

Renie gestured at Judith. “Move it, coz. You can't get down on the floor to look under that panel, but I can. Not that I think I'll like what I'm going to see, perverts being what they are and doing what they do.”

Judith frowned. “You sure?”

“Oh, yes.” Renie moved more clothing out of the way and lay flat on her stomach. She suddenly tensed. “Holy Mother!”

“What?” Judith asked anxiously.

Renie turned a horrified face to Judith. “He's more than passed out. He looks dead. And,” she added, reaching for Judith's outstretched hand to pull herself up, “he also happens to be the late Émile Grenier.”

T
HE IMPOSSIBLE WAS
not only possible, but for once, it was plausible as well. Judith went out into the corridor to open the adjacent door. Émile lay in an awkward position with his head and shoulders propped up by the dressing room's bench. His face was almost the same color as Renie's purple outfit and his eyes protruded. Judith winced as she saw the long gold rope with tassels at each end. It had been twisted around the purser's neck and pulled hard until the life drained out of his body. Even if she could have bent down, there was no need to seek a pulse. Judith was an old hand at death.

Renie was already putting her own clothes back on.

“Did you see anybody out on the floor?” Judith asked. “A salesperson, I mean?”

“Why? Did you find something you like?”

Judith tried not to let her exasperation show. She couldn't really blame Renie for trying to make light of their situation. “I mean, an employee, a clerk, someone who works for the store.”

“Yes,” Renie replied. “Her name's Olga. She took an ecru blouse from me to remove a smudge I found. She should be right back.”

“We need more than Olga, we need the manager,” Ju
dith said. “Not to mention the police, the emergency people, the—” She stopped as a dark-haired woman of forty poked her head into the open dressing room.

“How is everything?” she inquired in a voice that was heavy with what Judith guessed was a Russian accent.

“Not so good,” Renie answered.

Olga glanced at Judith. “Excuse me?”

“I don't mean her,” Renie explained. “She's my cousin. But I'm afraid we found a corpse. You'd better call the police.”

Olga looked as if she thought Renie was joking—or crazy. “A corpse. I see. You mean you don't like the clothes? You think fashion is dead?”

At last, Olga spotted the shoes. She screamed. And screamed and screamed. Judith grasped the woman by the shoulders. “Calm down! You have to help!”

But Olga had no intention of helping. She was almost as tall as Judith, and considerably stronger. Breaking away, she fled from the dressing-room area. She was still screaming.

“And she didn't even see the rest of the body,” Renie said in disgust.

Judith leaned against the doorjamb. “Good God, this is the worst yet. Three bodies in three days, and all connected to Cruz Cruises. I'm about to announce that there's a maniac loose.”

Renie was fully dressed. “So what do we do? Just stand here until somebody responsible shows up?”

“What else?” Judith glanced out into the corridor. No one was in sight. “Are you the only one trying on clothes?”

“I think so,” Renie replied, “unless you count Émile.”

“You didn't see anyone or hear anything?”

Renie shook her head. “They aren't that busy in this department. It's Saturday, it's nice out, people are probably doing other things.”

“Maybe,” Judith said in a worried voice, “we should be, too. As in pretending we're innocent bystanders.”

“But we are.”

Judith shot Renie a sour look. “You know what I mean. The first officers to arrive will be uniforms from this beat. For now, let's not tell them we know the victim. I don't want to spend the rest of the day at the jail. Our husbands have already done that this weekend.”

The first to arrive wasn't a police officer, but store security. In fact, it was a young couple who could pass as husband-and-wife shoppers. They barely glanced at the cousins before going into the adjoining dressing room.

“Maybe we should've left while we had the chance,” Renie whispered.

Judith shook her head. “That wouldn't be right.” She could hear the security employees' shocked, yet low voices a few feet away. The man was on his cell phone at once, summoning the police. He began to check out the other dressing rooms. A moment later, the woman confronted Judith and Renie.

“Caroline Halloway, security,” she said in a brusque voice. “Are you the ones who reported the accident?”

“Accident?”
Renie echoed.

Anticipating hostilities, Judith moved between her cousin and the security woman. “Yes,” she responded, giving her name and Renie's, along with their home addresses and the hotel where they were staying.

“Visitors,” the woman said, making rapid notes. “How long were you in here before you noticed the problem?”

“Problem?”
Renie shot back.

“I wasn't here,” Judith said, stepping aside. There was no choice but to let Renie talk, since she was the one who'd found Émile.

“At least five minutes,” Renie said in a less hostile tone. “I was trying on clothes.” She swept her hand over the items on the floor and hanging from the pegs. “I got involved. You know how that goes.”

Caroline apparently did know. Judith figured she must be used to self-absorbed shoppers. “What brought the man's presence to your attention?”

“His shoes,” Renie said. “I didn't notice them at first. I was carrying so many garments that I couldn't see over the top of the pile. Then I started trying on the Ellen Tracy separates, but I was looking in the mirror on the other wall. Finally I decided to pick up some of the items I'd let fall to the floor. That's when I realized that no man should be putting his shoes under my divider.”

“What did you do then?”

“I figured he was some kind of pervert.” Renie shot the security woman an arch look. “I'm sure you've heard about those weirdo types even in a place as high class as this one. I told him to take a hike, but he didn't react. Then my cousin showed up before I could do anything else. That all happened less than ten minutes ago. I peeked under the divider. My cousin went around to look in the dressing room. The man was definitely dead. That's it.”

Caroline's plain features had remained unchanged, though her voice conveyed a hint of disbelief. “You didn't scream when you saw the shoes? You didn't run for help?”

Judith avoided looking at Renie. For once, it was her cousin's problem to talk her way out of a mess.

“There wasn't time,” Renie replied.

“So,” Caroline persisted, “you just waited in here for your cousin?” She shot Judith a swift, sidelong look.

“I told you, my cousin showed up almost immediately,” Renie said.

Caroline's sharp blue eyes now fixed on Judith. “Is that right?”

“Yes. We're probably still in a state of shock.” Judith could hardly admit that after all their misadventures, even “surprise” would have been too strong a word.

“Where had you been while your cousin was in here?”

“Looking for her.” Judith waited a beat, but Caroline said nothing. “Before that, I was over in suits and dresses.” She wasn't about to confess that she'd been with Anemone Giddon. Once Émile was officially identified, Caroline might pick up on the link with the dead man. And with Judith.

The male security employee returned, accompanied by a slightly older man who exuded quiet authority.

“I understand,” the new arrival said in a sympathetic voice, “that you two ladies have made a very disagreeable discovery.” He put out a hand. “I'm Daniel Goldfarb, the store manager. Would you please join me in my office? You'll be much more comfortable there and we can get you some water or whatever you'd like. I can't apologize enough for this unfortunate incident.”

Judith was torn. Sitting around Daniel Goldfarb's office sipping Perrier was only a notch better than twiddling her thumbs at the police station. She needed answers, not comfort. But she knew there'd be official hoops to jump through. Renie would have to give the police her story.

Apparently Renie was thinking along the same lines. “What I'd like is to go back to our hotel and lie down,” she declared, making herself tremble a bit. “I'm exhausted. I wouldn't want to collapse on your premises. You already have one dead body.” She picked up her big purse and slung it over her shoulder. “You know where to reach us. Thanks for the offer, though.”

Daniel looked perplexed. Caroline showed no emotion, but her male counterpart was scowling.

“You have to wait until the police arrive,” he said. “I'm sorry, but we can't let you leave.”

“Yes, you can,” Renie asserted, reaching in her purse and taking out her wallet. “You have no legal grounds to keep us here. If you want to argue the point, here's my lawyer's name and number.” She handed a business card to the security man and stomped out of the dressing room.

“She hasn't been well,” Judith murmured, squeezing her way past the trio. “I must go take care of her.”

Two uniformed officers were going up the escalator as Judith and Renie were going down. A squad car pulled up as the cousins exited the store. They kept moving without a backward glance.

“Do you think they'll actually call Bub?” Judith asked as they reached the main floor.

“Of course not,” Renie said, briskly walking past handbags and leather goods. “I don't carry Bub's cards with me. The one I gave them was for Jerry, the window cleaner.”

Judith realized that her cousin was leading them out of a different entrance from the one where they'd entered the store. “Where are we?” she asked, looking around at the immediate unfamiliar sights.

“We need a drink,” Renie said after they'd walked half a block. “And lunch. Now we're back on Stockton.”

“So why are we going uphill?”

Renie pointed straight ahead. “Do you want the cops following us back to the St. Francis right now? The Ritz-Carlton's close by. I'd like to get as far away from the scene of the latest crime as possible.”

“You're in the wrong place for it,” Judith said, puffing a bit and pointing to a street sign on their left. “See that?”

Renie grinned. “Oh, yes. I've seen that sign before. Dashiell Hammett lived in that building during the twenties. That part of Monroe Street's named in his honor. I guess he lived in a lot of other places, too, while he was writing
The Maltese Falcon
and
The Thin Man
and some of his other novels.”

“Even famous people have to walk up these hills,” Judith said, looking grim. “How far is the Ritz? My hip's hurting.”

“Straight ahead. It's that neoclassical building that looks like a museum. I'll bet they can provide for our every need.”

“What I need is information,” Judith mumbled. “I'm not hungry.”

“I have some information,” Renie said as they approached the hotel steps. “It's a nice day. We can eat outside in the Terrace Restaurant.”

“Do you refer to your endless knowledge of local food vendors,” Judith inquired as they passed through the elegantly appointed lobby to the elevators, “or something more pertinent to the latest body count?”

“The latter,” Renie said. “I'll tell you as soon as we're seated.”

The rooftop restaurant was busy, but the cousins didn't have to wait for a table. Briefly, Judith paused to admire the garden setting, complete with large trees and a splendid view of the city. But her mind remained on murder.

“Okay, let's hear your information,” Judith urged after they'd both ordered Rusty Nails from the bar.

Renie smirked. “And you thought all I was doing was shopping. Tsk, tsk.”

“Coz…”

“Okay, okay. It was Olga. She'd waited on Dixie yesterday morning.”

“Ah!” Judith made the exclamation just as their drinks arrived. The server apparently thought she was reacting to her cocktail.

“Thirsty, are we?” he said with a grin.

“Huh?” Judith blinked at the young man. “Oh—right. Thanks.”

Renie didn't resume speaking until the server was out of earshot. “Olga was working in the department next to sportswear Friday. She's a floater. Naturally, she remembered Dixie because she not only bought a couple of grand's worth of clothes, but Olga had a hard time understanding her. Moving here from the Ukraine, Olga's not used to American Southern accents.”

“Go on,” Judith said as Renie was momentarily distracted by the dishes being served at the adjacent table.

“French onion soup,” Renie murmured. “I can't resist.” She turned back to Judith. “Where was I? Oh, Dixie was telling Olga that she needed a completely new wardrobe because she was moving back to South Carolina.”

“What? You mean she was quitting her job?”

Renie shrugged. “That's what it sounded like. In fact, Olga thought she might be in love and planning to get married. Dixie mentioned something about meeting—let me get this right—her ‘shugah.' Olga wasn't certain what a
‘shugah' was, but I explained to her that it was Southern talk for sugar, meaning a sweetheart.”

Judith rested her chin on her hands. “A mystery lover. Who?”

“Isn't that up to Rick and Rhoda to find out? They were having breakfast at the Hyatt this morning. It'll be interesting to hear if they learned anything.”

“Yes.” Judith fingered the menu. The aroma of fennel and curry and dill masked the exhaust fumes from the street below. “I suppose the St. Georges know about Émile Grenier. Or will, very soon. Biff would be quick to pass that along. How the heck did Émile get into the women's dressing-room area in the first place? Don't they have security cameras in those places?”

“I never saw anyone in that part of the store except Olga,” Renie asserted. “There were a couple of other customers—both women—browsing. Unlike some places where the employees check to see what you're taking into a dressing room or stand guard to make sure you don't try to wear six outfits at once and leave without paying—there was none of that. Neiman Marcus has a higher class of clientele. They don't harass their customers.”

“The chairs,” Judith said suddenly. “Employees and customers are used to seeing men waiting in those chairs by the dressing rooms. Émile or any other guy might go unnoticed.”