Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [107]
“Your mother?” Renie laughed. “Neither of our mothers are sucker bait. Maybe she wants to buy some things. Like a new card table.”
“Maybe.” Judith gave herself a good shake. “There’s nothing I can do about it from here. I’d better check those other messages.”
Flakey Smythe informed the cousins that the interview he’d done with them wouldn’t run for a day or so, probably not until after Magglio Cruz’s funeral. He also wanted to do a follow-up—a sidebar, he called it—about their interview with the police.
“Double damn!” Judith swore. “I was afraid of that! We won’t talk to him again. Maybe he’ll forget about the whole thing if we stall.”
“Don’t count on it,” Renie said. “Would you rather he made up something?”
Judith didn’t respond. Instead, she listened to Rhoda’s message. “We must compare notes. Dinner? I’m feeling Italian. Ricky’s feeling—stop that, darling!” A giggle interrupted the message. “Ricky has a yen for Japanese, excuse the pun. Call us.”
Judith dialed the St. Georges’ number. Once again, it was Rhoda who answered. “Oh, Judith,” she said in a forlorn voice, “we can’t do dinner after all. Rick is sleuthing in a most serious way. Methanol and all that scientific mumbo jumbo I don’t pretend to understand. I’m even surprised that he knows about more than one kind of alcohol.”
“You mean the poison that was used to kill Dixie?” Judith asked.
“Yes,” Rhoda replied. “Lab alcohol. It sounds so crude. Whatever happened to classics like arsenic and cyanide?”
“I assume,” Judith said, “that they’re harder to obtain. Can’t you buy methanol without raising suspicion?”
“That’s what Ricky tells me,” Rhoda said. “He’s with Biff right now, checking recent sales from local chemical companies. Honestly, I can’t remember when Biff worked on a weekend. In fact, I can barely remember Biff working.” She laughed. “Oh, I shouldn’t say that. He does work, in his own peculiar fashion. It’s just that Ricky has to prod him. Do you know anything we don’t?”
Judith recapitulated the visit with Connie and Paul. “They seem very comfortable together,” she added. “I mean, it’s nice that she has someone she can rely on now that Mags is dead.”
“Lie and re-lie on?” Rhoda remarked in a provocative tone.
“I wondered,” Judith said.
“So have we,” Rhoda responded. “The fact is, I don’t think they’re lovers. Connie was crazy about Mags, and vice versa. But Paul has always been the faithful puppy type. I think he adores her. But he was very loyal to Mags in every way.”
From embarrassment, Judith held back about going through Connie’s bank accounts. But she no longer felt obligated to keep Anemone’s secret, since Jim’s obsession with CeeCee was known at least to some of the others involved.
Rhoda, however, professed mild surprise. “I’ve noticed that Jimmy has trouble keeping his eyes off of CeeCee, but most men do. Maybe it’s not as serious as it seems. Poor Anemone. She’s definitely the jealous type.”
“So I gathered,” Judith said, hearing Asthma bark in the background. “What do you make of Anemone, CeeCee, and perhaps Jim being at Neiman Marcus when Émile was strangled?”
“A quartet became a trio,” Rhoda murmured. “It’s even possible that they weren’t the only ones. Horace may have accompanied CeeCee. Erma might have been lurking in Large Sizes. Ambrose may be stalking Jim. You see how my devious mind works?”
“Yes,” Judith said. “Mine works the same way.”
“I’m glad I didn’t return that laptop when we left to see Connie,” Judith said, booting up the PC. “I’m going to research horse racing.”
“Starting with Montespan?” Renie inquired, leaning over Judith’s shoulder.
“Exactly.” The first screen of listings all referred to the famous courtesan, Françoise-Athénaïs de Montespan, Louis XIV’s brilliant and beautiful mistress. On the second and hird screens, there were more references. On the fourth try, portraits of the lady commingled with china, flowers, and even furniture named for her. But no horses.
“I’ll try Thoroughbreds,” Judith said.
“Or try another search engine,” Renie suggested, stretching out on the sofa.