Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [109]
“At least one,” Judith said. “Dixie. Is that why she was killed?”
Renie considered. “It’d make sense if Dixie and Émile had been the only victims. They may have been in cahoots. But why murder Mags? There’s no mention of his name in these articles, and I’m not even sure if he and Connie were married back then. What’s more, I never heard him talk about horses or gambling—except, of course, for the casinos he had on his ships.”
“That’s odd,” Judith said in a distant voice.
“What do you mean?”
“Mags’s wife had a living room full of horse pictures, yet he never mentioned anything about it?”
Renie shrugged. “I was always at business meetings with him, except for the occasional lunch or cocktail party. The subject probably never came up.”
“Maybe.” Judith sounded vague.
“Well?”
“Nothing,” Judith said, shaking her head. “Nothing important, anyway. Let’s get back to basics. Like weapons.”
“I thought we knew what the weapons were,” Renie said, signing out from the Internet. “Knife sharpener, methanol, decorative cord.”
“Two out of three are right.” Judith was pacing, arms folded across her chest. “Either Rick is holding out on us—or Biff’s not telling Rick everything he knows. I don’t like it.”
“So which of the three weapons is wrong?” Renie inquired, but held up a hand before her cousin could answer. “The knife sharpener. There can’t be any doubt about the poison because of the lab results, and we saw the cord for ourselves. But whatever killed Mags wasn’t found.”
Judith nodded. “That’s why I think there’s something the cops know—and maybe Rick does, too—that we don’t.” She sat down on the sofa. “Think back to the cabaret, the cocktail party, everything that led up to Mags’s murder. You have a visual memory, what do you see?”
One elbow resting on the desk, Renie closed her eyes. “Food.”
“Naturally.” Judith’s tone was dry.
“Beverages, the bar, the buffet, the cigarette and cigar smoke.” She stood up and went to the honor bar. “Which reminds me, I need another Pepsi.” Opening the door of the small fridge, Renie swore. “We’re out. They must have forgotten to restock today. I’m going down the hall to the pop machine.”
Judith sighed. “I thought we were sleuthing.”
“Not without Pepsi,” Renie replied, heading out the door.
Judith drummed her nails on the sofa arm. Just when she felt they were getting somewhere, the train of thought had been broken by her cousin’s Pepsi addiction. But Renie was back in two minutes, carrying a can of Pepsi and a plastic bucket.
“Ice,” she said. “I have to have ice for my Pepsi.”
“Of course,” Judith said with a tinge of sarcasm. “Okay, where were we?”
Renie, however, had gone back to the honor bar. “Hold on. Let me pour the Pepsi and some ice in a glass like a real person. Then I’m putting the ice in the fridge so it won’t melt. I’ll have to take out some of these snack foods to make room. Want some pretzels?”
“No, thanks,” Judith snapped. “You’re driving me—” She stopped, leaning forward on the sofa and staring at Renie. “That’s it! Coz, you’re a genius!”
“Huh?” Renie, who was on her knees tossing small bags of chips, nuts, and other snacks onto the floor, looked over her shoulder. “What are you talking about?”
“Ice,” Judith said, standing up. “The pheasant ice sculpture with long sharply pointed tail feathers.”
“Oh, come on!” Renie cried, closing the honor bar door and also getting to her feet. “Explain yourself.”
“I will,” Judith said reasonably. “It’s been done before, with icicles. The weapon melts and disappears. No fingerprints. That’s why the floor around the piano was slippery, why Dixie’s bag fell off the bench and skidded. The ship was rocking a bit, remember? The deck couldn’t have been even.”
Renie was looking very dubious. “So nobody notices the killer breaking a piece off the ice sculpture?”
“It could be managed,” Judith asserted. “When you’re at a buffet, what are you looking at?”
“The food,” Renie admitted. “You’re right—nobody has eyes for anything else. But there were servers there.”
“Servers serving very demanding people,” Judith pointed out.