Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [11]
“I thought you and I were going on vacation next month,” he said, raising his usually mellow voice.
“We still can,” Judith insisted. “We could go in May or June. April really isn’t such a good time, with Easter being late this year.”
“Is May any better?” Joe shot back. “There’s Mother’s Day, Memorial Day, and school’s out early in the month for some college students. As for June—forget it. Now you’re into the B&B’s busiest time of year.”
Joe was right. The last week of April, after Easter, would be the best time for them to go together. Judith frowned into the phone. “I don’t know what to do. Renie insists I go with her.”
“Renie should cancel. Bill can’t go,” Joe argued. “Why doesn’t she tell those cruise bigwigs that she prefers another time?”
“She probably figures they’ll renege,” Judith replied, “maybe even on the retainer offer. She had to threaten suing them.”
Joe snorted. “And once her mind’s made up, hell can’t hold her.”
“Well…there’s that, too.”
“Got to go,” Joe said abruptly. “Rich Mr. Zipper has just pulled into his inamorata’s driveway.”
Judith didn’t dare broach the subject to her mother, at least not so late at night. Nor did she want to relay Joe’s reaction to Renie. Reeling around in her quandary, she decided to go to bed.
But Judith couldn’t sleep. She’d drop off for a few minutes, but weird dreams kept waking her up. A man wearing a slouch hat was playing the piano; when he removed the hat, he had no head. A large white bird in a satin evening gown and long strands of pearls had blood dripping from its claws. Two men in uniforms opened a bank vault to reveal a pile of handguns covered in caviar.
Mother was right, Judith thought to herself. It must’ve been the soup. She tossed and turned until Joe got home just before two o’clock.
“What’s the matter?” Joe asked in an annoyingly innocent voice. “You’ve got the blankets all messed up.”
“No kidding.” Judith rolled over again, turning her back on Joe.
“Is it your hip?” he inquired.
“It’s always my hip,” Judith grumbled. “But that’s only part of it. The rest of me doesn’t feel so great, either.”
“You mean because you aren’t going on the cruise?”
“I haven’t told Renie,” Judith said, sounding crankier by the second. “In fact,” she went on, sitting up and looking at her husband, “you tell her. Call her first thing in the morning.”
Joe recognized the trap. Waking Renie before 10 A.M. was hazardous duty. Telling her that Judith couldn’t go on the cruise was tantamount to setting off a ton of TNT.
“Renie’s your cousin,” Joe declared. “It’s up to you to tell her.”
“No.” Judith pulled the sheet over her head.
“Sheesh.” Partly undressed, Joe stood in the middle of the bedroom. He’d confronted hardened criminals, accompanied SWAT teams in hostage situations, and gone one-on-one with drug-crazed killers wielding assault weapons. He wasn’t afraid of a little squirt like Renie. “Fine,” he said, and finished getting ready for bed.
The next morning, Joe called Renie at ten-fifteen. “I’m afraid,” he began in formal tones, “that Judith can’t go with you on the cruise.”
“Really?” Renie sounded mildly surprised. “That’s a shame.”
Joe was momentarily nonplussed by Renie’s reaction. “You see,” he said, compelled to explain further, “the two of us are planning a vacation next month.”
“Yes, she mentioned that.” Renie paused. “I hope it’s not too late.”
“Too late for what?” Joe asked.
“For her health,” Renie replied in a concerned voice. “I assume you’ve made sure she’s seeing a doctor.”
“About what?”
Renie made an exasperated noise. “About the fact that she could have a stroke at any minute. For God’s sake, Joe, have you looked at her lately? She’s thin as a rail, she’s pale, she’s haggard, she’s a train wreck waiting to happen. I can’t imagine that her new hairdo helps much.”
“What hairdo?”
“Touché,” Renie murmured. “What’s up with you, Joe? You’re usually the noticing kind.”
“I haven’t seen much of my wife this morning,