Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [117]
“How sweet of you to let us borrow Beulah!” Rhoda exclaimed. “I hated to ask, but my maid is still in Cancún.”
Erma grunted. “Not that Beulah will be much help. These coloreds are so lazy.” She snapped her pudgy fingers. “Come, girl. Get busy. Help serve the buffet.” Her piercing eyes ran the length of the table. “And save me three of those cream puffs,” she added under her breath.
“Yaz’um,” Chevy said, bobbing a little curtsy. “I be workin’.”
“You’d better be,” Erma snapped.
Judith noticed that Horace seemed very subdued. Even if he had set CeeCee up for a fall, he might be suffering from disappointment at her defection. Or loneliness. Indeed, he was eyeing Chevy with a lecherous gaze.
The next to arrive were Captain Swafford and Dr. Selig. Both men looked worried—and weary. Renie, however, barged between the two men, head down and arms folded across her chest as if she were going for the goal line. “Coming through!” she cried, and all but bounced off Biff, who was still barring the way to the buffet. “Move it, flatfoot,” she said. “I know people in high places. Like God.”
Biff moved.
Judith sidled up to Anemone, who was waiting for Jim to bring her a drink.
“That suit is very becoming,” Judith declared. “It’s a shame you had to buy it for such an unhappy occasion.”
“At least,” Anemone said in an unusually waspish tone, “I won’t have to go to Dixie and Émile’s services. They’re being buried back wherever they came from, like maybe in the South and someplace in France. I hate funerals. They’re too sad.”
“Yes,” Judith agreed. “That’s a good way to describe them.”
“I don’t want to be sad anymore,” Anemone asserted. “I want to be happy. I want to get married and have a home and raise babies.”
The fervor in Anemone’s voice took Judith by surprise. “I thought you and Jim planned to wait until he finished his schooling.”
“I don’t want to wait,” Anemone said flatly.
“How does Jim feel about that?”
Anemone pursed her lips in a manner reminiscent of her mother. “He’ll do what I want,” she said. “Now.”
“I wouldn’t rush into anything,” Judith cautioned. “You’re both very young. Remember, there are worse things than not being married.” I ought to know, she thought, recalling the bleak years with Dan.
But Anemone didn’t seem to hear Judith. The young woman’s attention had been diverted by Jim’s arrival with two glasses of white wine. Meanwhile, Rick had moved to the fireplace, martini in hand.
He raised his voice to quiet the murmurs among the gathering. “Friends, fellow mourners,” he said in his usual debonair manner. He stopped, his gaze traveling to the entryway between the foyer and the living room. “And the press. Flakey, what are you doing here? This is a private reception.”
“Not anymore,” Flakey replied, a cigarette dangling from his lower lip. “This is news.” He paused. “Isn’t it?”
“Why, yes, dear boy,” Rick responded. “You could call it that.”
“Swell,” Flakey said, removing the cigarette and tapping ash into a vase filled with yellow iris. “I’ll stick around, then.”
Connie, who was looking pale and tired, sat up straight on the sofa. “Really!” she gasped. “Weren’t there enough reporters and such outside of the cathedral? I had to leave the back way.”
“Never too much of a good thing,” Flakey retorted.
Paul, who had been sitting next to Connie, was on his feet. “Do you want me to get rid of him?” he asked her.
Rick interrupted before Connie could reply. “No need for that,” he asserted. “Flakey knows the score. He might as well stay. Have a drink, old boy. And try the Norwegian sardines. We had them flown in this morning.”
Flakey meandered over to the bar. The others watched him for a moment until Biff waved his arms and called for silence. “Rick here has something to say. Everybody gather ’round.” He indicated