Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [122]
Judith paused, not daring to look at the person she suspected of being a triple murderer. “Mags’s death wasn’t premeditated, but his presence ruined the original plan to kill Dixie. After she’d been disposed of, the killer arranged a meeting with Émile while CeeCee Orr was buying a dress in the designer boutique. The women’s dressing rooms may be off-limits, but men often sit by the entrance to wait for their wives and girlfriends. A male presence wouldn’t rouse suspicion.”
Judith stopped to catch her breath, but still avoided eye contact with her audience. “I believe that Connie wasn’t the only blackmail victim. The blackmailers had something on another person, and they were greedy. They knew about their other prey’s involvement in many illegal dealings, including embezzlement. They also realized that their new victim was obsessed with creating an image, with becoming an immortal San Francisco icon like Stanford and Crocker and the rest of the great ones. Dixie and Ambrose touched on this matter at lunch the day she died. Dominic, the waiter, overheard them talking about greed, liars, sycophants—and spongers.” Judith took a deep breath. “I think Dominic mistook that last word—it was sponges, not spongers. A museum often bears the name of its founder, thus lending an aura of great civic accomplishment. And,” she added, running out of steam, “only one person here paid CeeCee’s dress bills. You’ll find his signature on the Neiman Marcus receipt. That’s why I’m certain that the killer is Horace Pankhurst.”
As Judith spoke his name, Horace made a dash for the elevator and pushed the button. The car, which must have been resting on the top floor, obligingly opened its doors. Biff and Buzz gave chase. Asthma left his post at Rick’s side and loped toward the fleeing man. The dog put his bulk in front of Horace, tripping him. He fell a few inches away from the elevator. Asthma put his forepaws on the fallen man’s back and barked twice.
“You can’t pin this on me!” Horace yelled, writhing under the big dog. “I’m innocent, I tell you!”
Rhoda called Asthma off. “Good doggie,” she said. “Have some salmon.”
Biff and Buzz managed to haul their furious suspect to his feet and deposit him on the foyer floor.
“Cuff him,” Biff ordered his subordinate.
“Great stuff!” Flakey Smythe declared, taking pictures. “I should get a Pulitzer for this one!”
“Wretch!” Erma screamed, now on her feet and waving a fist at Horace. “My poor jewels! You might as well have stolen them! No wonder I seem to be…” Her tight little mouth formed the word poor, but she couldn’t say it aloud.
“Good,” Anemone said, linking arms with Jim. “If Mumsy doesn’t have any money, we can elope.”
As soon as Horace had been handcuffed, Biff turned to Rick, who had gotten to his feet. “Hey—wait a minute, Rick,” he said, motioning at Judith. “Is this dame right?”
Rick, who didn’t seem quite so drunk anymore, nodded. “Of course.” He turned around and looked at Judith, who was still standing in the middle of the room. “Nice work,” he remarked, strolling to her side. “I wondered if you’d figured it out.”
“What?” Judith stared at Rick.
“Mmm.” Rick paused to accept a fresh martini from Rhoda. “Incidentally, Mrs. Flynn,” he said with a disarming smile, “you don’t look at all like someone who’d ever be known as FATSO. In fact, you could use some weight. Shall we eat, drink, and be merry?”
When Judith and Renie arrived at the airport Tuesday, Bill met them in the baggage area.
“Joe’s in court,” Bill explained. “He’s been so tied up with his testimony that I’ve hardly talked to him. What happened to Magglio Cruz? There wasn’t much in the local paper except that he died.”
Renie did a double take. Judith was glad that Bill was watching the baggage conveyer belt rather than his wife.
“No details about him dying?” Judith inquired in a casual tone.
“I don’t think so.” Bill’s attention was still riveted on the procession of suitcases, golf bags, ski equipment, and satchels passing by. “You know