Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [15]
Although the official check-in time wasn’t until three in the afternoon, Mr. Cruz had seen to it that the cousins could immediately settle into their suite, where a bucket of champagne and various other amenities awaited them. They were invited to attend the VIP cocktail party buffet aboard the San Rafael that evening at six o’clock. Another limo would pick them up at five-forty. Thirties wear was requested.
Judith couldn’t help but be impressed. “Is all this due to Bub or did you make some of your own threats?”
“I let Bub handle it,” Renie said, gazing out the window at the San Francisco skyline. “We can actually see the city. There’s no fog this morning. Let’s order lunch.”
“It’s only ten o’clock. How about breakfast?”
“Sure. Any meal will do.” Renie picked up a room-service menu that was encased in a leatherette cover. “Pancakes with ham and eggs and fruit and juice—”
“Don’t tell me, tell whoever takes food orders,” Judith said. “I want cereal and a slice of fruit.”
“Coz!” Renie was scowling. “How many times have I told you to stop trying to lose weight? I swear I could slip you into an envelope and mail you home. I’ll bet you don’t weigh ten pounds more than I do, and you’re five inches taller.”
“Less weight is easier on my artificial hip,” Judith contended. “Unlike me, you’ve never had to worry about what you eat.”
“Again, I’m a freak of nature,” Renie said, still with a frown. “I’m going to order for you.”
And she did, requesting waffles, pork sausages, eggs, fruit, juice, coffee—and extra butter. Judith cleaned her plate. “Maybe I was hungry,” she admitted.
An afternoon of leisure lay before them. The cousins decided to play tourists. During the next four hours, they visited Fisherman’s Wharf, Ghirardelli Square, the Old Cathedral of St. Mary, and finally Chinatown, where they enjoyed a late Dungeness-crab lunch at the R&G Lounge. There was a breeze, scattering the pigeons and swaying the palm trees in Union Square, but not enough to unfurl more than the smallest of whitecaps out in the busy bay.
Judith had balked at riding the cable car, insisting that the hurried starts and stops could imperil her hip and Renie’s shoulder. Luckily, some kindly San Franciscans—or other tourists—helped them get on and get off. During the ride, they heard a barrage of languages, just as they had done when walking the streets or standing on corners. French, Japanese, Russian, German, Chinese—San Francisco was a far more cosmopolitan city than their hometown.
By the time they finished sightseeing, the cousins were both tired. Renie had a headache from drinking so much; Judith had a headache from dealing with Renie. It was a little after three. Back in their suite, they each took a nap.
When the alarm woke them at four-thirty, Judith noticed that a sleek black folder with gold lettering had been slipped under their door. The attached note bore Renie’s name.
“Here,” Judith said, kicking the folder toward Renie, who was sitting on the brocade sofa sorting her cosmetics. “It’s probably the notification of our checkout tomorrow. The ship sails at ten, right?”
“Right,” Renie replied, bending over to pick up the folder. “This isn’t for checkout, though,” she went on, looking inside. “It’s the guest list for the party tonight.”
“Oh.” Judith sat down to Renie. “Anybody you know?”
“Not really, except for Magglio Cruz and his assistant, Paul Tanaka. I’ve never met Mrs. Cruz.” Renie handed the list to her cousin.
Judith scanned the names:
Magglio and Consuela Cruz
Paul Tanaka
Captain Randolph J. Swafford
May Belle Beales
Émile Grenier
Erma Giddon
Anemone Giddon
James Brooks
Ambrose Everhart
Horace Pankhurst
Carole Cecile Orr
Richard and Rhoda St. George
Serena Jones
Judith Flynn
Judith looked up from the folder. “Are we supposed to be impressed?”
Renie shrugged. “I’m guessing that only a select few from