Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [20]
But the large animal moved closer, shedding white fur on Renie’s black gown. “Beat it,” Renie muttered, holding her hors d’oeuvres plate out of reach.
Wheezing and panting, the dog sat down on Renie’s feet. “Excuse me,” she said to Rhoda St. George, “would you please make your dog move? I’m immobilized by his very large—yet unusual—body.”
Rhoda had just accepted two martini glasses. “Oh, don’t mind Asthma,” she said with a little laugh. “He’s absolutely harmless. In fact, he has respiratory problems. I think he likes you. Or else he’s collapsed.” His mistress didn’t seem particularly distressed by the idea.
Richard St. George, who also had both hands full of martinis, nudged Rhoda with his elbow. “Who’s the blond dame with Pankhurst?”
“His latest trollop, darling,” his wife replied. “Carole or Cecile or maybe both. I believe she’s called CeeCee. Judging from her bust, DeeDee would be more…fitting.” Rhoda turned back to the cousins. “I’m sorry, we haven’t met. I’m Rhoda St. George and this is my slightly inebriated husband, Rick.”
Rick had almost finished his first martini. “Swell,” he said sarcastically. “You’re giving me a poor send-off.”
“Don’t worry, darling,” Rhoda replied. “These ladies have eyes.”
“And feet,” Renie put in. “I’m Serena Jones and I’d like to move mine. Feet, that is.”
“Oh.” Rhoda looked down at Asthma, who appeared to have fallen asleep, though it was hard to tell with all the long curls covering not only his body but his face. “Do move him, Ricky,” she implored. “Otherwise, Ms. Jones is going to charge him rent.”
Setting his now-empty glass on the bar, Rick searched through the fur around the dog’s neck, presumably for a collar. “He’s a Komondor,” Rick said, “a guardian breed, and sometimes considered a working dog. Except I’m afraid he doesn’t work very well anymore, poor fellow. Come on, Asthma, strut what’s left of your stuff.”
“He’s…big,” Renie said. “He must weigh over a hundred pounds.”
Rick St. George finally managed to get the dog to move off of Renie’s feet. “Yes,” he agreed. “Asthma weighs in at a hundred and twenty, or, according to my darling wife, ten pounds more than she does. Good boy!” he said, patting the animal.
Feeling left out, Judith introduced herself. “I’m Serena’s cousin.”
Both St. Georges expressed their delight, and sounded almost sincere. They were immediately pounced upon by Captain Swafford.
Finally able to put in her drink request, Judith ordered a scotch rocks from Ray the bartender, whose smile was that of a young man eager to please. “Will Glenfiddich do?”
“Definitely,” Judith responded.
But there was no Pepsi for Renie, Ray informed her in an apologetic tone. Would a Coke be acceptable? It would, Renie said, between mouthfuls of marinated chicken.
A gong sounded and a sliding door opened at the far end of the room. A golden-haired middle-aged woman wearing a black and red gown that evoked the Orient, held out both arms.
Renie spoke softly in Judith’s ear. “May Belle Beales, cruise director—better known as Dixie,” Renie said to Judith. “I recognize her from the brochure photos.”
“Good evenin’, honored guests,” Dixie said in a soft Southern drawl. “It’s mah pleasure to welcome y’all to an interlude of piano music from that long-ago era of the 1930s. Durin’ the cruise itself, we’ll have a big band—a verra big band—to play for your listenin’ and dancin’ enjoyment. Tonight is just a li’l ol’ sample, courtesy of mah meager talents. Please join me in the other half of the saloon.” With a gracious gesture, Dixie signaled for everyone to join her.
The cousins fell in behind Jim Brooks and Anemone Giddon. The ethereal-looking young woman glanced over her shoulder. “Hi,” she said in a breathy voice. “I’m Anemone. Jim says you’re the Cousins.”
Renie grimaced. “You make us sound like a rock band.”
Anemone giggled. “It’s how I remember people. I can’t ever recall anybody’s name, so I give them a description.” She pointed up ahead to the St. Georges. “They’re the Dipsos, the captain is the Captain, Émile Whoozits is the Purser, my mother’s lawyer