Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [26]
“The sawbones is in,” Biff replied, looking uncomfortable. “In Mrs. Cruz’s stateroom, that is. He checked out Mr. Cruz. Let’s just say that even as we speak, the stiff’s going ashore for an autopsy.”
Rick chuckled. “Oh, come on, Biff, these two aren’t your nickel-and-dime dames. Nobody’s getting off this ship tonight—except for the late Mr. Cruz, of course. Thus, these ladies can figure out for themselves that there must be a suspicion of foul play.”
Biff grimaced. “Yeah…well…the truth is, we can’t be sure yet. Let’s put it this way—we can’t rule out accidental death or”—he sucked in his breath and tucked in his shirt—“homicide.”
Renie nodded. “I understand.”
So did Judith. All too well.
SIX
“I CAN’T BELIEVE,” Judith said to Renie as they sought out their stateroom, “that you tell even bigger whoppers than I do. Bill as a criminal psychologist? Bill advising the San Francisco Police Department? Bill delving into the mind of a serial poisoner? How did you know they ever had one down here?”
“I read about it in the newspaper,” Renie replied. “It was years ago, not long after we had the product tampering in the suburbs at home. I just couldn’t remember the details.”
They had reached the stateroom suites toward the ship’s bow. Judith noticed that each one bore the name of a famous movie star from the 1930s: Clark Gable, Ronald Colman, Claudette Colbert, Marlene Dietrich, Greta Garbo, Errol Flynn, Gary Cooper.
“You were playing detective,” Judith accused Renie.
“Of course,” Renie replied. “Somebody has to. I don’t want to lose my link with Cruz Cruises, and thus my income.”
Judith didn’t respond.
Guilt was setting in. How many times had she coerced Renie into helping her solve a crime? Oh, her cousin might gripe and argue and be mulish, but basically Renie was a good sport. More than that—Renie had been willing to risk her neck for Judith’s forays into detective work.
“If you want to try to solve this thing—whatever it may be,” Judith amended, “I won’t hinder you.”
“Thanks,” Renie said in a sour tone as they reached the door to their stateroom, which was named for Mae West. “Huh. I’m not sure I like being in a suite that’s named for a lifejacket.”
“I suppose,” Judith went on as Renie fumbled with the key card, “you could use me as a sounding board.”
Renie turned away from the door and looked straight into Judith’s eyes. “Look. If I’d even thought for one second that we’d get mixed up in another mess, I wouldn’t have asked you to come along. In fact, I wouldn’t have come myself. Bill would have had a fit. You know how he dislikes having his routine disrupted.”
“It’s hardly your fault,” Judith said as Renie reslid the key card through the slot in the door. “If anything,” Judith went on, “I blame myself. I feel like a murder magnet.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Renie responded. The red light still blinked after the third try. “Whatever happened to Magglio Cruz would have been the same whether you were here or eight hundred miles away at home.”
“You’re just trying to make me feel—” Judith stopped and snatched the key card from Renie, who had resorted to kicking at the door. “Let me do this. You are utterly inept at this sort of thing.”
The green light flashed immediately. Judith offered her cousin a small smile; Renie growled in response.
But they both gaped in admiration when they turned up the torchère lamps to study their quarters in all its Art Deco elegance. The walls were paneled in golden mahogany; the sleek furniture was accented with gleaming chrome; the separate bedroom’s dressing-table mirror was large and round, its beveled edge made of crystal.
“Nice,” Renie murmured, going out onto the veranda after inspecting the rooms. “My God, look at the view!”
Judith joined