Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [29]
The three women seated themselves in a trio of dark red armless chairs placed in a semicircle around a glass and chrome coffee table.
“Did you know Mr. Cruz very well?” Renie inquired.
Rhoda slipped a cigarette into her silver holder. “Yes. I met him years ago in Los Angeles. He was just starting out with a small sightseeing line out of San Pedro. Actually,” she went on, reaching for a cigarette lighter that matched the holder, “I met Connie first, before either of us was married. I’d come out from New York with my father to watch one of his horses run in the Santa Anita Handicap. Connie’s father was a well-known owner and trainer. Two of his Thorough-breds finished in the money at Belmont and several others were big winners in Europe, especially at Longchamps, outside of Paris. Connie had seen quite a bit of the world and was quite sophisticated. We found we had a great deal in common.”
“So the two of you hit it off,” Judith remarked, telling herself that she wasn’t sleuthing, merely displaying her natural interest in other people.
Rhoda nodded. “By background, Connie was a California girl who knew all the best shops and restaurants. We kept in touch over the years, which wasn’t that difficult, since she often accompanied her father to the East Coast and European tracks. I was a bridesmaid at her wedding to Mags. He began to expand his business, and had just moved up your way when Rick and I were married.” Again, Rhoda paused. For a brief instant Judith thought she noticed the glimmer of tears in the other woman’s eyes. But Rhoda blinked several times, pressed her lips together, and turned to Renie. “You’re a graphic-design consultant to Cruz Cruises, correct?”
Maybe, Judith thought, the rich really are different. They keep tight rein on both their money and their emotions.
Renie was answering the query. “I’ve worked with them for almost four years.”
“And still do?” Rhoda asked in an artless manner.
Renie spoke without expression. “I’m on retainer since the cruise line moved its operations to San Francisco. It’s a bit different now.”
“Ah.” Rhoda’s gaze was shrewd. “I see.”
“I assume,” Renie said lightly, “you and your husband can afford not to work.”
Rhoda’s smile was wry. “Oh, Ricky makes an occasional show of turning up in my father’s bank headquarters. It pleases dear old Dad and temporarily keeps my darling spouse out of trouble. I understand the two of you are cousins.”
“Yes, but more like sisters,” Judith explained. “We were both only children who grew up two blocks from each other. We’re our own best friends. We’ve seen each other through—” She stopped suddenly, annoyed with herself for babbling like a brook. Rhoda St. George seemed to have turned the tables on Judith. Worse yet, Renie had already done an about-face.
Rhoda seemed unruffled by the abrupt end of the sentence. “Yes?”
Judith stared. “Yes? Er…that’s it. I came with Serena because her husband couldn’t make the trip.”
Rhoda sipped her martini and munched on the olive before speaking again. “But you didn’t know any of these people personally?”
“No.”
Rhoda polished off the olive before turning back to Renie. “And you?”
“I knew Mags and Paul Tanaka,” Renie said, sounding slightly defensive. “What about your relationship with the rest of these people?”
Rhoda let out a little sigh. “Besides Mags and Connie, Rick and I are acquainted with the snooty Mrs. Giddon and her darling daughter, Anemone. We also know the pompous Pankhurst and Ambrose Everhart. I think we met Jim Brooks once, and Rick knew Captain Swafford from somewhere or other. Rick tends to know everyone.”
Judith frowned. “Ambrose Everhart? Which one was he?”
“The no-show,” Rhoda replied. “He’s Mrs. Giddon’s puppetlike private secretary.”
“Why didn’t he come tonight?” Renie inquired.
“It does seem odd,” Rhoda said, putting her cigarette out in a lead-crystal ashtray. “Erma usually has him dancing attendance, in case she drops a canapé—or forgets to drop a name.”
Renie swirled