Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [31]
Rick smiled benevolently. “It’s not as tricky as you’d think, though I suppose it does require a certain knack. My adoring wife and I occasionally delve into the world of crime solving. Keeps us from getting bored.” He took another sip of his drink and hiccuped. “Also keeps us from passing out.”
Judith was on her feet; Renie followed her lead.
“We’ll be passing out now,” Judith said. “Out of your suite, that is. Thanks for the drinks and the conversation.”
“Our pleasure,” Rhoda asserted. “We like meeting new people.”
“I do, too,” Judith agreed as Rick let them out and closed the door. “But,” she said to Renie as they moved toward their own suite, “are the St. Georges for real?”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Renie replied, watching Judith unlock the door.
“They claim to be amateur sleuths—or at least Rick does,” Judith responded, sitting down on the sofa. “But their methods seem like guesswork.”
“Yours don’t?” Renie retorted.
“Sometimes I guess,” Judith replied. “But my guesses are usually based on certain facts. You know how my logical mind works. Not to mention that I prefer merely talking to people. They tend to confide in me. They also let things slip out in casual conversation. That makes it easier to pick up on motivation as well as basic facts.”
“Certainly you’ve had your successes,” Renie remarked in a noncommittal voice as she poured two glasses of ice water. “Here,” she said, handing Judith one of the glasses. “Take your meds. I noticed just now that you were walking as if your hip hurts.”
With a grateful smile, Judith set the water down and reached for the pill case in her purse. “It does. So does my head. I was tired before this trip, and I still am. It’s been a very long day.”
Renie agreed. “It’s not ten o’clock, but I could drop off right now.”
“Mmm.” Judith swallowed her tablets. “We have to wait for our carry-ons. Why don’t you start getting ready for bed? I’ll stay until the bags come.”
Renie eyed her cousin curiously. “You’re the one who’s hurting. I’ll wait. Besides, I’m not sure how well I’ll sleep, being so worried about my financial future.”
Judith didn’t say anything for a few moments, and when she did, it was not of sleep that she spoke. “When is a weapon not a weapon?”
“Huh?”
“Rick had at least one good idea when he mentioned the heel of a woman’s shoe,” Judith explained. “Stiletto shoes are called that because they have a thin steel rod to support the foot. But I don’t think he’s right about the weapon disappearing because it could be identified with the killer. Why not just toss it overboard? And what would be at hand in these circumstances? Cutlery, an ice pick, even some part of the decor. It may or may not have been premeditated, so we have to figure out if the murderer was prepared or had to use whatever was at hand.”
Renie’s expression was sardonic. “‘We’?”
Judith looked away from her cousin. “Don’t be a smart-mouth. Was there ever any doubt?”
Renie grinned. “Of course not.”
Judith didn’t smile back. “But,” she said grimly, “there is competition.”
SEVEN
THE COUSINS WERE still making conjectures about the weapon when they heard a knock on their door. Judith watched as Renie greeted a youngish man dressed in a dark suit and muted tie.
“Mrs. Flynn?” he said, holding out the carry-on bags for inspection.
“I’m Mrs. Jones,” Renie said. “That’s Mrs. Flynn on the sofa. Thanks very much. Wait. I must give you something for your trouble.”
“No, no, no,” the flustered young man replied. “I’m not a crew member. I’m Ambrose Everhart, Mrs. Giddon’s secretary. I had to come aboard tonight to assist her in this time of travail.”
“Oh.” Renie smiled as Ambrose entered the stateroom and placed the bags next to the sofa. “You missed the party.”
“Yes.” Ambrose looked upset. He was of medium height with thinning blond hair and glasses. “It’s probably a good thing that I did. How very sad.”
“You knew Mr. Cruz quite well?” Judith asked, getting up to shake the newcomer’s hand.
Ambrose cleared his throat. “Well…no, not particularly.