Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [32]
Renie moved to the bar. “Let us at least thank you with a glass of…whatever you like to put in a glass.”
“I don’t drink,” Ambrose replied primly. “Really, I should be on my way. Mrs. Giddon requires my services.”
“As a matter of fact,” Judith said, “my cousin and I were just about to call on Mrs. Giddon. We wanted to make sure she was all right. Mrs. Cruz and Ms. Beales seemed to require all of Dr. Selig’s attention. Why don’t we go with you?”
Ambrose seemed taken aback. “Well…of course Jim Brooks fancies himself a doctor. But,” he went on with a somber expression, “he isn’t. Yet. Yes, why not join me? I must warn you, though—Mrs. Giddon’s undoubtedly distraught.”
“That’s understandable,” Judith said, though she remembered that Mrs. Giddon had seemed more annoyed than upset over Magglio Cruz’s death.
The trio went down the passageway to the W. C. Fields suite. Ambrose Everhart knocked discreetly on the door. “I’ve always wondered,” he murmured, “what the W.C. stood for?”
“Water closet,” Renie retorted as Horace Pankhurst opened the door.
“Everhart,” he growled. “It’s about time.”
“I had a very important meeting that I had to attend before we left town,” Ambrose said stiffly.
Jim Brooks was sitting next to Anemone on a circular sofa. “The Cal alumni association?” He sneered.
“Oh, please don’t start in on that, Jimmy,” Anemone begged. She was wearing an emerald-green satin bathrobe and held an ice bag to her head. “I’m glad I went to Mills. We never had silly college rivalries like Cal-Berkeley and Stanford do.”
Erma Giddon sat like an empress in a capacious purple armchair. She wore a robe that looked like gold damask and a pair of pearl earrings the size of quail eggs. Judith felt that the only thing missing was a tiara.
“This is no time for petty arguments,” Erma asserted. “Really, Ambrose, you should have skipped your meeting. You missed a very nice party. That is, until Mr. Cruz died. It went downhill after that.”
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Giddon,” Ambrose apologized, busily collecting dirty glassware, crumpled napkins, and other discards from various surfaces. “If you’d tell me where the proper recycling receptacles are…?”
Jim pointed to the bar. “They’re under there. For God’s sake,” he went on with a sarcastic expression, “don’t make a mistake and put paper with aluminum.”
Ambrose was affronted. “You know I’d never do such a thing.”
Erma acted as if she’d just noticed Judith and Renie. “Excuse me, is there something we can do for you two?”
Judith’s manner was sympathetic. “We thought we might be able to be of some assistance.”
“Such as what?” Erma huffed. “My maid, Beulah, will be joining us when we sail. Naturally, she didn’t come to the party, being a servant as well as colored.”
“Colored what?” Renie said.
Erma looked at Renie as if she should have been put in the recycling bin along with the rest of the garbage. But Anemone spoke first, her voice high and jagged.
“I’m hungry. Do you think I could get something to eat? The stateroom fridge has only snack food.”
Jim seemed offended. “Why didn’t you say so, love biscuit? I could’ve done that.”
“I can, too,” Ambrose said eagerly. “Now that I’m here.”
Horace Pankhurst, who had been pacing the room, stopped in his tracks. “Come, come. You should leave such things to me. I wield a great amount of influence with Captain Swafford and his crew.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Horace,” Erma put in. “I’m her mother, I can feed my own child.”
Renie, however, had already picked up the phone. She turned to Anemone. “What appeals to you?”
“A taco salad,” Anemone replied, her voice reverting to its usual softness. “With chicken.”
Renie dialed the galley’s number and placed the order. Apparently, there were obstacles. “Good grief,” Renie barked, “can’t somebody do takeout? I’m not asking for a six-course meal.” She shut up as the response came back. “Good,” she said, “and make it snappy.”
With limpid blue eyes, Anemone expressed