Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [36]
“That’s mighty kindly of you,” Beulah said as she sat down and crossed shapely legs. “Ah guess Ah got Dubbyacee and Miz West all mixed up inside mah po’ addled head.”
“That’s understandable,” Judith replied, also sitting down. “They made films together many years ago.”
“Befo’ mah time, Ah expect,” Beulah murmured, looking away in a deferential manner.
“Yes, even before my time,” Judith replied, growing distressed by Beulah’s subservient manner. She waited for a response, but apparently the maid spoke only when spoken to.
The awkward silence was broken by Renie, who entered the sitting room wearing a tiger-striped negligee and matching robe trimmed with marabou. Renie did a double take when she saw Beulah; Judith did a double take when she saw Renie.
“Did you escape from the zoo?” Judith asked. “You’ll frighten our guest away.”
Renie ignored the barb. Her eyes were fixed on the maid. “Chevy? What in the world are you doing here in that rig?”
“Whoa!” the woman known to Judith as Beulah exclaimed. “Don’t freak out and blow my cover, Serena!”
Both women started to laugh while a mystified Judith stared at them. “What’s going on here?” she demanded.
Renie and “Beulah” hugged. “This,” Renie said, “is Chevy Barker-James. She was our product model at the KitchenSink exhibit booth I designed for the home-improvement show last summer.”
Judith shook her head. “I should have guessed it was an act.”
“But was it convincing?” Chevy asked eagerly. “I’m studying to be an actress.”
“Very,” Judith said. “How about a drink while you explain why you’re Beulah? Not to mention Chevy. That’s an unusual name.”
“I’d better skip the liquor,” Chevy replied, sitting down again. “My parents were saving up to buy a new Chevrolet. But my mother got pregnant with me and they had to forgo the new car. So they named me after it instead.”
“And ‘Beulah’?” Judith inquired.
Chevy sighed. “I have to pay bills between acting jobs. Mrs. Giddon had fired her French maid, the latest, I heard, in a long line of foreign servants. I applied, thinking it might be a hoot. Not to mention I could practice my acting by behaving like those caricature black maids in the old movies. So I called myself Beulah and the old bat—excuse me, Miz Giddon—bought it. I think she really believes a black maid should talk like that.”
Judith laughed. “She’s living in a time warp. How do you stand working for her?”
Chevy turned serious. “Good question. I’m also practicing patience. But the hours are good for auditions and even for taping commercials. Mrs. G. is gone a lot during the day—committee meetings, lunch out, playing bridge—all the stuff older rich women seem to do. I check her schedule—Ambrose Everhart is meticulous about times and places—and I plan my real career around it. I’d rather be Beulah than drive a cab or wait tables.”
“I can’t believe,” Renie said with a grin, “that I ran into you again. We had such a good time at the home-improvement show.”
Chevy gave the cousins her dazzling smile. “I can’t believe it, either. I checked the guest list and saw your name, Serena. As I came on board tonight, I thought it might be wise to find out if you knew anything about poor Magglio Cruz’s death. I was totally shocked when Ambrose told me about it and said he felt Mrs. G. needed me tonight.”
“That’s probably because my cousin and I failed to meet your high standards performing maid duties,” Renie said.
Chevy had turned serious. “So was it really murder?”
As concisely as possible, Judith and Renie related what they’d seen and heard.
“Connie Cruz collapsed,” Judith concluded. “And Dixie Beales wasn’t in very good shape the last time we saw her.”
“Poor Mrs. Cruz,” Chevy said with a sad little sigh. “I only met her once, but she seemed like a nice woman—if high-strung. I don’t know Dixie. With a name like that, do I have to like her?”
“It’s really May Belle,” Renie noted.
“That’s not much better,” Chevy murmured. “But you can imagine what a load it is being named Chevrolet.” She stood up. “Thanks for the inside story. Mrs. G. wouldn’t deign