Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [37]
“Plus,” Judith said as the cousins saw Chevy to the door, “Ambrose wasn’t there.”
Chevy gave the cousins a curious look. “But he was. He told me so himself. He saw everything.”
EIGHT
“WHY,” JUDITH ASKED after Chevy Barker-James had left, “would Ambrose Everhart, who allegedly had an alibi, tell Chevy he was actually here at the time of the murder?”
“Beats me,” Renie replied, yawning. “And I’m beat. Not sure I can think very well.”
“I can’t go to sleep with this question on my mind,” Judith said. “Prop yourself up on this sofa and try to think. It’s as important to you as it is to me.”
“More so,” Renie agreed, moving away from where she’d been leaning on the bedroom doorframe. “How’s this?” she said, falling onto the sofa next to Judith. “Ambrose is lying.”
“Why?”
“Mmm…” Renie’s head slumped forward.
Judith poked her cousin in the arm. “Hey! Wake up!”
“Huh?” Renie shook herself. “Oh, sorry. Maybe Ambrose wants to impress Chevy. He might have a thing for her.”
“That’s possible,” Judith murmured, “though I got the impression he was an admirer of Anemone Giddon. Did you notice how he was trying to curry favor with her?”
“Umm…”
“Coz!” Judith stabbed Renie a trifle harder. “Snap to it!”
“Right.” Renie opened her eyes very wide and blinked several times. “Where were we?”
“Talking about why Ambrose told Chevy he was on board the ship when he supposedly wasn’t.”
“Ambrose? Who’s Ambrose?”
Judith held her head. “You know perfectly well who Ambrose is. Could Chevy have misunderstood what he said?”
“Unlikely.”
“Then there’s the possibility that Chevy is lying,” Judith pointed out. “She might have a grudge against Ambrose and wants to make him look bad.”
“Chevy isn’t a liar,” Renie replied, yawning again.
“You don’t know her that well,” Judith declared. “Still, let’s say she’s telling the truth. Maybe Ambrose was on board at the time of the murder, but isn’t the killer. He doesn’t want to admit he could be a suspect. Perhaps he has a motive for killing Magglio Cruz.”
“It’s more likely he has a motive for killing Erma Giddon,” Renie said between yawns. “If I had to work…for that…old…bag I’d…”
Judith didn’t try to rouse her cousin again. Her own brain was drained. “Good night,” she whispered, and retreated into the bedroom.
Five minutes later, Renie staggered in from the sitting room and collapsed on the other bed. Within seconds, Judith could hear her cousin snoring softly.
Rearranging the pillows, Judith was still wide awake. She felt as if she wasn’t considering suspects in a homicide, but characters in a movie. Part of it, she realized, was the cruise theme. But the caricatures existed: the snobbish dowager; the ingenue daughter; the besotted suitor; the pompous family lawyer; the nervous private secretary; the blond gold digger; the able assistant; the Southern belle; the black maid; the doughty British captain; the snooty French purser; the lunch-bucket cop; and some guy named Blackie, who might or might not be a crook. Of course there were also the idle rich sophisticates with their dog that looked like a mop.
Yet taken one by one, they were not out of place on a luxury cruise ship. Judith rolled over and shut her eyes tight. She was bone tired, having been up for almost twenty straight hours. After what seemed like a long time, she finally slept.
But the strange dreams came back. James Cagney was tap-dancing with a machine gun in one hand and a grapefruit in the other. Bette Davis was a Southern belle carrying a wicker basket filled with daggers. Jean Harlow was wearing what looked like Erma Giddon’s corset and playing a Duke Ellington tune on a solid-gold grand piano.
It was not a restful night.
Judith was startled awake shortly before nine by a voice that seemed to come from nowhere. It took her several moments to orient herself, realize that an announcement was being made over the ship’s loudspeaker, and that it informed the passengers they were free to leave the San Rafael