Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [38]
Getting out of bed, she went over to the still unconscious Renie. “Hey,” Judith called, giving her cousin a slight shake, “wake up. There’s news.”
“’S’alwaysis,” Renie mumbled, pulling the covers over her head. “G’way.”
“It’s nine o’clock,” Judith declared, trying to pull the blanket and sheet off of Renie. “You’ve slept over nine hours. At home, you stay up past midnight. Adjust, become alert before your usual ten A.M. awakening.”
“Damn.” Renie rolled over and exhaled deeply. “I’ll get up if you order breakfast in bed for me.”
“You’re a brat,” Judith accused. “They’re telling us we can get off the ship. I doubt they’re serving breakfast.”
Renie tossed the covers aside and leaped up. “They damned well better serve breakfast! First, they try to take away my livelihood, now they want to starve me to death! That does it!” She grabbed the phone from the dressing table and dialed the galley.
Judith decided to seek sanctuary in the shower. The warm water brought her fully awake. Her mental processes shifted into gear as she scrubbed her body with a bar of rich oatmeal soap. Sleeping till nine. No rush to feed guests breakfast. No lip from Gertrude. No coping with Phyliss. No ringing phones or demanding faxes. No Joe.
That was the bad part. She already missed him. But she wasn’t sorry that he hadn’t been with her when Magglio Cruz was murdered. While getting dressed, Judith decided she’d call Joe when they got back to the hotel. He should be at home, since the trial didn’t start until Monday. But if she phoned now, she’d have to fib about the previous evening’s dire events.
Still in a quandary, she found Renie in the living room, attired in her wild tiger ensemble and watching the local news.
“Nothing so far,” Renie said before Judith could ask the question. “It’s all about pollution and city-hall politics and gay marriage. I’m thinking that if they broaden the description of what constitutes a marriage, and something—God forbid—ever happens to Bill, I’ll marry Clarence.”
“Your bunny?” Judith frowned. “Why not marry Oscar?”
“No,” Renie replied. “I’d want a real change. Bill and Oscar have too many similar traits. Besides, I’d like to actually use the TV remote. Clarence doesn’t care for television. By the way, breakfast is coming. I ordered waffles for both of us.”
Judith was relieved, not just because Renie had ordered food, but because she had changed the subject. Sometimes the Joneses’ ménage was hard to comprehend.
“I thought you were going to have breakfast in bed,” Judith remarked. “Why are you out here?”
“Breakfast in bed is merely an expression,” Renie explained. “Not that I don’t actually do that sometimes, but it usually ends up kind of messy, bedclothes-wise.”
“Yes,” Judith murmured, “I suppose sleeping on a fried egg can be an unpleasant experience.”
“Funny, coz,” Renie muttered. As a knock sounded at the door, she jumped up. “Ah! That was quick.”
But it wasn’t breakfast that had arrived. It was CeeCee Orr, looking very nautical in a white sailor dress with navy-blue piping.
“Oh, hi there,” she said in a breathy voice. “Have we met? I’m—”
“We know,” Judith said with a smile, ushering the young woman inside. “I’m Judith Flynn and this is my cousin Serena Jones.”
“A pleasure, I’m sure,” CeeCee replied, showing perfect white teeth and a trace of a New York accent. “Could I borrow a whiff of Opium?”
Judith couldn’t help but gape. “Uh…I’m afraid we don’t have any. Maybe you could try Chinatown when you go back on shore.”
Hands pressed against her deep cleavage, CeeCee laughed merrily. “Oh, how stupid of me! I’m not talking about drugs, I mean her, her, her.” She pointed a finger at Renie. “Your perfume, Ms. Jones. You wear Yves Saint-Laurent’s Opium. I smelled it last night at the party. It’s my favorite, too, but I’m out, out, out.”
“Oh—sure,” Renie said. “I’ll get it for you.” She headed for the bedroom.
“I simply can’t bear to start the day without my Opium,” CeeCee declared, jiggling her Louis Vuitton handbag and various parts of her body. “It’s so”—she paused, shut her