Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [45]
“This is lovely,” Judith gushed. “Are these furnishings antiques?”
“Some of them,” Rhoda replied with a shrug. “The butterfly trunk and the matching chairs with the lotus pattern date back a couple of centuries. The rest of it looks old because of Asthma. He’s a bit clumsy.”
Judith and Renie sat on a sofa covered in a silk poppy print. Rhoda had gone to the full-service bar. Its dark wood was painted with white peonies. A Chinese vase filled with real peonies sat atop the counter. It struck Judith that Rhoda St. George wore her air of wealth and entitlement the way a river ran to the sea: It was unaffected, it was accepted, it was almost a force of nature.
“I’m having a martini,” Rhoda said, her long fingernails pointing to a half-filled glass next to the vase. “What may I serve you?”
“Scotch rocks,” Judith replied. “Water back, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” Rhoda replied.
“Any bourbon or Canadian as long as it’s not Wild Turkey,” Renie said.
Rhoda arched a perfectly etched eyebrow. “You don’t care for Wild Turkey?”
“Only when I fly,” Renie replied.
“Will Crown Royal do?” Rhoda inquired, unfazed by Renie’s response.
“Just fine,” Renie said, nodding. “Water and plenty of ice, please.”
With practiced expertise, Rhoda mixed the two drinks and refreshed her own. “I understand,” she said, seating herself in one of the matching antique chairs, “we may not get out of port until tomorrow.” She glanced inquisitively at the cousins.
“Because of the murder—or the jewel theft?” Judith responded.
Rhoda smiled, arranging the folds of her orange chiffon hostess pajamas. “I was wondering if you knew. I guessed that Biff McDougal may have been interrogating you when the call came through to him. The theft took place aboard the ship, not at Erma Giddon’s home.”
“That we didn’t know,” Renie said, trying to relax despite the too-close presence of Asthma.
“Erma discovered that the jewels were missing when she was preparing to leave the San Rafael this morning,” Rhoda explained. “Naturally, she’s blaming Beulah, her maid.”
“Why?” Renie asked. “Because Beulah is black?”
“Of course.” Rhoda shook her head. “Erma is such a bigot. You can imagine the unpleasantness she swears she’s had to suffer because San Francisco has become such a mecca for the gay population. And that’s so ridiculous of her because…well, just because it is.”
Judith sensed that Rhoda had been about to say something else but had changed her mind. “Do you know the value of the stolen jewels?” Judith inquired, savoring the scotch, which had to be at least forty years old and probably cost close to a hundred dollars a bottle.
Rhoda waved a hand. “I can only guess. Rick’s estimate was in the low seven figures.”
“And more like them at home,” Renie murmured.
“Oh, definitely,” Rhoda said blithely. “Those were only her cruise baubles. Erma has quite a collection, some family heirlooms, some of them dating back to the Romanovs and the Hanovers—and the Vikings, for all I know. She likes to brag.”
Judith tried to coax Asthma in her direction. “Did the thief take the case or just the jewels?”
“Case and all,” Rhoda replied.
Judith knew the answer, but asked the question anyway: “Did Erma always keep it locked?”
“I’ve no idea,” Rhoda answered.
“She didn’t,” Renie blurted out, deigning to pat one of Asthma’s soup cans. “We know. We had to sub for Beulah when we called on Erma and company.”
“Really.” Rhoda’s eyes danced. “Tell me all.”
Renie did, despite the increased nudging and wheezing from Asthma.
“That makes sense,” Rhoda said when Renie had finished. “If Erma was still wearing some of her trinkets and her maid wasn’t around, she wouldn’t bother locking the case until bedtime. It’s stupid, but then Erma is a rather stupid woman.” She held up her almost empty glass. “Refills?”
The cousins declined. Neither of them had made it even halfway through their own cocktails.
“I’ll wait, too,”