Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [47]
Renie nodded. “Of course. There’s the San Miguel, the Santa Rita, and the San Luis Rey. I worked on the launch brochure for the Rey five years ago. That was my first gig for the line. I understand the ship sails on the Panama Canal voyages.”
“Yes,” Rhoda said, taking a cigarette out of a carved wooden box on the chinoiserie table between the chairs. “In fact, she was due in Miami this morning.”
“Love,” Judith said, not particularly interested in Cruz Cruises’ routes. “Jealousy. Those are other good motives.”
Renie and Rhoda both turned toward her. With a vague look of apology for her cousin, Renie agreed. “True. Motives. Murder. Who loves whom? In this group, there seems to be more antipathy than love.”
“I love Ricky,” Rhoda said with a fond expression, placing the cigarette in an ivory holder. “He loves me. We’re the only ones I can vouch for. Mags and Connie—yes, probably. Mags and anyone else?” She shrugged in her elegantly nonchalant manner. “Dubious. Connie and another man? Also doubtful, though you never know. Anemone and Jim? I assume they’re in love or they wouldn’t be engaged. Still, Jim is…well, you know the word. Poor. Not,” she continued quickly, “poor in the way really poor people are poor, if you understand what I mean.”
Renie kept a straight face. “Like all those homeless beggars out in the streets?”
“Like that.” Rhoda finished her martini. “Certainly Jim couldn’t afford Stanford without Erma’s financial aid.”
“They act like they’re in love,” Judith noted. “Unless it is an act, perhaps on Jim’s part. He seems devoted.”
“And,” Rhoda put in, casting a glance at the bar, “she appears smitten. They’re very young, of course. I don’t think people should get engaged until they’re thirty. Ricky and I didn’t. We had too many things we wanted to do on our own.”
“I got engaged fairly often,” Renie said. “It got to be sort of a problem. Once, I was engaged to two different men at the same time, and they were both named Bob. It was very confusing.”
“I should think so,” Rhoda remarked with a wave of her cigarette holder. “Did you marry either of them?”
“No. I went to a psychologist to find out what my problem was,” Renie replied. “He told me I was too independent and a control freak.”
“Obviously,” Rhoda surmised, “he cured you.”
Renie nodded. “He certainly did. I married him.”
“Very wise,” Rhoda said, with another longing glance at the bar.
“We must be keeping you from your daily schedule,” Judith said. Or at least the drinking part of it, she thought. “We should go.”
“Please,” Rhoda responded. “I have no fixed schedule. In fact, I was hoping Ricky would get back while you’re here.” She looked at her diamond-studded wristwatch. “It’s after one. He may have stopped for lunch. I’ll call him on his cell phone.”
Before Rhoda could get up, Rick St. George strode into the room. “Well! My beautiful bride is entertaining! But then she always is, even when we’re alone.” He smiled wickedly before kissing his wife’s cheek. “Could it be,” he said to the cousins with mock severity, “that the inquisitive love of my life has been subjecting you to her clever interrogative skills?”
“We’ve been throwing around some ideas,” Judith admitted.
“Ah.” Rick poured a drink for his wife and one for himself. “Very sensible. Talent, like knowledge, should be pooled. Ladies?” He tapped the scotch and Canadian whisky bottles. “May I?”
“Just half,” Judith replied, taking the almost empty glasses to the bar.
Rick’s idea of “half” was half booze, half ice. Judith didn’t quibble. The ice would melt.
“So,” Rhoda said as she accepted her fresh cocktail, “what did you and Biff learn about the jewel heist?”
Rick sat down in the matching lotus chair and carefully checked the pleats of his well-tailored trousers. “The basics. According to our friend Erma, she had Beulah lock the case shortly after midnight. This morning, while the Giddon bunch was preparing to disembark, Erma asked