Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [48]
Rhoda sighed. “Naturally.”
Judith leaned forward on the sofa. “Did Erma leave the bedroom before she asked for her jewels?”
“Of course.” Rick chuckled. “Even Dame Erma has to make use of the facilities now and then. Anemone sleeps in the other bedroom. I suppose there’s a separate smaller accommodation for Beulah. Even Erma wouldn’t expect her maid to sleep on the floor.”
Rhoda cast her husband a skeptical look. “Don’t be too sure of that, darling.”
“Who’d been in the suite that morning?” Judith inquired after a small sip of scotch.
Rick swirled the olive in his martini. “Jim Brooks. Ambrose Everhart. Horace Pankhurst and CeeCee Orr. A crew member who came to repair a leaky faucet in Anemone’s bathroom. A waiter with coffee. Oh, and Émile Grenier, making sure that all was right in Giddon world.”
“Which it wasn’t,” Rhoda put in.
“Which waiter?” Judith asked.
“I don’t recall his name,” Rick replied, “but we’re checking him out.” He sounded even more blasé than usual.
“And the plumber?” Renie put in as Asthma shook himself with a mighty clanking sound and made an attempt to get up.
“Ozzie Oakes,” Rick said.
Renie tried to distance herself from Asthma as the dog collapsed again near her feet. “Is anyone a serious suspect?”
Rick was lighting an unfiltered cigarette. “Too soon to say,” he replied a little too casually after exhaling a dark gray cloud of smoke. “Biff will be taking fingerprints.”
“Shouldn’t he have done that last night?” Judith asked.
“He did, in a way,” Rick said with an ironic expression. “That is, he had his men take prints off of the cocktail glasses and some other surfaces.”
“Wait a minute,” Renie said, looking very serious. “Are you saying that the prints taken last night can be matched to the drinks each individual had?”
“The San Rafael’s employees are very good,” Rick explained. “Like any bartender or bar server, they remember who drank what.”
“Of course,” Judith murmured, recalling her working nights at the Meat & Mingle. “It’s an integral part of the job.”
Rick nodded. “You drank Glenfiddich, correct?”
“Yes,” Judith replied, anxiety beginning to gnaw at the back of her brain.
He turned to Renie. “Bud Light?” Rick seemed put off by her prosaic choice.
“I didn’t actually drink it,” Renie said, “but I ordered a bottle.”
Rick tapped his cigarette into a marble ashtray. “So both of your prints are on record, along with most of the other guests’. Biff will cover everybody else.”
There was a long and—it seemed to Judith—awkward pause. The cousins didn’t dare look at each other.
“You see the problem?” Rick finally said.
“Yes,” Judith and Renie replied in unison.
Rick took a final puff from his cigarette and put it out in the ashtray. “I’m sure you can explain everything to Biff. But until you do, I’m afraid you’re both at the top of the suspect list. Your prints were found all around the area where the jewel case was kept.”
Renie was stuffing her face with dim sum. “Dawishis,” she declared, and swallowed. “I wonder if they serve food like this in prison.”
“The St. Georges aren’t serious about us stealing Erma’s jewels,” Judith responded, setting down the ladle for her hot-and-sour soup.
“The St. Georges aren’t serious about anything,” Renie said.
“Except murder,” Judith murmured. “And jewel heists.”
“Maybe.” Renie attacked more dim sum. The cousins had left the St. Georges’ Nob Hill penthouse shortly after Asthma had suffered a respiratory attack and had to be taken to the vet. On the cousins’ way out, Rhoda had suggested that they try Brandy Ho’s Hunan restaurant on the edge of Chinatown.
“At least,” Judith said, “I found out that the rest of the crew is staying at the Fitzroy Hotel on Post Street. I’d like to talk to Dixie Beales and