Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [53]
“True.” Paul was still studying the computer screen. “My God, nothing but trouble. The passengers are getting impatient to sail. I don’t blame them.”
Renie had wandered over to the window, which looked out onto a now relatively calm Post Street. “Will you cancel the cruise?”
“That’s not up to me,” Paul replied, closing the laptop with an almost defiant click. “Captain Swafford and Connie and maybe even the board of directors will have to make that decision. They’d better act soon. This is a publicity nightmare. I already had to dodge some creep from one of the papers in the hotel lobby.”
“Has the story been on TV?” Judith inquired.
Paul nodded. His taut face seemed to have acquired fine lines overnight. “It said Magglio Cruz died of unknown causes during a prelaunch party. There was no mention of foul play, but the language was full of innuendos. Viewers may think we were having an orgy.”
“And now,” Renie remarked, moving away from the window, “they’ll have Dixie’s death on the five o’clock news.”
“Yes.” Paul was silent for almost a minute, staring straight ahead as if he’d forgotten that the cousins were in the room. “Sorry.” He offered a crooked little smile. “Someone told me you actually saw Dixie in the cab.”
Judith nodded. “I couldn’t tell anything. About how she died, I mean. There was no sign of violence. She’d been shopping, and maybe out to lunch. Did you know of her plans?”
Paul shook his head. “She loved to shop. She loved to lunch. She’d made a lot of friends in different ports of call over the years. She could have been with anybody.” His eyes narrowed. “You aren’t thinking of…?” He couldn’t finish the question.
“You have to allow for the possibility,” Judith said.
Paul must have understood that Judith meant murder. He put his hands over his face. “My God!”
Seeing his distress, Judith couldn’t help but think herself callous. She’d witnessed so many other tragedies in recent years that it was hard to imagine what it was like for the uninitiated to confront evil.
“Are you talking about a homicidal maniac?” Paul asked, removing his hands and revealing his stricken face.
Renie put a hand on his arm. “Don’t overreact,” she cautioned in a calm voice. “Maybe Dixie did die of natural causes. It just seems strange so soon after Mags was killed. You’re a levelheaded business-as-usual kind of guy with a thorough knowledge of the company. Can you think of any reason why somebody would want to harm anyone connected with Cruz Cruises?”
Paul sat down in the chair by the desk. “Of course not.” He seemed to be gathering himself together. “I’ve been with Cruz for almost ten years. I joined the company right out of graduate school, when Mags had only one ship and a couple of sightseeing boats. There were some rough times, especially when those viral illnesses broke out on some of the other lines. But since then, growth has been phenomenal. After 9/11, our business slowly picked up. People seemed to feel safer on cruise ships than in airplanes or big cities. The demographics favored us, too. Retirees living longer, a more affluent younger crowd—the downswing in the economy only marginally affected us because cruises are always booked so far ahead.”
It struck Judith that Paul was talking by rote, as if he’d memorized his speech for an investors’ presentation. Maybe he had.
“Has the company gone public?” she asked.
Paul shook his head. “No. And we haven’t any plans to do that. It’s all private investments. We’re hardly a megacorporation.”
“And,” Renie noted, “I always assumed that Mags wanted to stay small.”
“Yes,” Paul replied. “It’s a cruise line, not a conglomerate. We’re not looking to buy resorts or hotels or any other vacation property as a tie-in.”
Paul’s phone rang. He jumped in the chair, gave the cousins an apologetic little smile, and answered the call.
It was a short conversation. Paul repeated “yes” three times and hung up. “It’s Captain Swafford,” he said, getting to his feet. “He wants me to meet him and