Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [57]
“You told her yes?”
Renie nodded.
“Did she say why they wanted to see us tonight?”
Renie nodded again.
Judith felt like shaking her cousin. “Well? Why?”
Renie finally met Judith’s gaze. “Rhoda and Rick have found out what weapon was used to kill Magglio Cruz.”
ELEVEN
“YOU DIDN’T ASK what kind of weapon?” Judith demanded.
“No.” Renie looked contrite. “Sorry. I’m still in shock about Oscar.”
“Get over it!” Judith had shouted so loud that she startled not only Renie but herself.
After jumping halfway off the sofa, Renie lost her temper. “Okay, okay! You don’t have to yell! What if it was Sweetums? You practically had a nervous breakdown last year when that awful cat wandered off for a few days.”
“That’s because Sweetums isn’t a stuffed…” Judith shut up. Again, it was pointless to argue. “Look,” she said, lowering her voice and trying to keep on an even keel, “it’s almost five o’clock. We’ve just got time to go over to the Hyatt and show the staff a picture of Dixie Beales. There’s one in the cruise brochure, right?”
Renie nodded. “By the way, Rhoda told me they’d tell us what the weapon was when we saw them. I guess she didn’t want to mention it over the phone.”
“Did she say anything about Dixie?”
“No. Rhoda sounded like she was in a big hurry.”
“Oh.” Judith wondered if the St. Georges knew about the most recent death. Maybe not, she thought. Rhoda—and possibly Rick—had been involved with taking Asthma to the vet that afternoon. “Let’s check the news before we go,” Judith said, clicking on the big screen in the living room.
Renie had already put on her raincoat, but sat down again. “Do you want me to call Fitzroy’s to see if they’ve heard anything about Dixie?”
“Go ahead,” Judith said. “You phone, I’ll watch.”
Renie’s call was fruitless. “I got a recording saying that all lines were busy and to leave a message or call back.”
“They may be overwhelmed,” Judith remarked, waiting out a series of hour-turn TV commercials. “The police, the cruise personnel, the press. Not to mention other guests, who must be asking all kinds of questions.” She ought to know. She sympathized with the Fitzroy’s staff.
The headlines had nothing to do with Cruz Cruises, unless, Judith noted, she counted the persistent stories about pollution in the bay. Certainly, she thought, a murder most foul ought to muddy the waters as well. But social issues and city politics were the main topics.
“We’d better go,” she said at the first commercial break. “We have to be back here in time to get dressed for dinner. And for heaven sakes,” she added, noting Renie’s lingering expression of gloom, “stop dwelling on that damned ape! You’re driving me crazy!”
Rain was slanting down across Union Square when the cousins left for the Hyatt. It was only a long block away, but they kept their heads down and their faces shielded from the chilling drops.
“Why do people who’ve never been to the West Coast assume that California is all sun?” Renie muttered as they entered the sanctuary of the hotel lobby. “And wouldn’t you know, we brought cruise clothes.”
“San Francisco’s weather is very different from anywhere else on the West Coast. It was about ninety when we came here that first time,” Judith reminded her cousin. “Late September, too.”
“We wore wool and smelled like sheep.” Renie pointed to a sign that informed them of the hotel’s features. “Grandviews is on the top floor.”
San Franciscans dined late. The restaurant was open, but at five-thirty, it was virtually deserted except for the staff. Judith barely had time to take in the spectacular view of Coit Tower and the Oakland Bay Bridge before a chic and efficient-looking dark-haired woman approached them.
“I’m confused,” Judith said, and looked it as she fumbled in her purse for the photo of Dixie that Renie had clipped from the cruise brochure. “We’re supposed to meet someone, but…” She made a helpless gesture before showing the picture to the woman. “Could she have meant lunch, not dinner? Do you recognize her?”
The woman put