Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [58]
“Yes,” Judith replied eagerly. “She has quite an accent. In fact, her nickname is Dixie.”
The woman didn’t look as if she approved of nicknames. “It would be,” she remarked drily. “No, I don’t remember seeing her.”
“But…” Judith stared as the woman removed her glasses. “I thought…”
“I heard her,” the woman interrupted. “She had a very carrying voice, inappropriate for a dining room where guests enjoy quiet conversation. I asked the server to request that she speak more quietly.”
“Is the server here?” Judith asked.
The woman shook her head. “Dominic is breakfast and lunch only. But he did ask her to keep her voice down. Apparently, she’d had too much to drink and was quarreling with her companion. Excuse me,” she said abruptly as a distinguished-looking older couple entered from the elevator area. “I’m busy.”
Renie snatched the cutout picture away from Judith and thrust it in front of the woman. “And she’s dead. Is food poisoning the soup du jour?”
The woman froze. The couple approached.
“Good evening, Amalie,” the silver-haired man said pleasantly. “We’re early. As usual.” He laughed softly. “Did I hear someone mention poisson soup for tonight?”
“Our usual savory seafood stew,” Amalie replied, managing a ghostly smile. “Delighted to see you both. Would you mind waiting just a moment? Your favorite table isn’t quite ready.”
The couple nodded affably and withdrew a few paces. The woman called Amalie moved out of the newcomers’ line of sight. “Is this extortion?” she demanded in a low, angry voice. “Explain yourselves, or I’m calling the police.”
“They’re already involved,” Judith said quietly. “All we want to know is who Dixie—Ms. Beales—was with today.”
Amalie looked Judith straight in the eye. “I don’t know. Dominic mentioned it was a young—and attractive—man. They had a disagreement. They left. I’d appreciate it if you’d do the same.”
A pair of waiters and a man in a dinner jacket had appeared behind Amalie. None of them, especially the formally clad man, looked friendly. Judith knew when she was about to get the bum’s rush.
“Thanks,” she said, and started out of the restaurant.
“Thanks?” Renie repeated, trailing behind Judith. “For what? Being almost no help?”
“This is a very nice establishment,” Judith declared, pressing the elevator button. “We intruded.”
“We usually do,” Renie noted.
“This is different,” Judith said, entering the elevator. “It’s not only that this city is much more formal and less relaxed. We’re not at home. We’re not comfortable in this environment. People here have standards. Or something.”
Renie sighed as the express car took them straight to the lobby. “I’ve rarely seen you give up so fast.”
“I’m not giving up,” Judith countered with a sly little smile. “Of course I want to know who lunched with Dixie Beales. And why they had a quarrel.”
“So?”
The cousins had exited the hotel, once again facing the blustery wind and rain. “This isn’t our town. This isn’t our style.” She leaned forward into the elements. “This is a job for Rick and Rhoda St. George.”
The difference in style was evident when Judith and Renie met the St. Georges at Farallon: Judith had brought along a navy-blue shirtwaist dress for the cruise; Renie relied on sleeveless basic black. Rhoda swept into the restaurant wearing a green silk georgette evening gown with spaghetti straps and a swath of white fox fur draped over her arms. At first glimpse, Judith thought she was wearing the dog.
“This,” said Rick, whose dark suit might have come from London’s Savile Row, “is the next best thing to being at sea. How do you like the ocean theme? The restaurant’s named for some islands just off the coast.”
Judith had admired the blue glass sculptures and the mosaic tiles upon their arrival. They were now seated in the vaulted dining room, which was indeed above the Elks Club swimming pool. It wasn’t hard to imagine that they were on a ship.
“It’s lovely,” she said, though the decor wasn’t uppermost in her mind. “I hear you have news.