Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [6]
“You’ll be fine,” Judith assured her cousin. “I hear my fax machine ringing. Maybe it’s a reservation. I could use some this time of year. Enjoy your shopping.”
The fax was actually a cancellation for the coming weekend. Judith swore under her breath. The week was starting badly—at least for Judith. As she drove up to Falstaff’s Grocery, she began to feel envious of Renie. Why did she get a free trip? Why could she take off almost anytime she wanted to? Judith felt as if she were chained to the B&B. She felt like a drudge, a tired drudge. She could sulk, too.
That night, she actually dreamed of sitting next to a pool. Except that it wasn’t a pool—it was an endless body of water. She wasn’t wearing a swimsuit, but a ragged coat that made her look like a bum. The mai tai was beside her, but it had been poured into a human skull. In the background, music played loudly—and louder and louder—until Judith awoke in a cold sweat.
But it was only a dream, Judith told herself, and eventually went back to sleep. By morning, she was still sulking when her cousin called to describe the cruise wear she’d purchased.
“The only problem is,” Renie explained, “that the theme of the cruise is the thirties. We have to wear outfits from that era for dinner. I got the basics at Nordquist’s, but today I’ll have to check out some vintage shops to see what I can find.”
“Poor you.” Judith tried to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.
If Renie noticed, it didn’t stop her from nattering on about the five-star San Francisco hotel they’d spend a night in or the VIP cocktail party or their suite of rooms aboard the ship. In fact, Judith managed to tune out the rest of her cousin’s gush. She was wandering around the main floor with the cordless phone, noting that the Persian rug in the entry hall was wearing out, the bells-of-Ireland bouquet was wilting, and the St. Patrick’s Day decorations would have to be taken down for storage in the basement.
At last, Renie rang off. Judith dragged herself through the rest of the day and slept like a rock that night. She didn’t wake up when Joe got home around 2 A.M. after a long surveillance on the philandering husband in the high-profile divorce case.
“You look like a wraith,” Joe declared when he came down for breakfast shortly after eight. “You’re getting too thin.”
“I know,” Judith admitted. It was ironic. All her life she’d battled a weight problem, but since her hip replacement, she’d tried extra hard to lose pounds. “It’s easier on the artificial hip, especially when I have to run up and down three flights of stairs in this house.”
“You don’t take time to eat properly,” Joe accused his wife. “Have you had breakfast yet?”
“No,” she confessed. “I’ve been preparing the meal for the guests and trying to get things done around here before I go to Chez Steve’s Salon. I’ll grab a bagel on top of the hill.”
Joe, whose own weight was a few more pounds than it should have been, scowled. “Eat here. I’ll make my special scrambled eggs.”
“Don’t bother,” Judith began as the phone rang. “I have to feed Mother. I’m already late.” She picked the receiver off of the cradle. To her astonishment, it was Renie.
“What’s wrong?” Judith asked in an anxious voice. “Why are you up so early?”
“It’s Bill,” a frazzled Renie replied. “He’s got a patient on a ledge.”
Bill Jones was a retired professor of psychology from the University who still saw a few of his longtime patients. “What’s he doing about it?” Judith asked.
“He’s trying to talk the guy off,” Renie answered. “The problem is, the nutcase is on the roof of a twenty-story building downtown, and you know Bill’s terrified of heights. He won’t go near this guy and has to use a megaphone to make him hear. I told Bill to let him jump, but you know my husband—he’s conscientious.”
It wasn’t, of course, the first time Bill had had a suicidal patient. It puzzled Judith that Renie had called her about the situation, especially so early in the morning.
“Well,” Judith said, as much for Joe’s benefit as for Renie’s, “Bill can’t let this man jump. So why are you telling