Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [61]
She stopped as Marco approached with menus—and Ambrose Everhart.
“Excuse me, Mr. St. George,” Marco said, bending to speak into Rick’s ear, “but this young gentleman says he knows you. Is it all right?”
“Of course, of course,” Rick said genially. “Ambrose, my lad, pull up a chair.”
Marco was swift to comply. “Would the gentleman care for a beverage?” the waiter asked.
“Just water, please,” Ambrose said, picking up Renie’s napkin and wiping small beads of perspiration from his forehead. “I didn’t mean to break in like this, but Mrs. Giddon insisted I find you. I’ve already been to five other restaurants around here.”
“You’ve struck gold,” Rick said. “Here we are, along with the charming Mrs. Flynn and her cousin—wherever she may be.”
Ambrose didn’t look as if he knew Judith or cared if her cousin was lying at the bottom of the Elks Club swimming pool. Suddenly realizing that the napkin had been well used by Renie, he fastidiously placed it on the vacant chair. “Mrs. Giddon put in an insurance claim this afternoon, and she’s going to sue the cruise line. She says her late husband would never forgive her for letting those jewels get stolen. Some of them had been handed down in his family for five generations. She’s really beside herself.”
“Quite a vision, that,” Rick murmured.
But Ambrose wasn’t finished. “Mrs. Giddon may sue the police department and the city as well,” he added before suddenly noticing Judith. “Oh! I beg your pardon! Maybe I shouldn’t be talking about this in front of…that is…” He ran a finger under his shirt collar.
Rick patted Ambrose’s shoulder. “You’re among friends, young Everhart. In other words, Mrs. Giddon is acting like Mrs. Giddon. Has it occurred to her that in suing the cruise line, she’s suing herself?”
Marco brought the glass of water. Ambrose took a big gulp before he answered. “She resigned from the board this afternoon. Horace Pankhurst is furious.”
Rhoda put both hands on her hips and stared at the private secretary. “No one told me. I should have been notified, since I’m on the board, too.”
Ambrose hung his head. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Truly.”
“It’s not up to you,” Rhoda said. “Erma should have personally informed me.”
Rick leaned toward his wife. “Maybe one of them did call while we were out. I only checked the important messages.” He winked.
Rhoda looked slightly appeased, but before she could speak, Renie staggered up to the table. “It’s over!” she announced, causing heads to turn at the surrounding tables. “Oscar’s been freed!”
“Oscar?” Rhoda repeated in a curious voice. “Who is Oscar?”
Judith made a frantic gesture at her cousin. “Never mind,” she said airily. “It’s a long story, and has nothing to do with what’s going on here. Sit down, coz. Finish your appetizer.”
Renie shot Judith a baleful look, but removed the napkin from her chair and sat. “Ambrose?” she said, noticing the newcomer. “Do you want to hear about Oscar?”
“What?” The young man drank another swig of water.
Judith kicked at Renie under the table, but missed and hit the chair leg instead. She winced before speaking up: “Erma Giddon resigned from the cruise-line board this afternoon.”
“No kidding,” Renie said, gobbling up the rest of her crab. “Say, Ambrose, do you like animals?”
Ambrose seemed startled by the question. “Yes, certainly, I’m involved with PETA. You know, People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals.” He avoided looking at the fox pelts that were draped over the back of Rhoda’s chair.
Rhoda, however, read his mind. “These little devils,” she said, running her fingers through the luxurious fur, “were tried and convicted of killing four dozen helpless baby chicks—just before Easter. Which comes first, Ambrose—the chicken or the vixen?”
“Well…that’s a good question, ma’am,” Ambrose responded, scratching his head.
“So if you like animals,” Renie said, “you’d enjoy spending time