Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [65]
“Nothing.” Renie had gone back to reading the menu, a task she always concentrated on as if she were a scholarly monk studying an illuminated manuscript from the Middle Ages. “He didn’t ask. But my mother did.”
“You talked to Aunt Deb?” Judith said in surprise. “When was that?”
“After I talked to Bill,” Renie replied, still scouring the breakfast selections. “As usual, the conversation with my husband was brief and to the point. But I knew that Mom would be worrying her head off because I hadn’t called her yet. You know how she is—a day without at least one visit and three phone calls from me is tantamount to my demise. So I phoned her, and merely said that the crew was having some problems. That led to the usual cautions about not talking to strangers, not going anywhere without forming a human chain, avoiding lounge lizards, protecting myself against germs, and wearing warm clothing. By the time she finished, I had to get back to the table. But,” Renie added, finally handing the menu to Judith, “the part about warm clothing was apt. We need to go shopping, or we’re going to freeze.”
“You’re thinking Neiman Marcus?”
Renie made a face. “I’d rather go to Saks. It’s right across the street. But if we’re going to sleuth, then it’s Neiman Marcus.”
“Sorry if you have to suffer for the sake of truth,” Judith said, always slightly awed by Renie’s freewheeling ways when it came to buying clothes. Not that her cousin actually spent much on her regular wardrobe, which was basically a ragged collection of old jeans, tees, and sweatshirts. But for professional purposes, Renie splurged a couple of times a year, and had a closet filled with designer items.
“It’s too bad,” Renie said later as they walked past Union Square to the department store’s location on Stockton Street, “that you didn’t get a peek into any of Dixie’s shopping bags. Then we’d know what departments to check out.”
“Rhoda mentioned that Dixie’s tastes were florid,” Judith replied, noticing that the morning was as pleasant as it looked.
“That’s a help,” Renie said as they stopped to wait for the traffic light to change. “What do we expect to find out from the sales staff?”
“If Dixie was with anyone, if she mentioned meeting a specific person—you know, all the things that women chatter about when they’re trying on clothes. She might even have—” Judith stopped as a headline in the news box next to the street lamp caught her eye. “Coz! Look!”
Renie looked.
MURDER COUNT UP TO TWO;
CRUZ LINE SINKING FAST
Judith managed to find exact change in her purse and bought a paper. “The byline belongs to Flakefield Smythe,” she said. “I overheard Rick and Biff talking about a reporter by that name last night. Apparently, he’d gotten some information out of Biff’s rookie partner.”
The light had changed and changed again. Judith waited impatiently until they were able to cross the street and enter Neiman Marcus. The atmosphere was quiet, almost stately, with customers moving at a leisurely pace. The place reeked of affluence and self-indulgence.
“Shoes,” Judith said, gesturing straight ahead. “We can sit down and read the article.”
“Whoa!” Renie cried as they passed the first display table. “Check out the Manolo Blahnik ruched pumps! And how about these patent Giuseppe Zanottis with the—”
Judith yanked Renie by the arm. “Sit down and shut up. We’re here to read, not buy.”
“But we have to pretend,” Renie reasoned, allowing herself to be dumped into a chair next to a grouping of evening shoes. “Thus we must at least try on a pair or two.”
“You try, I’ll pry,” Judith muttered, spreading the newspaper out in her lap. “Okay, here’s what it says…”
But a sales associate was already standing in front of Renie, materializing as if from a genie’s lamp. He was dressed almost as nattily as Rick St. George and his name tag identified him as REUBEN.
Judith did her best to disassociate herself from Renie and Reuben. Hiding behind the newspaper, she read Flakefield Smythe’s semisensational coverage.