Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [66]
Thursday night’s brutal stabbing death of Magglio Cruz, owner and CEO of Cruz Cruises, and yesterday’s fatal poisoning of May Belle (Dixie) Beales, the San Rafael’s entertainment director, could sink the well-known luxury line, according to observers.
Judith wondered if observers should be singular, and that the opinion was that of the writer.
“…Seven medium,” Renie was saying. “I have a narrow heel, but my…”
The next paragraph was mainly factual, dealing with the ship’s proposed maiden voyage, the VIP party, and the ensuing events.
Police sources stated that Cruz wasn’t known to have any personal or professional enemies, but that the murder may have been an un-premeditated crime of passion.
“Stuffing the body into a piano while a VIP party was going on seems like the work of a desperate killer,” said an unidentified police source. “That took nerve and a lot of luck.”
Judith frowned. Even Biff McDougal wouldn’t be so crass—or indiscreet. The quote—if it was authentic—had to come from his partner. Judith searched her memory for the rookie’s name. Bub…No, that was Bill’s brother…Bud…That didn’t sound right, either…Buzz. That was the name. Buzz Cochran. Judging from his loose tongue, Judith didn’t think Buzz had a very bright future with the San Francisco Police Department.
“Real snakeskin?” Renie said to Reuben. “Goodness, at three seventy-five, that’s quite a bargain.”
The same source added that the poisoning death of Beales might be connected. “You can’t have two people who work for the same company get murdered within twenty-four hours of each other and not be suspicious,” the police-department employee said.
The next paragraph related how Beales had died in a taxi en route to her hotel from a shopping expedition. The rest of the article was devoted to a brief history of Magglio Cruz and the company he’d built.
Judith emerged from behind the paper just as Renie slipped her feet out of a pair of Kate Spade slides. “I’ll take those, too,” she informed Reuben. “I want them all shipped to my home address.”
“‘All’?” Judith repeated.
“Just three pairs,” Renie replied, digging out her Neiman Marcus credit card. “I couldn’t resist.”
Reuben, having gathered up the three shoe boxes, accepted the card and smiled invitingly at Judith. “Was there something I could show you, madam?”
“The door,” Judith murmured.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The floor—the floor where they carry dresses,” she said more loudly.
“Of course.” Reuben managed to cover his disappointment. “Take the escalator…”
“How much?” Judith demanded as the cousins glided up to women’s apparel.
“Don’t ask. I won’t tell.”
“I already did. Ask, I mean.”
“A little over a grand, okay?” Renie was defensive.
“Good grief!”
“I know.” They reached the second floor. “Now I feel guilty. I’ll have to start handing out twenty-dollar bills to homeless persons.”
Judith, however, was ready to put Renie’s extravagance aside. “Where do we start?” she asked, gazing around at the various sections.
Renie also studied the layout, then gave a start. “Why not over there where Anemone Giddon is pawing through the racks?”
Judith spotted the young woman instantly. “She’s alone. This is a piece of luck.”
“It’s probably where she shops,” Renie said as the cousins strolled in Anemone’s direction. “Where else besides Neiman Marcus and Saks would old-line rich women go after I. Magnin went out of business? Erma has undoubtedly influenced her daughter’s buying habits.”
“Why, Anemone!” Judith said in mock surprise. “How are you?”
“Oh!” Anemone almost dropped the black silk shantung suit she was holding up by its hanger. “I know you! The Cousins!” She grasped the hanger more firmly and blinked several times. “Mrs. Flynn and Mrs. Jones?”
Judith nodded. “That’s a very smart suit.”
Anemone scowled at the garment. “I guess. I don’t like black, but Mumsy told me I had to buy something for Mr. Cruz’s funeral. It’s going to be held Monday morning at the cathedral.”
Judith tried to gauge the young woman’s attitude, which seemed unfeeling despite her customary appearance of fragility. “So the