Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [68]
She might have carried off the halter top and even the plunging neckline, but while the ruffles in back dropped to midcalf, in front they ended abruptly at high thigh. Furthermore, the dress was a size six and a memo attached was stamped SOLD. She moved on.
The more classic spring and summer designs looked as if they might appeal to Renie. Judith found the entrance to the dressing rooms. Aggravating as it might be, she guessed that her cousin had succumbed to another shopping impulse.
“Coz,” Judith called softly, moving down the narrow hallway. “Coz?”
She was halfway to the end of the corridor when she heard her cousin’s angry voice.
“Beat it, you pervert! Get the hell out of there or I’ll set fire to your alligator shoes!”
“Coz?” Judith shouted, trying to determine the exact location. No one else seemed to be in the area. Except, Judith realized, Renie and the pervert.
The door on her right flew open. Judith saw her cousin wearing a purple halter with matching slacks and an irate expression.
“I’ve got a peeper,” Renie announced, standing amid a pile of clothing. “He won’t budge.”
Judith’s eyes followed her cousin’s finger, which pointed at the shortened divider between the dressing rooms. At first she saw nothing except for an Ellen Tracy jacket and a pair of shoes.
But the shoes didn’t belong to Renie. They were men’s alligator shoes, and Judith realized that they were protruding just under the shortened divider that separated the dressing rooms.
Mouth agape, Judith stared at Renie. “He’s peeping with his feet?”
“He must have lost his balance,” Renie snarled. “Or maybe he passed out when he saw me in my underwear.”
“You don’t look that bad,” Judith remarked, using her toe to nudge garments aside as she made her way into the dressing room.
“I don’t look that good, either,” Renie retorted.
Judith kicked gently at one of the alligator shoes. There was no response. “Maybe he did pass out,” she said in a concerned voice. “We’d better get help.”
Renie gestured at Judith. “Move it, coz. You can’t get down on the floor to look under that panel, but I can. Not that I think I’ll like what I’m going to see, perverts being what they are and doing what they do.”
Judith frowned. “You sure?”
“Oh, yes.” Renie moved more clothing out of the way and lay flat on her stomach. She suddenly tensed. “Holy Mother!”
“What?” Judith asked anxiously.
Renie turned a horrified face to Judith. “He’s more than passed out. He looks dead. And,” she added, reaching for Judith’s outstretched hand to pull herself up, “he also happens to be the late Émile Grenier.”
THIRTEEN
THE IMPOSSIBLE WAS not only possible, but for once, it was plausible as well. Judith went out into the corridor to open the adjacent door. Émile lay in an awkward position with his head and shoulders propped up by the dressing room’s bench. His face was almost the same color as Renie’s purple outfit and his eyes protruded. Judith winced as she saw the long gold rope with tassels at each end. It had been twisted around the purser’s neck and pulled hard until the life drained out of his body. Even if she could have bent down, there was no need to seek a pulse. Judith was an old hand at death.
Renie was already putting her own clothes back on.
“Did you see anybody out on the floor?” Judith asked. “A salesperson, I mean?”
“Why? Did you find something you like?”
Judith tried not to let her exasperation show. She couldn’t really blame Renie for trying to make light of their situation. “I mean, an employee, a clerk, someone who works for the store.”
“Yes,” Renie replied. “Her name’s Olga. She took an ecru blouse from me to remove a smudge I found. She should be right back.”
“We need more than Olga, we need the manager,” Judith said. “Not to mention the police, the emergency people, the—” She stopped as a dark-haired woman of forty poked her head into the open dressing room.
“How is everything?” she inquired in a voice that was heavy with what Judith guessed was a Russian accent.
“Not so good,” Renie answered.
Olga glanced