Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [77]
“No,” Judith said quickly in her normal voice. “I mean, I don’t work for them. Never. Not at all.”
“But you were at the Fitzroy yesterday when the Beales broad showed up dead,” Flakey persisted. “If you weren’t staying there with the rest of the crew, who the hell are you?”
Renie held up a hand. “I work for Cruz Cruises.”
The reporter stared at Renie as if seeing her for the first time. “What are you—the stooge?”
“Pretty much,” Renie replied, after removing the straw that had gotten stuck to her palm.
Judith decided to give Flakey a partial explanation. He’d downed his bourbon by the time she finished. “So,” he said, signaling for another shot, “you two ended up on this cruise and smack in the middle of a bunch of murders. What were you doing at the Fitzroy?”
“Visiting Dixie Beales,” Judith fibbed. “She’d been so upset the night before—when Mags was killed.”
“You knew her before this trip?”
“No,” Judith admitted, “but we volunteered to sit with her after she got back to her cabin. We felt obligated to see how she was doing.”
“She was doing pretty well if she went shopping and out to lunch,” Flakey remarked drily.
“Women have amazing recuperative powers,” Renie pointed out.
“Neither of you seem much the worse for wear,” Flakey noted. “Tell me, how does it feel to be off on a carefree vacation and suddenly find yourselves menaced by murder?”
Judith could already see the headline:
CRUISE CURSED FOR
COWERING COUSINS
“Naturally,” Judith said carefully, “the tragedies have altered our plans.”
Flakey narrowed his eyes. “C’mon, you can do better than that. Were you there when they found Mags’s body in the piano? Did you see the taxi arrive with the dead Dixie inside?”
Judith realized that Flakey hadn’t mentioned Émile Grenier. Maybe he didn’t know about the third death. Maybe Biff—despite the hobnobbing at the bar—had kept his mouth shut.
But that wasn’t what bothered Judith most. Not only didn’t she want to become a sensational human-interest story, but Flakey Smythe was interrogating her, rather than the other way around.
“You know,” Judith said, suddenly looking vague, “our role in all this is strictly peripheral. What’s much more interesting is your investigative prowess as a journalist.”
“That’s what I’m doing,” Flakey said. “Investigating. How did you react when you found out Magglio Cruz had been murdered almost before your very eyes?”
Judith knew she was being sucked into a trap. She glanced quickly at Renie. No help there. Her cousin was scooping the rest of her ice cream out of the tall glass.
“No comment,” Judith finally said.
Flakey looked at her in annoyed disbelief. “C’mon, sweetie, what’s with the ‘no comment’ garbage? Who do you think you are—the freaking queen?”
Judith said nothing, staring past Flakey to the framed photos of major and minor leaguers from the past.
He turned to Renie, who was smacking her lips. “Okay, stooge. Will the ventriloquist here talk through you?”
“She wants to cut a deal,” Renie said.
Flakey looked surprised, a reaction that struck Judith as unusual for him. “What kind of deal?”
“An exchange of information,” Renie said, wearing her boardroom face. “You can write about two terrified tourists’ reactions to the murders—if you don’t use our names. In return, you can fill us in on some background that you haven’t put in the newspaper.”
Flakey looked from Renie to Judith and back again. “Why are you so interested?”
“I told you,” Renie said. “I work for Cruz Cruises. I’m involved with their publications. I want to make sure that the company knows all the facts.”
Flakey seemed skeptical. “You’re a writer?”
Renie uttered a little laugh. “Isn’t everybody? Deep down, I mean.”
Flakey shrugged. “Whatever you say, babe. Let’s hear it. What happened at the party when the music stopped?”
“It never started,” Renie replied. “The piano music, I mean. Dixie couldn’t play because the body was stuck inside. When we found out, Judith fainted. She didn’t come to until one of the crew poured