Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [78]
“Not bad,” Flakey said, only mildly impressed by Renie’s tall tale. “You got a sex angle in there somewhere?”
“Not yet. I was just getting warmed up.”
“I don’t mind writing bull crap, but you gotta put some sex in it. Were you naked?”
“How about somebody savagely ripping off our clothes while we were in Dixie’s cabin? Somebody who leered.”
“That’s better. ‘Love nest’ would help.”
“Be my guest,” Renie said.
“You’re not taking notes,” Judith observed.
“Don’t need to. I’ve got a photographic memory. I’d better get going. I’ve got a deadline for Sunday’s edition.”
“Not so fast,” Renie snapped. “We made a deal, remember? What have you got for us?”
“Huh?” Briefly, Flakey looked puzzled. “Oh, yeah, right.” After a pause, he requested another drink. “What did you have in mind?”
“Background,” Judith said, speaking for the first time in several minutes. “That is,” she added with a faintly apologetic smile, “I’m very people-oriented. The relationship between Erma Giddon and Horace Pankhurst fascinates me. Are they somehow related?”
Flakey chuckled. “Only by money.” He handed the waitress his second empty glass and glommed on to the refill. “Pankhurst’s law firm was founded by his grandfather, way back before the big earthquake and fire. Giddon’s grandfather was his contemporary, involved in real estate. They hooked up early on, and the families have been tight ever since. Old Erma wouldn’t move a finger without Horace to guide her.”
“Hmm,” Judith mused. “We heard they quarreled.”
“Oh, yeah?” Flakey’s face actually seemed to come alive. “How’s that?”
“I assume you knew Mrs. Giddon resigned from the Cruz Cruises board,” Judith said.
“Right. Our business reporter flashed me that news this morning.” The reporter gripped his drink with both hands and frowned. “So that pissed off Pankhurst. Yeah, okay, that makes sense.”
“It does?” Judith made no effort to hide her curiosity.
“Sure. It throws a spanner into the works as far as Pankhurst is concerned.” Flakey smiled crookedly. “You see, he wanted Erma to take over the company.”
Judith didn’t try to conceal her surprise, either. “Before or after Thursday night?”
“Both,” Flakey said. “You might even say that Erma would have killed to get hold of Cruz Cruises.”
FIFTEEN
A MOMENT LATER, the waitress came by to tell Flakey he was wanted on the phone. Oddly enough, the reporter didn’t carry a cell phone. “I always lose ’em,” he said, excusing himself to take the call at the bar.
“We’ve made a pact with the devil.” Renie moaned. “Can you imagine what we’re going to sound like in tomorrow’s paper?”
“No worse than I did when I ended up on TV after finding the body in the old apartment house at the bottom of Heraldsgate Hill,” Judith said. “And that time, they used my real name. That’s how I ended up being FATSO on the Internet.”
“Thank God,” Renie said, “Flakey never asked us to identify ourselves.”
Flakey loped back to the table, but didn’t sit. He swallowed his latest drink in two gulps, announced “breaking news,” belched, and left.
“Émile Grenier?” Judith said after the reporter had gone.
“Probably,” Renie replied. “If Biff knew about the latest murder when he was drinking here, he didn’t tell Flakey. It’s Biff’s partner who’s the blabbermouth.”
As they walked outside, Judith swore that if their hotel wasn’t just across the street, they’d have to take a cab. “I’m absolutely exhausted,” she declared. “I haven’t walked this much in years.”
“You’re weak, too,” Renie chided, entering the St. Francis. “You should have ordered one of those wonderful-looking sandwiches at Lefty’s.”
There was no argument from Judith. When