Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [81]
“Yes, ma’am,” Chevy replied with a bright smile. “It shore is.”
The cousins both requested screwdrivers. “How about pliers and an ax?” Chevy murmured. “Or,” she added, as Rhoda and Rick St. George entered in the company of Horace Pankhurst and CeeCee Orr, “a hatchet to bury?”
“My, yes,” Renie said softly. “What now?”
Expecting fireworks, Judith tensed. But Horace lumbered over to Erma and kissed her cheek.
“In the face of these senseless tragedies,” he stated, as much for everyone’s benefit as for Erma’s, “we must present a united front. Rhoda and Rick insisted that we come and bring you a peace offering.”
Warily, Erma eyed Horace. “Such as what?”
Horace spread his hands. “Such as my unswerving loyalty. My years of devotion. My services, as always.”
“Circling the wagons,” Judith said to Renie.
Erma pursed her lips and shook her head. “Oh, Horace!” She leaned forward and let him kiss her other cheek. “What would I do without you, now that Wilbur is missing?”
“Aww…” CeeCee said with a big smile, “ain’t that sweet? I could just bawl!”
“I’ll bet she could,” Renie muttered.
But Judith was staring at CeeCee’s ruffled red dress. It was the same daring cocktail outfit she’d seen at Neiman Marcus.
Before Judith could say anything to Renie, Beulah showed in Consuela Cruz and Paul Tanaka. The newly made widow was very pale and leaned on Paul’s arm as if it were her only means of support.
“Consuela,” Erma said in a low, incredulous voice.
“Erma,” said Connie, her state of mourning emphasized by a black ribbed jersey dress. Docilely, she allowed Paul to lead her forward.
Rhoda stepped in between the two women. “Ricky and I couldn’t bear to think of Connie being alone. We knew you wouldn’t mind if we mentioned your generous hospitality to her. And Paul has been such a help.”
“Not to mention,” Rick said, removing his gold cigarette case from his suit jacket, “that it seems like a good idea to stick together. Our numbers seem to be dwindling, wouldn’t you say?” He paused to light his cigarette. “Oh—the captain sends his regrets. I understand he was invited, too.”
Erma shot Ambrose a sharp look. “Captain Swafford received an invitation?”
Ambrose had dithered his way toward the little gathering. “Why, yes—I thought—that is, it seemed—I mean…” His voice trailed off helplessly.
“Ambrose,” Erma said, her jaw taut, “you’re a nincompoop.”
Ambrose reddened and stammered. But CeeCee intervened. “Well, I think he’s cute.” She slung an arm over the secretary’s shoulder. “Honest, Mrs. Giddon, Ambrose is a real peach. You know he’s always trying his best to please you.” She glanced up at Horace from under her impossibly long eyelashes. “Just like Panky here. When did he ever do anything but what you asked him?”
“Excuse me,” Paul Tanaka said, clearly impatient. “Could Mrs. Cruz sit down? She’s feeling very shaky.”
“I should never have come,” Connie said in a faint voice. “I should be saving my strength for the funeral Monday.”
Erma motioned at a beechwood sofa with toile cushions. “Yes, do sit. Beulah will serve you something.” She snapped her fingers. “Beulah! Attend Mrs. Cruz.”
“Yaz’um,” Chevy replied, juggling the tray that held the cousins’ drinks.
Judith moved quickly to relieve the ersatz maid. “Go ahead, we’re fine.”
“Damned straight,” Chevy muttered, hurrying to the sofa where Paul was settling Connie against plush pillows embroidered with the elaborate initial G.
Judith managed to extricate herself from the little group dominated by Erma. Purposefully, she walked over to Connie.
“Serena and I feel remiss that we haven’t been able to do anything for you these past two days,” Judith said, gingerly sitting down on the sofa. “I know we’ve hardly met, but I was widowed at a young age, so I can certainly sympathize.”
Connie’s dark eyes were wary. “Was he murdered?”
Judith kept her aplomb. “It was more like suicide. He ate and drank himself to death.”
Paul moved a few steps away, but remained within hearing range. Judith offered him a brief