Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [85]
Renie was watching closely. She placed a fist over her heart. Nitro, she mouthed at Judith.
Heart trouble, Judith thought. Apoplexy would have been her own diagnosis.
Rick walked briskly back into the dining room to make the announcement that Connie had come around. “I’ve sent for Dr. Selig,” he said. “Just in case. The poor woman is a wreck.”
Anemone rose from her chair. “So am I. Excuse me, Mumsy, I’m going to go to my room and lie down.”
Judith pushed her chair away from the table. “Let me go with you,” she said. “You look a bit shaky.”
“I am.” Anemone’s blue eyes fixed on Judith’s face. There was nothing uncertain about her cool gaze. “Thank you, I’d appreciate it. You’ve been so kind to all of us, even though we hardly know you.”
Erma snorted.
The staircase was steep and narrow, but it was carpeted and the handrail was solid. Judith took her time following Anemone to the second floor. The young woman didn’t speak until she had locked the bedroom door behind them.
“You must think I’m a terrible person,” Anemone said, indicating that Judith should sit on a chaise longue covered with a design of purple and yellow pansies. “I’m so glad you didn’t give me away when I fibbed about you being with me at the store.”
“It seemed prudent to keep my mouth shut,” Judith said with a curious expression.
Anemone also sat, pulling a matching ottoman closer to the chaise longue. The boudoir was actually a small suite. Judith could see into a second room, where a bed was covered with—appropriately enough—a pattern of multicolored anemones.
“I didn’t kill Émile,” Anemone declared in a flat, quiet voice.
Judith waited. Anemone sat without moving a muscle, the blue eyes challenging her listener.
“Okay,” Judith finally said. “So you must have another reason for lying about me being with you in the dressing room, right?”
Anemone finally blinked. “Yes.”
“And that would be…?” Judith coaxed.
The young woman shook her head. “I can’t tell you that.”
An awkward silence fell upon the room, as if the fog that crept along the city’s steep streets and dark alleys had seeped through the walls to put distance between the two women. Through a lace-curtained bay window, Judith could see the ghostly glow of a street lamp in front of the house. She could imagine the same scene a century earlier, with the clip-clop of horse-drawn carriages moving in the night.
“Then I’m not sure why I should lie for you,” Judith said at last. “I only stray from the truth when there’s a very good reason.”
Anemone leaned forward, her hands clenched together. “Please. This is very important to me. The reason, I mean. But I can’t tell you. It’s too…too humiliating.”
“Humiliating?” Judith repeated. A romantic rendezvous between the winsome ingenue and the middle-aged purser seemed unlikely. “Were you meeting Émile?”
“No!” Anemone clapped both hands to her cheeks. “No, I never even saw him. I swear it.”
As Judith recalled, the individual dressing room sections were divided according to the type and price range of clothing featured in the open display areas. Anemone had been shopping in the suit department; coats and outerwear were featured between that part of the store and the designer boutique where Renie had discovered Émile’s body. If there was access between the separate dressing-room areas, Judith hadn’t seen it.
“Have you been questioned by the police since Dixie and Émile were killed?” Judith asked.
Anemone looked offended. “No. Why should I be? I hardly knew either of them. They worked for Mr. Cruz.”
“Did you know them before your mother arranged to go on the San Rafael?”
Anemone’s eyes narrowed. “You sound like the police.”
Judith waved an impatient hand. “You’re asking me to give you an alibi. If I lie for you, I’m guilty of a crime. It’s called impeding justice. My husband is a retired policeman. I refuse to do that, Anemone. I hardly know you.”
“That’s why I can’t tell you my reason for…” Anemone’s head drooped.