Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [89]
“The party didn’t seem quite as festive without you,” Rick said. “May we share your cab?”
“If it ever comes,” Renie said. “What happened after we left?”
“The maid came to restore order,” Rhoda replied, keeping her champagne-colored Chanel coat wrapped closely over the matching cocktail dress. “Erma announced that dessert would be served in the parlor. That’s when we decided to leave. Ricky and I spent a less stressful evening at Candlestick Park during the ’eighty-nine World Series earthquake.”
“We became engaged there,” Rick said, smiling at his wife. “I told her she made the earth move for me.”
“He’s so sweet,” Rhoda remarked with an ironic expression. “He’d never have proposed if they’d been able to play the game that night.”
“Of course not,” Rick agreed. “When the series resumed, the Giants ended up getting swept. I would have been glum for days, and not in a marrying mood.”
A few yards down the street, Judith could make out two dim lights. “I think the taxi’s finally here,” she said.
“Ah.” Rick nodded. “Before we get in, there’s something you should know.”
Renie looked alarmed. “The killer’s driving the cab?”
Rick smiled and shook his head. “Doubtful. But the phone call I received during dinner was from Biff McDougal. He wanted to let me know that they’ve been checking the local bank accounts of everyone involved in the investigation. It seems that on the first of the last four months, Connie Cruz made cash withdrawals on a personal account in the amounts of twenty, forty, fifty, and seventy-five thousand dollars.”
The headlights veered close to the curb. The taxi stopped.
“Were there any canceled checks in that amount?” Judith asked.
“No,” Rick replied, moving toward the cab. “Suggestive, though, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” Judith said as Rick opened the rear door for the women.
One word had leaped into Judith’s mind.
Blackmail.
SEVENTEEN
DESPITE THE FACT that their cabdriver didn’t seem conversant in English, the foursome spoke only of inconsequential matters during the ride back to the St. Francis.
“Maybe,” Judith suggested as they drove past Union Square, “you should come up for a drink.”
“What a splendid idea!” Rick exclaimed. “I could use a martini about now. It’s been minutes since I’ve had one.”
Upon arriving in the suite, Renie ordered a liter of Tanqueray No. 10, a fifth of Kina Lillet vermouth, and a jar of cocktail olives from room service. The small liquor bottles in the honor bar wouldn’t go very far with their guests.
“It might not be blackmail,” Rhoda said while they waited. “It could be gambling debts, or even purchases. You know, like clothes or jewelry that she didn’t want Mags to know she was buying.”
Rick looked dubious. “It’s the increments and the regularity of dates that bother me. According to Biff, her other finances—as well as Mags’s—are in order. So, apparently are those of the cruise line itself.”
Rhoda didn’t seem convinced. “Connie has led a blameless life. That is,” she continued with a hint of cynicism in her expression, “as far as I know. I’ve always considered us confidantes—up to a point. There are some things women don’t even tell their dearest friends.”
“Such as a lover?” Judith put in.
Rhoda looked ambiguous. “Like that.”
“Nominees?” said Renie.
“Oh, dear.” Rhoda pressed a finger to her forehead. “Their circle includes some very charming men.” She shot a glance at Rick. “Not you, darling. That is, you’re relentlessly charming, but I’d know if you were straying. Our liquor bills would be lower.”
Room service arrived. Rick insisted on doing the honors, including a hefty tip for the waiter. Judith and Renie, however, both insisted on drinking soda from the honor bar.
“I never could handle gin,” Renie admitted. “Frankly, I hate the taste. It’s like drinking a Christmas tree.”
Rick’s eyes twinkled. “And to think I thought you were a person of refined taste and habits.”
“Don’t get sidetracked, darling,” Rhoda