Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [90]
“Speaking as an outsider,” Judith began as she scooped ice cubes out of a silver bucket, “I noticed how solicitous Émile Grenier was of Connie after Mags was killed.”
“Proprietary,” Renie added. “But Paul Tanaka behaved the same way this evening.”
“That’s the effect Connie has always had on men,” Rhoda said, accepting a martini from her husband. “Perfect, darling,” she murmured after a first sip. “Connie is the type of woman who appears as if she needs protecting. The male sex has always treated her with the utmost gallantry. When we were younger, I used to find it annoying.”
Rick grinned at his wife. “That’s because you look like you can take care of yourself ten times better than any man could.”
“Except for you, darling,” she responded with a semi-sweet smile.
Judith poured Diet 7UP into her glass. “I still have to wonder what caused Connie to faint at the dinner table. Until then, she seemed relatively composed.”
“Was anyone else conversing at the other end of the table?” Renie inquired. “I was way down there sitting by the late Wilbur Giddon’s empty chair.”
“No,” Rhoda stated firmly. “You and Rick and I were the only ones talking at that point, except for Horace, who asked about Madame de Montespan. He was on my left, then Connie, with Erma at the head of the table. Ambrose and CeeCee were across from them, and at that point, they were keeping their mouths shut.”
“So was everybody else on my side of the table,” Judith said. “It wasn’t what you’d call a lively social gathering.”
Rhoda removed her cigarette case and holder from her evening bag. “Do you mind?”
Both cousins shook their heads. Three lives in three days had been lost through violence; smoking seemed like a minor vice.
“It beats me,” Rick said, gazing out into the foggy night. “If anyone should have passed out during a discussion of courtesans, it’d be CeeCee. But her skin is as thick as it is fair.”
Renie, who was sitting in an armchair with her shoes off, set her Pepsi on a sidetable. “How long has CeeCee been Horace’s girlfriend?”
Rick and Rhoda exchanged glances. “A year?” Rhoda offered.
Rick shrugged. “About that. Horace has never married. Over time, he’s squired a number of beautiful blondes. As Horace gets older, the women keep getting younger. Some of them have had a bit more class than CeeCee. But not much.”
“What does he do?” Renie asked. “Pay them off when they get tiresome?”
“It’s more the other way ’round,” Rhoda said, using a small porcelain dish as an ashtray. “The girls get tired of Horace. Of course they accumulate enough jewelry and cash or whatever before they pack up and leave. And in some cases, he’s acted as a sort of marriage broker.”
Judith frowned. “How do you mean?”
Rhoda laughed carelessly. “Think about it, my dear. In today’s world, few women want to be kept by a rich sugar daddy. If Horace doesn’t choose independent career girls—or should I say they don’t choose him?—they at least want legal and financial security. It isn’t difficult for him to find one of his cronies a second or third bride, particularly of the trophy-wife variety.”
“In fact,” Rick put in, “Horace has made a couple of matches for younger men who have—old-fashioned as it may sound—fallen in love with the ladies in question—or, if you will, questionable ladies.”
“Why,” Renie murmured, “do I feel as if I’m out of this league?”
“Because you are,” Rhoda said kindly. “And I think it’s terribly refreshing.”
Judith felt equally at sea. “Is Horace recompensed for making these marital arrangements?”
Rick turned away from the window and winked. “In his own way. Financial advice, shall we say.”
“You mean stock tips?” Judith responded. “Inside-trader kind of information?”
“Whatever the market will stand,” Rick answered blandly. “Horace is generous with his ladies, but he’s not rich in the way of really rich people. If you know what I mean.”
“We don’t,” Renie replied.
“We really don’t,” Judith emphasized.
“It’s like…” Rhoda looked at Rick. “You explain, darling.”
Rick blew a