by Mary Daheim
To Lyssa—wife, mom, and editor.
You do it all,
and oh, so well.
Contents
Cast of Cruising Characters vii
One
JUDITH MCMONIGLE FLYNN winced,
flinched, and grimaced as she held…
1
Two
JUDITH STARED IN the mirror at her new
hair
color…
16
Three
JUDITH SPENT THE rest of Wednesday in
a frenzy of…
29
Four
ART DECO RULED the ship’s design, from
furniture to paneling…
40
Five
DAMNED FUNNY, ST. George!” Horace
Pankhurst shouted, slapping his thick…
51
Six
“I CAN’T BELIEVE,” Judith said to Renie
as they sought…
62
Seven
THE COUSINS WERE still making conjectures about the weapon when…
75
Eight
“WHY,” JUDITH ASKED after Chevy
Barker-James had left, “would…
88
Nine
“IT FIGURES,” RENIE said as notes from
the Compass Rose…
104
Ten
THE COUSINS COULD already hear sirens
approaching.
118
Eleven
“YOU DIDN’T ASK what kind of weapon?”
Judith demanded.
136
Twelve
AMBROSE EVERHART’S DEPARTURE
seemed to signal a change in the…
148
Thirteen
THE IMPOSSIBLE WAS not only possible,
but for once, it…
164
Fourteen
BY THE TIME Judith got back to the
table at…
177
Fifteen
A MOMENT LATER, the waitress came
by to tell Flakey…
187
Sixteen
ERMA GIDDON HOWLED like a wounded
hound, clutching at her…
200
Seventeen
DESPITE THE FACT that their cabdriver
didn’t seem conversant in…
213
Eighteen
“HOLD IT!” RENIE cried. “Are you crazy?
We didn’t steal…
223
Nineteen
“YOU DIDN’T HEAR the latest?” Connie
asked in an excited…
239
Twenty
“JIM’S AN IDIOT,” Renie declared as the
cousins rode home…
250
Twenty-One
“I TRIED TO tell them you didn’t steal
the jewels,”…
265
Twenty-Two
THE CATHEDRAL OF St. Mary of the
Assumption was startlingly…
275
About the Author
Praise
Other Books by Mary Daheim
Cover
Copyright
About the Publisher
Cast of Cruising Characters Magglio Cruz—Self-made man, successful shipowner, and a gracious host who should stay away from pianos. Consuela Cruz—Magglio’s wife, an heiress who has a right to be embarrassed by a leftover scandal. Erma Giddon—A rich San Francisco matron whose plussize figure puts the “big” in bigotry. Anemone Giddon—Erma’s sheltered daughter, who has everything except what she really wants.
Jim Brooks—An aspiring doctor who needs more practice and is a less-than-perfect suitor for Anemone. Ambrose Everhart—Erma’s private secretary, whose public causes embrace more than endangered redwoods. Horace Pankhurst—The Giddon family’s financial adviser deals in cork futures and beautiful blondes, past and present.
Beulah—Erma’s “colored” maid, who’s a lot more colorful than she pretends.
CeeCee Orr—A blond bombshell who figures her figure can add up to big bucks.
Paul Tanaka—Cruz’s second in command and first in charge of a widow’s needs.
Émile Grenier—The ship’s purser, whose superior French air is as noticeable as his mysterious limp. May Belle (Dixie) Beales—A Southern belle who rings once too often.
Randolph J. Swafford—Ship captain and bluff English sea dog who may or may not be bluffing.
viii
Cast of Cruising Characters
Blackie—A Mystery Man who may or may not be
“Blackie.”
Rick St. George—Debonair man-about-murder who takes sleuthing as seriously as drinking. Rhoda St. George—Rick’s slightly more sober better half, with beauty, brains, and a big, big bank account.
ONE
JUDITH MCMONIGLE FLYNN winced, flinched, and grimaced as she held the phone as far as possible from her ear. Cousin Renie was screaming obscenities at the other end and throwing in an occasional death threat. Unable to listen any longer, Judith severed the connection. A minute later, she was swallowing two aspirin when the phone rang again. Reluctantly, Judith answered.
“What happened?” Renie asked in a more normal voice. “We got cut off.”
“I hung up,” Judith replied. “Your ranting gave me a headache.”
“You have a headache?” Renie shot back, her words climbing several decibels. “How about me? I’ve never been fired before in my life.”
“Cruz Cruises didn’t exactly fire you,” Judith pointed out. “Moving their corporate offices to San Francisco means you can’t have your usual hands-on control of their design work. You’ve still got plenty of clients. And,”
she warned, “if you start yelling again I’ll hang up again.”
Renie, known to the professional world as Serena Jones of CaJones Graphic Design, snarled into the phone.
“Okay, okay. But they were a big source of my income with all those cruise magazines and hefty brochures and 2
Mary Daheim
other promos that require artwork. I’m calling Bill’s brother Bub and telling him to sue the pants off of Cruz Cruises. It won’t cost me a dime, because Bub’s such a good guy when it comes to family. If Magglio Cruz looks him up in Martindale-Gobble or whatever the ABA reference book is called, he’ll see Bub has really impressive credentials.”
Judith was aware that Bub Jones—whose real name was Millard—had had a very successful career as the senior partner in a large local law firm. Bub was also a man of integrity, despite his one eccentricity, which was wearing wigs to cover his baldness. Bub owned an office wig, a golf wig, a party wig, a trial wig, and a picnic wig. At home, he wore a baseball cap Renie had given him as a Christmas present many years earlier. The cap bore the words WISH YOU WERE HAIR.
“Good luck,” Judith said to Renie.
Setting the phone down on the kitchen counter, Judith gazed out through the window above the sink. It was raining, typical Pacific Northwest March weather. It had been raining since November with only an occasional glimpse of sun and one brief January snowfall to break the monotony. Even a native like Judith yearned for a clear day. Her dark eyes roamed to the reservation book she kept next to the computer. Only two of Hillside Manor B&B’s six rooms would be occupied on this Wednesday night. There were three reservations for Thursday, but all of the rooms were booked through the weekend, thanks to St. Patrick’s Day falling on Monday. The rest of next week looked thin. Maybe she could take time out to get her hair dyed. Joe Flynn wandered into the kitchen, seeking a coffee refill.
Judith ran her fingers through her silver-streaked tresses.
“I’m thinking a
bout having some blond highlights put in at Chez Steve’s Salon. Would you like that?”
“As opposed to this last dye job that makes you look like a skunk?” Joe nodded. “Yes, you’d look terrific with a touch of shimmering gold.” He kissed her forehead. “What gave you that idea?”
DEAD MAN DOCKING
3
“It worked wonders for Kristin,” she said, referring to their daughter-in-law, who had somehow resolved a personal crisis the previous June by changing her hair color.
“Maybe,” Judith went on, “it’ll pep me up. I’m running on fumes these days.”
Judith had started to turn gray in her late teens, just as her mother had done. She’d dyed her hair for years, but after her first husband, Dan McMonigle, died, she’d let the black grow out, and had been silver-haired since her forties. Years passed before Renie finally convinced Judith that she’d look much better with at least some of her original color. Never one to make changes easily, Judith allowed almost another decade to pass before she heeded her cousin’s advice. But now she was ready for an even more drastic transformation.
“Why don’t you lighten up all your hair?” Joe suggested.
“Maybe go brunette, close to your natural color.”
Judith knew what Joe really meant. He was right—gold and raven hair might look harsh in middle age. Not wanting to give herself the chance to change her mind, Judith dialed the salon’s number and made an appointment for nine o’clock the following Tuesday.
As the days passed by—still raining, and with occasional gusty winds—Judith began to get excited about her new look. A few more reservations trickled in. She kept busy, and it was Saturday afternoon before she realized she hadn’t heard from Renie. They usually spoke to each other at least once a day. They were both only children, and had grown up more like sisters than cousins.
Just before preparing the appetizers for the guests’ social hour, Judith dialed Renie’s number. The voice that answered on the other end was almost unrecognizable.
“Is that you, coz?” she asked, knowing it couldn’t be Bill since he hated the telephone as much as Judith’s mother did.
“I’m pouting,” Renie replied. “I’ve been pouting since Wednesday.”
“You can really pout,” Judith said, “but you usually don’t do it for more than a day. What’s wrong now?”
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Mary Daheim
“The same thing that was wrong when I last talked to you,” Renie retorted. “That damned cruise line. I haven’t heard back since I threatened them with Bub.”
“It’s only been two full working days,” Judith pointed out.
“They have to check with their Suits in response to your Suit.”
“My Wig, you mean,” Renie corrected. “I always refer to Bub as my Wig, not my Suit.”
“Poor Bub,” Judith murmured.
“What?” Renie spoke sharply.
“Never mind. By the way, I’m getting my hair colored Tuesday.”
“Colored what?” Renie asked, her voice showing mild interest.
“Some kind of brown,” Judith replied. “I’ll let Ginger advise me.”
“She’s good,” Renie conceded. “So’s her husband, Steve. I sort of take turns between them.”
“But you don’t have to color your hair,” Judith declared.
“You inherited your mother’s hair, which still hardly has any gray in it.”
“It’s not my fault,” Renie said. “I’m just a freak of nature.”
“True,” Judith agreed, not without a touch of sarcasm.
“Hey, I’ve got to go make crab-and-pork wontons for the guests. See you in church.”
Judith and Joe did in fact see Renie and Bill at Our Lady, Star of the Sea’s ten o’clock Mass. But Bill was lectoring at the service and had to sit in one of the side pews reserved for readers. Renie was in the row behind him, while the Flynns occupied their usual place in the middle of the church. At the Sign of Peace, instead of offering the person next to her a warm handshake and prayerful words, Renie clenched her fists and seemed to snarl. Clearly, she was still in a bad mood.
Later, when Judith and Joe pulled into the driveway, they discovered Gertrude trying to negotiate her motorized
DEAD MAN DOCKING
5
wheelchair up the back-porch ramp that had been added during Hillside Manor’s renovation three years earlier. The old lady seemed to be stuck.
“Mother!” Judith cried as she tried to get out of Joe’s beloved MG without damaging her artificial hip. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s that horrible cat,” Gertrude asserted in her raspy voice. “Where’d he go now?”
Judith looked around the backyard, where daffodils, hyacinths, and other early spring bulbs bloomed. “I don’t see Sweetums anywhere,” she said, trying to budge the wheelchair. “How did the cat make you get stuck? I can’t move this thing. Here comes Joe.”
Gertrude heaved a sigh. “Not Knucklehead,” she grumbled. “Call the medics. Call the cops. Call anybody but him.”
“Now, now,” Joe said. “Is my darling mother-in-law annoyed with me? How can that be?”
“It’s easy,” Gertrude snapped. “I’d stop being annoyed if you disappeared.”
Judith tried to ignore the ongoing feud between her husband and her mother. Gertrude had never approved of Joe—
or Dan McMonigle. In fact, the old lady resided in the converted tool shed because she refused to live under the same roof with Judith’s second husband.
Joe, however, wasn’t having any luck with the wheelchair.
“Is this thing turned on?” he asked.
“You bet,” Gertrude replied. “Come on, push. You don’t look like any ninety-pound weakling to me. Your big fat head weighs that much.”
“Mother—” Judith began but stopped when she glimpsed Sweetums’ large orange-and-white body creeping through Carl and Arlene Rankers’s vast laurel hedge. Joe’s ruddy complexion was getting even redder. “Did you set the brake?” he inquired of Gertrude.
“ ’Course I did,” the old lady snapped. “How else could I keep from running over that cat? He wouldn’t move. Should I have totaled him?”
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Mary Daheim
“Why don’t you two have an ornery-off?” Joe muttered.
“The loser gets sent to the Home. So does the winner.”
Gertrude cupped her right ear. “What? I can’t hear you. I’m getting deaf, you know.”
Joe released the brake. The wheelchair sailed up the ramp and onto the porch.
“About time,” Gertrude said to Joe.
Judith opened the back door. “Why were you coming into the house?” she asked.
“To get a magnifying glass,” Gertrude replied, proceeding down the narrow hallway and into the kitchen. “Mine’s lost. I know you’ve got one, because you’re always doing some kind of stupid sleuthing. Did I ask for a daughter who thinks she’s Sherlock Holmes?”
“I don’t use a magnifying glass to do it,” Judith huffed.
“Furthermore, you know perfectly well that I’m not a real sleuth. I’ve just had a run of bad luck getting involved in . . . unpleasant situations.”
Joe was looking askance. “It’s a hobby you should give up. How many times have I told you it’s damned dangerous?”
Her husband’s recurrent nagging about her involvement in crime and her mother’s constant verbal abuse of Joe irritated Judith. “Skip it,” she said stiffly. “It’s been almost a year since I had a . . . problem.”
“At least,” Joe remarked, “when I was a homicide detective, I got paid for solving cases.”
“Joe!” Judith glared at her husband. “Drop it!”
Joe, whose temper was usually more easily triggered than his wife’s, knew when it was unwise to push her too far.
“Okay.” He nodded in the direction of the dining room. “We have some guests still eating breakfast. I’ll see how they’re doing.”
“Thanks.
” Judith’s tone was terse.
“I can’t find it,” Gertrude declared. “When’s lunch?”
Judith pointed to the old schoolhouse clock on the wall.
“It’s not even eleven-thirty. Can you wait an hour?”
“Noon. You know I like my lunch at noon.”
DEAD MAN DOCKING
7
“I have to clear up from breakfast first,” Judith said, still sounding cross. “The magnifying glass is in the junk drawer, next to the stapler.”
“I already looked,” Gertrude said. “There’s so much junk, I couldn’t find it.”
Judith let out an impatient sigh. “That’s why it’s a drunk jawer. I mean, junk drawer. Honestly,” she complained, “between you and Joe, I get so rattled, it’s a wonder I can find the kitchen.” She rummaged through the assortment of rubber bands, meat skewers, Band-Aids, batteries, Scotch tape, mailing tape, strapping tape, and tape measures. “Here,” she said, handing the magnifying glass to Gertrude. “It was under the take-out menus. Why do you need it?”
Gertrude examined the glass as if it were a mirror. “It’s my movie script,” she said. “They’ve made so many changes—revisions, they call them—that I can’t read the handwriting in the margins. And I sure don’t like the new title, Dirty Gertie Does Düsseldorf. Granted, as the Greatest Generation, we didn’t have all these fancy appliances, but I wasn’t ever dirty. We washed our clothes, ran them through the wringer, and hung them on the clothesline. Then we put them in the mangle for ironing. And starch. We had starch in those days, boiled outside and stirred with a wooden ladle. How could I be dirty after all that?”
Judith hadn’t heard much of what her mother had said beyond the movie’s title. “When did you learn that they weren’t going to call the film Gertrude the Great?”
“Friday,” her mother replied. “I got one of those FedEx or UPS or whatever packages. Your crazy cleaning woman, Phyliss Rackley, brought it to me. She talked my ear off—as usual—about being saved. Saved from what? I told her to save her breath. She stayed so long I forgot she’d brought the package. ’Course, half the time, I don’t open those things. Ever since they decided to make my life into a moving picture they send all this stuff on a truck. But I decided to open this one. Those packages are piling up, in case you haven’t noticed.”
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Mary Daheim
Judith had seen at least a half-dozen overnight parcels in the toolshed. She’d even mentioned their presence a couple of times to her mother, but Gertrude had ignored her.
