Silver Scream: A Bed-And-Breakfast Mystery (16 page)

Renie jumped out of the chair. “Let me help. You can’t carry all that at once.”

“I guess not,” Judith admitted. “How are you doing on the Internet?”

“I just got into one of the main sites,” Renie said as she scooped up the fallen boxes. “I had to eat a little something first. Like the steaks.”

“Those I could have frozen,” Judith said, leading the way down the basement steps.

“I didn’t really eat them,” Renie admitted. “I had some of that field-green salad, a few tempura prawns, a piece of fried chicken, and some excellent lox on an outstanding bagel.”

Arriving at the freezer, Judith shook her head. “All that in five minutes. How could you?” She always marveled at how much—and how fast—Renie could eat. She also wondered why she couldn’t have inherited Renie’s metabolism instead of Aunt Deb’s compassion.

“You’re right,” Renie said as Judith opened the freezer. “You don’t have much room. Maybe we should take this stuff out of the boxes and put it in freezer wrap.”

“There’s some right up here,” Judith said, reaching for a roll on the shelf above the freezer. “So did you learn anything about Bruno’s background yet?”

“No, I just got started,” Renie replied, removing four prime New York steaks from one of the boxes. “I only learned his age, which indeed is fifty-three as of March ninth. The next thing I knew, I was being crushed by your cartons.”

“Here,” Judith said, moving some of the items in the freezer, “I’ve made some room. We can put those steaks in this corner by the—” She stopped and sucked in her breath.

Renie looked at her cousin with some alarm. “What’s wrong? Did you cut yourself on something?”

“No,” Judith said slowly as she brought her hand out of the freezer. “But I did find these.”

She opened her palm to reveal four black rubber spiders, stiff as boards and covered with frost.

“G
IVE ME A
clean piece of freezer wrap,” Judith said to Renie. “I’ll put the spiders in it just in case there might be fingerprints or fibers or something on them.”

After securing the evidence, the cousins worked quickly to store the rest of the food. It was almost six by the time they returned upstairs to find the guests in the entry hall, awaiting their limousine.

On a whim, Judith approached them. “Hey, anybody lose some fake spiders?” She held them out in their shroud of plastic wrap.

Ellie, Winifred, and Dade all gave a start. The others looked mildly curious. Judith’s eyes darted around the gathering, trying to assess the individual reactions.

“Where’d those spiders come from?” Ben Carmody asked. “They look like the ones in Bruno’s bed and over the sink.”

“I’m glad they’re fake,” Ellie said. “Those things creep me out even if they are phony.”

“They devastated Bruno,” Winifred noted. “Why do they look like they’ve been frozen?”

“Because they were,” Judith responded. “Nobody wants to claim them, I see.”

“Gosh, no,” Chips said. “Why don’t you put them around the door for the kids who come trick-or-treating?”

“I don’t think so,” Judith said, trying not to show disappointment at the lack of a revealing reaction.

“We shouldn’t be late,” Winifred said as a knock sounded at the front door. “By the way,” she informed Judith, “we heard from the hospital. Angela is going to pull through, but it was a near thing. Dirk will be joining us at Capri’s for dinner.” Along with the others, she moved toward the door, where their chauffeur awaited them.

Joe ambled over to the entry hall after the guests had left. “What was that all about?”

“This,” Judith said, showing him the frozen spiders. “You should have Woody check them out.”

“Hidden in the freezer?” Joe cocked his head to one side. “Not a bad place, I suppose. Nobody twigged when you showed them off?”

“No,” Judith admitted. “Oh, Ellie and Winnie and Dade gave a start, but that doesn’t prove anything. I was hoping that either all of them except one, or none of them except one, would react. Or not.”

“I think I understand you,” Joe said, taking the spiders from Judith. “Dilys can handle this. She saw the spider over the sink.”

Judith went back into the living room. Bill, with the sound on again, was now watching the Allies get revenge for London by blasting the bejeesus out of Berlin.

“You two sofa soldiers can graze at the buffet,” she announced. “I’m not making a formal dinner.”

In the kitchen, Renie was staring at the computer
screen. “Interesting,” she remarked. “Bruno was born in Iowa of an army mother and a German war groom. They moved to California when Bruno was very young. His dad got a job in Hollywood as a translator for German films. Young Bruno grew up obsessed by the movies. Hence his destiny, but only after two years of extensive travels in search of his roots. He was married briefly at the age of twenty, divorced before he was twenty-one, then took Taryn McGuire as his second wife when he was twenty-seven, divorced six years later, married a third time to a film cutter for five years, again divorced. The two children by Taryn are listed, ages eighteen and twenty.”

“Does it give his mother’s maiden name?” Judith asked.

“Yes,” Renie replied, scrolling up the screen. “Father, Josef Zepf; mother, Helena Walls. No Carp. Sorry.”

“What about wives number one and number three? Any names?”

Renie shook her head. “The first marriage was so brief they don’t mention her. And the film cutter’s name isn’t listed, either. Since this is an official site, they may have been omitted because they weren’t names in the industry. There are other sites, I’m sure.”

“Check those,” Judith urged. “There’s got to be a Carp somewhere.”

“I’ll try,” Renie said, “but sometimes it’s tricky to get into the unofficial sites. At least it is for me. Meanwhile, I’ll print out the stuff we’ve already seen. There’s quite a bit of information about Bruno’s films, of course.”

In the living room, World War II had ended in Eu
rope. The program had moved on to the Pacific, where General Douglas MacArthur was wearing his game face. Bill was adding another section to his chart.

“Joe,” Judith said with a sigh, “I thought you were detecting.”

“I am,” Joe replied. “I’m like Hercule Poirot, letting my little gray cells cogitate.”

Bill gave Judith an accusing look. “You didn’t let me finish explaining my chart.”

“You’re right,” Judith said, sitting down on the sofa arm. “Really, I
am
interested. Show me.”

While Bill wrestled with his unwieldy chart, Joe reluctantly turned off the TV as a mushroom cloud exploded over Hiroshima. Bill picked up his bamboo skewer just as Renie burst into the living room.

“Hey!” she cried. “I found something. There’s a whole Web site devoted to
The Gasman
and its origins.”

Judith turned to look at her cousin. “What does it say?”

“I don’t know,” Renie replied. “It’s kind of long, so I’m printing it out.” She saw her husband with his chart and pointer. “Oops. Sorry, Bill. Am I interrupting?”

“You usually are,” Bill said with a long-suffering air.

“Go ahead,” Joe urged, nodding at Bill. “I’d like to hear this, too. It might help me…cogitate.”

“What’s that new section?” Judith asked, noting that two more circles had been added.

“Morris Mayne and Eugenia Fleming,” Bill replied with a tap for each of the turquoise circles.

“You’re right,” Judith said. “We can’t ignore them. They were here last night, too. What else can you tell us?”

“I’ve been thinking about this,” Bill began, tapping the corner of the chart. “We’re talking about Hollywood, and we should keep a few things in mind. One is power. Who has it here? Bruno, of course. He was one of the most powerful men in the movie industry. That’s a very exclusive club. Who else, then?”

Judith felt she was in the classroom with Bill, and automatically raised her hand. “Winifred? She was so close to Bruno.”

Bill nodded solemnly. “That’s right. If nothing else, Winifred would have had the power to say yes to a proposal or a script. Anyone in Hollywood can say no. But saying yes is a risk. Winifred was probably able to do that because of her close association with Bruno.”

“Then Eugenia would have power, too,” Judith conjectured, “because she’s Bruno’s agent?”

“Only to the extent of allowing access to the people in her stable,” Bill replied. “Eugenia also represents Dirk, doesn’t she? The amount of her power depends more on her clients’ clout.”

“What about Morris?” Joe asked.

“Morris Mayne is a studio flack,” Bill said, tapping the smaller of the circles in his addendum. “Morris can be replaced on a whim. The only way publicists have any power is if they’re keeping a secret. Let’s say, covering up for Angela’s overdose today.”

“Blackmail,” Joe said. “Morris is more likely a victim than a perp because he knows too much. Blackmailers are always vulnerable.”

The room went silent for a few moments as the foursome reflected. Finally, Renie spoke. “Angela and Dirk are bankable. Doesn’t that give them some power?”

“Dirk, yes,” Bill said. “But not Angela. She’s a big
star, though I doubt that a producer or a studio could get a large investment on her name alone. Bruno could and did with Dirk.”

“What about Chips Madigan?” Joe asked. “He’s a successful director.”

Bill shook his head. “Chips is under contract to Paradox. His power is limited. In fact,” he continued, tapping at several of the smaller circles, “no one here really has power except Bruno, Winifred, and Dirk. Writers in particular are way down on the food chain.”

“Ellie had power,” Judith pointed out. “She was the reason Bruno got a big chunk of money for
The Gasman
.”

Again, Bill shook his head. “That was a fluke. Ellie had connections, which isn’t the same. Until now, her father wasn’t a player.”

“But,” Renie said, “do people murder for power in Hollywood? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of such a thing.”

Bill pointed the pointer at Renie. “That’s right,” he said approvingly. “They don’t. If Bruno was murdered, I doubt that power was a motive.”

“You really think he was murdered?” Judith said eagerly.

Bill shrugged. “How do I know? But you and Joe seem to be operating on that premise. Judging from the studio’s involvement, they are, too.”

“So,” Renie inquired, “what’s the other factor besides power?”

“Factors, really,” Bill responded, then studied his chart for a moment. “Image, for one. I realize it’s not like it used to be in Hollywood, where studios manufactured images and personalities. Stars were shielded
from bad publicity; they had to live up to certain standards. Of course they misbehaved, but either they were protected from the press or the reporters themselves turned a blind eye. Nowadays actors don’t have that kind of buffer. And journalism is different—no turn goes unstoned, as they say. The tabloids not only exploit the stars’ misdeeds, but they invent some of them.” Bill took a deep breath. “All that being said, it’s only human nature for actors to want to keep certain unsavory things from the public. Such as Angela’s apparent cocaine habit.”

“Dirk, too?” Judith offered. “If he and Angela were romantically involved, isn’t it possible that he also had a coke addiction?”

“We don’t know about Dirk,” Bill replied. “Do we have proof?”

On the sofa, Joe stretched out his legs. “Only the coke dust my bride discovered in the downstairs powder room and traces I noticed in the bathroom Angela and Dirk used after they commandeered Bruno’s room last night.”

“But that could have been only Angela,” Bill pointed out.

“What about the bathroom Angela and Ellie shared the first night?” Judith inquired of Joe. “Did you notice anything in there?”

Joe shook his head. “It could have been cleaned up, of course.”

Judith persisted. “The night that Dirk roomed with Ben, they had access to Bruno’s bathroom, because it’s the largest and it’s shared by Rooms Three and Four.”

“Nothing there, either,” Joe responded. “Angela may not have wanted to haul out her stash while she
was sharing a room with Ellie. They don’t like each other much. Ellie might have lorded it over Angela somehow. Haven’t we figured that Angela used the bathroom on this floor to do coke?”

“That’s right,” Judith allowed.

“What else?” Bill asked, impatient with the latest digression. “We’re talking image and reputation here, remember.”

“Ellie’s too young to have much of a past,” Judith noted.

“Chips,” Renie declared, “is too good to be true.”

“Do writers care what people think of them?” Joe remarked. “Dade, at least, gives off I-don’t-give-a-damn signals.”

“All writers are weird,” Renie said. “That’s why they’re so difficult to deal with.”

Judith was staring at Renie. “Why do you think Chips is too good to be true?”

Renie shrugged. “Isn’t he always telling you those endearing stories about his wholesome youth in the Midwest? Mother and apple pie—literally.”

“It was chicken pot pie,” Judith said, but Renie’s comment caused her to wonder. “Could we check him out on the Internet?”

“Probably,” Renie replied.

He pointed to the circle that represented Dirk Farrar. “The worst thing about Dirk—from an image stand-point—would be to find out he was gay. He’s Mr. Macho on the screen.”

“Can’t we rule that out?” Joe inquired. “He was banging Angela.”

“He could be a switch-hitter,” Bill responded.

“What about Ben Carmody?” Judith asked.

“Ben’s a different case,” Bill said. “He usually plays villains. Isn’t the role in the Utah picture his first leading-man opportunity?”

“I guess,” Judith said, “though I don’t think all the different parts he played in
The Gasman
were bad guys.”

“That’s not the same,” Bill pointed out. “Ben Carmody has built his reputation as an actor, not as a star. You see the difference?” Like any good professor, he waited for the others to nod their understanding. “As for Ellie, you may be right, Judith. She’s not only young, but grew up in a prominent family. I suspect that her past is relatively blameless.”

But Renie didn’t agree. “She may have run over a cripple. She could have done drugs. She might have gone off on a lark with some friends and held up a convenience store at gunpoint.”

Bill gave his wife a withering look. “She may have been the homecoming queen and won a scholarship to Yale. Let’s assume she’s in the clear. You’re just being contrary.”

“True,” Renie admitted, not looking the least contrite. “Still, I think there must be something unsavory about Chips. And where did he get a name like that anyway? It’s got to be a nickname.”

“You may be right,” Bill said. “Midwesterners are very good at hiding things they don’t want others to see, especially their dark side.”

Bill ought to know, Judith thought, since he was a Wisconsin native. “Who’ve we left out?” she asked. “Winifred?”

“Yes.” Bill tapped the circle nearest to Bruno’s. “What do we know about her background?”

“I think she was a Demure,” Judith said, walking over to the stereo, where she had slipped the tape behind a rack of CDs. She related Renie’s discovery along with Winifred’s reaction. “I’m sure it’s her,” Judith concluded, “but she doesn’t want it known.”

“Ah,” said Bill.

“I remember them,” Joe put in. “They were a onehit wonder. Vivian used to sing their song when she did her piano-bar stints. ‘Come Play with Me,’ wasn’t it?”

Judith gave her husband a censorious look. “I’m sure she did.”

Joe waved a hand. “It was her job. At least I had a spouse who worked. Sometimes.”

“She only worked because she got free drinks,” Judith asserted.

“Truce!” Renie shouted, holding up both arms like a football official signaling a touchdown. “No fighting, no biting. Let’s go back to Winifred.”

Joe calmed down first. “So Winifred’s ashamed of being a Demure? Why?”

“Because,” Judith suggested, still bristling a bit, “they only had one big hit?”

“Another person deeply affected by failure,” Bill murmured. He used the purple pen to make some marks by Winifred’s circle. “Yet,” he continued, making a squiggle with the orange pen, “she rebounded to become Bruno’s assistant, a position of great power. So why,” he concluded, adding a chartreuse slash, “wouldn’t Winifred be able to laugh off her early experience in the music world?”