Silver Scream: A Bed-And-Breakfast Mystery (20 page)

“Maybe you saw a preview,” Renie suggested, opening a can of Pepsi.

“Maybe.” Judith paced a bit. “That must be it. I certainly can’t remember anything else about
The Virgin Vessel
. But the scene with Ben Carmody looked very familiar.” She went to the sink and stared out the kitchen window. Suddenly something clicked in her brain. “Coz!” she cried, whirling around to face Renie. “Do you remember that man I saw a couple of months ago between our house and the Rankerses’ hedge?”

“What man?” Renie looked blank. “I don’t think you mentioned it to me.”

“Maybe I didn’t,” Judith allowed. “It was after Labor Day, when Skjoval Tolvang was working on the house and the toolshed. Mr. Tolvang saw him first. He thought the man was a city inspector.”

“Did you see this guy up close?” Renie asked.

“Fairly close,” Judith replied, pacing a little faster. “He had a beard and glasses. He said he was looking for a Mr…. I forget, it was an odd name. Anyway, he hurried off after that.”

“Okay,” Renie said. “And your point is…?”

“My point,” Judith said slowly, “is that the man I saw outside the house may have been Ben Carmody.”

Renie thought Judith was imagining things, and said so. “Why on earth would you think that?”

“Because of his height and build,” Judith said. “At the time he reminded me of someone. I’ve seen Ben in a couple of movies, and one of them was a costume picture from the same era as
The Virgin Vessel
.”

“It’s a stretch.” Renie yawned. “Why would Ben Carmody be hanging around outside Hillside Manor in September?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Judith said, reverting to her old habit of chewing on a fingernail.

“Why indeed?” Renie said as they heard the front door open. “I doubt that Ben did any such thing.”

Judith didn’t respond, but went into the dining room to see who had arrived. It was Vito and Winifred. He seemed fresh and vigorous; she appeared weary and anxious. Judith informed Vito that he’d be staying in Room Three.

“Bruno’s room,” Vito said solemnly. “It’s an honor.”

“You may find Morris Mayne already there,” Judith said. “Would you mind asking him to move to Room Five with Chips?”

The attorney informed Judith that he’d gladly pass on the request. “I appreciate getting the larger room,” he said. “I have some work to do.”

Winifred, however, wasn’t pleased to hear that she would have to share her room with Ellie. “Why couldn’t Ellie and Eugenia share Room Six?”

“Because,” Judith said, clearing her throat, “you and Ellie are quite slim. Eugenia is not. Both your room and Room Six, where Ellie’s been staying, have double beds.”

Flattery didn’t have any effect on Winifred, who remained glum but didn’t argue further. Maybe, Judith thought, that was because Eugenia had admitted that she and Winifred weren’t on good terms. Whatever the reason, Winifred immediately went upstairs while Vito peered into the darkened living room.

“What’s going on?” Seeing the movie on TV, he didn’t wait for an answer. “Ah—
The Virgin Vessel
. The role that made Ben famous. It was Chips’s first attempt at directing. He was superb.” Without waiting for a response from Judith, Vito slipped gracefully into the living room just as a willowy blonde met her fate at the hands of Mr. Ax.

Judith was still shuddering when she returned to the kitchen. “Let’s go upstairs so we can talk privately,” she said to Renie, who had fixed herself some cheese and crackers. “I can still hear the screams from the TV.”

“You want to watch the NBA’s preseason?” Renie inquired, getting up from the table with her snacks.

“Not really,” Judith said. “We can go in Joe’s office.”

The cousins ascended the back stairs, then entered the door that led up to the family quarters. Judith sat down in Joe’s swivel chair and placed her unfinished Scotch on the desk.

“Okay, so fill me in,” Renie said, seating herself in the rocking chair that Joe used to relax his back.

Judith complied, and it took almost fifteen minutes. Renie made only the briefest of comments until her cousin had finished.

“You’ve got a lot of fragmentary information there,” Renie pointed out. “Let’s start with
A
for Angela. She’s a coke addict who got started by Bruno. He went to rehab and it apparently worked. She’s still hooked. Is that a motive for murder?”

“I doubt it,” Judith said, hearing the wind pick up outside. “But her most recent movie with Bruno turned out to be a bomb, and Ellie was to have starred in the next one. That might be more of a motive than mere drug addiction.”

“Revenge,” Renie murmured. “What does Bill’s chart say about that?”

Joe had fortuitously brought the chart up to the office before any of the guests could see it. “I don’t think Bill got to revenge,” Judith said, spreading the chart out on the desk. “Wait—he did. Bill and Joe must have worked on this while we were gone. Angela, Dirk, Ben, Dade, and Chips all have mauve marks, which stand for revenge.”

“They’re all associated with the Big Flop,” Renie remarked. “But murder doesn’t seem like the right way to rectify a career stumble. I can’t imagine that any of those celebrities won’t bounce back.”

Judith studied the chart for several moments. “It’s got to be something personal. It almost always is.”

“You ought to know,” Renie said with a grin. “I see Bill’s keyed in jealousy, but he’s marked it only for Angela and Ellie, with a slash for professional rivalry.”

Judith shook her head. “Why would either of them kill Bruno?”

“Didn’t you say you overheard something about Ellie’s next movie not being made now that Bruno’s dead?”

“That’s my point,” Judith replied. “Bruno was worth far more to Ellie alive than dead. Let’s face it, the only person in the entourage who got violent with Bruno was Dirk Farrar. They had that big fight in Marina Del Rey. Which signifies to me that Dirk wouldn’t hesitate to duke it out in a disagreement, but he’s not the homicidal type. If he killed someone, it would be in a burst of temper with his bare hands.”

“You’re ruling out Dirk banging Bruno in the head with the cupboard door and shoving him in the sink?”

“There would have had to be an argument first,” Judith asserted. “Dirk’s very loud. Joe or I would have heard the two men quarreling, even from the basement.”

Renie didn’t say anything for a few moments. “You’re convinced this wasn’t an accident?”

Judith grimaced. “I’m not going down without a fight to prove otherwise.”

“I don’t blame you,” Renie said. “The problem is, we don’t seem to be getting anywhere. We don’t even know who all the guests were last night.”

Judith gave Renie a puzzled look. “Yes, we do. Except for Vito, the ones who came back here after the premiere are the same people who attended the midnight supper.”

“So where’s Mrs. Mayne?” Renie queried.

“The one dressed as a pioneer woman?” Judith shrugged. “I assume she’s still at the Cascadia. Morris
told me she wasn’t much of a traveler. She probably didn’t want to make another move.”

“Let’s find out.” Renie reached across Judith to pick up the phone on Joe’s desk. “If she’d dug in at the hotel, you’d think Morris would have stayed with her.” A moment later she was asking for Mrs. Mayne. “That’s Mrs. Morris Mayne,” she said. “She and her husband checked in either Friday or Saturday.” There was a long silence from Renie. “Oh. Really? Well, thanks all the same.” She replaced the phone and stared at Judith. “Mrs. Mayne checked out at noon.”

“I
DON’T GET
it,” Judith said, stopping herself from gnawing on another nail. “Why would Mrs. Mayne be allowed to leave town when the rest of them weren’t?”

“Maybe because she’s not in the movie business,” Renie suggested. “Maybe there was a family emergency in California.”

Judith nodded absently. “Maybe she was never here.”

Renie looked startled. “What?”

“I mean,” Judith explained, “here in this house. We only assumed that the pioneer woman was Mrs. Mayne. Do you remember what she looked like?”

Renie hunched her shoulders. “No. She was wearing a big floppy bonnet. I don’t think I ever saw her face.”

Judith got up from the swivel chair. “Let’s find out. We’ll ask Winifred. She’s still in Room One, sharing it with Ellie.”

But Winifred wasn’t in Room One. As the cousins reached the second floor, they could hear her raised voice coming from Room Six. They could also hear Eugenia’s bellow.

“Now what?” Renie said as they edged closer to the angry voices.

Signaling for Renie to be quiet, Judith pricked up her ears. The cousins stood at the door to Room Six like a pair of sentries.

“…more harm than good,” Eugenia shouted.

“That’s not true!” Winifred rejoined. “It was Morris more than you!”

“Oh,” Eugenia responded, her voice dropping a notch, “it was Bruno. It was always Bruno. But why was he killed?”

“Who says he was?” Winifred retorted. “I thought it was an accident.”

“Nonsense,” Eugenia snapped as Judith gave Renie a thumbs-up sign. “Think about it. How could anyone hit a cupboard door or get hit by it hard enough to knock themselves out? And even if they did, wouldn’t falling in a sink filled with water snap them back into consciousness? Why do you think the studio has insisted we stay in this stupid town? Because they’re doing their own investigating, that’s why.”

“I don’t agree with you,” Winifred huffed. “If they’re investigating, why haven’t we seen any detectives around here?”

“We haven’t been here all the time,” Eugenia said in a reasonable voice, which still carried as if she were speaking into a bullhorn. “The investigators may be working with the local police. Or maybe they’re arriving tomorrow.”

“Vito said we could leave tomorrow,” Winifred said, sounding sullen.

“Vito said maybe,” Eugenia responded. “Let’s stop wrangling. I’d like to retire for the night in peace.”

“Until you got here,” Winifred complained, “
I
could retire in peace. Now I have to share my room with that little twit Ellie.”

“Ellie’s simply immature. And spoiled, but she has talent,” Eugenia pointed out. “She’s limited, of course.”

“You mean because of her race?” There was steel in Winifred’s voice.

“No,” Eugenia replied, “I’m referring to her acting range. And her looks, which have nothing to do with the fact that she’s half Chinese.”

“You meant race,” Winifred accused. “It always comes down to race, doesn’t it?”

“For you, apparently,” Eugenia snapped. “I often find that different-colored skin is also very thin.”

Judith and Renie exchanged pained expressions.

“That’s not true!” Winifred cried. “But can you argue that Hollywood has always been fair to minorities?”

“Certainly not,” Eugenia said in a self-righteous tone. “But look at you. You’ve managed to claw your way up to the top. Of course some would say you used more than your brains to get there. I wouldn’t use
Winifred Best
and
ethics
in the same sentence.”

“Ethics? What have ethics got to do with this business?” Winifred demanded.

“You know perfectly well what I mean,” Eugenia asserted. “A certain lack of ethics is one thing, but criminal means are—”

“Ladies!” a masculine voice cut in. “Please! I can’t stand any more of this quarreling. I’m trying to rest.”

Renie mouthed “Morris?” at Judith, who nodded. “He’s in Room Five,” she whispered. “He’s sharing
with Chips. The bathroom connects between Five and Six, remember?”

“This whole situation is intolerable,” Winifred declared. “Do you both realize that all three of us are out of a job?”

“No, we’re not,” Morris replied. “I work for the studio as well as for Bruno. Eugenia has other clients. As for you, Win, someone will have to stay at the helm of Bruno’s production company at least for a while. Who knows? His children may want to keep the company going.”

“No, they won’t,” Winifred asserted. “I know them. They’re utterly irresponsible. They couldn’t run a convenience store.”

“Win’s right,” Eugenia conceded. “Besides, there’s the problem of bailing out
The Gasman
. It may prove very complicated, not to mention the harm done to Bruno’s reputation.”

A door opened in the corridor. Judith and Renie both jumped as they turned around to see who had caught them eavesdropping.

It was Joe, coming from the family quarters. “Jeez,” he said in a low but vexed voice, “could you be more obvious?”

Judith gave her husband a sheepish look. “Okay, we’re done here anyway. But this is how we sleuth.”

“Unprofessional,” Joe murmured, heading for the back stairs. “I’m going to lock up for the night. It’s ten o’clock straight up.”

Judith glanced at her watch as the cousins followed Joe downstairs. “You’re right. I suppose they’re still watching the movie in the living room.”

“I suppose,” Joe said. “It was scheduled to run until eleven.”

“I should go home,” Renie declared as they reached the main floor.

“Don’t,” Judith urged as she saw the computer printouts on the kitchen counter. “We never had a chance to go over the material you found on
The Gasman
and its origins.”

“Oh. Well…sure.” Renie began sorting the pages as Joe headed for the front door to lock up.

A terrified scream erupted from that vicinity, causing Renie to drop several sheets on the floor. But the exclamation of “Wow!” followed by “Way cool, Ben!” from Ellie and a couple of masculine chuckles indicated that the scream had come from another hapless movie victim.

Judith heard Joe say something to the guests that she couldn’t quite make out. A moment later he was back in the kitchen. “Everybody’s here except Dade,” he said. “He has a key, right?”

“He should,” Judith said. “That’s odd. Has he been back since they all left Capri’s?”

“Chips said he hasn’t,” Joe replied, removing a can of beer from the fridge. “Dade arrived here with some of the others, but never came in the house.”

“Typical,” Judith remarked, “though why he’d want to walk around on such a foggy, windy night is beyond me.”

“The wind’s blowing the fog away,” Joe said, then yawned. “I’m going to watch
Sports Center
and head for bed. It’s been a long day. In fact, it’s been a long weekend.” He kissed Judith, gave Renie a hug, and headed back upstairs.

“I’m organized,” Renie announced. “I’ve skimmed some of this stuff, especially Bruno’s filmmaker’s approach to the narrative. Naturally, he sounds like a genius.”

The cousins sat down at the kitchen table. More screams could be heard from the living room. “Wouldn’t you think they must have killed off most of the cast by now?” Judith murmured.

“We wish,” Renie remarked, underlining points of interest with a red pen. “Dade should be writing a movie about what happened after this crew arrived at the B&B. Who needs spooky London streets or the human race’s time line?” She paused, shuffling some papers. “Okay, here’s some information on C. Douglas Carp.”

“Crappy Pappy Carp,” Judith said suddenly. “That’s what Dirk Farrar called him.”

“You can call him Pappy, you can call him Crappy, you can even call him Sappy,” Renie said, handing two pages of underlined information to Judith, “but don’t call him Slaphappy. Carp was a diligent scholar of some repute. He wrote
The Gasman
when he was twenty-two.”

“Goodness,” Judith responded. “That’s impressive.”

“It may account for why my father read the damned thing,” Renie noted. “Dad was probably swayed by Carp’s credentials.” She flipped through a few more pages. “This is what I found on Carp himself. I haven’t read it yet. Shall I read to you?”

“You can also carry me up to bed and tuck me in.” Judith sighed. “I’m not sure I can get up those two flights of stairs again.”

Renie offered her cousin a sympathetic smile. “You
should put an elevator in this place. And not for the guests.” She cleared her throat and adjusted her much-abused glasses.
“Carson Douglas Carp was born in Cedar Falls, Iowa, in 1907, the son of Louis Franklin Carp and Annabelle Ernestine Carp (née Morgan). An outstanding student, Carp began his epic novel of civilization,
The Gasman,
while still attending Northern Iowa State Teachers College. While Carp’s fictional style has been criticized by some as tedious, pedantic, and maladroit, his meticulous attention to historical detail and his accuracy have merited praise from others. Although the novel never sold well except to libraries, his next work, a nonfiction treatise on the Dahlak Archipelago, was eagerly awaited by scholars. Unfortunately, Carp suffered from severe alcoholism, and died at the age of thirty-eight, leaving the two-hundred-thousand-word tome unfinished. His son, William Euclid Carp, and his daughter, Marguerite Louisa Carp, attempted to find a publisher for the work in the mid-1960s, but without success.”

“No kidding,” Judith said. “Where’s the Dahlak Archipelago?”

Renie shrugged. “Wherever it is, I doubt that it’s a major book market.”

“Pappy,” Judith said thoughtfully. “Whose Pappy?”

“You mean in reference to the guests?”

“Yes. Nobody would call someone Pappy—especially a man who died quite young—unless he was their father or the father of someone they knew.”

Renie rested her chin on her fist. “I’m not sure why it matters. Aren’t you grasping at straws?”

“Of course I am,” Judith said testily. “I’m desperate.”

“Okay.” Renie’s tone was unusually agreeable. “Pappy Carp is dead. He died in 1945 or thereabouts, right? Which means that if any of these people are his offspring, it has to be someone over fifty. Bruno’s out—his father was a German war groom. Dade, Chips, Ben, Dirk, and Angela are too young. Did you say Angela’s real last name is Flynn?”

“I did. It is.” Judith was still a bit testy.

“Rule Ellie out because her father is alive and hustling hot dogs,” Renie said. “That leaves Eugenia, Morris, and…Vito?”

“Vito wasn’t here for the postpremiere supper,” Judith pointed out.

“Are you sure?”

Judith gave Renie a peculiar look. “What do you mean?”

“How do you know that someone didn’t change costumes? Or that there weren’t two Arabian sheikhs or a pair of matching Gutenbergs?” Renie demanded.

Judith considered the idea. “But never in the same room at the same time,” she murmured. “It’s a thought. There’s another thing we might have overlooked—Chips is from the Midwest.”

“Even if he appears younger than he really is,” Renie noted, “he couldn’t be over fifty.”

“Grandson, maybe?” Judith suggested.

“Oh.” Renie got up from the chair at the counter and went to the refrigerator to claim another Pepsi. “That could be. On the other hand, Chips often talks about his mother, but not his father. I wonder why?” She paused, then shook her head. “It can’t be Chips. What’s the motive?”

Judith gave Renie a helpless look. “I’ve no idea. Un
less the novel was written by Chips’s father—big stretch, I know—or grandfather, and Bruno stole it. Remember, I told you that the book had keepsakes in it. Obviously, it had been treasured by someone for many years.” She suddenly jumped up. “Keepsakes! What’s wrong with me? Where did I put that book?” Frantically, she looked around the kitchen as the wind rattled the windows.

“Ah!” she exclaimed, snapping her fingers. “I didn’t put it anywhere. Joe brought it down from Room Three.” Cautiously bending down to favor her artificial hip, Judith opened the bottom cabinet drawer next to the wall. “Here it is. Let’s see if we can learn anything from these keepsakes.”

Renie wore a resigned expression but said nothing. The cousins had just sat down at the counter again when Sweetums sidled up to Judith. He had a partially eaten chicken breast in his mouth, which he began to wrestle around the kitchen floor.

Judith scowled at the cat. “Where did you get that? Here, let me have it.”

Sweetums wasn’t in the mood to oblige. He backed away, with the chicken still in his teeth. Judith chased him into the pantry, where he got under the lowest shelf, just out of reach. In recent months, Sweetums had figured out that his human was limited in her capacity for capturing him.

“Damn!” she cried as she heard the cat chewing lustily on the chicken. “He must have gotten that out of the garbage. I’d better make sure the can didn’t blow over.” Grabbing her jacket from its customary peg, she headed outside.

Driven by the wind, the fog swirled around the
backyard like smoke from a beach fire. The light in the toolshed appeared and disappeared as if it were coming from a lighthouse. Gertrude kept late hours, requiring less sleep as she got older. Of course, Judith thought as she hurried to the garbage cans and recycling bins by the side of the house, her mother dozed off frequently during the day.

The big green bins were intact, but one of the garbage cans had blown over, spilling half its contents. From inside the house, she could hear more screams emanating from the TV. The terrified cries set her teeth on edge. She was beginning to wonder if the events of the past two days and her fears for the future were triggering an emotional collapse.

As Judith set the can upright, a loud banging noise behind her made her jump. Peering through the eddies of mist, she saw nothing. Gingerly, she began putting the garbage back into the can.

She was about to replace the lid when something brushed against her leg. Judith let out a small squeal, then looked down to see Sweetums depositing bare chicken bones on her shoe.

“Nasty!” she exclaimed under her breath. “If my nerves weren’t going to pieces, I’d pull your tail.”

Sweetums responded with a growl, then trotted off down the driveway. Judith started back to the porch, but decided to make a quick visit to her mother. She felt guilty for hardly seeing Gertrude all day. As she headed down the walk to the toolshed, the wind rattled her nerves along with the Rankerses’ wind chimes. The usual gentle tinkling sounded more like an out-of-tune brass band.