Silver Scream: A Bed-And-Breakfast Mystery (4 page)

“Not very well,” Renie shot back before Judith could interfere.

“I’m sorry,” Judith broke in, yanking on her cousin’s arm. “We were just checking to make sure you had everything you needed for the social hour.”

Winifred Best glanced at Judith in amusement. “The social hour. How quaint.”

Bruno made a little bow to Judith and Renie. “We have everything for now. You may go.”

Judith shoved Renie back into the entry hall. Renie dug in with her heels and came to a dead stop at the head of the dining-room table.

“That egotistical dork is treating us like slaves!” she railed. “Who the hell does he think he is? I’ve faced off with bigger fish before he came along!”

Judith knew that her cousin could back up her bluster. In Renie’s graphic design business, she had gone up against everybody from Microsweet to the mayor. She didn’t always win, but even if she lost, she still managed to save face. Renie’s small, middle-aged matron’s appearance was deceptive. It concealed an abrasive manner that, upon occasion, could get physical. Which was all the more reason why Judith had to keep her cousin out of Bruno’s sight.

“Don’t even think about it,” Judith said under her breath. She loomed over her cousin by a good five inches, outweighed her by some forty pounds, yet Judith knew she was outmatched. Renie had had shoulder surgery on the same day that Judith had undergone her hip replacement. If nothing else, Renie could still run.

“Hey!” Joe Flynn’s voice cut through the kitchen and into the dining room. “What’s going on? Still fighting over who has the best Sparkle Plenty doll?”

Judith backed away from her cousin. Renie’s ire evaporated, as it often did after the initial outburst.

“Not exactly,” Judith said, meeting her husband at the swinging doors and giving him a big kiss on the
lips. “Boy, am I glad to see you. I’m not sure I’m ready for the movies.”

“What’s wrong?” Joe inquired. “Aren’t your guests behaving themselves?”

“It’s attitude,” Renie said, joining Joe and Judith just inside the kitchen. “These creeps are loaded with attitude, and some of it’s bad.”

“Relax,” Joe urged. “Years ago, I made big bucks working security for location companies shooting around town. I could keep the rabid fans and the celebrity seekers and the nutcases away, but I couldn’t offer the kind of security they really needed. The problem with these movie types is that they’re basically insecure.”

“That’s true,” Renie agreed. “Bill says that because of the capricious nature of the business and the personalities involved in moviemaking, they’re constantly seeking reassurance that they’re loved and wanted. Bill sometimes uses feature films to study the behavior of—”

Renie’s latest parroting of her husband’s expertise was mercifully interrupted by Arlene, who poked her head in the back door. “I took your mother’s supper out to her. I’ve got to go home now and feed my darling, patient Carl. To the dogs,” she added with a sinister expression.

“Thanks again, Arlene, I really appreciate…” But Arlene was gone before Judith could finish the sentence.

“Have a drink on me, ladies,” Joe offered, taking down a bottle of Scotch and a bottle of Canadian whiskey from the cupboard. “What are the guests up to?”

Judith slumped into one of the kitchen chairs. “Listening to how wonderful Bruno is, from Bruno’s own lips.”

“And,” Renie put in, opening the cupboard door by the sink to get three glasses, “listening to Bruno tell them how marvelous
The Gasman
is, which I assume they already know, having been involved in the making of it.” Handing the glasses to Joe, she closed the cupboard door behind her. Or tried to. “Damn! What’s with this thing? It won’t stay shut.”

Judith heaved a sigh. “Mr. Tolvang supposedly fixed it when he was here, but the door still swings open on its own.” She gave Joe a plaintive look from under her dark lashes. “I don’t mean to nag, but I have mentioned that you might look at it. I hate to ask Mr. Tolvang. He’s so stubborn, he’d probably tell me I was imagining the problem.”

“I’ll give it a go,” Joe answered airily, handing Judith her Scotch. “I’ve been kind of busy lately.”

Judith didn’t respond. While Joe was slightly more adept at household repairs than Bill, the Flynn to-do list was never a priority.

“So what’s this movie about anyway?” Joe asked. “A public utility?”

“Not exactly,” Renie replied. “Dade Costello—the screenwriter—explained the basic plot to me.”

“That’s more than he did for me,” Judith remarked.

“Maybe you used the wrong approach,” Renie said. “He’s kind of touchy. Sullen, too. Of course I’m used to moody writers. Freelancers are the worst. They can’t bear to have their precious copy rearranged so it will fit the graphics. Anyway, the bare bones Dade sketched out for me involve the entire history of the world as
seen through the eyes of a simple gasman. That is, an employee who works for a gas company somewhere in the Midwest.” Renie paused for effect. “Get it? Every-man in the middle of the country, the center of the universe.”

“I got it,” Joe murmured into his Scotch.

“Anyway,” Renie continued, sitting on the counter with her glass of Canadian whiskey cradled in her lap, “Bruno shows the viewer how certain periods of history contributed to our evolution as a civilization. He puts a positive spin on it, concentrating on early forms of writing, the invention of paper, the printing press, and so forth. Thus, he jumps from ancient Egypt and China all the way up to the present. The only problem that I can see is that it takes him four hours to do it.”

“Wow,” said Judith. “I knew it was a long movie, but isn’t that
too
long?”

“There’s an intermission,” Renie responded. “I gather Bruno wanted to do a real epic, sort of the upside of D. W. Griffith’s
Intolerance
.”

“I’ll wait for the video,” Joe said. “I prefer scheduling my own snack and bathroom breaks.”

“I don’t blame you,” Renie said, “except that you’ll miss the spectacle unless you see it on a big screen.”

Joe shrugged. “I’ll use my imagination. Besides, how spectacular can it be watching Gutenberg set type in his basement?”

The question went unanswered as Winifred Best entered the kitchen. “Where are the truffles?” she demanded. “Bruno must have his truffles. Served raw, of course, with rosy salt. I assume you know how to prepare rosy salt?”

Joe’s expression was benign. “Three parts salt, two parts paprika, one part cayenne pepper.”

Judith was always amazed by her husband’s knowledge of fine cuisine. But she looked blankly at Winifred. “I don’t recall seeing any truffles. Were they shipped with the caviar and the other delicacies?”

Winifred’s thin face was shocked. “No! They were shipped separately. Périgord truffles, from France. They should have arrived this afternoon.”

Judith thought back to Phyllis’s comment about the delivery truck that may or may not have stopped at Hillside Manor. “I’ll check,” she said.

“You certainly will,” Winifred snapped. “And you’ll do it now. Do you have any idea how rare, how delicate, and how
expensive
those truffles are?”

Judith didn’t, but refused to admit it. She immediately dialed the number of FedEx’s tracking service. They had made all the previous deliveries, so she assumed they had—or hadn’t—shipped the truffles.

“Yes,” the woman at the other end of the line said, “that parcel arrived at your house and was signed for by a Mrs. Gertrude Grover.”

Judith sucked in her breath, barely managing to gasp out a thank-you. “Could you wait here?” she asked Winifred. “I think I know where the truffles are.”

Winifred was aghast. “You
think
?”

Judith didn’t pause for further criticism. She rushed out to the toolshed, where Gertrude was watching TV and finishing supper. The volume was so loud that Judith cringed upon entering the tiny living room.

“You’ll never guess what I saw on one of those talk shows,” Gertrude said. “Men who love men who love monkeys. What next?”

The query was ignored. Judith picked up the remote and hit the mute button. “Mother, did you sign for a package this afternoon?”

“A package?” Gertrude looked blank, then scowled at her daughter. “Hey, turn that thing back on. I can’t hear the news. There’s a bear loose in a used-car lot on the Eastside.”

Judith put the remote behind her back. “Did someone deliver a package to the toolshed this afternoon?”

“Oh.” Looking distressed, Gertrude tried to sit up a little straighter. “Yes, they did, and I’ve never seen anything so disgusting in my entire life. Who’d play such an awful joke on an old lady? If you can call it a joke,” she added in a dark voice.

Judith realized that her mother was serious. “The package—where is it?”

Gertrude’s expression was highly indignant. “Where it ought to be—down the toilet. At least it didn’t stink. Much.”

“Oh, no!” Judith gasped. “That was…that wasn’t…what did it look like?”

“I told you,” Gertrude said. “Like…you know what. It was dark brown and all bumpy. It was just…horrible. Now who would play such a filthy trick?”

Judith recalled seeing truffles in Falstaff’s delicacy section. They had been grayish white and came from Italy. Maybe French truffles were different. If their appearance was as loathsome as Gertrude had described, she couldn’t blame her mother for flushing them down the toilet.

“It wasn’t a joke,” Judith said, patting Gertrude’s shoulder and handing over the remote. “It was a box of truffles—sort of like mushrooms—and it was intended
for the Hollywood guests. I’ve never eaten them, but I guess they’re extremely delicious.”

Gertrude gave Judith an elbow. “Go on with you! Nobody, not even those movie people, would eat anything that looked so foul.”

“I’m afraid they would—and do,” Judith replied. At least they would if the truffles weren’t floating somewhere in the city’s sewer system. “Don’t worry about it, Mother. It’s not your fault.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Gertrude huffed. “What are they having for supper? Bacteria?”

Judith couldn’t discuss the matter further. She headed back into the house, trying to come up with one of her well-intentioned fibs to stave off the wrath of Winifred and the rest of Bruno’s party.

As Judith entered the kitchen, Joe was answering the phone. She gave him a questioning look, but he shook his head. “It’s Bill,” he said, handing the receiver to Renie.

Winifred was waiting under the archway between the entry hall and the living room. “Well?” she demanded, tapping a toe on the bare oak floor.

“The truffles were stolen,” Judith said. “A bushy-haired stranger burst into my mother’s apartment and grabbed them off the table. He fled through the hedge on foot.”

“What?”

Judith nodded several times. “I’ll notify the police at once.”

Winifred looked homicidal. She also seemed incredulous. And, in fact, she was speechless.

Ben Carmody came to her side. “The truffles were
stolen?” he inquired in a mild voice. “That’s too bad. But then I don’t like them.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he shot a furtive glance at Bruno, who was still standing by the fireplace. “I mean,” Ben explained, “they’re not my favorite.”

Bruno eyed Judith, Ben, and Winifred with curiosity. “Did someone mention the police?”

Winifred pointed a long, thin finger at Judith. “She claims the Périgord truffles were stolen.”

Bruno frowned. “Really?” He hesitated. “Calling the police is a bad idea, even for a thousand dollars’ worth of truffles. We don’t need that kind of publicity.”

Chips Madigan jumped up from the window seat. “How about a private detective?”

Bruno looked dubious, but before he could speak, Judith broke in: “That’s a good idea. I know just the man.” She paused and gulped. “I mean, my husband is a private detective. I’m sure he can clear this up.”

Bruno shrugged. “Then let him do it.”

Winifred gave Bruno an inquiring look. “Are you certain you want to do that? What do we know about Mrs. What’s-her-name’s husband?”

All eyes were on Bruno. He scratched his bearded chin before responding. “Why not? Maybe losing the truffles isn’t our biggest problem.”

Nobody spoke, but there was much shifting of stances and staring at the floor.

Finally, Winifred turned to Judith. “Very well. Let’s have a word with your private detective husband.”

Judith tried not to grimace. Joe would not take well to supporting his wife in one of her bold-faced lies. “I’ll get him,” she said in a weak voice.

She went back through the dining room and into the kitchen. As she opened her mouth to explain the situation to Joe, Renie dropped the phone, let out a high-pitched shriek, crawled under the kitchen sink, and slammed the cupboard door behind her.

“R
ENIE
!” J
UDITH CRIED
, pulling on the handle of the door beneath the sink. “Come out right now!”

“What the hell is she doing?” Joe demanded.

“She’s in shock,” Judith replied as the door—or Renie—resisted her tugs. “I’ve seen her do this before. Once, when she found out she was pregnant the third time, and again when she got the kids’ orthodontist bill.”

Joe bent down to pick up the receiver, but heard only the dial tone. “So what is it?” he asked with a worried expression. “Has something happened to Bill?”

Placing the receiver on the counter, he nudged Judith aside and gave the cupboard door a mighty yank. Renie was folded up inside, pale of face, with her chestnut curls in disarray, her mouth agape, and her eyes almost crossed.

“Coz!” Judith urged, hampered by the hip replacement in her effort to kneel down. “What’s wrong? Is it Bill?” Maybe he had another pumpkin stuck on his head, Judith thought wildly. Maybe he was suffocating. Maybe he
had
suffocated. Maybe Bill was dead.

But Renie shook her head. “No,” she finally croaked, struggling to crawl out of the small, cramped space. “Where’s my drink?”

“You dropped it in the sink,” Joe replied, giving Renie a hand. “The glass isn’t broken. I’ll make you another.”

“Make it strong,” Renie said, then got to her feet and half fell into one of the kitchen chairs. “After all these years…” Her voice trailed off.

Judith sat down next to Renie. “Coz, if you don’t tell us what’s happening, I’m going to have to shake you.”

“I’m already shaken,” Renie replied. “Down to my toes.”

Joe gave Renie her drink, then reverted to his role as detective. “Bill told you something. Therefore, he must be alive and telephoning. Bill doesn’t like talking on the phone. Thus, he must’ve had urgent news. Come on, what was it? Something about your mother?”

Judith’s aunt Deb was the same age as Gertrude. She, too, was in frail health and had been virtually confined to a wheelchair for many years. Judith knew that it wouldn’t be surprising if Renie’s mother had…

But Renie was shaking her head. “No,” she said after taking a deep swallow from her glass. “It’s our kids. It’s why they made dinner. They thought I’d be there, along with Bill.”

Joe frowned. “Your kids? All three of them?”

“All three of them,” Renie replied after another quick quaff. “Tom, Anne, and Tony.”

“What about them?” Judith asked, beginning to calm down. If the Jones offspring could make dinner, they must be in one piece.

Renie set the glass down and wrung her hands.
“They’re getting married. All three. I think I’ll faint.” She put her face down on the table.

“They’re
getting married
?” Judith cried. “Are you serious?”

“Of course I am.” Renie’s voice was muffled.

“Why, that’s wonderful!” Judith beamed at Joe. “It’s what you hoped for, dreamed of, wanted to…”

Renie’s head jerked up. “But it’s such a shock. I don’t know any of these people they’re marrying. Our kids have had romances that went on and on and on, then they all broke up at one time or another. But these…future in-laws…are strangers. What if they’re crazy or wanted by the police or…
poor
?” Renie wrapped her hands around her neck and made a strangling gesture.

“Oh, good heavens!” Judith exclaimed. “Don’t be such a snob! Why, when Mike and Kristin got engaged I never cared for one minute if she or her family had a dime.”

“Mike had a job,” Renie pointed out. “This is different. This is…” She swigged down the rest of her drink and stood up. “I have to go home. Poor Bill. Poor me. Good-bye.” Grabbing her jacket on the way out, Renie dashed off into the rainy night.

“I hope she’s okay to drive,” Judith said with a worried expression.

“She only had one serious drink,” Joe responded. “She’ll be fine.” He patted Judith’s shoulder. “Hey, can I do anything to help with dinner?”

“Oh!” Judith jumped up. “Arlene did everything for us. I just need to heat the rolls.”

“Sounds good,” Joe said. “I’ll wander out to peek in on the guests.”

Judith clapped a hand to her head. In all the excitement over Renie, she had forgotten about the proposal to hire Joe as a private detective.

“Joe,” she said with her back to the oven, “wait. Bruno Zepf wants to hire you.”

Joe’s round face was puzzled. “Me? Why? Didn’t they bring their own security?”

“If they did, they’re at the Cascadia,” Judith replied. “I mean, they’d want their own people for the premiere and the costume ball, right?”

Joe gave a nod. “So they want me to watch out for them while they’re here?”

“Sort of,” Judith hedged. “They also want you to find out what happened to their thousand-dollar truffles.”

“Good God!” Joe paused, taking notice of Judith’s jittery movements with the oven door. “What
did
happen to the truffles?”

The answer came not from Judith but from Winifred Best, who had reentered the kitchen. “They were stolen by a bushy-haired stranger.”

Judith froze with her hand on the oven door. “I think I’ll let Ms. Best explain it.” Putting the rolls on to heat, she scooted out of the kitchen and into the pantry, where Sweetums was sitting by the shelf that contained his cans of food.

But try as she might, Judith couldn’t hear the conversation between her husband and Winifred Best. Winifred had lowered her usually sharp voice a notch or two; Joe always spoke softly when he was in his professional mode.

Instead, Judith heard other voices, loud and angry, coming from the backyard. The pantry had no win
dows, so she tiptoed into the hall to look out through the door. Sweetums followed, meowing pitifully.

The wind, which was coming from the north, splattered rain against the glass and blurred Judith’s vision. Ignoring Sweetums’s claws, which were affixed to her slacks, she carefully opened the back door.

In the darkness, she could make out two male figures near the driveway. They were arguing loudly, and it looked as if they were about to come to blows.

The wind caught just a few words, sending them in Judith’s direction: “…trashed what was a solid piece of…”

“…bitching when you got paid as if you’d come up with the whole…”

“…Why not? I had to virtually rework the damned thing…”

The door blew shut, clipping Judith on the arm. Sweetums continued to claw her slacks. With an air of resignation, she opened a can of Seafarers’ Delight and spooned it into the cat’s dish.

“Enjoy it,” she muttered. “It looks better than the way Mother described those blasted truffles.”

There was a sudden silence in the kitchen. Winifred must have returned to the living room. Judith took a deep breath before rejoining Joe.

“Why?” The single word was plaintive.

Judith flinched. “I had to tell them something.”

Joe took a long sip of Scotch. “What really happened?”

Judith explained about the disgusting appearance of the truffles and how Gertrude had—not without reason—flushed them down the toilet.

“Great.” Joe leaned against the counter. “How about telling the truth for once?”

Judith sighed. “I know,” she said, taking the green salad out of the refrigerator. “Maybe I should have. But I didn’t want to be liable for the loss of the truffles and I didn’t want to get Mother in trouble.”

“You could have explained that your mother is gaga,” Joe said. “That would have been the truth.”

“Well…” Judith swallowed hard. “It’s hard for me to admit that sometimes she
is
gaga. And in this case, what she did made sense.” Taking silverware out of the drawer, she gave Joe a bleak look. “What did you tell Winifred?”

“That I’d check around,” Joe replied. “Without charge. Tomorrow, I’ll them what really happened.”

“Oh.” Judith arranged the place settings, then started out of the kitchen. “I want to check on something, too.”

Peeking around the corner of the archway into the living room, she counted noses. Everyone was there.

But Chips Madigan and Dade Costello looked as if their clothes were half soaked by rain.

Judith kept out of the visitors’ way as they lingered over the social hour. Hillside Manor’s rule, though never hard-and-fast, was that the hour was just that—from six to seven. Most guests were anxious to leave by then for dinner reservations or the theater or whatever other activity they planned to enjoy during their stay.

The visitors from Hollywood were different. Apparently they dined later. Or maybe they never dined at all. Perhaps they really were lotus-eaters, as depicted by the scribes.

But they did leave eventually. Sometime between eight-thirty and nine, the company trooped out to their limos and disappeared into the October night. Joe helped Judith tidy up the living room, which looked not very much worse than it usually did after a more conventional gathering of guests.

There was something different about the downstairs bathroom, however. It wasn’t obvious at first. Judith, who had started sneezing after dinner and fervently hoped she wasn’t catching cold, sneezed again as she rearranged the toiletry articles by the sink. A bit of white powder floated up into the air and made her sneeze again.

Judith looked at herself in the mirror. Ellie Linn had almond-colored skin. Winifred Best’s complexion was the color of milk chocolate. Angela La Belle was fair, but not that fair. None of them would have worn such a pale shade of face powder.

“Joe,” she called from the entry hall, “come here. I want you to see something.”

Joe, who’d just dumped what he estimated to be about three hundred dollars’ worth of uneaten hors d’oeuvres into the garbage, came in from the kitchen.

“What is it?” he asked.

“You used to work vice years ago,” Judith said, pointing to a small film of white powder at the edge of the sink. “Is that what I think it is?”

Joe ran his finger in the dusty residue, then tasted it. “Yes,” he said. “It’s what you think it is. Cocaine.”

“Damn!” Judith swore. “I suppose it’s to be expected.”

Joe nodded. “I’m afraid so. Too many Hollywood types get mixed up with this stuff.”

She sighed. “Well, it’s only for one more night.”

He chucked his wife under the chin. “That’s right. Face it, they’re probably not the first guests you’ve hosted who’ve had a habit.”

“That’s true.” Judith gave Joe a weary smile. “I’ll just be glad when they’re gone. I prefer normal people.”

Joe lifted an eyebrow. “Like the gangsters and superstar tenors and gossip columnists you’ve had in the past?”

Since all of the guests that he mentioned had been murdered or involved in murder, Judith shuddered. “No, not like that. I was thinking of the Kidds and even the Izards. They’re the ones who should be here this weekend, not this crew from L.A.”

Joe shrugged. “As you said, it’s only for one more night. What could possibly happen?”

Around two
A.M
., Judith was awakened by muffled noises from somewhere in the house. The guests, she thought hazily, returning from their revels. When the Flynns had gone to bed around eleven, the Hollywood crew had not yet come back. But, as with all Hillside Manor guests, they had keys to the front door. Judith rolled over and drifted off again.

But moments later louder noises made her sit straight up in bed. She glanced at Joe, who was snoring softly. He’d put in a long day; there was no need to rouse him. Judith donned her robe and slippers, then headed down to the second floor.

The lights were on in the hall. Bruno, clad only in underwear decorated with Porky and Petunia Pig figures, was collapsed on the settee. Winifred and Chips
Madigan stood over him while Dirk Farrar peered out from behind the door of Room Four. Angela, Ellie, Ben, and Dade were nowhere to be seen.

“What’s going on?” Judith asked, noting that Bruno was shuddering and writhing just as he had done on the back porch.

Dirk opened the door a few more inches. “Another damned spider. Big as a house. Or so he says.” He smothered a smile.

“No!” Judith couldn’t believe it. In late summer, harmless, if imposing, wood spiders sometimes crawled into the basement, but it was too late in the year for them to show up. She marched to Bruno’s room, where the door was ajar.

Ben Carmody was standing by Bruno’s bed, laughing so hard that his sides shook. “Look,” he finally managed to say. “It’s a spider, all right, but…”

Judith charged over to the bed, then gave a start. “Ohmigod!”

A black, long-legged creature with a furry body lay on the bottom sheet just below the pillows. Judith stood frozen in place until Ben picked the thing up by one leg and bounced it off the floor.

“It’s fake,” he said, still chuckling. “It’s one of those rubber spiders kids have for Halloween. Where’s your garbage? I’ll take it outside and dump the thing in there.”

“Oh!” Judith put a hand over her wildly beating heart, then reached out to Ben. “I’ll get rid of it. You tell Mr. Zepf that the spider wasn’t real.”

Ben had grown serious. “Some prank. It could have given old Bruno a heart attack.”

Judith stuffed the rubber spider in the pocket of her
bathrobe and went back into the hall. No one except Dirk seemed to notice her passage as she headed for the back stairs. Five minutes later she returned to the second floor, where Ben and Chips were helping a rubber-legged Bruno back into his room. Winifred had already disappeared and Dirk had closed his door. Judith continued up to the family quarters. She didn’t get back to sleep for almost an hour.

Meanwhile, Joe continued to snore softly.

As usual, Judith had breakfast ready to go by eight o’clock. Since it was a Saturday, and Joe had the day off, he didn’t come downstairs until eight-fifteen.

“No-shows, huh?” he inquired, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“So far,” Judith replied. “I think they were out very late.” She then recounted the incidents with both the real and the fake spiders. “Bruno certainly is superstitious.”

“Typical,” Joe remarked. “Bill once said that Hollywood types were like gamblers. It makes sense. People who make movies are gamblers.”