Silver Scream : A Bed-and-breakfast Mystery

by Mary Daheim

  was Fox. Dade Costello’s wearing that for the era of

  the printing press. The nineteenth-century frock coat

  and top hat belong to Ben Carmody. The industrial revolution, of course. And Chips Madigan gets to dress as

  the computer whiz kid.”

  Judith smiled at the suntan pants, the flannel shirt,

  the horn-rimmed spectacles, and the box of Twinkies.

  Living in the land of Microsweet, she was familiar

  with the outfit.

  “What about the rest of the movie company? What

  will they wear?” she asked.

  “Whatever suits The Gasman, ” Winifred replied.

  “We left everybody else pretty much on their own.

  They’ll conform, of course.”

  The statement seemed to reflect the general attitude

  of Bruno Zepf’s circle. Winifred had no need to add,

  “Or else.”

  Pointing at a stack of garment bags that lay on the

  living-room floor, Winifred commented, “We’ll put

  them in those. Remember, they have to be back by four

  o’clock. The premiere is at six.”

  Carefully, Judith picked up the Scarlett O’Hara costume. “I understand that the ball is at ten. What time do

  you think you’ll be back here for the midnight supper?” She dreaded the idea of putting on such a late

  event, but Bruno had consented to pay an extra two

  grand, and Judith couldn’t refuse the money.

  “A midnight supper is just that,” Winifred replied,

  tucking her nun’s habit into one of the garment bags.

  “We should return shortly before twelve.”

  Judith gave an absent nod as she fumbled with the

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  silks and taffeta that made up Angela’s post–Civil War

  era gown.

  “Careful!” Winifred cried. “Watch out for the decorative trim!”

  “Right, okay,” Judith agreed. “Maybe I should turn

  it over to protect the front of the outfit.”

  Since Winifred didn’t argue, Judith did just that.

  And stared.

  The long black-and-white silk skirt and taffeta petticoat had been slashed in a half-dozen places from the

  waist to the hem.

  Winifred screamed.

  Judith couldn’t stop staring, but a cold shiver crawling up her spine set off a familiar, terrifying alarm.

  FIVE

  “WIN?”

  Ellie Linn was standing at the bottom of the

  stairs, gazing into the living room. She saw Judith

  and Winifred’s horror-stricken faces, and moved

  quickly, if softly, to join them.

  “What’s wrong?” Ellie glanced down at the torn

  costume. “Oh, wow, that looks bad! What happened?”

  Winifred was kneeling on the floor, pounding her

  fists on the carpet. “Sabotage, that’s what happened!

  Angela’s gown is ruined! Who would do such a

  thing?”

  Ellie rocked back and forth in her expensive

  cross-trainers. She was wearing jeans and a longsleeved tee that didn’t quite cover her midriff. Judith

  figured her for a size three at most.

  “Golly, I don’t know,” Ellie said, gazing at the

  ceiling. “Couldn’t Angela wear a bedsheet, cut two

  eyeholes in it, and go as a ghost?”

  “Ellie!” Winifred’s voice was sharp, then she

  turned to Judith. “Do you think your local costume

  shop could fix this?”

  Judith studied the garment. “They’d have to replace the overskirt. I’ll ask them.”

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  “The skirt—or what’s left of it—will have to be

  saved,” Winifred declared, finally regaining control of

  her emotions. “It’s the original.” She paused, tapping a

  finger against her smooth cheek. “Yes, maybe an overskirt will do. But make sure it matches.”

  Judith promised that she would. “By the way,” she

  asked, “were these costumes still in Bruno’s room

  where I had the UPS man deliver them?”

  “Yes,” Winifred replied. “He was the only one who

  had enough space.”

  Ellie was kneeling down to study her Cleopatra outfit. “You know, this really looks okay,” she observed.

  “Don’t you love the gilded headdress? It’ll look way

  cool with my long black hair.” For emphasis, she ran a

  hand through her raven tresses. “Hey, Win, where are

  the masks?”

  “They’re still in Bruno’s room,” Winifred said, exhibiting the delicacy of a neurosurgeon in placing the

  damaged Scarlett O’Hara costume into a garment bag.

  “The masks are ready. Yours is marked with your name

  on the inside.”

  “Great.” Ellie stood up. “Wow”—she giggled—

  “Angela’s going to be wild! I’ll tell her what happened

  to her costume. You know—it’ll save you the trouble,

  Win.” This time, her giggle sounded slightly sinister as

  she headed for the entry hall.

  “Ellie,” Winifred called after her, “don’t be mean!

  Angela has enough problems as it is.”

  Halfway up the stairs, Ellie leaned over the banister.

  “Hey, Win, that’s not entirely my fault, is it?” The

  young actress skipped up the steps, long hair swinging

  behind her.

  “I suppose,” Judith said in a musing tone as she put

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  Dirk Farrar’s doublet and hose into another garment

  bag, “there’s bound to be jealousy between actresses

  like Ellie and Angela.”

  Winifred shot Judith a sidelong look. “Oh, yes.

  You’ve no idea.”

  Judith dared to risk a thorny question: “Enough that

  Ellie would slash Angela’s gown?”

  “No,” Winifred said flatly. “Ellie Linn doesn’t have

  to resort to cheap stunts like that.”

  Emboldened, Judith was about to ask why not when

  Renie gave a shout from the kitchen.

  “I’m here. I’m early. I’m out of my mind.”

  Judith looked at her cousin, who had come into the

  hallway and definitely appeared a little deranged. Her

  hair, which was rarely combed unless she was attending a business meeting or a social event, was going off

  in every direction of the compass. A smudge of dirt

  stood out on one cheek and a pair of red socks peeked

  through the holes in her shoes. Even the rattysweatshirt-and-baggy-pants combination that made up

  Renie’s working ensemble was more disreputable than

  usual. And old. The sweatshirt featured the Minnesota

  Twins World Series victory in 1991.

  “Good grief,” Judith breathed, “you do look sort of

  awful.”

  “I know.” Renie, who was carrying a large suitcase,

  offered Winifred a desultory wave. “I had to get out of

  the house. The children are arguing about who should

  get married first. Bill left early for a very long walk,

  maybe all the way to Wisconsin.”

  Judith pointed to the suitcase. “Is that your costume?”

  “Mine and Bill’s,” Renie replied. “We dumped the

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  pumpkin idea. Bill’s glasses kept getting steamed up.

  Oh!” she exclaimed, showing a spark of animation.

  “Look at those costumes. They’re beautiful, and they
/>   look familiar.”

  Judith and Winifred explained how and why the

  costumes had been chosen, then told Renie about the

  damage that had been done to Angela’s.

  Renie was genuinely upset. “That’s horrible. Bill

  and I watched a special on TV a while ago about movie

  costume restoration. It was criminal the way so many

  of those gorgeous outfits had been left to deteriorate

  and rot. If I hadn’t become a graphic artist, I might

  have been a costume or a dress designer.”

  “Then maybe you can help your sister here with getting these costumes to wherever she’s taking them,”

  Winifred said briskly. “It’s almost twelve-thirty. We

  don’t have much time, especially if Angela’s is to be

  ready.”

  Renie had bristled over the commanding tone in

  Winifred’s voice, but Judith intervened, putting a hand

  on her cousin’s arm.

  “We’re not sisters,” she explained with a smile.

  “We’re cousins. But we’ve always been as close as sisters. Closer, perhaps, without the sibling rivalry.”

  “Lovely,” Winifred remarked, putting the last costume into a bag. “I’ll see you later.” She marched

  toward the stairs and out of sight.

  Driving to the top of Heraldsgate Hill, Judith allowed Renie two minutes to vent her ire about

  Winifred’s high-handed manner. As they unloaded the

  car in Arlecchino’s small parking lot, Judith gave her

  cousin another three minutes to complain about the

  Jones children. Then Judith insisted that Renie stay in

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  the car while she dealt with the costume store’s owner.

  The cautions about the valuable ensembles and the discussion of how to repair Angela’s Scarlett O’Hara

  gown took a full ten minutes. By the time she got back

  to her Subaru, Renie was fuming again.

  “You should have let me help you in there,” Renie

  declared. “I’m not exactly a dunce when it comes to

  color and fabric.”

  “No, you’re not,” Judith acknowledged, “but it

  would have taken twice as long with two of us. Time is

  of the essence. Besides, I want to tell you about some

  weird things that have been happening. Let’s drive to

  Moonbeam’s, where we won’t be overheard by my

  very peculiar guests.”

  Moonbeam’s, however, was jammed and there were

  no empty parking spots. On the Saturday before Halloween, the Heraldsgate Hill merchants had opened

  their doors to all the trick-or-treaters in the area.

  “I could have told you that,” Renie grumbled.

  “While I was wasting away in the car, I counted eight

  Harry Potters, four bunny rabbits, six fairy princesses,

  three crocodiles, and two skunks. Not to mention assorted ghosts, witches, and skeletons. This part of the

  avenue is a zoo—almost literally.”

  Judith, who was stalled at the four-way stop between Moonbeam’s and Holliday’s Pharmacy, watched

  the passing parade in awe. Not only were the children—from infants to teenagers—in costume, but so

  were many of the parents. Adults dressed as prima ballerinas, football players, sheikhs, African warriors, Argentine gauchos, and a very realistic-looking gorilla

  were strolling the sidewalks and filling the crosswalks

  along with their offspring.

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  “I forgot about all this,” Judith said. “They only

  started doing it a couple of years ago. I guess I’ve been

  too caught up with my guests to think much about Halloween.”

  “You’d better have treats in store for tonight,” Renie

  said. “I understand some of the kids will be going out

  a day early because Sunday is a school night.”

  “I bought all my candy a week or so ago,” Judith

  replied. “Hey, where are we headed?”

  “Let’s go down to the bottom of the hill,” Renie suggested. “I haven’t had lunch. How about you?”

  “I forgot about lunch,” Judith admitted. “Okay, I’ll

  turn off by M&M Meats and we’ll take the back way

  out of here.”

  Ten minutes later, the cousins were sitting in a

  wooden booth at T. S. McSnort’s. Even there a handful

  of customers were dressed for the holiday.

  “Would it be terrible to have a drink?” Judith asked.

  “I could use one.”

  “So could I,” Renie responded. “It’s been a rough

  outing at our house the past few hours.”

  The cousins ordered screwdrivers, telling themselves that the orange juice would provide them with a

  healthy dose of vitamin C. To Judith’s surprise, Renie

  didn’t even bother to study the menu.

  “Aren’t you hungry?” Judith asked. Renie was always hungry. Her metabolism could have permitted

  her to gobble up at least two aisles of Falstaff’s Grocery in a single day.

  Renie shook her head. “I’ve lost my appetite. Besides, Bill and I can’t afford food anymore. We have to

  pay for all of Anne’s wedding and pony up for our

  share of Tom and Tony’s. Are you forgetting how

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  Kristin’s parents tried to fleece you and Joe when Mike

  got married?”

  Judith hadn’t forgotten, but as usual, she tried to be

  charitable. “I think it was mostly a misunderstanding.”

  “Ha.” Renie looked up as their waitress brought the

  drinks and asked if they wished to order their meal.

  “I’m having just a cup of clam chowder,” Renie said.

  Judith quickly perused the menu. “That sounds

  good. Your chowder is so delicious. I’ll have the small

  Caesar with it.”

  Renie looked at the waitress again. “Yes, I should

  eat some greens. I’ll have the Caesar, too. You can put

  smoked prawns on it along with the anchovies. Oh, and

  maybe I’ll make that a bowl of chowder.”

  The curly-haired waitress smiled. “Got it. Anything

  else?”

  Judith shook her head, but Renie held up a hand.

  “How about the lox platter with the thin slices of rye

  and onion and cream cheese and capers? That should

  give me some strength.”

  “Gee,” Judith said as the waitress trotted off, “I’m

  glad you’re not hungry.”

  “I’m not.” Renie sighed. “But I can’t allow myself

  to become frail. Now tell me what’s going on at the

  B&B.”

  Judith complied, relating the rubber-spider incident

  as well as the quarrel between Dade Costello and

  Chips Madigan.

  “Chips?” Renie said. “He doesn’t seem like a

  fighter.”

  “He’s tougher than he looks,” Judith said. “He has

  to be, to deal with all those inflated egos when he’s directing a movie.”

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  Renie tipped her head to one side in a gesture of assent. “Could you catch any of the exchange between

  Chips and Dade?”

  “Not much,” Judith admitted. “It sounded as if they

  might be arguing about the script. They disagreed

  about something or other. Maybe interpretation?

  Would that make sense?”

  “Yes,” Renie said slowly, “it could. Dade told me
>
  The Gasman is based on a novel.”

  “He told me the same thing.” Judith paused as the

  salads arrived and the waitress sprinkled black pepper

  over them. “Have you ever heard of it?”

  “No,” Renie replied, attacking a plump pink prawn.

  “I got the impression it was published years ago.”

  “The concept for the movie sounds kind of weird,”

  Judith said, “though I’m no film expert.”

  Renie nodded. “I thought so, too. But I guess we’d

  have to see it first. Bruno Zepf is a remarkable filmmaker. Remember his last movie, They All Had In-

  fluenza?”

  “I remember when it came out,” Judith said, savoring the tangy dressing on her salad. “But I didn’t see

  it.”

  “Neither did I,” Renie responded, buttering a slice

  of Irish soda bread. “I heard it was a big hit, though,

  and I think the critics liked it. It was about the terrible

  flu epidemic of 1918, with imagery of the Black

  Death. Or so Bill told me. He watched it on video one

  night while I was at a baby shower for one of Anne’s

  girlfriends.” Renie’s face fell. “Oh, gosh—do you suppose I’ll end up being a grandmother after all?”

  “Why so glum?” Judith queried as the rest of their

  order arrived. “I thought you envied my status.”

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  “I did. I do.” Renie sprinkled salt and pepper on her

  bowl of chowder, then broke up a handful of water

  crackers. “It’s just that . . . it’s kind of a shock somehow. All of this is a shock,” she said, dumping the

  crackers into the chowder. “What if our kids all get

  married at once?”

  “That would save money,” Judith said dryly.

  Renie brightened. “That’s a great idea. It would cut

  down on arrangements, too. Anne’s already talking

  about where she wants to have the reception.”

  “Are you going to suggest a triple wedding?” Judith

  asked.

  Renie grimaced. “It sounds a little like the Reverend

  Moon extravaganzas. I don’t know that the kids would

  go for it.”

  “It’s an idea,” Judith said as a familiar figure at the

  bar caught her eye. “Hey—coz,” she said in a whisper,

  “turn around as discreetly as you can to see who just

  showed up for a drink.”

  “Let’s try this,” Renie said, dumping her knife on

  the floor. “I prefer using my hands when I eat anyway.”

  She bent down to pick up the knife, then glanced up to