by Mary Daheim
each of the pillowcases the youngsters held in front of
them. “Okay, but doesn’t that make you a bit old for
trick-or-treating?”
The alligator shook its scaly green head. “We had to
take our little brothers and sisters out first. Most of the
people ignored us, so now it’s our turn.”
“I see,” Judith said. “But it’s still very late. You two
should head home now.”
The spaceman laughed and the alligator wagged his
tail as they headed down the porch steps. As Judith was
closing the door, they tossed a couple of thank-yous
over their shoulders.
In the living room, nothing much had changed. The
cloud of gloom still hung over the guests, so palpable
that Judith felt as if she were looking through the
blurred lens of a movie camera.
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Bill and Joe entered at that moment, each carrying
more platters of food. Spotting Bruno sitting in his favorite place on the sofa, Bill began to quack in an
angry tone.
“Quack, quack-quack-quack!” He pointed to the
melancholy producer. “Quack!”
Joe put a hand on Bill’s arm feathers. “Quack off.
That guy looks pretty grim. Let him be.”
Bill was slow to respond. “Qu-a-ck,” he finally said
in a reluctant voice.
Joe gave Bill a pat, observed the rest of the morose
gathering, and spoke up: “Anybody care to dance? I’ll
put on some music.”
Ellie laughed with a hint of hysteria and wandered
out into the entry hall just as Winifred appeared with
her Spanish-costumed duo. She glanced at Bruno,
winced, and requested a stiff bourbon from Cathy. No
one else responded to Joe’s invitation.
Bill turned around, calling to an unseen Renie.
“Daisy!” he shouted in his normal, if muffled, voice.
“It’s after midnight. Can we go home?”
Renie stumbled out of the entry hall. She seemed to
be having trouble with her webbed feet. “I’ll ask Judith,” she said.
Judith excused herself and got up from the sofa. “I
don’t see why you shouldn’t go,” she said in a low
voice. “This is one dead party. Arlene and Carl can
help clean up.” She glanced back at the buffet and
sighed. “All that expensive food gone to waste.”
“I put some pots and pans to soak in the sink,” Renie
said. “They should be scrubbed before you put them in
the dishwasher.”
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“Okay,” Judith said. “Thanks for everything. As it
turned out, I didn’t need so much help after all.”
Renie nodded, her yellow bill bobbing up and down.
“A real bomb, I guess.”
“Right.” Judith hugged Bill and Renie. Joe, who
kept tripping over the hem of his choirboy’s cassock,
showed them out the back way.
When Judith returned to the living room, Winifred
offered to introduce her to Morris and Eugenia.
“Morris Mayne is Bruno’s studio publicist,”
Winifred said, a bit stiffly. “Eugenia Fleming is Bruno
and Dirk’s agent.”
Judith allowed her hand to be shaken by the pair.
Morris’s grip was feeble; Eugenia practically pulled
Judith’s arm out of the socket.
“We so wanted to stay here at your charming B&B,”
Eugenia boomed in a deep voice. She seemed more
than big; she towered over Judith’s five-foot-nine and
possessed a bust that could have triumphed in a headon collision with an armored car.
“There wasn’t room, I guess,” Morris said, then
cleared his throat. “Especially since my wife unexpectedly joined me on this trip.”
Judith assumed that his wife was the pioneer in the
sunbonnet and gingham dress. “I’m sure you’re enjoying the Cascadia,” she said. “It’s the most luxurious
hotel in the city.”
“It’s fine,” Morris said offhandedly. “The truth is,
my wife’s a real homebody. I was surprised that she
wanted to come along.”
Eugenia’s dark eyes were flashing around the room.
“Excuse me,” she said, “I must speak with Dirk. I
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hardly recognized him in that doublet and the hat with
those swooping feathers.” With a click of the castanets
she held in one hand, the agent stalked across the room
to reach her prey.
Judith was left with Morris, who kept darting
glances at Bruno, sitting alone and forlorn on the sofa.
Sweetums, who must have come in when the Joneses
went out, had planted his orange-and-white body at the
producer’s feet. To Judith’s surprise, Bruno patted his
lap. To her amazement, the cat leaped up and allowed
himself to be petted. Maybe even Sweetums wanted to
get into the movies.
“I should speak to Bruno,” Morris murmured, removing his matador’s cap. He was short, spare, and
balding. “I simply don’t know what to say to him. Perhaps I’ll get a drink first.”
Judith watched Morris accept a hefty martini from
Cathy. The publicist then stood off to one side by the
door to the front parlor and gulped down his drink.
Cathy removed her panda head, slipped out from behind the bar, and approached Judith.
“I’m dying of heat prostration in this stupid suit,”
she declared, and in fact, her face was dripping with
perspiration. “I knew I should never have let my
mother order my costume. I intended to come as Pandora, not a panda.”
Judith couldn’t help but smile. “That would have
been more fetching in order to attract Ben Carmody.”
Cathy shook out her long, damp blond locks. “Another idea of Mom’s! I’m not even a Ben Carmody fan.
He always plays meanies.”
“Go home,” Judith urged. “Joe and I can take care of
the bar. I don’t think this party is going to last much
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longer. In fact, your parents might as well leave, too.
I’ll go out to the kitchen and thank them.”
Arlene, however, refused to leave Judith with such a
mess. “Cathy can go, Carl can go,” she asserted, “but
I’m staying until the bitter end.”
“I think we’re already there,” Judith said over the
hum of the dishwasher.
“I’ll stay, too,” Carl volunteered.
“Really,” Judith protested, “there’s no need. Joe and
I can clean up by ourselves. It’s late. Please, we’ll be
fine.”
“Not entirely,” Carl said, pointing to the sink.
“You’ve got a backed-up drain.”
Judith grimaced. “Renie! She never uses sink strainers. She says they don’t work for her.”
“What’s to work?” Joe asked, gazing into the eightinch basin of dirty water. “You put them in, turn the
button on top, and there you go.”
Judith shook her head. “Not for Renie. She says it’s
too complicated. I gave her a pair of brand new strainers for Christmas last year and she stuck them on her
ears and said that’s as close as they’d ever get to her
double sinks.”
Carl was still peering at the water. “Maybe if I used
a plunger . . .”
“No, you don’t,” Joe said, taking Carl by the shoulder. “Go home, Hansel. Your gingerbread house awaits
you.”
Carl shot Joe a dark look. “With Gretel or the
witch?”
“Gretel, of course,” Judith said, patting Arlene’s
arm. “Go on, please. Poor Cathy has to get out of that
panda suit.”
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With reluctance, the Rankerses exited with their
daughter. Joe went into the living room to tend bar, and
Judith scanned what was left of the crowd. On the window seat, Dirk and Angela were speaking with Eugenia in a serious manner. Chips Madigan was standing
by the piano, framing imaginary camera angles with
his hands. Dade, Ellie, and Ben were nowhere in sight.
Winifred stood behind the sofa, where Bruno sat with
Morris Mayne at his side. Sweetums remained tucked
in the folds of Bruno’s robes.
As innkeeper and hostess, Judith couldn’t help but
take Bruno’s gloom personally. She knew it wasn’t her
fault, but it upset her to see a guest in distress.
As if sensing Judith’s consternation, Eugenia
slipped off the window seat and moved quickly across
the room.
“I’m wondering if Bruno shouldn’t leave for L.A.
tonight,” she murmured. “Of course it’s none of my
business, really. I’d mention it to Winifred, but she and
I don’t speak.”
“Oh.” Judith glanced from Eugenia to Winifred. “I
see.” She didn’t really, but couldn’t think of anything
else to say. She hesitated, feeling Eugenia’s hard-eyed
stare. Judith cleared her throat. “Is there something I
can do?”
“Why, yes,” Eugenia replied. “You could ask what
Winifred thinks of my suggestion. Only don’t mention
that it came from me.”
“I don’t think there’s another flight to L.A. tonight,”
Judith said. “The red-eye leaves shortly after midnight.”
Eugenia waved a hand that was encased in fingerless black lace gloves. “Bruno doesn’t fly commercial.
He has his own jet.”
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“Oh.” Judith started toward the sofa, aware that
Winifred was also giving her a steely-eyed stare. Taking
a deep breath, she decided to approach Bruno directly.
His eyes were dull as he gazed up at her from under
the hood of his burnoose. “Yes?”
“Mr. Zepf,” Judith began. She shivered slightly. The
fire had burned out on the hearth, and the wind created
a draft. Roman fashion wasn’t intended for a chilly autumn evening in the Pacific Northwest. “Mr. Zepf,” Judith repeated, “I want to say how sorry I am that your
movie wasn’t well received. Someone suggested that
perhaps you’d like to fly back to Los Angeles tonight.
What do you think?”
Bruno looked blank. “I don’t think. I can’t think. I
mustn’t think. Could you get me another Scotch?” He
pointed to his empty glass on the coffee table between
the matching sofas.
“Of course,” Judith responded, and went over to Joe
at the bar just as Dirk and Angela headed upstairs.
“Zepf needs zapping,” Judith said in a low voice. “I
feel sorry for him. Do you suppose it’s as bad as he
makes out?”
“Judging from the funereal pall around here,” Joe
said, opening Bruno’s favorite brand, “I’d say yes. I
don’t know much about the movie business, but a flop
can ruin a career. And I don’t mean just Bruno’s.”
“I never thought of it that way,” Judith said softly,
then gazed around the living room. Of the original
guest list, Chips Madigan and Winifred Best remained.
And Bruno, of course. Judith realized that even she
was beginning to consider him an afterthought. In a fit
of uncatlike compassion, Sweetums was still curled up
on Bruno’s lap.
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Joe pointed to the elaborate buffet. “I’ll wrap up
some of the food and put it in the freezer. There’s no
sense in letting it go to waste.”
Judith nodded. “They’re not the type to take doggie
bags with them. I’ll start putting away some of the
things from the bar in the washstand cabinet.”
As she took the first half-dozen unopened bottles
that belonged to the B&B into the dining room, Morris Mayne was at her heels.
“I must be on my way,” he said. “There’s not much
more I can do for poor Bruno. Besides, as strange as it
sounds for people in the picture business, my wife and
I keep regular hours. Thank you for your hospitality.”
He ducked his head and scurried off toward the front
door.
Judith was putting dirty dishes on a tray when a subdued Winifred Best came up to her. “I think Bruno
wants to sit for a while with his thoughts,” she said.
“I’m going to retire for the night.” Slipping her hands
up the sleeves of her nun’s habit, she seemed to strain
for the next words: “Thank you for all you’ve done.
I’m sorry this couldn’t have been a happier event. Perhaps next time—if there is a next time—Bruno will
want to stay in a hotel.”
Judith watched Winifred leave the room, then noted
that only Bruno and Eugenia Fleming remained. The
agent was nibbling on truffles and standing at the
piano, her free hand playing the fate motif from Car-
men. Notes composed by the devil himself, Renie had
once told Judith. An exaggeration, perhaps, but the
minor chords certainly sounded like doom and gloom.
Out in the kitchen, Joe had just come up from the
basement. “We’ve run out of room in the freezer,” he
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107
announced. “How much of that stuff in there is worth
keeping? You’ve got dates on some of those packages
from six, eight years ago.”
“Really?” Judith looked sheepish. “Then we’d better toss anything that old. Come on, I’ll get some
garbage bags and go down with you.”
Joe looked up at the schoolhouse clock. “It’s going
on one in the morning. Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
Judith shook her head and put a sweater on over her
Roman costume. “I want as much of this done tonight
as possible. Otherwise I’ll have a big mess in the
kitchen come morning. That makes getting breakfast
awkward. It won’t take that long. Let’s go.”
But like so many household tasks, it took longer
than Judith had predicted. Almost half an hour later the
Flynns trudged back upstairs. Joe headed directly for
the garbage cans outside while Judith returned to the
kitchen.
Or almost. She rounded the corner into the hall and
saw Bruno bending over the sink. Her initial reaction
was that he was throwing up. Not that she blamed him.
A sudden gust of wind roared over the house. She
heard a garbage
-can lid rattle, roll, and clank outside.
She knew that Joe must be swearing a blue streak.
“Mr. Zepf,” she called softly, moving down the hallway. “Can I help you?”
Bruno didn’t move. His robes sagged around him
and the headpiece was askew. Judith moved closer. She
couldn’t see his face above the sink.
Then, as she reached the kitchen table, she realized
that Bruno’s face was in the standing water from the
plugged-up drain.
“Mr. Zepf!” she cried, fear seizing her like an iron
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clamp. She lurched at him, shaking his arm. “Mr.
Zepf!” she cried again.
Bruno Zepf slumped farther into the sink, his burly
upper body carrying him forward. With trembling fingers, Judith searched for a pulse. There was none. She
felt faint, but kept shaking Bruno’s arm. Then she noticed that the broken cupboard door was wide open.
And above the sink, suspended from the single light
fixture, was a big black spider.
SEVEN
JUDITH DIDN’T HEAR Joe come running down the
hallway. She was aware of his presence only when
he grabbed her by the shoulders and gently but
firmly pushed her out of the way.
“Call 911,” he ordered in a calm but emphatic
voice. “I’ll try to resuscitate him.”
A flicker of hope sparked in Judith’s breast.
“He’s alive?”
Joe didn’t reply. He hauled Bruno onto the floor
and started CPR. Judith couldn’t remember where
she’d put the phone. She finally buzzed the receiver
from its base and heard it beep from the opposite
kitchen counter.
How could she explain that a man might have
drowned in the kitchen? Not a swimming pool, not
a bathtub, not a hot tub, but a kitchen sink. Fumbling with the buttons on the phone, Judith felt
giddy. She wouldn’t give the details. She was afraid
to, for fear of becoming hysterical. Or worse yet,
disbelieved.
Finally she got a grip on her composure and informed the operator that there was a man near death.
Or already there, Judith thought dismally. Help was
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required immediately. The operator told her to stand
by, someone should arrive at Hillside Manor in just a
few minutes.
“But,” Judith said in amazement, “I haven’t given
you the address.”
“Our system showed it on the screen,” the female
voice replied. “Besides, you’ve called here before,
haven’t you?”