Silver Scream : A Bed-and-breakfast Mystery

by Mary Daheim

  “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-adamn 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 standpoint—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.

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  “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?”

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  “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?”

  “Bill,” Renie inquired, “have you any idea what all

  those marks mean?”

  “Of course.” With an expectant expression, he gazed

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  235

  at the others as if waiting for the brightest student to

  give the correct answer. “Well?”

  “Because,” Judith said slowly, “there was something

  shameful about that experience.”

  Bill nodded approval. “There has to be. What could

  it have been?”

  “Guesswork,” Joe said in a disgusted voice. “That’s

  all we can do is guess. That’s not a professional approach in law enforcement.”

  “We don’t have anything else,” Renie pointed out.

  With a hopeful expression, Judith turned to Renie.

  “You couldn’t find it on the Internet?”

  “I doubt it, coz,” Renie said.

  “Then there has to be another way,” Judith declared,

  getting up from the sofa and heading out of the room.

  “Hey,” Renie called after her cousin, “what are you

  going to do?”

  Judith turned just before she reached the entry hall.

  “I’m about to crash the dinner party. Anybody care to

  join me?”

  “Hey,” Bill said sharply, “I’m not finished yet.”

  “Later,” Judith shot back. “I feel useless. I’m frustrated. I’m getting out of here.”

  “Don’t act like a moron, Jude-girl,” Joe said with a

  scowl. “You can’t go barging in on those people like that.”

  “Look,” Judith said, almost stamping her foot but

  afraid to, lest she jar her artificial hip, “we’re running

  out of time. The guests may be gone by tomorrow.

  You’re not the one who worked your tail off to build

  this B&B. Do—or don’t do—what you want, but I’m

  not sitting around waiting for a bunch of L.A. lawyers

  to fleece us.” She turned on her heel and headed for the

  back hallway to get her jacket.

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  “Wait for me!” Renie cried, hurrying after Judith.

  “Our car’s blocking the driveway. I’m coming with you.”

  Judith waited, though it took only seconds until her

  cousin was in the Joneses’ Toyota Camry. A moment

  later Renie was reversing out into the foggy cul-de-sac.

  “It’s just as well to take your car,” Judith said, fastening her seat belt. “It’s newer than my Subaru.

  Maybe the parking attendants at Capri’s won’t act so

  snooty.”

  “They aren’t as snooty as they used to be,” Renie

  replied, heading onto Heraldsgate Avenue. The fog had

  settled in over the hill, making it difficul
t to see more

  than twenty feet ahead. Though Renie had a reputation—which she claimed was unearned—for driving

  too fast and erratically, she crept along the thoroughfare. “With all the new money in this town,” she said,

  “especially among the younger set, it’s hard to tell a

  millionaire from a millworker.”

  Capri’s was located on the east side of the hill,

  closer to Renie’s house than to the B&B. The cousins

  climbed Heraldsgate Avenue to the commercial district

  on the flat, then kept going north into a sloping residential neighborhood. They turned right in the direction of the restaurant, but within four blocks, Renie

  took a left.

  “Hey!” Judith cried. “What are we doing?”

  “You do nothing,” Renie said. “I change clothes. I

  can’t go into Capri’s wearing this Loyola University

  sweatshirt and these black pants. They have a hole in

  them, in case you haven’t noticed, which maybe you

  haven’t because I’m wearing black underwear.”

  “Good grief.” Judith held her head. “Okay, but don’t

  take long.”

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  237

  Sitting in the car, she studied her own attire. The

  green wool slacks matched the green cable-knit turtleneck. Her shoes were fairly new, having been purchased at Nordquist’s annual women’s sale. She

  supposed she could pass at Capri’s for a real customer.

  As she continued to wait, Judith’s mind wandered

  back to Bill’s chart. Someone was missing. Who, besides the Alien Suspect? The answer came to mind almost immediately. Vito Patricelli wasn’t represented

  among Bruno’s satellites. But it appeared that he

  hadn’t arrived in the city until this morning. Was that

  true? Judith used her cell phone to dial one of the airlines that served passengers from L.A.

  “We have no one named Patricelli on our manifests

  in the last three days,” the pert voice said.

  Judith tried the other connecting carriers and got the

  same negative result. Maybe Vito had flown north by

  private plane.

  She was about to call Boring Field, where many of

  the smaller aircraft landed, when Renie reappeared

  wearing a great deal of brown suede, including her

  pants, jacket, ankle boots, and handbag. She also wore

  a brown cashmere sweater.

  “How many animals had to die to clothe you in that

  outfit?” Judith inquired as Renie slid into the driver’s seat.

  “A lot of cows with really rotten dispositions,”

  Renie replied, starting the car. “None of the children

  were home. They must have gone a-wooing.”

  “Very likely,” Judith agreed as they headed back up

  the hill to the turnoff for Capri’s. “Really, I’m anxious

  to meet the future in-laws.”

  “So am I,” Renie said darkly, “even though I allegedly have already done so.”

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  “Say,” Judith said, “did you get a chance to look at

  the material you got off the Internet about The Gasman

  and its origins?”

  “Not yet,” Renie replied, slowing at a six-way stop

  and peering into the fog to see if there were any vehicles coming from the other directions. “It looks as if it

  came out to at least twenty pages. That includes artwork, of course.”

  “Who puts those sites together?”

  “This one may have been done by the studio,” Renie

  said, curving around in front of the restaurant and

  pulling into the driveway. “Some of the sites are created by fans.”

  A blemish-free teenager with corn-tassel-colored

  hair and a big smile greeted the cousins.

  “Which private party will you be joining?” he asked

  as Renie stepped out of the Camry. “That is,” he added

  with an ingenuous expression, “on Sundays we’re not

  open to regular customers.”

  “How many parties are there?” Renie inquired as

  Judith joined her under the porte cochere.

  “Two,” the youth replied with a discreet wink. “The

  Smith and the Jones parties.”

  Renie darted a glance at Judith. “I’m Mrs. Jones,”

  Renie said, winking back.

  “Ah.” The young man made a flourish that was almost a bow. “This way, please. Derek will take care of

  your car.” He nodded at a second fresh-faced adolescent who had been standing by the door.

  “So which is which?” Judith murmured as they

  passed across the flagstone flooring, where they were

  met by a maître d’ so handsome that he could have

  given Dirk Farrar a run for his money.

  SILVER SCREAM

  239

  “We’ve got a fifty-fifty chance of getting the right

  party,” Renie said out of the side of her mouth. “Serena

  Jones here,” she informed the maître d’ in her normal

  voice.

  “I’m Charles,” the maître d’ informed the cousins.

  His smile seemed to assure them that he was their new

  best friend. Charles led the way up a winding black

  iron staircase, then turned right to face a paneled mahogany door. With a dazzling smile and a flourish that

  was indeed a bow, he opened the door.

  “Your party, Mrs. Jones,” he said.

  Renie rocked on the heels of her brown suede boots.

  This was definitely the Jones party. All three of Renie

  and Bill’s offspring sat at a table for at least a dozen

  other people, some of whom looked vaguely familiar.

  “Hi, Mom,” Tom said in greeting. “We thought

  you’d never get here. Where’s Pop?”

  FIFTEEN

  “WHAT IS THIS?” Renie demanded when the maître d’

  had left and she regained her equilibrium. “What do

  you mean, ‘Where’s Pop’?”

  “Didn’t you get our note?” Anne said with an innocent look on her pretty face.

  “What note?” Renie all but shouted. Then, realizing that she must be in the presence of her future inlaws, she tried to smile. “No. Where was it?”

  Anne turned to Tony, who was seated four places

  down the table. “Where did you put the note, Big T?”

  Tony’s chiseled features were vague. “I thought

  Tom put it up by the hall closet.”

  “Not me,” Tom said with a shake of his curly dark

  head. “You wrote it, Annie-Bannany. What’d you do

  with it?”

  “I didn’t write it,” Anne retorted. “I thought—”

  “Hold it!” Renie cried, this time unable to keep

  her voice down. But she managed a smile for her bewildered audience. “Your father and I never saw a

  note. We haven’t been home since early this afternoon. How about introducing your poor old mother

  and your just-as-poor-and-almost-as-old aunt to

  these other folks?”

  SILVER SCREAM

  241

  Anne and Tony both gazed at Tom as they always

  did when they expected the eldest of their lot to take

  responsibility. The others included a fair-haired young

  man who was growing something fuzzy that looked

  like it might become a goatee, a raven-haired young

  woman who looked as if she could be Native American, a red-headed girl who looked faintly ethereal, and

  a half-dozen middle-aged adults who looked as if they

&
nbsp; wished they were somewhere else. The whole group

  stared at Renie.

  “We told you and Pop about the dinner tonight,”

  Tom said, looking wounded. “Remember, it was Friday, and you mentioned having everybody over at our

  house. But we said we thought it’d be better to go out.

  You and Pop didn’t say anything, so we assumed it was

  all set.”

  “Probably,” Renie muttered to Judith, “they were all

  talking at once—and so loud—that we couldn’t hear

  them.”

  “What’s that, Mom?” Tony inquired.

  “I said I guess we goofed.” Renie looked unusually

  subdued. “I’ll call Pop and get him over here.”

  “He won’t answer the phone,” Anne warned.

  “He’s not home,” Renie said, delving into her brown

  suede purse for her cell phone.

  Judith whispered into Renie’s ear. “I’m out of here.”

  “Coz!” Renie cried as she hit the wrong button,

  causing the phone to emit a sharp squawk.

  “Sorry,” Judith apologized. “I have a job to do.”

  She scooted out of the room.

  The only similar door was on her left. The other

  doors along the corridor were for rest rooms, storage,

  and other restaurant facilities. Grasping the mahogany

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  door’s brass lever, Judith took a deep breath. Now that

  her prey were at hand, she didn’t know what to do. Barging in, as Joe had cautioned, wasn’t a good idea. The

  door was too thick to allow her to overhear what was

  going on in the private dining room. Worse yet, the

  servers were all young men wearing tuxedos. A wild idea

  involving the impersonation of a waitress had struck her

  earlier. Not only was it far-fetched, it was impossible.

  At that moment, one of the waiters appeared at the

  top of the stairs carrying a jeroboam of champagne.

  Swiftly, Judith fished into her purse, searching for a

  piece of paper.

  “Young man,” she said, blocking the door, “could

  you deliver a message to the Smith party? I’m with the

  Joneses, in the other private dining room.”

  The waiter, who was young, Asian, and very goodlooking, was too well trained to show surprise.

  “To whom shall I give the message?” he asked.

  Having found a small notebook, Judith scribbled out

  a half-dozen words. “Morris Mayne,” she said. “Tell

  him it’s urgent. Thank you.”

  The waiter disappeared inside. Judith wondered if