Silver Scream : A Bed-and-breakfast Mystery

by Mary Daheim

  “May I help you?” she asked in a tone that indicated

  she’d rather stuff her visitor into the recycling bin that

  sat next to the desk.

  Judith froze. The fib she’d been trying to conjure up

  still hadn’t materialized. Briefly, she closed her eyes.

  Angela’s pale face and tall, voluptuous figure floated

  before her. The well-defined features, the wide shoulders, the above-average height, the dark eyes, the

  blond hair that was undoubtedly colored by an expensive Beverly Hills stylist . . .

  Inspiration struck. There was a physical resemblance as long as no one looked too closely. “I’m here

  to see my daughter.” Judith leaned forward, striking a

  conspiratorial pose. “I don’t know what name she’s

  using, but to her adoring fans, she’s . . . Dare I say it?”

  “Say what?” the woman snapped.

  Judith glanced at the name tag on the blue smock.

  “Perhaps you aren’t aware of her real identity, Wanda.

  My daughter was brought in today with . . .” She

  feigned embarrassment. “A drug reaction.”

  Wanda’s expression went from unpleasant to sour.

  “Oh, yes. One of those.” She scowled at Judith, no

  doubt blaming her for the daughter’s decadence. “May

  I see some ID?”

  Momentarily flustered, Judith tried to come up with

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  another tall tale. “Her father and I,” she began, fumbling for her wallet, “were only married for—”

  The phone rang on the desk. Wanda held up a hand

  for Judith to be silent. After tersely answering some

  questions regarding the status of another patient, the

  aide hung up.

  “Let’s see that ID,” she ordered. “I don’t need your

  life story.”

  Judith handed over the wallet with her driver’s license. Wanda gave it a piercing look, then nodded.

  “Miss Flynn is in Room 704, back down the hall and

  on your left.”

  With a gulp, Judith nodded and hurried off before

  Wanda noticed her astonishment at the coincidence.

  The door to Room 704 was closed. Judith knocked

  in a tentative fashion, but when no one responded, she

  slowly opened the door. Except for the green and red

  lights on the various monitors, the room was dark.

  Nearing the bed, Judith saw that Angela was on her

  side, turned away from the door. The IVs that trailed

  from her left hand looked all too familiar.

  Judith thought she was asleep. But the actress must

  have heard someone approach. “What now?” she

  asked in a disgruntled, if subdued voice.

  “It’s Judith Flynn.”

  “Who?” Angela didn’t bother to move.

  “Judith Flynn, your innkeeper at the B&B. How are

  you?”

  “Awful,” Angela replied, still not moving. “What do

  you want?”

  Judith sat down in the molded plastic visitor’s chair.

  “You’re my guest. Naturally I’m concerned.”

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  “Bull,” Angela muttered. “You’re here to pry. Why

  should you be concerned? Are you afraid I’m going to

  peg out like Bruno did?”

  “Of course not,” Judith said a bit testily. “I’m genuinely concerned about your welfare. You gave us an

  awful scare today.” She paused, waiting for a response.

  There was none, except for a restless flutter of the

  young woman’s hands at the top of the bedsheet. “I

  also wanted to know,” Judith continued, her voice a bit

  stern, “why you used my name when you checked into

  the hospital.”

  “I didn’t use it,” Angela said querulously. “Dirk

  checked me in. Or somebody. I was out of it.”

  “But why Flynn?” Judith persisted.

  At last Angela turned to look at her visitor, though

  the movement made her wince. “Why? Because it’s

  my name, dammit. You don’t really think I was born

  Angela La Belle?”

  “Ah . . .” Judith hadn’t considered this possibility. “I

  see. I’m sorry I was impertinent. That is, I didn’t mind

  you using my name, I just thought it was . . . odd.”

  “It’s not odd,” Angela insisted, her voice a trifle

  stronger. “I was born Portulaca Purslane Flynn. My

  mother was into plants and herbs. Even if I hadn’t become an actress, I’d have dumped all three of those

  names just like my mother dumped me when I was

  two. Now how about getting out of here? My head

  hurts like hell.”

  “Shall I ring for the nurse to bring you more pain

  medication?” Judith offered.

  “Are you kidding? These sadists are afraid I’ll get

  addicted to aspirin.”

  “I’m sorry, really I am,” Judith said. “I was in the

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  hospital last January. I know how difficult the medical

  profession can be when it comes to administering

  painkillers.”

  “Don’t be cute,” Angela snapped. “You know

  damned well why they won’t give me anything. I’m a

  coke hound. Now beat it, will you?”

  “Of course,” Judith said, standing up. “Really, I feel

  so sorry for you. Is it possible that you could kick the

  habit if you went into rehab?”

  Angela scowled at Judith. “The goody-goody side

  of the Quick Fix, huh? Easier said than done, Mrs.

  Flynn.” Suddenly her eyes widened. “Where are you

  from?”

  Judith was taken aback. “You mean . . . where was I

  born?”

  “Yes. Where? When?” The queries crackled like

  scattershot.

  “I was born right here,” Judith replied, “about two

  blocks away, in a hospital that’s been turned into condos. Why do you ask?”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Certainly I’m sure,” Judith answered, indignant.

  Then, seeing the disappointment on Angela’s face, she

  understood the reason for the questions. “I’m sorry.

  I’ve only had one child, a boy. And I didn’t become

  Mrs. Flynn until ten years ago.”

  Wearily, Angela turned away. “Never mind. I keep

  hoping someday I’ll find my mother.”

  Even when she wasn’t wanted, Judith was too softhearted to walk away. She remained standing, gazing

  down at Angela’s blond hair and twitching hands.

  “Do you want to meet your mother for revenge,” Judith asked softly, “or for an explanation?”

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  Angela didn’t respond immediately. Indeed, her

  whole body convulsed, then went slack. “I know why

  she gave me away,” the actress finally replied, her

  voice muffled by the pillow. “She never really wanted

  me. My mother was a free spirit, a big-time flower

  child. I was just a burden in her personal revolution.”

  “Your mother sounds selfish and immature,” Judith

  declared. “Who raised you?”

  “An aunt in San Bernardino,” Angela said. “She meant

  well, but she had four kids of her own. I was much

  younger than they were. I was always the outsider.”

  Abruptly, she turned again to face Judith. “This is
none of

  your business. Quit asking so damned many questions.”

  “I apologize,” Judith said. “I can’t help myself. I’m

  interested in people. I care about them.”

  “You’re an oddity, then,” Angela said. “Most people

  only care in terms of what they can get from you. The

  funny thing is, my mother didn’t want anything from

  me. She didn’t want me, period.”

  “She may be a villain,” Judith said quietly, “but

  she’s not the one who hooked you on drugs. Who did?”

  Angela gaped at Judith. “What a rotten, snoopy

  question!”

  “No, it isn’t,” Judith said reasonably. “Addicts have

  to start somewhere, and usually because someone

  coaxed or goaded them into it. You don’t just walk into

  the supermarket and get cocaine on Aisle B.”

  “Why do you care?” Angela’s voice was toneless.

  “It’s abnormal.”

  “I guess,” Judith said, “I’m one of those rare people

  who do care. I must be eccentric. Humor me.”

  Angela heaved a deep, shuddering sigh. “Why not?

  It doesn’t matter now. It was good old Bruno.”

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  Judith was surprised. “Bruno? Did he do drugs?”

  “For years,” Angela said, “right up until he overdosed midway through the making of The Gasman.”

  “Is that why he was hospitalized?” Judith asked, remembering Vito’s medical notes including the letter C.

  For cocaine, apparently.

  “That’s right,” Angela said with a bitter note. “It

  scared him, so he went into rehab. He’s been clean ever

  since. Lucky him.”

  “Not so lucky since he’s dead,” Judith remarked.

  “You say he’d been an addict for years?”

  “Yes.” Angela looked bitter. “Some people can

  function forever on coke. Bruno thought so. I did, too.

  Maybe I still do. As Bruno told me, coke can enhance

  the creative process. He truly believed it did for him.”

  Maybe, Judith thought, that explained The Gasman

  disaster. “It’s more like Russian roulette,” she asserted.

  “Eventually, you’re going to reach the chamber that

  takes you out.”

  “Sure, sure. Easy for you to say.” Angela made a

  face at her.

  “So who got Bruno hooked?” Judith inquired.

  Angela shook her head. “You’re not going to get me

  to tell you about that.”

  “But Bruno’s dead,” Judith said as she heard the

  faint sound of the doorknob turning. A nurse no doubt,

  coming to take the endless vital signs. “What difference does it make?”

  “Because the person who got him started is still

  alive,” Angela said. “And if you ask me, very dangerous. You don’t want to know.”

  But Judith did want to know. Despite the odds, even

  the risks, she had to know.

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  Yet she could get nothing more out of Angela. And

  to be fair, the young woman seemed not only agitated,

  but tired. Judith was heading out of the room when another click sounded at the door. She waited for the person in the corridor to come in.

  But no one did, and when she turned the knob she

  discovered that the door was firmly shut.

  SEVENTEEN

  SLOWLY, SHE OPENED the door and peered into the

  hallway. A pair of orderlies had their heads together

  by the elevators. Wanda was sitting at the reception

  desk. A doctor in scrubs was talking to a nurse at the

  far end of the corridor. None of them seemed interested in Room 704.

  But someone was. As she’d turned the knob to

  open the door a few inches, she’d heard footsteps

  close by. Not the soft, almost noiseless tread of

  shoes worn by members of the medical profession,

  but high heels. Tap-tap-tap. They’d stopped

  abruptly just as Judith had looked into the corridor.

  The door on the right of Angela’s room was open.

  Moving as silently as possible, Judith looked inside. It

  was dark, but she could tell that the single bed was

  empty. On a whim, she opened the bathroom door and

  flicked on the light. Nothing. Leaving the light on and

  the bathroom door open, she went to the closet. Nothing there, either. But just as she was closing the closet

  door, she heard the tap-tap-tapping again. Quickly

  switching off the bathroom light, she hurried into the

  corridor. The tableau remained the same, except that

  the orderlies by the elevators had gone.

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  Judith walked softly to Room 702, on the other side

  of Angela’s private room. There a light glowed above

  the bed, where an old man with paper-thin skin

  breathed with noisy effort. Judith gave up. She

  couldn’t search every room. Besides, she reasoned, the

  high heels might have belonged to a visitor who had

  tried to get into the wrong room.

  But she didn’t quite believe it. Feeling defeated, she

  headed for the elevators. There was one good thing

  about her visit, though. As she exited on the main floor,

  Judith felt a sense of freedom at leaving the hospital

  under her own power. It hadn’t been that way when she

  exited Good Cheer on a cold day in January. She’d

  been wheeled out to a cabulance and had spent the following week learning to walk again.

  Fifteen minutes later she was back at Hillside Manor.

  Joe was sitting in the living room, studying Bill’s chart.

  “Where the hell have you been?” he demanded. “I

  was about to file a missing-persons report.”

  Judith explained everything except the hospital

  visit. She had a question of her own that wouldn’t wait.

  “What about Mother? It’s eight o’clock. She must be

  starving.”

  “Your mother is fine,” Joe replied. “Arlene brought

  her dinner over a couple of hours ago. It seems that

  none of the Rankers clan showed up. Arlene was furious—right up until she insisted she hadn’t wanted to

  see any of them in the first place.”

  “Dear Arlene.” Judith sighed, collapsing next to Joe

  on the sofa. “A sea of contradictions. And a heart as big

  as Alaska.”

  “So what good did all your sleuthing at Capri’s do

  for you?” Joe asked, putting Bill’s chart aside.

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  “I’m not sure,” Judith said, suddenly hearing her

  stomach growl. “Goodness, I haven’t eaten in hours.

  What’s left from the caterers?”

  Joe peered at her. “You look beat. Let me fix you a

  drink and bring you something to eat. How about

  Winifred’s field greens and Chips’s chicken pot pie?”

  “Sounds wonderful,” Judith said, slipping out of her

  shoes as Sweetums crept up to the sofa. “I should see

  Mother, but I’ll wait until I get my second wind.”

  Joe had gone into the kitchen when the doorbell

  sounded a minute later. Wearily, Judith trudged to the

  front door. Eugenia Fleming and Morris Mayne stood

  on the front porch with three small trick-or-treaters.

  The youngsters, who
had an adult waiting on the sidewalk, chorused their Halloween greeting. Eugenia

  practically trampled them as she entered the house.

  “It’s very damp out there,” she complained. “Did

  Vito mention that he and I and Morris are staying in

  your vacant rooms tonight?”

  “I’m . . . not . . . sure,” Judith replied, scooping

  candy bars out of a cut-glass bowl in the entry hall. She

  stepped aside as Morris barged his way inside. Judith

  scowled at him, then addressed the children. “Two

  ghosts and a witch,” she said, dropping two chocolate

  bars into each of the three pillowcases. “Very scary.

  Don’t get a tummy ache.”

  The children said thank you with varying degrees of

  confidence, then turned around and ran off to join their

  adult companion. Judith managed to flag down Eugenia before she reached the second landing of the main

  staircase.

  “Excuse me,” Judith said, “but the rooms aren’t

  made up yet. It’s been a very busy day. Besides, there’s

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  only one vacant room. Bruno’s,” she added, lowering

  her voice. “We’ll have to see if Ellie or Winifred or

  Chips or Dade will consent to share a room.”

  “Chips and Dade wouldn’t share a bomb shelter if

  a nuclear device went off,” Eugenia retorted. “You

  might have better luck with Win and Ellie. Just tell

  me which room is mine. I need to lie down. I’m quite

  fatigued.”

  Judith was forced into a quick decision. “Morris

  will stay in Room Three. You take Room Six. I’ll make

  it up as soon as I have something to eat.”

  Eugenia leaned over the banister, her bust looming

  like two large water balloons. “Now would be preferable.”

  Judith was about to snap back when Joe appeared in

  the entry hall bearing a tray with a Scotch rocks, a

  steaming chicken pot pie, a generous salad, and a hot

  roll.

  “Take a seat, Jude-girl,” he said as the doorbell rang

  again. “Dinner is served.”

  Judith shot Eugenia a frigid look and returned to the

  living room. Morris Mayne was reclining on the sofa,

  his shirt and tie loosened and his suit jacket covering

  the coffee table.

  Joe stared down at the publicist. “Get the door, will

  you, Morris? And move that jacket. My wife’s dinner

  is going there.”

  Morris looked affronted. “Pardon? I’m a guest, not

  a servant.”