Silver Scream : A Bed-and-breakfast Mystery

by Mary Daheim

  Judith gave her husband a startled look. “They’re

  leaving? But the fog hasn’t lifted.”

  “Vito says the studio has given them the go-ahead,”

  Joe replied, placing toast in a rack. “The weather forecast predicts the fog will be gone by noon.”

  Judith stood rooted to the spot. “Should we be glad?”

  “I don’t know,” Joe replied, heading to the dining

  room with the toast. “I couldn’t get a feel one way or

  another from Vito.”

  When he returned moments later, Judith inquired

  after Angela. “Is she going, too?”

  “No,” said Joe, pouring more eggs into the pan.

  “They’re sending her directly to rehab at the Ford

  Madox Ford Center on the Eastside. According to Vito,

  she’ll be there at least a couple of months. Maybe this

  time the cure will take.”

  As Joe tended the stove, Judith peeked over the

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  swinging doors that led into the dining room. The conversation seemed lighthearted. Maybe the movie people had put their differences aside now that they were

  leaving what they considered a fogbound backwater.

  Everyone was there. Everyone except Winifred.

  Winifred Best seemed to be the least likely of the

  guests to sleep in. A wave of apprehension came over

  Judith as she started for the back stairs.

  The phone rang. Judith grabbed it from its cradle,

  hoping that Dilys Oaks was calling with good news for

  Joe. Instead, it was Phyliss Rackley, calling with bad

  news for Judith.

  “I can’t breathe,” Phyliss announced in a voice that

  was anything but short of wind. “I must have tuberculosis. Where’s the nearest sanitorium?”

  “They don’t send people there for TB anymore,

  Phyliss,” Judith asserted. “They can cure it with antibiotics. Call your doctor.”

  “I can’t,” Phyliss replied, then coughed with what

  sounded like feigned effort. “I’m fading fast. I need an

  iron lung.”

  “That’s for polio,” Judith said crossly. “Are you

  telling me you won’t be here today?”

  “How can I?” Phyliss asked, forlorn. “The Lord is

  coming for me. I saw Him this morning in my closet.”

  “Tell the Lord to come out of the closet and put you

  on the bus to Hillside Manor,” Judith huffed. “I’ve got

  a big mess here today, and I’m worn out. Furthermore,

  it’s All Saints’ Day and I have to go to noon Mass.”

  “You and your Roman rituals,” Phyliss complained.

  “What kind of sacrifice do you make this time? A gopher?”

  Judith refused to waste time discussing the sacrifice

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  of the Mass to Phyliss. She’d already explained it on at

  least a dozen occasions. “I really need you, Phyliss. Do

  you think you could make it by noon? The fog’s supposed to lift by then.”

  “Well . . .” Phyliss seemed to consider the request.

  “I’ll see. Maybe the Lord can work a miracle cure.”

  She coughed some more for effect. “Kaff, kaff.”

  Hanging up, Judith continued on her way upstairs,

  then went the length of the hall to Room One, which

  Winifred had shared the previous night with Ellie Linn.

  Knocking gently at first, she got no response. She

  rapped harder. Still no reply. She was about to hammer

  on the door when she decided simply to open it.

  The door was unlocked. A billow of smoke engulfed

  Judith. Flames licked at the bedclothes just as the fire

  alarm sounded and the sprinkler system went off.

  Winifred lay awkwardly on the bed, her eyes closed,

  her mouth agape. Even as Judith screamed for help,

  she braved the smoke, fire, and drenching water to

  reach the motionless woman. Coughing, gritting her

  teeth, and ever aware that she could dislocate the artificial hip, she grabbed Winifred by the feet and attempted to tug her off the bed.

  Despite Winifred’s slimness, Judith could move her

  no more than a few inches. The water was pouring

  down, dousing the flames but turning the room into a

  nightmare of sizzling vapors. Judith gasped, coughed

  again, and yanked at a pillowcase to put over her

  mouth. She barely heard the pounding of feet on the

  stairs or Joe’s shouts as he reached the second floor.

  A moment later he was in the room, arms flailing,

  trying to push Judith out of the way. He missed. Judith,

  with the wet pillowcase protecting her nose and mouth,

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  caught Winifred around the knees and, with a mighty

  wrench, moved her into a sitting position against the

  headboard.

  At the same time she felt—and heard—an odd

  sound in her hip. She collapsed on the floor.

  “Don’t move!” Joe yelled as he picked up Winifred

  and carried her into the hall.

  Dazed, Judith choked, coughed, and shivered in a

  huddled mass near the door. The fire, which had spread

  to the lace curtains on the other side of the room, was

  now sputtering out. Sirens could be heard in the distance. Someone must have called 911. Again.

  “Winifred . . .” Judith murmured as Joe bent down

  to put his arms around her shoulders. “Is she . . . ?”

  “Never mind Winifred,” he said, his voice husky.

  “Can you stand?”

  She wasn’t sure. What was worse, she was afraid to

  try. To her surprise, Dirk Farrar entered the room. “I

  can lift her,” he volunteered.

  “We both can,” Joe retorted.

  They did, carefully moving her out of the room and

  placing her on the settee in the hall. Winifred was lying

  on the floor by the door to the bathroom between

  Rooms Three and Four. Dade was leaning over her,

  once again trying to revive a fallen comrade.

  “She’s alive,” Eugenia announced.

  Dade looked up. “She’s coming ’round.”

  “Thank God,” Judith gasped, then tried to sit up

  with Joe’s help.

  Vito Patricelli’s customary calm was ruffled; he’d

  removed his sunglasses. “What happened? How did

  the fire start?”

  He was ignored by both Flynns as the emergency

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  crew charged up the stairs with Eugenia Fleming in

  their wake. Somewhat to her surprise, Judith didn’t

  recognize any of the rescuers. Maybe, she thought a bit

  hazily, that was because it was a Monday. She couldn’t

  recall anyone ever dying or almost dying at Hillside

  Manor on a Monday. This must be a different crew.

  Somewhat giddily, she wondered if eventually she’d

  know them all—police, firefighters, medics, maybe

  even a coroner or two.

  “Clear the area!” one of the firefighters shouted.

  From somewhere on the stairs, Judith could hear a

  vaguely familiar female voice giving orders for the rest

  of the guests to stay put. The girlish tones sounded

  more like Ellie than the buglelike Eugenia. But the

  voice belonged to a newcomer.

  The medics had moved Winifred down the hall.

 
; “We’ll work on her here,” one of them announced with

  a slight Spanish accent. “Everybody else get lost.”

  Finally, Joe got Judith to her feet. “Can you walk?”

  he whispered.

  She bit her lip, then wiped at her eyes, which were

  still smarting. “I’m not sure,” she replied unsteadily.

  But one foot went in front of the other. There was none

  of the agonizing pain she’d suffered from previous dislocations. Perhaps the sensations trying to move

  Winifred had only been a warning.

  The others had already trooped downstairs, except

  for Vito, who lingered in the hallway.

  Eugenia was standing under the arch between the

  entry hall and the living room. Cautiously, Judith

  stepped over the tan fire hoses.

  “Where is that woman?” Eugenia demanded, fists

  on hips. “It must be all her fault.”

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  Judith stared. “What woman?”

  “Your cleaning woman,” Eugenia snapped. “What

  kind of a person is she to cause such a mess?”

  “My—” Judith stopped, allowing Joe to help her

  onto the sofa.

  Eugenia followed, a bulldog running down a cat.

  “I let her in while I was waiting for you to serve

  breakfast,” Eugenia said, incensed. “How did I know

  she was a pyromaniac?”

  Judith forced her brain to kick-start. “No. That

  couldn’t have been my cleaning woman. I spoke to her

  on the phone just before I went upstairs looking for

  Winifred. She lives a good four miles from here.”

  “What did this person look like?” Joe asked, all

  business.

  “Why . . .” Eugenia paused. “Like a cleaning

  woman. Which is who she said she was. Gray-haired,

  thin, homely.”

  Oddly enough, the description fit Phyliss Rackley.

  But that was impossible. Ignoring her hip, Judith

  jumped up. “Where is she now?”

  “How do I know?” Eugenia shot back. “She went

  upstairs just before the others came down to breakfast.”

  “Christ!” Joe took off at a run, apparently heading

  for the back stairs. The sound of water thundered overhead. Through the big bay window, Judith could see

  two firefighters climbing up to the roof.

  “Oh, no!” she wailed. “My poor B&B! It’s ruined!”

  It was only then that she realized the fire wasn’t the

  only thing that had laid waste to Room One. So overcome with shock and fear had Judith been at the time,

  she had failed to take in the more minor damage.

  Winifred’s room had been ransacked.

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  *

  *

  *

  Joe returned a few minutes later with Dilys Oaks.

  Judith realized that it was the young policewoman’s

  voice she had recognized earlier.

  “Nothing,” Joe said, out of breath. “We couldn’t

  find any trace of the so-called cleaning woman.”

  Judith turned to Eugenia, who had just finished a

  call on her cell phone. “Did you notice a car outside

  when you let this woman in?”

  “A car?” Eugenia looked indignant. “How could I?

  It’s too foggy to see past the front steps. I don’t know

  when I’ve been in such a miserable place. Except

  Croatia, perhaps.”

  “Look here,” Judith said, her temper flaring, “you

  were the one who admitted this woman. Why didn’t

  you let me open the door?”

  “You weren’t here,” Eugenia retorted. “Neither was

  your husband. Besides, your cleaning woman had a

  key. Apparently, she was having trouble turning it.”

  Judith frowned. She must have been in the toolshed

  with her mother. Maybe Joe had gone to the bathroom.

  It wasn’t really fair to blame Eugenia for the disaster.

  If, Judith suddenly thought, Eugenia was telling the

  truth. As for the key, perhaps the intruder was faking it.

  Or, it suddenly occurred to her, someone had found

  Dade’s missing key. But who?

  A firefighter, moving clumsily in his bulky safety

  suit, entered the living room. “We think everything’s

  under control,” he announced, then turned to Joe. “The

  fire itself was just about extinguished by the sprinkler

  system. But there’s quite a bit of water damage. We’ll

  stick around to check things out, but if there’s danger

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  where else for a while. Also, it may take some time for

  the investigators to do their job and for the insurance

  adjusters to estimate the amount of damage.”

  “That’s impossible!” Judith exclaimed. “This is a

  bed-and-breakfast establishment! We can’t shut down.

  And we certainly aren’t going to move out.”

  With regret, the firefighter shook his head. “Sorry,

  ma’am. I’m afraid you’ll have to do both. Safety first.”

  Before Judith could argue further, the medics appeared on the staircase with Winifred on a gurney with

  her eyes closed and an oxygen mask over her face. Vito

  was right behind them.

  “They’re taking her to the hospital to treat her for

  smoke inhalation,” the lawyer announced from the

  entry hall, a frown on his usually imperturbable face.

  “I don’t get it,” Judith put in, moving with care.

  “The fire had just started. There was plenty of smoke,

  but not enough to render Ms. Best unconscious. She

  wasn’t asleep; she was in her bathrobe lying atop the

  bedcovers.”

  The medics didn’t respond as they wheeled

  Winifred out of the house and disappeared.

  Vito started to follow, but Eugenia waylaid him with

  a firm hand. “Mrs. Flynn’s right. What’s going on with

  Win?”

  With a pained expression, Vito leaned down to

  whisper in Eugenia’s ear. She gave a start, then

  scowled. “The medics told you that? I don’t believe

  it!” she snapped, then turned on Judith as Vito exited

  the house. “Your cleaning woman knocked Winifred

  unconscious!”

  “What?” Judith shrieked. “That wasn’t my cleaning

  woman!”

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  Eugenia shrugged her broad shoulders. “As you say.

  Vito is accompanying Win to the hospital. I understand

  this wretched house has to be evacuated. Don’t worry,

  we’re all but on our way.”

  Returning to the living room, Judith began to pace

  the floor.

  “Take it easy,” Joe warned. “You’re listing a bit to

  starboard.”

  “I’m fine,” Judith snarled. “I didn’t dislocate, I

  just . . . twinged.” She stopped by the piano at the far

  end of the room. “I can’t believe this. Even if we don’t

  get sued, we’re out of business for God knows how

  long!”

  “Come on, Jude-girl,” Joe urged, “try to relax a little.

  It’s not like the place burned down.” He looked at

  Dilys, who had her back turned to both Flynns and was

  on her cell phone. “An APB h
as gone out on the mysterious cleaning woman. If there was one,” he added,

  lowering his voice.

  Dilys clicked off to face Judith and Joe. “Unfortunately,” she said, “the description isn’t very helpful.

  Ms. Fleming thought the woman was wearing dark

  clothing. The rest of her appearance is quite ordinary.

  With all the new apartments and condos on this side of

  the hill, there must be a hundred women like that

  within three square blocks of here.”

  Judith abruptly sat down on the piano bench. “No,”

  she said slowly, “there’s only one.”

  TWENTY

  THERE WAS NO time for Judith to explain. The battalion chief came into the living room to consult

  with the Flynns. His main advice was to contact

  their insurance agent as soon as possible. Joe

  agreed, saying he’d drive up to the top of the hill as

  soon as the local office opened at ten.

  “What about the damage?” Judith asked in a

  plaintive voice. “How bad is it?”

  “We’ll let you know as soon as we can,” the chief

  said kindly. His name was Ramirez, and he spoke

  with a slight Spanish accent.

  Judith winced. “You’re sure we have to move out?”

  Ramirez nodded. “It may not be for long. It’s the

  water damage, mostly. That’s often the case with a

  small fire. Only the bedcovers, curtains, and carpet

  were destroyed. The rest of the fire merely scorched

  the bed itself, the mattress, and one wall. By the

  way, who tossed the room?”

  Joe and Dilys both stared at Judith. “Um . . .” She

  put her hands to her cheeks, which seemed to have

  suddenly grown quite warm. “I forgot to mention

  that. It must have been the intruder who knocked out

  Ms. Best.”

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  Ramirez frowned. “So that’s what I heard someone

  talking about. Where are the police?”

  Dilys took a step forward. “I am the police,” she declared. “My backup should be along shortly. The patrol

  cars are already on the lookout for the perp.”

  The battalion chief seemed disconcerted. “You

  mean . . . All these people in this house and no

  one . . .” He gave himself a good shake. “Excuse me.

  It’s a big house. In fact, haven’t you had a couple of

  other 911 calls in the past few days?”

  To Judith’s great relief, Dilys stepped in to spare the

  Flynns the burden of an explanation. “To begin with,”

  she said, guiding Ramirez out of the living room, “this

  is a B&B. The current guests are somewhat unusual in