Mary Daheim - Silver Scream - A Bed-and-breakfast Mystery

“Sir Francis is okay?” Judith inquired, after pouring

herself a glass of lemonade.

“He will be,” Joe said. “They trotted him off to the

vet. I hate these damned lost pet cases, but the family’s

loaded, it took only a couple of hours to find the dog,

and they paid me a grand.” He patted the pocket of his

cotton shirt. “Nice work, huh?”

“Very nice,” Judith said with a big smile. “All your

private detective cases should be so easy. And prof- 8

Mary Daheim

itable. Maybe we can use some of that money to have

Skjoval Tolvang make some more repairs around

here.”

“How old is that guy anyway?” Joe asked with a bemused expression on his round, florid face.

“Eighties, I’d guess,” Judith replied, “but strong as

an ox. You know how hearty those Scandinavians are.”

“Like our daughter-in-law,” Joe acknowledged,

opening the evening paper, which Judith had retrieved

earlier from the front porch.

“Yes,” Judith said in a contemplative voice. Kristin

was not only big and beautiful, but so infuriatingly

competent that her mother-in-law was occasionally intimidated. “Yes,” she repeated. “Formidable, too. What

is she not?”

The front doorbell rang, making Judith jump. “The

guests! They’re part of a tour, here for two nights. I

didn’t think they’d arrive until five-thirty.” She dashed

out through the swinging doors between the kitchen

and the dining room to greet the newcomers.

The tour group, consisting of a dozen retirees from

eastern Canada, were on the last leg of a trip that had

started in Toronto. Some of them looked as if they

were on their last legs, too. Judith escorted them to

their rooms, made sure everything was in order, and informed them that the social hour began at six. To a

man—and woman—they begged off, insisting that

they simply wanted to rest before going out to dinner.

The bus trip from Portland had taken six hours, a result

of summer highway construction. They were exhausted. They didn’t need to socialize, having been

cheek by jowl with each other for the past three weeks.

Indeed, judging from some of the glares that were ex- SILVER SCREAM

9

changed, they were sick of each other. Could they

please be allowed to nap?

Judith assured them they could. Cancellation of the

social hour meant that she, too, could take it easy. Following hip replacement surgery in January, Judith still

tired easily. But before taking a respite, she had to call

the Kidds and the Izards to inform them that their

reservations were being changed because of unforeseen circumstances.

Joe had just opened his second Harp when Judith returned to the kitchen. She observed the top of his head

behind the sports section and smiled to herself. There

was more gray in his red hair, and in truth, there was

less of either color. But to Judith, Joe Flynn was still

the most attractive man on earth. She had waited a

quarter of a century to become his wife, but the years

in between seemed to have faded into an Irish mist. On

the way to the computer, she paused to kiss the top of

his head.

“What’s this rash outbreak of affection?” Joe asked

without glancing up.

“Just remembering that I love you,” Judith said lightly.

“Do you need reminding?”

“No.”

She noted the Kidds’ number in Appleton, Wisconsin, and dialed. They were repeat customers, having

come to Hillside Manor six years earlier. Judith hated

to cancel them.

Alice Kidd answered the phone on the second ring.

Judith relayed the doleful news and apologized most

humbly. “You’ll be put up at a lovely B&B which will

be convenient to everything. Ms. Heffelman will contact you in a day or two with the specifics.”

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Mary Daheim

“Well, darn it all anyway,” Mrs. Kidd said with a

Midwestern twang. “We so enjoyed your place. How is

your mother? Edgar and I thought she was a real doll.”

A voodoo doll perhaps, Judith thought. “Mother’s

fine,” she said aloud. “Of course her memory is sometimes iffy.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Kidd said in a quiet voice. “Edgar’s

mother is like that, too. So sad. My own dear mother

passed away last winter.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Judith said.

Alice Kidd acknowledged the expression of sympathy, then paused. “You’re certain we’ll be staying in as

nice a B&B as yours?”

“Definitely,” Judith declared. Ingrid wouldn’t let her

down. She’d better not. An inferior establishment

wouldn’t be a credit to Judith or to the association Ingrid guarded like a military sentry. “Maybe even

nicer.”

“I doubt that,” Mrs. Kidd said as if she meant it.

“You’re very kind,” Judith responded. “We’ll be in

touch.”

Next she dialed the number of Walt and Meg Izard

in Riceville, Iowa. A frazzled-sounding woman answered the phone.

“Mrs. Izard?” Judith inquired.

“Yeah, right. Who is this? We’re watching TV.”

“I’m sorry,” Judith said, then identified herself as

the owner of Hillside Manor.

“What’s that?” Mrs. Izard snapped. “A rest home?

Forget it.”

“Wait!” Judith cried, certain that Meg Izard was

about to slam down the receiver. “I own the bed-andbreakfast you’re staying at in October. The nights of

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11

the twenty-ninth, thirtieth, and thirty-first. I’m afraid

there’s been a change.”

“A change?” Meg Izard sounded perplexed. “In

what? The dates? We can’t change. We’re celebrating

our twenty-fifth anniversary.”

“The change affects your lodgings,” Judith explained. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to accommodate

you that weekend.”

“Why not?” Meg’s voice had again turned harsh.

“You got the Queen of England staying there?”

“Not exactly,” Judith replied. “I’ve had to rearrange

my schedule. Unfortunately, there’s a movie crew

coming for a big premiere.”

“Movies!” Meg exclaimed. “Who’d pay five dollars

to see a movie when they can watch it on TV a year

later? Who cares? We like our sitcoms better anyway.

They make Walt laugh, which isn’t easy to do these

days.”

Riceville, Iowa, must indeed be rural if they only

charged five bucks for a first-run film, Judith thought.

“It’s a big event,” she said, with a need to defend herself. “Bruno Zepf is opening his new epic, The Gas-

man, here in town.”

There was a long pause at the other end. Finally,

Mrs. Izard spoke again: “Never heard of him.”

“I don’t know much about Mr. Zepf, either,” Judith

admitted in an effort to appease the disgruntled Mrs.

Izard. “You’ll be hearing from Ingrid Heffelman soon

to make sure you’re put up in a very nice inn.”

“Hunh.” Meg paused. “Okay, we’ll stay tuned. But

this Heffelbump woman better call soon. October’s not

that far away.”

It was two months away, Judith thought, but didn’t

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Mary Daheim

argue. She was beginning to feel grateful that the Izards

wouldn’t be staying at Hillside Manor. Trying to remain

gracious, she rang off. The Kidds and the Izards had