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

been disposed of; she needn’t worry about Bruno Zepf

and his movie people for two months. The waning summer and the early fall should be relatively uneventful.

It was typical of Judith that, as Cousin Renie would

say, she would bury her head in the sand. On that warm

August evening, she dug deep and tried to blot out

some of life’s less pleasant incidents.

One of them was Skjoval Tolvang. The tall, sinewy

old handyman with his stubborn nature and unshakable

convictions had already made some improvements to

Hillside Manor. He had repaired the sagging front

steps, replaced the ones in back, rebuilt both chimneys,

which had been damaged in an earthquake, inspected

the electrical wiring, and put in what he called a

“super-duper door spring” to keep the kitchen cupboard from swinging open by itself. What was left involved rehanging the door to the first-floor powder

room and checking the toolshed’s plumbing.

Judith came a cropper with the bathroom repair. On

the first day of September, Mr. Tolvang showed up

very early. It was not yet six o’clock when he banged

on the back door. Joe was in the shower and Judith had

just finished getting dressed. The noise was loud

enough to be heard in the third-floor family quarters,

and thus even louder for the sleeping guests on the second floor.

“Damn!” Judith breathed, hurrying down the first

flight of stairs. “Double damn!” she breathed, taking

the back stairs to the main floor as fast as she could

without risking a fall.

SILVER SCREAM

13

“By early,” she said, yanking open the back door, “I

thought you meant seven or eight.”

“Early is early,” the handyman replied. “Isn’t this

early, pygolly?”

“It’s too early for me to have made coffee,” Judith

asserted. “You’ll have to wait a few minutes.”

But Skjoval Tolvang reached into his big toolbox

and removed a tall blue thermos. “I got my medicine to

get me going. I vas up at four.”

Coffee fueled the handyman the way gasoline propels cars. He never ate on the job, putting in long, arduous days with only his seemingly bottomless

thermos to keep him going.

“I’m a little worried,” Judith said, pouring coffee

into both the big urn she used for guests and the family coffeemaker. “Having a bathroom just off the entry

hall may no longer be up to city code.”

“Code!” Skjoval coughed up the word as if he’d

swallowed a bug. “To hell vith the city! Vat do they

know, that bunch of crackpot desk yockeys? They be

lucky to find the bathroom, let alone know vhere to put

it!”

“It was only a thought,” Judith said meekly.

“You vorry too much,” Skjoval declared, putting the

thermos back into his toolbox. “I don’t need no hassles. I quit.”

It wasn’t the first time, nor would it be the last, that

the handyman had quit over some quibble. Skjoval

never lacked for work. He was good and he was cheap.

But he was also temperamental.

Judith knew the drill, though it wasn’t easy to repeat

at six-ten in the morning. She pleaded, groveled, cajoled, and used all of her considerable charm to get

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Mary Daheim

Skjoval to change his mind. Ultimately, he did, but it

took another ten minutes.

Luckily, the rest of the week and the Labor Day

weekend went smoothly. It was only the following Friday, when Skjoval was finishing in the toolshed, that

another fracas took place.

“That mother of yours,” Skjoval complained, wiping sweat from his brow as he stood on the back porch.

“She is Lucifer’s daughter. I hang the bathroom door

yust fine, but vhy vill she not let me fix the toilet?”

“I don’t know,” Judith replied. Indeed, she had been

afraid that Gertrude and Mr. Tolvang would get into it

before the job was done. Given their natures, it seemed

inevitable. “Did she give you a reason?”

“Hell, no,” the handyman shot back, “except that

she be sitting on the damned thing.”

“Oh.” Judith frowned in the direction of the toolshed. “I’ll talk to her.”

“Don’t bother,” Skjoval snapped. “I quit.”

“Please, Mr. Tolvang,” Judith begged, “let me

ask—”

But the handyman made a sharp dismissive gesture.

“Never you mind. I don’t vant to see that old bat no

more. She give me a bad time all veek. Let her sit on

the damned toilet until her backside falls off.” Skjoval

yanked the painter’s cap from his head and waved it in

a threatening manner. “I go now, you call me if she

ever acts like a human being and not a vitch.” He

stomped off down the drive to his pickup truck, which

was piled with ladders, scaffolding, and all manner of

tools.

Judith gritted her teeth and headed out under the

golden September sun. Surely her mother would coop- SILVER SCREAM

15

erate. The toilet needed plunging; Gertrude threw all

sorts of things into it, including Sweetums. It was either Skjoval Tolvang for the job or a hundred bucks to

Roto-Rooter.

Gertrude wasn’t on the toilet when Judith reached

the toolshed. Instead, she was sitting in her old mohair

armchair, playing solitaire on the cluttered card table.

“Hi, Toots,” Gertrude said in a cheerful voice.

“What’s up, besides that old fart’s dander?”

“Why wouldn’t you let Mr. Tolvang plunge the toilet?” Judith demanded.

“Because I was using it, that’s why.” Gertrude

scooped up the cards and put them in her automatic

shuffler. “When’s lunch?”

“You ate lunch two hours ago,” Judith responded,

then had an inspiration. “Why don’t you come inside

with me? I’m going to make chocolate-chip cookies.”

Gertrude brightened. “You are?”

“Yes. Let me give you a hand.”

Judith was helping her mother to the door when

Skjoval Tolvang burst into the toolshed.

“You got spies,” he declared, banging the door behind him. “Building inspectors, ya sure, you betcha.”

Judith’s dark eyes widened. “Really? Where?”

“In the bushes,” Skjoval replied. “Spying.”

“Here,” Judith said, gesturing at Gertrude, “help my

mother into the house. I’ll go check on whoever’s out

there.”

But Gertrude balked. “I’m not letting this crazy old

coot touch me! He’ll shove me facedown into the barbecue and light it off.”

“Then stay here,” Judith said crossly, and guided her

mother back to the armchair.

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Mary Daheim

“Hey!” Gertrude shouted. “What about those

cookies?”

But Judith was already out the door. “Where is this

inspector or whoever?” she asked of Mr. Tolvang.

“By them bushes,” the handyman answered, nodding at the azaleas, rhododendrons, and roses that

flanked the west side of the house. “Making trouble,

mark my vords.”

“I wonder,” Judith murmured, heading down the

driveway.

There was, however, no one in sight. She moved on

to the front of the house. An unfamiliar white car was

parked in the cul-de-sac. There were no markings on it.

Judith moved on to the other side of the house.

A tall man in a dark suit and hat stood between the

house and the hedge that divided Judith and Joe