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

for the chauffeurs, who were carrying in the luggage.

“She has a role in The Gasman .”

“Oh!” Arlene’s hand flew to her mouth and her blue

eyes widened in surprise. “Of course! The actress! Or

is it hot dogs?”

“Both,” said Renie, then jumped out of the way as

the wheels of a large suitcase almost ran over her foot.

“Her father, Heathcliffe MacDermott, is the Wienie

Wizard of the Western World.”

Arlene again looked puzzled. “But this girl . . .” She

waved an arm toward the young woman who was trying to coax one of the squirrels down from the maple

tree. “She looks Chinese.”

“Her mother’s from Hong Kong,” Renie said. “Or

Shanghai. Or someplace like that.”

Judith excused herself to show the drivers where to

stow the luggage upstairs. When she started down

again, Angela La Belle met her on the second landing.

“Where’s my room?” she asked, blinking big brown

eyes that were offset by long lashes that might or might

not have been her own. The lashes, like the eyes, were

dark, and made a striking contrast with the actress’s

waist-length blond hair.

“Um . . .” Judith hesitated. “Let me get the room

chart. I’ll be right back. There’s a settee in the hallway

and a phone, if you need it.”

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31

Without any response, Angela passed on to the second floor. Judith hurried to fetch the room chart, which

she’d left on the entry-hall table. The only thing she remembered was that Bruno Zepf had the largest room,

Number Three, to himself, though he shared the bathroom with Room Four. Judith couldn’t believe that she

was so rattled by a bunch of Hollywood hotshots. After

ten years in the hostelry business, she thought she’d

met just about every type of person from every level of

society. Maybe she was more impressionable than she

realized.

Swiftly, Judith tabulated the guests who had arrived

so far. Unless she was mistaken, at least one of the

members of Bruno’s party hadn’t shown up yet.

“Psst!” Renie hissed from the hallway. “We’re on

the job.”

Judith turned sharply. “You are? Doing what?”

“Plying your guests with adult beverages,” Renie

replied. “Or, in some cases, the freshest of springwaters and a vegetable drink that looks like a science

experiment.”

“Thanks, coz,” Judith said with a grateful smile.

“Thank Arlene for me, too. I’ll be right with you.”

Checking the chart, Judith noted that Winifred Best,

Bruno’s special assistant, was slotted for Room One.

Since there were only three women in the party and Judith had recognized the two actresses, Winifred must

be the Armani-clad black woman who had sailed into

the house and closeted herself with Bruno.

Dirk Farrar and Ben Carmody were sharing Room

Four. Judith wondered how—and why—they’d put up

with such an arrangement. The same could be said for

Angela La Belle and Ellie Linn, who would be staying

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Mary Daheim

in Room Six. Of course it was only for two nights. Perhaps the proximity to Bruno was worth the sacrifice.

Still, Judith wasn’t accustomed to such self-effacement

among the Well-Heeled.

Room Five had been assigned to The Gasman ’s director, Chips Madigan; the film’s screenwriter, Dade

Costello, was set for Room Two, the smallest of the

lodgings. Chart in hand, Judith went back upstairs to

find Angela La Belle.

“Room Six,” Judith said with a cheerful smile.

Angela was sprawled on the settee in the hallway,

leafing through one of the magazines Judith kept

handy for guests. “Okay.” The actress didn’t look up.

“Your key,” Judith said, reaching into the pocket of

her best black flannel slacks. “I’ll give the other one to

Ms. Linn.”

“Fine.” Angela still didn’t look up.

“Your baggage is right there,” Judith said, pointing

to the piled-up suitcases and fold-overs the drivers had

placed in front of Grandma and Grandpa Grover’s old

oak book shelving. “Only Mr. Zepf’s has been put

away because I wasn’t exactly sure who was staying

where. Some of his belongings arrived earlier today

via UPS.”

Angela yawned. “Right.”

Judith gave up and headed past Rooms Four, Five,

and Six to the back stairs. She wanted to pop the appetizers into the oven before she joined her other guests.

Halfway down, she realized she hadn’t given Angela

the front door key along with the one to her room.

Though her hips were growing weary, Judith hurried

back to the second floor.

The settee was empty, the magazine that Angela had

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33

been perusing lay on the floor. Judith frowned. Could

Angela have already collected her luggage and gone

into Room Six so quickly?

The stacks of baggage sat untouched. But the door

to Room Three, Bruno’s room, was ajar.

“Hunh,” Judith said to herself. When she picked up

the copy of In the Mode magazine, she noticed that it

was open to a spread on a recent Hollywood gala. The

large color photo on the left-hand page showed Dirk

Farrar and Angela La Belle with their arms around

each other. The caption read, Super Hunk and the Ul-

timate Babe get cozy at the annual Stars for Scoliosis

Ball. Are Dirk and Angela hearing La Wedding Belles?

Judith wondered if Angela and Dirk had no intention of staying in different rooms.

THREE

RENIE AND ARLENE seemed to have everything under

control. Arlene already claimed to have formed a

fast friendship with Ellie Linn, and insisted that Ben

Carmody would be the perfect husband for her unmarried daughter, Cathy.

“They’re not snooty,” Arlene declared, putting

another batch of puff pastries into the oven. “You

just have to go about it the right way when it comes

to asking questions. For example, when I spoke to

Dirk Farrar about the paternity suit that was in the

news a year ago, I mentioned how wonderful it was

to be a parent. Then I asked how he liked being

called Daddy. So simple.”

“What did he say?” Judith inquired.

“Oh, it was very cute,” Arlene replied breezily.

“He sort of hung his head and mumbled something

about ‘mother’ and ‘Tucker.’ I think he said

‘Tucker.’ That must be the little fellow’s name.”

The cousins exchanged bemused glances before

Judith carried a tray of French pâté and English

crackers into the living room. Dirk Farrar, with a cell

phone affixed to his ear, lazed on one of the matching sofas by the fireplace while Ellie Linn and

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35

Winifred Best sat opposite him. Winifred was also

using a cell phone. Ben Carmody was examining the

built-in bookcases next to the bay window. A big shambling man in khaki cargo pants, plaid shirt, and suede

vest had his back turned and was staring out through

the French doors. There was no sign of Bruno Zepf.

Judith cleared her throat. “I’ll be serving the hors

d’oeuvres in just a few minutes,” she announced.

Only Ben Carmody looked at her. “Sounds good.

I’m kind of hungry.”

Winifred Best’s head twisted around. “You should

have eaten more of Bruno’s buffet on the plane. You