Silver Scream: A Bed-And-Breakfast Mystery (7 page)

Judith saw Chips Madigan as the computer geek, speaking with Angela by the buffet bar. Ellie was alone, studying the various pieces of china that sat along the plate rail. Dade was also by himself, at his favorite place by the French doors, staring out into the stormy October night. Dirk and Ben remained together, speaking and nodding in turn. Winifred apparently had gone into the front parlor with Morris the matador and Eugenia in her Carmen costume. The pioneer woman stood at the buffet, sampling food from
the chafing dishes. It didn’t seem like much of a party to Judith, but she reminded herself it wasn’t her fault.

The doorbell distracted her. She waited a moment, thinking one of the company might be expecting more hangers-on. But the bell rang a second time, and Judith hurried to the front door.

“Trick-or-treat!” chimed two youthful voices.

Judith frowned at the spaceman and the alligator. “Aren’t you out late?” she inquired, reaching for the silver bowl on the entry-hall table.

The spaceman, who had what looked like a fish bowl on his head, grinned through the filmy glass. “We’re not little kids,” he responded. “I’m getting my driver’s license next week.”

Considering that the spaceman was almost as tall as Judith—at least in the silver platform boots—she shrugged, then dumped four small chocolate bars into each of the pillowcases the youngsters held in front of them. “Okay, but doesn’t that make you a bit old for trick-or-treating?”

The alligator shook its scaly green head. “We had to take our little brothers and sisters out first. Most of the people ignored us, so now it’s our turn.”

“I see,” Judith said. “But it’s still very late. You two should head home now.”

The spaceman laughed and the alligator wagged his tail as they headed down the porch steps. As Judith was closing the door, they tossed a couple of thank-yous over their shoulders.

In the living room, nothing much had changed. The cloud of gloom still hung over the guests, so palpable that Judith felt as if she were looking through the blurred lens of a movie camera.

Bill and Joe entered at that moment, each carrying more platters of food. Spotting Bruno sitting in his favorite place on the sofa, Bill began to quack in an angry tone.

“Quack, quack-quack-quack!” He pointed to the melancholy producer. “Quack!”

Joe put a hand on Bill’s arm feathers. “Quack off. That guy looks pretty grim. Let him be.”

Bill was slow to respond. “Qu-a-ck,” he finally said in a reluctant voice.

Joe gave Bill a pat, observed the rest of the morose gathering, and spoke up: “Anybody care to dance? I’ll put on some music.”

Ellie laughed with a hint of hysteria and wandered out into the entry hall just as Winifred appeared with her Spanish-costumed duo. She glanced at Bruno, winced, and requested a stiff bourbon from Cathy. No one else responded to Joe’s invitation.

Bill turned around, calling to an unseen Renie. “Daisy!” he shouted in his normal, if muffled, voice. “It’s after midnight. Can we go home?”

Renie stumbled out of the entry hall. She seemed to be having trouble with her webbed feet. “I’ll ask Judith,” she said.

Judith excused herself and got up from the sofa. “I don’t see why you shouldn’t go,” she said in a low voice. “This is one dead party. Arlene and Carl can help clean up.” She glanced back at the buffet and sighed. “All that expensive food gone to waste.”

“I put some pots and pans to soak in the sink,” Renie said. “They should be scrubbed before you put them in the dishwasher.”

“Okay,” Judith said. “Thanks for everything. As it turned out, I didn’t need so much help after all.”

Renie nodded, her yellow bill bobbing up and down. “A real bomb, I guess.”

“Right.” Judith hugged Bill and Renie. Joe, who kept tripping over the hem of his choirboy’s cassock, showed them out the back way.

When Judith returned to the living room, Winifred offered to introduce her to Morris and Eugenia.

“Morris Mayne is Bruno’s studio publicist,” Winifred said, a bit stiffly. “Eugenia Fleming is Bruno and Dirk’s agent.”

Judith allowed her hand to be shaken by the pair. Morris’s grip was feeble; Eugenia practically pulled Judith’s arm out of the socket.

“We so wanted to stay here at your charming B&B,” Eugenia boomed in a deep voice. She seemed more than big; she towered over Judith’s five-foot-nine and possessed a bust that could have triumphed in a head-on collision with an armored car.

“There wasn’t room, I guess,” Morris said, then cleared his throat. “Especially since my wife unexpectedly joined me on this trip.”

Judith assumed that his wife was the pioneer in the sunbonnet and gingham dress. “I’m sure you’re enjoying the Cascadia,” she said. “It’s the most luxurious hotel in the city.”

“It’s fine,” Morris said offhandedly. “The truth is, my wife’s a real homebody. I was surprised that she wanted to come along.”

Eugenia’s dark eyes were flashing around the room. “Excuse me,” she said, “I must speak with Dirk. I
hardly recognized him in that doublet and the hat with those swooping feathers.” With a click of the castanets she held in one hand, the agent stalked across the room to reach her prey.

Judith was left with Morris, who kept darting glances at Bruno, sitting alone and forlorn on the sofa. Sweetums, who must have come in when the Joneses went out, had planted his orange-and-white body at the producer’s feet. To Judith’s surprise, Bruno patted his lap. To her amazement, the cat leaped up and allowed himself to be petted. Maybe even Sweetums wanted to get into the movies.

“I should speak to Bruno,” Morris murmured, removing his matador’s cap. He was short, spare, and balding. “I simply don’t know what to say to him. Perhaps I’ll get a drink first.”

Judith watched Morris accept a hefty martini from Cathy. The publicist then stood off to one side by the door to the front parlor and gulped down his drink. Cathy removed her panda head, slipped out from behind the bar, and approached Judith.

“I’m dying of heat prostration in this stupid suit,” she declared, and in fact, her face was dripping with perspiration. “I knew I should never have let my mother order my costume. I intended to come as Pandora, not a panda.”

Judith couldn’t help but smile. “That would have been more fetching in order to attract Ben Carmody.”

Cathy shook out her long, damp blond locks. “An-other idea of Mom’s! I’m not even a Ben Carmody fan. He always plays meanies.”

“Go home,” Judith urged. “Joe and I can take care of the bar. I don’t think this party is going to last much
longer. In fact, your parents might as well leave, too. I’ll go out to the kitchen and thank them.”

Arlene, however, refused to leave Judith with such a mess. “Cathy can go, Carl can go,” she asserted, “but I’m staying until the bitter end.”

“I think we’re already there,” Judith said over the hum of the dishwasher.

“I’ll stay, too,” Carl volunteered.

“Really,” Judith protested, “there’s no need. Joe and I can clean up by ourselves. It’s late. Please, we’ll be fine.”

“Not entirely,” Carl said, pointing to the sink. “You’ve got a backed-up drain.”

Judith grimaced. “Renie! She never uses sink strainers. She says they don’t work for her.”

“What’s to work?” Joe asked, gazing into the eight-inch basin of dirty water. “You put them in, turn the button on top, and there you go.”

Judith shook her head. “Not for Renie. She says it’s too complicated. I gave her a pair of brand new strainers for Christmas last year and she stuck them on her ears and said that’s as close as they’d ever get to her double sinks.”

Carl was still peering at the water. “Maybe if I used a plunger…”

“No, you don’t,” Joe said, taking Carl by the shoulder. “Go home, Hansel. Your gingerbread house awaits you.”

Carl shot Joe a dark look. “With Gretel or the witch?”

“Gretel, of course,” Judith said, patting Arlene’s arm. “Go on, please. Poor Cathy has to get out of that panda suit.”

With reluctance, the Rankerses exited with their daughter. Joe went into the living room to tend bar, and Judith scanned what was left of the crowd. On the window seat, Dirk and Angela were speaking with Eugenia in a serious manner. Chips Madigan was standing by the piano, framing imaginary camera angles with his hands. Dade, Ellie, and Ben were nowhere in sight. Winifred stood behind the sofa, where Bruno sat with Morris Mayne at his side. Sweetums remained tucked in the folds of Bruno’s robes.

As innkeeper and hostess, Judith couldn’t help but take Bruno’s gloom personally. She knew it wasn’t her fault, but it upset her to see a guest in distress.

As if sensing Judith’s consternation, Eugenia slipped off the window seat and moved quickly across the room.

“I’m wondering if Bruno shouldn’t leave for L.A. tonight,” she murmured. “Of course it’s none of my business, really. I’d mention it to Winifred, but she and I don’t speak.”

“Oh.” Judith glanced from Eugenia to Winifred. “I see.” She didn’t really, but couldn’t think of anything else to say. She hesitated, feeling Eugenia’s hard-eyed stare. Judith cleared her throat. “Is there something I can do?”

“Why, yes,” Eugenia replied. “You could ask what Winifred thinks of my suggestion. Only don’t mention that it came from me.”

“I don’t think there’s another flight to L.A. tonight,” Judith said. “The red-eye leaves shortly after midnight.”

Eugenia waved a hand that was encased in fingerless black lace gloves. “Bruno doesn’t fly commercial. He has his own jet.”

“Oh.” Judith started toward the sofa, aware that Winifred was also giving her a steely-eyed stare. Taking a deep breath, she decided to approach Bruno directly.

His eyes were dull as he gazed up at her from under the hood of his burnoose. “Yes?”

“Mr. Zepf,” Judith began. She shivered slightly. The fire had burned out on the hearth, and the wind created a draft. Roman fashion wasn’t intended for a chilly autumn evening in the Pacific Northwest. “Mr. Zepf,” Judith repeated, “I want to say how sorry I am that your movie wasn’t well received. Someone suggested that perhaps you’d like to fly back to Los Angeles tonight. What do you think?”

Bruno looked blank. “I don’t think. I can’t think. I mustn’t think. Could you get me another Scotch?” He pointed to his empty glass on the coffee table between the matching sofas.

“Of course,” Judith responded, and went over to Joe at the bar just as Dirk and Angela headed upstairs.

“Zepf needs zapping,” Judith said in a low voice. “I feel sorry for him. Do you suppose it’s as bad as he makes out?”

“Judging from the funereal pall around here,” Joe said, opening Bruno’s favorite brand, “I’d say yes. I don’t know much about the movie business, but a flop can ruin a career. And I don’t mean just Bruno’s.”

“I never thought of it that way,” Judith said softly, then gazed around the living room. Of the original guest list, Chips Madigan and Winifred Best remained. And Bruno, of course. Judith realized that even she was beginning to consider him an afterthought. In a fit of uncatlike compassion, Sweetums was still curled up on Bruno’s lap.

Joe pointed to the elaborate buffet. “I’ll wrap up some of the food and put it in the freezer. There’s no sense in letting it go to waste.”

Judith nodded. “They’re not the type to take doggie bags with them. I’ll start putting away some of the things from the bar in the washstand cabinet.”

As she took the first half-dozen unopened bottles that belonged to the B&B into the dining room, Morris Mayne was at her heels.

“I must be on my way,” he said. “There’s not much more I can do for poor Bruno. Besides, as strange as it sounds for people in the picture business, my wife and I keep regular hours. Thank you for your hospitality.” He ducked his head and scurried off toward the front door.

Judith was putting dirty dishes on a tray when a subdued Winifred Best came up to her. “I think Bruno wants to sit for a while with his thoughts,” she said. “I’m going to retire for the night.” Slipping her hands up the sleeves of her nun’s habit, she seemed to strain for the next words: “Thank you for all you’ve done. I’m sorry this couldn’t have been a happier event. Perhaps next time—if there is a next time—Bruno will want to stay in a hotel.”

Judith watched Winifred leave the room, then noted that only Bruno and Eugenia Fleming remained. The agent was nibbling on truffles and standing at the piano, her free hand playing the fate motif from
Carmen
. Notes composed by the devil himself, Renie had once told Judith. An exaggeration, perhaps, but the minor chords certainly sounded like doom and gloom.

Out in the kitchen, Joe had just come up from the basement. “We’ve run out of room in the freezer,” he
announced. “How much of that stuff in there is worth keeping? You’ve got dates on some of those packages from six, eight years ago.”

“Really?” Judith looked sheepish. “Then we’d better toss anything that old. Come on, I’ll get some garbage bags and go down with you.”

Joe looked up at the schoolhouse clock. “It’s going on one in the morning. Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

Judith shook her head and put a sweater on over her Roman costume. “I want as much of this done tonight as possible. Otherwise I’ll have a big mess in the kitchen come morning. That makes getting breakfast awkward. It won’t take that long. Let’s go.”

But like so many household tasks, it took longer than Judith had predicted. Almost half an hour later the Flynns trudged back upstairs. Joe headed directly for the garbage cans outside while Judith returned to the kitchen.

Or almost. She rounded the corner into the hall and saw Bruno bending over the sink. Her initial reaction was that he was throwing up. Not that she blamed him. A sudden gust of wind roared over the house. She heard a garbage-can lid rattle, roll, and clank outside. She knew that Joe must be swearing a blue streak.

“Mr. Zepf,” she called softly, moving down the hallway. “Can I help you?”

Bruno didn’t move. His robes sagged around him and the headpiece was askew. Judith moved closer. She couldn’t see his face above the sink.

Then, as she reached the kitchen table, she realized that Bruno’s face was in the standing water from the plugged-up drain.