of Harp’s.
“In their basement,” Joe said, after taking a long
swallow of beer. “He was trying to keep cool, and in
the process, managed to get into the freezer. He found
some USDA prime cuts and ate about a half dozen,
which gave him a tummy ache. Then he went behind
the furnace and passed out. He was there for two days.”
“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.”
10
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
SILVER SCREAM
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