Judith charged over to the bed, then gave a start.
“Ohmigod!”
A black, long-legged creature with a furry body lay
on the bottom sheet just below the pillows. Judith
stood frozen in place until Ben picked the thing up by
one leg and bounced it off the floor.
“It’s fake,” he said, still chuckling. “It’s one of those
rubber spiders kids have for Halloween. Where’s your
garbage? I’ll take it outside and dump the thing in
there.”
“Oh!” Judith put a hand over her wildly beating
heart, then reached out to Ben. “I’ll get rid of it. You
tell Mr. Zepf that the spider wasn’t real.”
Ben had grown serious. “Some prank. It could have
given old Bruno a heart attack.”
Judith stuffed the rubber spider in the pocket of her
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Mary Daheim
bathrobe and went back into the hall. No one except
Dirk seemed to notice her passage as she headed for
the back stairs. Five minutes later she returned to the
second floor, where Ben and Chips were helping a
rubber-legged Bruno back into his room. Winifred had
already disappeared and Dirk had closed his door. Judith continued up to the family quarters. She didn’t get
back to sleep for almost an hour.
Meanwhile, Joe continued to snore softly.
As usual, Judith had breakfast ready to go by eight
o’clock. Since it was a Saturday, and Joe had the day
off, he didn’t come downstairs until eight-fifteen.
“No-shows, huh?” he inquired, pouring himself a
cup of coffee.
“So far,” Judith replied. “I think they were out very
late.” She then recounted the incidents with both the
real and the fake spiders. “Bruno certainly is superstitious.”
“Typical,” Joe remarked. “Bill once said that Hollywood types were like gamblers. It makes sense. People
who make movies are gamblers.”
An hour passed before Judith heard anyone stirring
upstairs. Finally, Winifred Best appeared, her thin face
drawn.
“Very black coffee, please. With heated rusk.”
Judith didn’t recall that rusk had been on the list of
required grocery items. Still, Winifred wasn’t the first
guest to ask for rusk instead of toast. With considerable
effort, she got down on her knees and foraged in the
cupboard next to the sink.
“Ah!” she exclaimed. “Here it is.” She got up
slowly, which was fortunate because the temperamen- SILVER SCREAM
63
tal cupboard door had swung out on its own. Judith hit
her head, but not very hard. Muffling a curse, she
looked around for Joe, then remembered that he’d
gone to the garage to tinker with his beloved MG.
“This coffee isn’t strong enough,” Winifred announced from the dining-room table. “Please make another pot, and double the amount.”
Winifred Best wasn’t the first demanding guest that
Hillside Manor had ever hosted, so Judith calmly put a
percolator on the stove. She kept reminding herself
that the current visitors were no worse than many she’d
had stay at the B&B. It just seemed that this bunch was
a wide-screen version in Dolby sound.
Moments later the rusk had been warmed in the
oven. Judith brought it out to the dining-room table.
“Has Mr. Zepf recovered from his latest fright?” she
inquired.
“Yes,” Winifred responded, giving the rusk a suspicious look, “though the rubber spider was a bit much.”
“Do you know who put it in Mr. Zepf’s bed?”
Winifred shot Judith a withering glance. “I do not.
Was it you?”
Judith recoiled. “Of course not! Why would I do
such a thing?”
“Because,” Winifred said with ice in her voice, “no
one else would dare.”
“Well, I certainly didn’t do it,” Judith huffed. “Nor
would anyone else around here. In fact, my husband
and I are the only residents in the house.”
“As you say.” Winifred took a small bite of rusk.
“The coffee will be ready shortly,” Judith said in
stilted tones.
“I should hope so,” Winifred said. “Rusk is hard to
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Mary Daheim
wash down with weak coffee. By the way,” she added
as Judith started back to the kitchen, “we’ll bring the
costumes down later so that you can press them.”
Judith turned on her heel. “I don’t do ironing. I have
a cleaning woman who takes care of the laundry.”
“Where is she?” Winifred asked with a lift of her
sharp chin.
“She doesn’t work weekends,” Judith replied, fighting down her annoyance. “If you want something
pressed, you’ll have to take it up to the cleaners at the
top of the hill.”
Winifred’s dark eyes snapped. “We’re not running
errands. Since you don’t have a laundry service today
and it seems you’re the innkeeper and concierge, taking care of the costumes falls on you. The costumes
must be back by four. Don’t worry, you can send the
bill to Bruno.”
For a long moment Judith stared at Winifred, who
was again attired in Armani. Her only accessory was a
slim gold bracelet on her left wrist. If she wore
makeup, it was too discreet to be noticeable. Late thirties or maybe forty, Judith guessed, and a life that may
have been difficult. The Hollywood part, anyway. Judith wondered what it was like for a woman—a black
woman especially—to wield such power as assistant to
the biggest producer in filmdom.
Nor were Winifred’s demands entirely outrageous.
If it hadn’t been for Bruno’s superstition about staying
in a B&B before a premiere, Winifred and the others
would be ensconced in luxury at the Cascadia Hotel
with every convenience at their fingertips.
“Okay,” Judith said. “I’ll take the stuff up to Arlecchino’s. It’s a costume shop, so they’ll know exactly
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65
how to handle the garments and whatever other items
need to be fluffed up.”
The faintest look of relief passed over Winifred’s
face. “Thank you,” she said.
Judith thought the woman sounded almost sincere,
though that was a word she knew she probably
shouldn’t apply to anyone from Hollywood. The coffee, which looked strong enough to melt tires, was
ready just as Chips Madigan loped into the dining
room.
“Hey, Win, hey, Mrs. Flynn,” he said with a cheerful expression. “Hey—that rhymes! I should have been
a writer, not a director.” Abruptly, the grin he’d been
wearing turned down. “I guess,” he muttered, pulling
out one of the chairs from Grandpa and Grandma
Grover’s oak set, “I shouldn’t say stuff like that.”
“No, you shouldn’t,” Winifred said with a warning
glance.
The guests trickled down for the next hour and a half,
creating a frustrating breakfast service for Judith. Normally, she prepared three basic items and offered appropriate side dishes. But the menu requirements for the
Hollywood people were vast and varied. Angela La
Belle desired coconut milk, kiwi fruit, and yogurt. Dirk
Farrar requested a sirloin steak, very rare, with raw eggplant and tomato slices. Ellie Linn ordered kippers on
toast and Crenshaw melon. Ben Carmody preferred an
omelette with red, green, and yellow peppers topped