silks and taffeta that made up Angela’s post–Civil War
era gown.
“Careful!” Winifred cried. “Watch out for the decorative trim!”
“Right, okay,” Judith agreed. “Maybe I should turn
it over to protect the front of the outfit.”
Since Winifred didn’t argue, Judith did just that.
And stared.
The long black-and-white silk skirt and taffeta petticoat had been slashed in a half-dozen places from the
waist to the hem.
Winifred screamed.
Judith couldn’t stop staring, but a cold shiver crawling up her spine set off a familiar, terrifying alarm.
FIVE
“WIN?”
Ellie Linn was standing at the bottom of the
stairs, gazing into the living room. She saw Judith
and Winifred’s horror-stricken faces, and moved
quickly, if softly, to join them.
“What’s wrong?” Ellie glanced down at the torn
costume. “Oh, wow, that looks bad! What happened?”
Winifred was kneeling on the floor, pounding her
fists on the carpet. “Sabotage, that’s what happened!
Angela’s gown is ruined! Who would do such a
thing?”
Ellie rocked back and forth in her expensive
cross-trainers. She was wearing jeans and a longsleeved tee that didn’t quite cover her midriff. Judith
figured her for a size three at most.
“Golly, I don’t know,” Ellie said, gazing at the
ceiling. “Couldn’t Angela wear a bedsheet, cut two
eyeholes in it, and go as a ghost?”
“Ellie!” Winifred’s voice was sharp, then she
turned to Judith. “Do you think your local costume
shop could fix this?”
Judith studied the garment. “They’d have to replace the overskirt. I’ll ask them.”
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Mary Daheim
“The skirt—or what’s left of it—will have to be
saved,” Winifred declared, finally regaining control of
her emotions. “It’s the original.” She paused, tapping a
finger against her smooth cheek. “Yes, maybe an overskirt will do. But make sure it matches.”
Judith promised that she would. “By the way,” she
asked, “were these costumes still in Bruno’s room
where I had the UPS man deliver them?”
“Yes,” Winifred replied. “He was the only one who
had enough space.”
Ellie was kneeling down to study her Cleopatra outfit. “You know, this really looks okay,” she observed.
“Don’t you love the gilded headdress? It’ll look way
cool with my long black hair.” For emphasis, she ran a
hand through her raven tresses. “Hey, Win, where are
the masks?”
“They’re still in Bruno’s room,” Winifred said, exhibiting the delicacy of a neurosurgeon in placing the
damaged Scarlett O’Hara costume into a garment bag.
“The masks are ready. Yours is marked with your name
on the inside.”
“Great.” Ellie stood up. “Wow”—she giggled—
“Angela’s going to be wild! I’ll tell her what happened
to her costume. You know—it’ll save you the trouble,
Win.” This time, her giggle sounded slightly sinister as
she headed for the entry hall.
“Ellie,” Winifred called after her, “don’t be mean!
Angela has enough problems as it is.”
Halfway up the stairs, Ellie leaned over the banister.
“Hey, Win, that’s not entirely my fault, is it?” The
young actress skipped up the steps, long hair swinging
behind her.
“I suppose,” Judith said in a musing tone as she put
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73
Dirk Farrar’s doublet and hose into another garment
bag, “there’s bound to be jealousy between actresses
like Ellie and Angela.”
Winifred shot Judith a sidelong look. “Oh, yes.
You’ve no idea.”
Judith dared to risk a thorny question: “Enough that
Ellie would slash Angela’s gown?”
“No,” Winifred said flatly. “Ellie Linn doesn’t have
to resort to cheap stunts like that.”
Emboldened, Judith was about to ask why not when
Renie gave a shout from the kitchen.
“I’m here. I’m early. I’m out of my mind.”
Judith looked at her cousin, who had come into the
hallway and definitely appeared a little deranged. Her
hair, which was rarely combed unless she was attending a business meeting or a social event, was going off
in every direction of the compass. A smudge of dirt
stood out on one cheek and a pair of red socks peeked
through the holes in her shoes. Even the rattysweatshirt-and-baggy-pants combination that made up
Renie’s working ensemble was more disreputable than
usual. And old. The sweatshirt featured the Minnesota
Twins World Series victory in 1991.
“Good grief,” Judith breathed, “you do look sort of
awful.”
“I know.” Renie, who was carrying a large suitcase,
offered Winifred a desultory wave. “I had to get out of
the house. The children are arguing about who should
get married first. Bill left early for a very long walk,
maybe all the way to Wisconsin.”
Judith pointed to the suitcase. “Is that your costume?”
“Mine and Bill’s,” Renie replied. “We dumped the
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Mary Daheim
pumpkin idea. Bill’s glasses kept getting steamed up.
Oh!” she exclaimed, showing a spark of animation.
“Look at those costumes. They’re beautiful, and they
look familiar.”
Judith and Winifred explained how and why the
costumes had been chosen, then told Renie about the
damage that had been done to Angela’s.
Renie was genuinely upset. “That’s horrible. Bill
and I watched a special on TV a while ago about movie
costume restoration. It was criminal the way so many
of those gorgeous outfits had been left to deteriorate
and rot. If I hadn’t become a graphic artist, I might
have been a costume or a dress designer.”
“Then maybe you can help your sister here with getting these costumes to wherever she’s taking them,”
Winifred said briskly. “It’s almost twelve-thirty. We
don’t have much time, especially if Angela’s is to be
ready.”
Renie had bristled over the commanding tone in
Winifred’s voice, but Judith intervened, putting a hand
on her cousin’s arm.
“We’re not sisters,” she explained with a smile.
“We’re cousins. But we’ve always been as close as sisters. Closer, perhaps, without the sibling rivalry.”
“Lovely,” Winifred remarked, putting the last costume into a bag. “I’ll see you later.” She marched
toward the stairs and out of sight.
Driving to the top of Heraldsgate Hill, Judith allowed Renie two minutes to vent her ire about
Winifred’s high-handed manner. As they unloaded the
car in Arlecchino’s small parking lot, Judith gave her
cousin another three minutes to complain about the
Jones children. Then Judith insisted that Renie stay in
SILVER SCREAM
75
the car while she dealt with the costume store’s owner.
The cautions about the valuable ensembles and the discussion of how to repair Angela’s Scarlett O’Hara
gown took a full ten minutes. By the time she got back
to her Subaru, Renie was fuming again.
“You should have let me help you in there,” Renie
declared. “I’m not exactly a dunce when it comes to