take every cent we have!”
Joe’s expression turned grim. “What’s the insurance for guests?”
“Substantial,” Judith said, agitated. “I mean, adequate under normal circumstances. But not for
something like this, if we’re shown as being negligent and a big Hollywood celebrity gets . . . Think
of the publicity! It’s one thing to have a guest murdered by someone else, that can’t be helped,” Judith
went on, her usual sound logic working in strange
ways, “but an accident caused by the owners’ carelessness?” She put her hands over her face. “Oh,
Joe, I can’t bear it! I feel sick!”
“Well, you can’t throw up in the kitchen sink,”
Joe remarked, a touch of his characteristic humor
surfacing.
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143
Judith took a deep breath. “I’m in shock. And that
poor man—if it’s our fault that he’s dead . . .” Her nausea remained though she pressed her hands against her
face as if trying to subdue the sensation.
“Hang on.” Joe put an arm around his wife. “We’re
not licked yet.”
Judith peered between her fingers. “What do you
mean?”
“I mean,” he said quietly, “that we don’t know for
sure how Bruno ended up unconscious in the first
place.”
“You mean . . . Someone may have hit him with a
different object?”
“No, there were slivers of wood and maybe varnish
in what was left of Bruno’s hair,” Joe said. “Cairo was
so busy giving me a bad time that the facts were a little
hard to piece together.”
Judith was still puzzled. “But what’s the official verdict?”
“Death by misadventure. That means,” Joe explained,
pouring himself a cup of coffee, “that there’s no evidence of foul play, but an investigation will continue.”
“What about the guests?” she asked. “Are they free
to go?”
“I suppose so,” he said as the front doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it.”
When Joe reappeared moments later, a tall, balding
olive-skinned man wearing wraparound sunglasses
and what looked like a very expensive Italian suit was
right behind him.
“This is Vito Patricelli,” Joe announced. “He’s a
lawyer, representing Paradox Studios. He just flew in
from L.A.”
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Mary Daheim
The last person Judith wanted to meet was a lawyer.
She reached out with an unsteady hand and tried to
smile. “Hi, Mr. . . .” The name eluded her anguished
brain.
“Patricelli,” the attorney said smoothly, holding out
a manicured hand. “I believe my clients are staying at
your B&B.”
“Clients?” Judith’s brain was still numb. “Which
ones?”
Vito Patricelli offered her a look that might have
passed for compassion. “The Gasman’ s cast and crew.
I represent the studio, ergo, I represent Misses Best, La
Belle, and Linn as well as Messieurs Farrar, Carmody,
Madigan, and Costello. And, of course, the late Mr.
Zepf.”
“I see,” said Judith, who almost did. “Excuse me, I
have to sit down.” She flopped onto the sofa and
rubbed at her temples.
Joe took over. “I assume you want to meet with your
clients. That door on the other side of the buffet leads
to the parlor. There’s also a door off the entry hall.
Shall I get them?”
The attorney nodded. “I’d appreciate that. In fact,
may I come with you?”
“Sure.” Joe led the way out of the living room.
Judith put her head back on the sofa’s soft cushions
and closed her eyes. She saw strange visions, of her
mother dressed as Cleopatra playing solitaire with
chocolate cards, of Joe and Woody and Stone Cold
Sam Cairo chasing each other in Keystone Kops costumes, of Skjoval Tolvang fending off Angela La
Belle’s advances with a crowbar.
The gentle squeeze on her shoulders brought her
SILVER SCREAM
145
back to reality. Startled, she looked up at Joe. “I must
have fallen asleep,” she said in a sheepish voice.
“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Joe said, then gestured toward
the parlor. “They’re all in there. Every so often you
hear somebody yell. It’s usually Dirk or Angela.”
“How long have they been meeting with Patricelli?”
Judith inquired, moving around to remove the kinks
she’d acquired in her neck and back.
“Not that long,” Joe said. “Ten minutes at most.” He
stiffened as Vito Patricelli emerged from the parlor
door that led into the living room.
“The meeting’s concluded,” Vito said in his unruffled manner. “I’ve made it clear to my clients where
their responsibilities lie and what they must do to carry
them out on behalf of Paradox Studios.”
Joe was equally unflappable. “Which is?”
A faintly sinister smile played at Vito’s thin lips.
“That they are not to leave the vicinity until the studio
knows exactly what happened to Bruno Zepf.”
Judith didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She did
neither, remaining on the sofa until the sullen guests
exited the parlor.
Vito sat down opposite her, carefully arranging his
trousers to make sure the crease stayed in the proper
position. “I have some questions for you both,” he said
in that same, smooth voice.
Joe joined Judith on the sofa. “Fire away,” he said.
Vito removed his sunglasses, revealing wide-set
dark eyes that seemed to have a fire lit behind them.
“What time did Mr. Zepf die?”
“Around one A.M.,” Joe answered.
“Are you absolutely certain?” Vito asked.
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Mary Daheim
“We can’t be precise,” Joe said reasonably. “My
wife and I weren’t with Bruno when it happened. The
time is an estimate, which is also what the ME gave
us.”
Only an almost imperceptible flicker of Vito’s eyelids indicated any emotion. “But,” he said, “you’re positive that Bruno died after midnight?”
“Definitely,” Joe replied. “Why is the time so important?”
The lawyer took a deep breath, then gave Joe what
was probably meant to be a confidential smile, but
looked a trifle piranhalike to Judith. “Let me explain
two things. First, Paradox Studios insures all members
of a shooting company when a picture is made. This is
standard procedure, to make sure there’s due compensation for anyone involved in the production suffering
a disabling injury or”—he paused to clear his throat—
“dying. The policy the studio took out on The Gasman
expired October thirty-first, which is today. The problem is, did it expire last night at midnight or is it still
valid until tomorrow, November first?”
Joe frowned. “Aren’t such policies specific?”
“Not in this case,” Vito replied. “There was also a
rider concerning postproduction. Bruno had stated—
verbally—that once The Gasman premiered, he
wouldn’t tinker with it. But last night he told Winifred
Best and Chips Madigan that it was clear there would
have to be some editing. He intended to pull the picture
from release and postpone its general opening for a
month.”