that she was using the word genuine with a Hollywood
person.
Winifred drew back sharply. “Why wouldn’t I be?
He gave me an excellent job.”
Maybe it was as simple as that. Maybe gratitude
was possible in the movie business. Maybe something other than ice water ran in the veins of Winifred
Best.
“You’d been with Mr. Zepf a long time?” Judith
said, keeping her voice low and casual.
“Yes,” Winifred replied, still wary.
“You must have had excellent credentials to get the
SILVER SCREAM
161
job as Mr. Zepf’s assistant,” Judith remarked, hearing
a car pull up outside.
“Good enough,” Winifred said, her expression shutting down. “Is that Morris who just arrived?”
“Morris?” Judith echoed, puzzled.
“Morris Mayne, the studio publicist,” Winifred said,
joining Judith at the parlor’s tall window.
“No,” Judith said, recognizing Woody Price’s car.
“It’s a friend.”
Winifred stiffened. “Not Vito?”
“No . . .”
“Who, then?” Winifred rasped out the question.
“Ah . . . An old friend of my husband’s, actually.”
Judith didn’t want to identify Woody as a cop. He had
probably come to collect the physical evidence Joe had
gathered. As much as she wanted to see Woody, she
thought it best to stay out of sight. Joe could handle his
ex-partner’s arrival with a minimum of fuss.
But Winifred persisted. “Why is he here? He’s not
media, is he?”
“Heavens, no!” Judith’s laughter was false. “He
won’t stay. I think he wants to borrow something from
my husband.”
Winifred looked relieved. “Morris has done an outstanding job of misleading the media about Bruno’s death.
So far, they have no idea where or how it happened.”
Judith could hear Joe greeting Woody in the entry
hall. To divert the other guests, she led Winifred
through the parlor door that opened directly into the
living room.
“Excuse me,” Judith said loudly. “Since I can use
the kitchen, I’ll take dinner orders now. Does anyone
have some particular craving?”
162
Mary Daheim
Only Ellie Linn seemed excited by the announcement. “Can I get some of my dad’s famous hot
dogs? I’ve really missed them the past few days, you
know.”
Judith nodded. “There’s a Wienie Wizard just across
the ship canal. Anyone else want something special?”
“Not wieners,” Angela said with a sneer. “I’d rather
eat rubber.”
“Steak,” Dirk said, giving Angela’s shoulders a
quick squeeze. “New York cut, an inch thick, rare.”
“You know what sounds good to me?” Chips Madigan said in his ingenuous manner. “An old-fashioned
chicken pot pie, like my mother makes.”
Ben Carmody gazed at the ceiling. “Pasta. Any
kind, with prawns and a really good baguette.”
“If Vito is here,” Winifred put in, “he prefers sushi,
particularly the spider rolls.”
Judith’s innkeeper’s smile began to droop. She
hadn’t planned on serving a smorgasbord.
“Wine,” Ellie added. “You know—some really fine
wines. I like a Merlot with my Wienie Wizards.” She
shot Angela an insolent look.
“Dade?” Judith called across the long room. “What
about you?”
The writer, who had, as usual, been staring out
through the French doors, slowly turned around. “What
about what?” he inquired in his soft Southern voice.
“What you’d like to eat,” Judith said, hearing the
front door close.
“Chitlins,” Dade said, and turned his back again.
“Winifred?” Judith said as Joe ambled back into the
living room.
Winifred shook her head. “I’m not hungry.” She
SILVER SCREAM
163
paused, tapping her sharp chin. “A small salad, perhaps. Mostly field greens.”
“I’ll call a caterer. They’ll be able to stop by the
Wienie Wizard on their way here.” Still trying to keep
her hospitable smile in place, Judith hurried off to use
the phone in the kitchen.
“Woody’s heading for the crime lab,” Joe whispered
as Judith went past him. “He’s doing some background
checks, too.”
It took ten minutes to place the order with the
caterer, with Judith filling in various other items to tide
her guests over until the next morning. She had just
hung up when the phone rang in her hand.
“Now what?” demanded an angry Ingrid Heffelman.
“Zillah Young just called me from the state B&B—on
my day off—to say you’d requested changes for tonight.
What’s going on, Judith?”
“Hey,” Judith retorted, “this Hollywood booking
was your idea. I didn’t ask to change the Kidds and the
Izards. You forced my hand.”
“That’s beside the point,” Ingrid replied, simmering
down just a bit. “The Kidds were considering staying
over for a day or two and moving to your B&B. They
felt they’d missed out. I wouldn’t be surprised if the
Izards would still like to spend a night there for future
reference.”
“The Izards already checked out the place,” Judith
said, still vexed. “Anyway, there’s nothing I can do. It’s
out of my hands.”
“How come?” Ingrid was heating up again.
“I can’t tell you exactly,” Judith replied, trying to
sound reasonable. “It has to do with an incident involving one of the guests.”
164
Mary Daheim
“An incident?” Ingrid sounded suspicious.
“What would you expect?” Judith said, no longer
reasonable but downright cross. “From the beginning,
I figured this crew would be nothing but trouble. I was
right.”
“What kind of trouble?” Ingrid asked, then uttered a
high-pitched squawk. “Not . . . ? Oh, Judith, not
again!”
“I can’t say. Really,” Judith added in a frustrated
voice, “I’m not allowed to tell anyone just yet.”
“You don’t have to,” Ingrid said sharply. “I can read
the newspaper. It’s that Bruno person, isn’t it? He died
last night. I didn’t put two and two together this morning because the story was so small and I was barely
awake. Being my day off and all.”
“I’m sorry, really I am.” Judith was about to say it
wasn’t her fault. But this time she couldn’t. Maybe she
was to blame. “Please, Ingrid, don’t tell anyone. We’re
under siege from the studio, which is why the Hollywood guests can’t leave.”
“Oh, God.” Ingrid expelled a huge sigh. “All right,
I’ll be discreet, if only for the state association’s sake.
You’re right—it’s my fault for putting them up at
Hillside Manor. Given your track record, I should
have known better.” With an apathetic good-bye, she
hung up.
Judith was still muttering to herself when Renie and
Bill arrived at the back door.
“You told us we could come through the kitchen,”
Renie said, breezing through the narrow hallway.
“Where are the nuts I’m supposed to observe?” Bill
asked in his rich, carrying voice.
Judith winced. “In the living room. We’re expecting