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at least one more, I understand. Remember Morris
Mayne from last night?”
“The publicist?” Renie said, hanging her jacket on
the antique coatrack.
“The very same,” Judith replied. “And Vito Patricelli, the studio lawyer.”
“What happened to the agent, Eugenia Whateverher-name-is?” Renie asked.
Judith sighed. “I forgot about her. Who knows?
Maybe the entire crew from the Cascadia will show up
eventually.”
“Let’s watch TV,” Bill said upon entering the living
room. “There’s a pretty good NFL game on.” As the
guests stared at him, he marched over to the entertainment center next to the bay window, opened the oak
doors, and switched on the big-screen television set.
“Who’s a Packer fan?” he asked, being a Wisconsin native.
“I am,” Chips Madigan declared.
“I hate the Packers,” Dirk Farrar asserted.
Dade actually expressed some interest. “Who are
they playing? The Falcons, by any chance?”
Angela rose from the sofa. “I hate football. I’m not
watching.” She sailed past Judith and Renie, heading
for the bathroom off the entry hall.
“Me neither,” Ellie said, slipping off the window
seat. “I’ve never understood how all those great big
men like grabbing each other. It’s not natural, you
know.” She wandered off into the dining room.
“The observation period?” Judith murmured to
Renie.
“That’s right,” Renie said. “Bill insists you can tell
quite a bit about people by the way they watch—or
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don’t watch—sports. Have you chatted up Ellie or Angela yet?”
Judith shook her head. “Only Winifred. Dade’s the
one I’d really like to talk to. Maybe if Green Bay isn’t
playing Atlanta, he’ll get bored.”
“I’ll tackle Ellie,” Renie said, making motions like a
football player. “You can grab Angela when she comes
out of the can.”
While her cousin went into the dining room, Judith
slowly paced the entry-hall floor. A couple of minutes
passed. Angela didn’t reappear. Judith fiddled with the
guest registry and the visitor brochures she kept on the
first landing. Still, Angela didn’t come out of the bathroom. Judith began to wonder if the actress might be
ill.
After another three minutes had passed, she rapped
softly on the varnished walnut door. “Ms. La Belle?”
she called, also softly.
There was no response. Judith pressed her ear
against the old wood, but heard nothing. She rapped
again, this time louder.
Still nothing.
Alarmed, Judith tried the knob. The door was locked
from the inside.
“Ms. La Belle!” she called. “Angela! Are you all
right?”
Renie and Ellie Linn appeared from around the
corner.
“What’s going on?” Renie asked with a frown.
Quickly, Judith explained. “I’m afraid Angela may
be sick.”
Renie’s frown deepened. “The lock’s one of those
old-fashioned bolt things, isn’t it?”
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167
“Right,” Judith said, “but it means damaging the
door, which Skjoval Tolvang just rehung.”
“Then leave Angela in there,” Ellie said with a
shrug, and walked away.
“We can’t,” Judith declared, scowling at Ellie’s departing figure. “I’ll get Joe.”
Everyone in the living room seemed to be caught up
in a third-and-three situation for the Packers except
Joe, who was watching Bill watch the guests. Urgently,
Judith grabbed her husband by the arm.
“Come with me,” she commanded, keeping her
voice down. “We have a lock problem.”
“What lock?” he said, turning to Judith. “I thought
you knew how to pick them.”
“Not this one,” Judith said, pointing to the bathroom
door. “It’s a bolt, remember? Angela La Belle is in
there and won’t answer.”
Joe looked skeptical, but saw that his wife was upset
and threw up his hands. “Okay, but if there’s nothing
wrong and she just wants to . . . well, sit around, then
I’m going to be even less popular around here than I
am already.”
“Please, Joe,” Judith begged. “Do it.”
First, however, Joe knocked. Then he called Angela’s
name. There was still no response. Grasping the doorknob, he counted to three, then gave a mighty tug. The
old wood shuddered, but stayed in place. He tried a second time. The bolt gave, but not enough to come free.
“Get Bill,” Joe said to Renie. He was panting and
beginning to perspire.
Renie hurried out into the living room, returning almost immediately with her husband. “Commercial
break,” she murmured to Judith. “Lucky us.”
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Joe held on to the knob and Bill held on to Joe. With
a mighty effort, they pulled the bolt lock out of the
door, which swung outward.
Angela La Belle was facedown in the bathroom
sink.
ELEVEN
HAVING BEEN PRIVY to two, possibly three, murders
at her B&B, and encountering corpses at various
other sites, Judith couldn’t believe that history was
repeating itself in less than twenty-four hours.
In some tiny hidden corner of her mind, she honestly thought that nothing could sever her hold on
reality. She’d seen everything, overcome so many
obstacles, endured unaccountable hardships. Surely
this was a dream, inspired by the discovery of Bruno
Zepf’s body the previous night. Flashing stars and
crazy comets sailed before her eyes as Judith
swayed backward. She would have fallen if Bill
hadn’t caught her.
Dazedly, she heard Bill shout at Renie to get a
chair out of the dining room. More dimly, she
caught snatches of Joe speaking—or was he shouting?—he sounded so far away—to summon 911.
“Call . . . Medics . . . CPR?”
Judith thought she heard Joe mention CPR.
Maybe Angela wasn’t dead in the bathroom sink. Or
maybe Joe wanted CPR for Judith. As a former cop,
he knew CPR. Maybe everybody needed CPR. . . .
Someone—Bill, she guessed, catching her
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Mary Daheim
blurred reflection off his glasses—was easing her into
Grandpa Grover’s chair at the head of the dining-room
table. A moment later a slender hand held out a balloon
glass with what looked like brandy in it.
“Take a sip,” Renie urged. “I got this out of the
washstand bar.”
Judith didn’t care if Renie had held up the state
liquor store at the bottom of Heraldsgate Hill. Gratefully, she accepted the glass and inhaled deeply before
taking a small sip. The darkness with its streaks of
spinning lights began to recede; the dining room was
coming into focus. Judith fixated on the middle of the
table, where a Chinese bowl of gold and amber
chrysanthemums sat in autumnal splendor.
But reality returned along with her vision. “Angela!” she gasped. “Is she . . . ?”
Renie gave a sharp shake of her head. “I’m not sure.
I think Joe was asking if anyone knew CPR. I suspect
he didn’t want to do it himself in case something