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lead in another Zepf movie because he and Bruno got
into a fistfight at Marina Del Rey in L.A. I assume
Dirk was permanently scratched from Bruno’s A-list.”
“Very interesting,” Renie remarked. “So Ben gets to
be a leading man instead of a villain because Dirk
played smash-mouth with Bruno.”
“I suppose so,” Judith responded as the cousins
went inside. “I guess nice guys do finish first.”
“That’s not the saying,” Renie corrected. “It’s the
other way around.”
“You’re right,” Judith said. “With everything that’s
happened in the last couple of days, my mind’s a muddle.”
The cousins had barely reached the kitchen when an
insistent tap sounded at the back door. It was Arlene
Rankers, looking desperate.
“What’s wrong?” Judith asked, hastening to meet
her friend and neighbor.
“What’s wrong?” Arlene threw up her hands.
“That’s what I came to find out. Who got hauled off by
the medics?”
Judith realized that the Rankerses wouldn’t know of
the events that had occurred at Hillside Manor since
they left for home the previous night. “Have a seat,”
she said, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table. “I’ll
fill you in.”
Which Judith did, though she was careful to omit
specific details. Her good-hearted neighbor was famous for spreading the news over what was called Arlene’s Broadcasting System, or merely ABS. Judith felt
there was no need to make the situation any worse than
it already was.
“Goodness!” Arlene gasped when Judith had finally
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finished. “You certainly get more trouble than you deserve. What can Carl and I do to help?”
Judith was about to reply that she was beyond help,
but changed her mind. “Keep an eye on who comes
and goes around here.” That was easy; the Rankerses’
kitchen windows overlooked Hillside Manor and the
cul-de-sac. At the sink and the dinette table, Arlene had
long ago established her personal observation deck.
“Fine,” Arlene responded, “but can’t you do that
yourself?”
“Not really,” Judith said. “There’s too much going
on. This is a big house. I can’t keep track of everybody’s movements.”
“Not to mention that it’s Halloween,” Renie put in.
Arlene was uncharacteristically silent. She was staring at the table, arms slack at her sides, forehead
creased in concentration. When she finally spoke, it
was as if she were in a trance.
“Seven-fifty A.M., Joe leaves through the back door in
his red MG. Eight-fourteen, the writer goes out the
French doors and disappears around the west side of the
house. Nine-oh-six, the red-headed youngish man leans
out the second-story window by the stairs and looks
every which way through something like a small camera. Nine-twenty-two, Joe returns with two white bakery
bags, two pink boxes, and a Moonbeam’s bag, probably
filled with hot coffee. Nine-thirty-one, writer comes
back and sits in lawn swing on front porch. Nine-forty,
black Lincoln Town Car pulls into cul-de-sac. Writer
jumps over porch rail and runs down driveway toward
garage. Nine-forty-one, well-dressed man wearing sunglasses goes to front door and is let in.” Arlene, wearing
a bright smile, looked up. “How am I doing?”
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“Wow!” Judith gasped in admiration. “So that’s how
you do it?”
Arlene looked blank. “Do what?”
“You know . . .” Judith faltered, never one to accuse
Arlene of snooping. “Keep track of things. Help Carl
run the Neighborhood Watch. Stay on top of events on
the block. You must file everything like a computer.”
“No,” Arlene asserted. “Not at all. Now that I’ve
said it out loud, I can barely remember anything.”
Judith didn’t quite believe her, but wouldn’t argue.
Any dispute with her neighbor brought grief in the
form of Arlene’s reversals and self-contradictions.
“That’s very helpful,” she said. “After Vito—the man
with the sunglasses—arrived, what happened next?”
Arlene’s smile faded. “There is no next. Carl and I
left for ten o’clock Mass at SOTS, went to coffee and
doughnuts in the school hall, and stopped at Falstaff’s
on the way back. We didn’t get home until almost one.
I didn’t notice anything or anybody until you showed
up shortly before one-thirty.”
“What about,” Renie inquired, “since Judith got
back?”
But Arlene shook her head in a regretful manner. “I
got caught up in dinner preparations. Most of our darling children are coming over tonight. Except for seeing you and Bill arrive, I didn’t notice anyone else until
the medics arrived.”
“Nothing in the backyard?” Judith asked.
Arlene’s eyes narrowed. “The backyard?” She automatically swerved around to look in that direction,
though she couldn’t see anything from her position at
the table. “No. What on earth did I miss?” She seemed
genuinely aggrieved.
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191
“It may have happened while you were on the sidewalk with the other neighbors,” Judith said in a comforting voice. Quickly, she explained about finding the
burned script in the barbecue. She had just finished
when Joe came into the kitchen.
“They’re adjourning to the living room,” he announced. “I gather they may all be going out to dinner
in a private room at Capri’s.”
Capri’s, on the very edge of Heraldsgate Hill, was
one of the city’s oldest and most distinguished eateries.
“I didn’t think they were open on Sundays,” Judith
said.
“Apparently they are for this bunch,” Joe responded
with a wave for Arlene, who was heading to the back
door.
“But what about all the food I ordered?” Judith
wailed. “It’ll go to waste and I’ll get stuck paying for it.”
Arlene went into reverse in more ways than one.
“Send it over to our house. I can use it to feed those
wretched kids of ours. They eat like cannibals.”
“Cannibals?” Renie echoed.
“You know what I mean,” Arlene said peevishly.
“They eat like your children.”
“Oh.” Renie nodded. “Now I get it.”
Arlene hurried out of the house.
Judith was on her feet, gripping Joe’s shoulders.
“Well? What did they say in this latest meeting?”
“Spin-doctor stuff, mostly,” Joe replied. “Morris
Mayne has the burden of trying to make everything
sound as if Bruno died for Art.”
“Hunh?” Judith dropped her hands.
Joe shrugged, then opened the fridge and took out a
beer. “You know—that Bruno was so disturbed over
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the possibility of failure that it broke his heart. He’d
striven to be the best in his chosen profession, and anything less than a total triumph was too terrible to face.
Blah-blah.”
“So they think it was an accident?” Judith asked as
she heard footsteps climbing the main staircase.