“They want it to be more than an accident,” Joe said
as Bill also came into the kitchen, carrying a small
notepad. “They want it to be a Greek tragedy. It plays
better that way, as Dade Costello pointed out during
the powwow. Morris Mayne was all for it.”
“What’s the official news release?” Renie inquired.
“Go scavenge for it after they’ve cleared the area,”
Joe suggested. “Bill and I could hear the ripping and
tearing of many sheets of paper. Maybe you’ll find
what’s close to a finished product.”
Bill was now at the fridge, perusing its contents.
“They issued an earlier statement, but it sounded very
terse.” He paused, scowling at the shelves. “Don’t you
have any weird pop?”
Judith knew that Bill preferred oddly flavored sodas
that came in strangely decorated bottles. “Not really,”
she said.
“Oh.” Bill firmly closed the refrigerator door.
“Maybe I’ll just have a glass of water.”
He was turning on the faucet when Eugenia Fleming barged into the kitchen.
“Do you people know how to keep your mouths
shut?” she demanded.
“No,” Renie shot back.
“Yes,” Judith said, giving Renie a dirty look. “I assume you’re referring to the media?”
“Of course,” Eugenia replied with a scornful glance
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193
at Renie. “Morris is very concerned that we can’t keep
the lid on this location much longer.”
Joe stepped forward to face Eugenia, who met him
at eye level. “Are you saying,” he inquired, “that
there’s been no leak as to where the non–Cascadia
Hotel guests are staying or where Bruno died?”
“That’s so,” interjected Morris Mayne, who had
come up behind Eugenia like a small caboose following a large locomotive. “But eventually they’ll put two
and two together. I’m sure they’ve checked out most of
the hotels by now. Eventually, they’ll get to the bedand-breakfasts. Once they tie in the emergency calls
that have been made from here, they’re bound to show
up en masse.”
Joe tipped his head to one side. “So?”
“So,” Eugenia said, rising up on her tiptoes to look
down at Joe, “we must insist on the utmost discretion—indeed, total silence—from all of you.”
“Fine,” Joe said.
Morris peeked out from behind Eugenia. “Really?”
Joe was nonchalant. “Sure.”
Bill moved closer to Joe. “I have a question.”
Both Eugenia and Morris looked surprised. “What
is that?” Eugenia asked.
“Why should we keep quiet? It hardly matters to my
wife and me what the media might learn from us.”
Bill’s voice was, as ever, very deliberate. “Mrs. Jones
and I could sell information about all these Hollywood
shenanigans for quite a big sum.”
Renie’s eyes practically bugged out. “We could?”
“Of course,” Bill replied. “Especially to the tabloids.”
Judith and Joe exchanged uneasy glances. Morris
seemed stunned. Eugenia was growing red in the face.
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Mary Daheim
“You wouldn’t dare!” she exclaimed. “Aren’t these
people your friends?” She waved a big arm in the
Flynns’ direction. “Do you know what legal straits they
might be in?”
Bill looked unfazed. “They’re not friends, they’re
my wife’s relatives.” He paused to pour himself more
water. “What about a compromise? Why don’t you let
us in on what you know about anyone who might have
had a motive to kill Bruno? Why not be up-front about
Angela’s drug habit? Why not”—the next word
seemed to gag Bill, who despised buzz-words—
“share?”
Eugenia whirled on Bill, who didn’t budge. “That’s
blackmail! What right do you have to ask such a thing?
Can you imagine the legal steps we could take to silence you?”
“My brother, Bub, is a lawyer,” Bill said quietly.
“Or maybe that wasn’t a threat?”
Joe, who along with Judith was looking relieved
now that Bill had tipped his hand, was nodding sagely.
“I think this is a good idea.” He gestured expansively.
“Take a seat. We’ll talk.”
“No, we won’t,” Eugenia retorted. “At least not until
we’ve consulted our legal counsel. Who, I might add,
is waiting for us in the limousine. We’re going back to
the hotel.” She turned abruptly, almost knocking Morris over.
“Have your suit call our suit,” Bill said as the pair
departed. “Bub’s number is—”
“That’s great, Bill.” Renie could barely contain herself. She was leaning against the fridge, holding her
sides. “You’ve got them worried.”
“They should be,” Bill said in a mild tone. “But I’d
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195
have preferred that they give us some information on
the spot.”
Judith heard the door slam. “Tell us what you overheard from the parlor,” she urged.
Joe sat down at the kitchen table. Bill got out his
notepad.
“As we mentioned,” Joe began, “it was mostly spindoctor stuff. They talked more about how to make it
seem as if Bruno was such a dedicated artist that he
couldn’t survive failure. Eugenia—being Bruno’s
agent—was for that, but there was some disagreement,
especially when they discussed whether or not The
Gasman should be salvaged.”
“Could it be?” Renie asked.
“Maybe,” Bill put in. “They’d have to cut the running time by almost half. As it is, the film’s not only a
flop, but it’s a distribution nightmare. At four hours,
that means only one showing a night per house. That’s
economically unfeasible.”
“So they wouldn’t make a profit?” queried Judith.
“Not in domestic theaters,” Bill responded, also sitting down. “But these days there are all the ancillary
rights. There are so many other markets—offshore,
cable TV, syndication, merchandising tie-ins. A movie
can lose money in this country and still turn a profit.
Not to mention that the studio could cut back on its advertising and promotion. I suspect they intended to
spend huge sums before the general release.”
Joe sipped his beer before he spoke. “You sure know
a hell of a lot about Hollywood for a psychologist.”
Bill shrugged. “Cinema is both a reflection of and
an influence on contemporary life. Besides, I just like
movies.”
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Mary Daheim
Judith, however, was looking for a more personal
angle. “What about reactions? Did you catch any remarks or attitudes that might indicate animosity
toward Bruno?”
“Plenty,” Joe replied, “but nothing I’d call suspicious. Dade complained about what Bruno had done to
the script. He also griped that Chips Madigan hadn’t
directed the movie the way the script indicated. Chips
accused Dade of screwing up the original work.” Joe
glanced at Judith. “That must have been the book you
saw upstairs, The Gasman novel.”
“Did you find it?” Judith asked, having forgotten
that she’d told Joe to look for it in Room Three.
“Yes,” Joe answered. “I put it in a drawer by your