“I gather you had your differences with Chips Madigan over the script,” Judith said, trying to sound
matter-of-fact.
“Chips!” Dade growled, making a slashing motion
with one hand. “That punk. He and Bruno screwed up
my script every which way. They—Bruno speaking for
210
Mary Daheim
both of them—insisted I hadn’t kept to the spirit of the
book. Bull. There was no spirit. It was just a bunch of
events strung together by a weak narrative. For all I
know, old Carp may have paid to get it published. It
was garbage, all nine hundred pages of it.” He paused
to pull out a pocket watch from inside his vest. “Hey,
it’s after five. I’d better get going. I think the limo’s
coming a little after six.” He ambled to the front door.
“Psst!” It was Renie, lurking behind the archway
that divided the entry hall and the living room.
“Where’ve you been? I pieced the statement together.”
“You did?” Judith hurried to join her cousin. “How
is it?”
“Stilted,” Renie said, flapping a half-dozen sheets of
yellow paper at Judith. “It’s the kind of corporate copy
that makes me want to shoot all writers and fill up
space with graphic designs instead.”
Judith held out her hand. “Let me see.”
“No,” Renie retorted, “don’t read this hodgepodge.
I’ve written it out in what’s probably close to the final
draft.” She held up the last sheet and began to read
what she’d patched together: “In the wake of producer
Bruno Zepf ’s tragic passing last night, Paradox Stu-
dios launched an investigation to determine the cause
of death. It is generally felt by studio executives and
Zepf ’s close associates that The Gasman premiere’s
apparent inadequacies—some choice of words,” she
interposed before continuing, “may have caused the
producer to die of a broken heart. According to Zepf ’s
agent, Eugenia Fleming, ‘Bruno set the bar extremely
high, not only for himself, but for others in the indus-
try. The Gasman was a project he had nurtured for
years, with roots going back to his youth. Having the
SILVER SCREAM
211
picture receive such harsh criticism at its premiere
may have been too much for him. He wasn’t used to
negative reactions, and he had worked himself into ex-
haustion. During the making of the film, he had to be
hospitalized for a lengthy period. Obviously, his health
was seriously affected. Bruno couldn’t tolerate a lack
of excellence, especially in himself.’ End of quote,”
said Renie.
“That’s it?” Judith inquired, sitting on the arm of the
sofa.
“No,” Renie responded. “That’s the end of what Eugenia said. There’s more, but not much. In fact, there
were about three concluding statements they might
have used. The gist was that Bruno should be remembered for his many successes, rather than for The Gas-
man’ s flop.”
Judith didn’t respond immediately. When she did,
her words didn’t pertain to failure or success. “Do you
suppose Bruno really had health problems?”
Renie hesitated before answering. She flipped
through the discarded pages, then tapped her finger on
several fragments of writing. “There are some notes
about that, but they’re cryptic. Here.” She handed the
page to Judith.
B’s health, came first, written in an elegant if not
very legible hand, presumably by Vito. “How do you
read penmanship like this?”
Renie shrugged. “It’s all those years I’ve spent reading CEOs’ scribbles. Of course most of those people
never got past the block-printing stage. They thought
cursive meant cussing.”
“HPB,” Judith read aloud. “High blood pressure?”
Renie nodded. “Probably.”
212
Mary Daheim
“Ulcer . . . ulcer . . . ulcer. That’s clear enough.
So’s colitis. What’s this? C? It’s underlined twice.
Then it says treatment. Cancer?”
“I couldn’t tell,” Renie said. “Maybe the C is for colitis.”
“Do you remember a drug called thalidomide?”
“Sure,” Renie replied. “Years ago, it was prescribed
as a sleeping pill for pregnant women in Europe. Unfortunately, it caused horrendous birth defects.”
“True,” Judith agreed, “but when we were in Good
Cheer Hospital, I overheard a doctor and a nurse talking about thalidomide. It sounded as if it was being
used for cancer patients.”
Renie looked blank. “I don’t remember that. Maybe
you heard it after I’d been released from the hospital.
You had to stay a few days longer.”
“How could I forget?” Judith said with a grimace,
then grew silent again. “High blood pressure could
have killed Bruno. But wouldn’t the ME be able to
tell?”
“You’d think so.”
Setting the sheet of paper down on the coffee table,
Judith heaved a big sigh. “If only we could be sure that
Bruno was murdered.”
Renie looked askance. “Aren’t you being kind of
bloodthirsty, coz?”
“No, I’m being realistic,” Judith retorted. “I can’t
bear to think that Joe and I may be at fault for Bruno’s
death. It’s not just the possibility of a lawsuit, it’s the
moral implications. If we’re to blame, I’ll feel the most
awful guilt for the rest of my life.”
Renie’s face hardened. “What about that stupid spider over the sink? Who put it there? Why? Was it just
SILVER SCREAM
213
a prank to scare Bruno? Did it scare him into passing
out in the sink?”
Judith stared at Renie. “How odd—I never thought
about that. I mean, first there was the real spider on the
back porch, then the spider in his bed—he didn’t pass
out, by the way— and the one over the sink. Why
would that one have more of an effect on Bruno than
the others?”
“Maybe,” Renie reasoned, “because Bruno was already distraught. Wasn’t a spider a sign of bad luck for
him? And hadn’t he just had the worst luck of his career?”
“True,” Judith allowed in a thoughtful voice. “Who
put those spiders in the bed and in the kitchen? What,”
she went on, her voice rising as she stood up from her
perch on the sofa, “if there are more spiders somewhere?”
“Good point,” Renie remarked. “Have you looked?”
“No,” Judith said, “but Joe searched the guest
rooms. Still, it’s odd that there weren’t more than two.
If you wanted to scare somebody with a fake bug over
the course of a weekend, wouldn’t you bring along,
say, a half dozen?”
“I would,” Renie said. “Better safe than sorry.” She