game?” Bill muttered. “We might as well. This is
going to take a long time.”
“The game’s over,” Joe said as the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it.”
Without any sense of optimism, Judith stood next to
Renie as Aunt Deb picked up the phone on the first
ring.
“Hi, Mom,” Renie began. “I’ve got a question for
you . . . Well, yes, of course I want to know how you
are, but I talked to you this morning for at least twenty
minutes and . . . No kidding? How did your big toe get
stuck in the drain? . . . Thank goodness for Mrs. Parker
stopping by . . . I didn’t realize Auntie Vance and
Uncle Vince were coming down from the island . . .
No, I won’t tell Aunt Gertrude . . . Yes, I know how she
and Auntie Vance like to argue . . . No, I realize you
aren’t one to quarrel . . . Yes, Aunt Gertrude can be a
trial sometimes. You’re very patient with her . . . I’m
aware that she thinks she’s the one who’s being patient
with you . . . Certainly Auntie Vance can have a rough
tongue . . . She told you to put your big toe where? . . .
Well, that is kind of coarse, but you know what Auntie
Vance is like . . .”
Judith was distracted by the return of Joe with three
deliverymen carrying several cartons and portable
heating units. “Oh, dear,” she sighed. “I forgot about
the caterers.”
“I’ll handle it,” Joe said grimly.
As the deliverymen began to unload the order onto
the buffet, Renie eyed the food with longing. “I know
it’s foggy,” she said into the phone. “Yes, I’ll cover all
my orifices when I go outside so that the damp won’t
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219
harm me . . . Of course I’m wearing sturdy shoes.” She
glanced down at her flimsy brown flats. “No, this pair
doesn’t lace up to my ankles. I haven’t worn those oxfords since I was twelve . . .”
Judith’s attention drifted to the buffet, where Joe
was ripping open boxes and dumping out heated bags.
The deliverymen had already skittered out of the house
after presenting an embarrassingly large bill.
Joe emptied a box of Wienie Wizards, dropping almost all of them on the floor. They bounced, but not
very high.
“Wait!” Judith cried. “Let me do that. You’re angry,
and you’re making a mess.”
Joe’s jaw jutted. “Do you know what all this crap
cost?”
“No, and I don’t want to know,” Judith shot back.
“Not now. Let me call Arlene on my cell phone and see
if she wants any of this food before you destroy it.”
She started to get her purse from the kitchen
when she heard the sound of hurrying feet on the
stairs. “I smell Wienie Wizards!” cried Ellie Linn.
“Yum, yum!”
In a flurry, Judith scooped the hot dogs off the floor
and dumped them into a crystal bowl. “They’re nice
and warm. Be our guest.”
“I already am.” Ellie giggled, her dark eyes shining
with delight. “Mmm . . . my faves!” She immediately
pitched in, grabbing four wieners and four buns at
once.
Finally reaching the kitchen, Judith dialed Arlene’s
number.
“What food?” Arlene asked in a puzzled voice.
Judith reminded her neighbor about the large order
220
Mary Daheim
from the caterer. “I thought you wanted some of it for
your family dinner tonight.”
“What family?” Arlene asked. “They canceled.
They all decided to stay home because of Halloween.”
“Rats!” Judith muttered. “Okay, sorry to bother
you.”
“Why don’t you freeze it?” Arlene suggested.
“Frankly,” Judith said, “we’re running out of room
in the freezer. But you’re right, I’ll try to squeeze in
some of the items that won’t keep.”
By the time she returned to the living room, Renie
was finally hanging up the phone. Ellie Linn had disappeared, apparently going upstairs to savor her Wienie Wizards.
“Guess what?” Renie said, looking dazed.
Bill and Joe barely looked up from their places on
the matching sofas. The TV screen showed Nazi planes
swooping over England. Bill had one eye on the set
and the other on his chart, which was spread out over
the coffee table. Sweetums was weaving in and out between his ankles, the cat’s great plume of a tail swishing back and forth.
“Go away,” Bill snarled under his breath, “or I’ll
turn you into cat chowder.”
“What is it?” Judith asked of Renie.
Bill spoke up before his wife could answer. “Get
this damned cat out of here. And I could use a purple
pen.”
Renie swooped down, grabbed Sweetums, and
made a face at Bill. “The marker pens are under your
chart, Galileo.” She moved away, unceremoniously
dumping Sweetums near the entry hall.
“My mother actually read The Gasman, ” Renie de- SILVER SCREAM
221
clared. “So, of course, did my father. He made her read
it because he insisted it was a quick way to learn the
history of the world.”
“You’re kidding!” Judith cried.
Joe hit the mute button on the TV’s remote control;
Bill didn’t take his eyes off the screen.
“Does Aunt Deb remember anything about the
book?” Judith asked, aware that her aunt’s memory
was much keener than her mother’s.
“Well . . .” Renie made a face. “She admits she
skimmed it. My dad enjoyed it because there were
some obscure facts he learned and some misconceptions he had that the book cleared up. I gather C. Douglas Carp meticulously researched his material.
Anyway, that sort of thing appealed to Dad. Mom
didn’t give a hoot, and thought the story itself was
silly, and she didn’t like all the wars.” Her gaze shot to
the TV, where London was being bombed into what
looked like charcoal clumps.
“Oh.” Judith was disappointed. “At least we know
that somebody besides Bruno read the book.”
“There was one other thing,” Renie said. “You know
my mother—she’s like you, coz. Her main interest in
life is people.”
Judith smiled faintly. It was a great irony that in
many ways, Judith’s personality was more like Aunt
Deb’s. Conversely, Renie had some of the same traits
as Gertrude. Reacting to Renie’s comment, Bill
groaned, but Joe gave a thumbs-up signal. Both men
felt they had a cross to bear when it came to their
mothers-in-law.
“So?” Judith prodded.
“So,” Renie began, “Mom had an old friend, Hattie
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Mary Daheim
McDonough, who married a man named Carp. In fact,
I guess she married him back in the late twenties, about
the time that my folks read The Gasman. Naturally,
since Carp isn’t a common name, Mom wanted to
know if Hattie’s husband and C. Douglas were related.
Hattie—who, by the way, died a few years ago—said
they were cousins. Bernie Carp—the one Hattie married—was from the Midwest. Iowa or Nebraska, Mom
thought. Alas, Mr. Bernie Carp turned out to be a
drinker, and Hattie divorced him before World War
Two, a war we all know who won by now.” Renie raked