was sharing a room with Ellie. They don’t like each
other much. Ellie might have lorded it over Angela
somehow. Haven’t we figured that Angela used the
bathroom on this floor to do coke?”
“That’s right,” Judith allowed.
“What else?” Bill asked, impatient with the latest
digression. “We’re talking image and reputation here,
remember.”
“Ellie’s too young to have much of a past,” Judith
noted.
“Chips,” Renie declared, “is too good to be true.”
“Do writers care what people think of them?” Joe
remarked. “Dade, at least, gives off I-don’t-give-adamn signals.”
“All writers are weird,” Renie said. “That’s why
they’re so difficult to deal with.”
Judith was staring at Renie. “Why do you think
Chips is too good to be true?”
Renie shrugged. “Isn’t he always telling you those
endearing stories about his wholesome youth in the
Midwest? Mother and apple pie—literally.”
“It was chicken pot pie,” Judith said, but Renie’s
comment caused her to wonder. “Could we check him
out on the Internet?”
“Probably,” Renie replied.
He pointed to the circle that represented Dirk Farrar.
“The worst thing about Dirk—from an image standpoint—would be to find out he was gay. He’s Mr.
Macho on the screen.”
“Can’t we rule that out?” Joe inquired. “He was
banging Angela.”
“He could be a switch-hitter,” Bill responded.
“What about Ben Carmody?” Judith asked.
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233
“Ben’s a different case,” Bill said. “He usually plays
villains. Isn’t the role in the Utah picture his first
leading-man opportunity?”
“I guess,” Judith said, “though I don’t think all the
different parts he played in The Gasman were bad
guys.”
“That’s not the same,” Bill pointed out. “Ben Carmody has built his reputation as an actor, not as a star.
You see the difference?” Like any good professor, he
waited for the others to nod their understanding. “As
for Ellie, you may be right, Judith. She’s not only
young, but grew up in a prominent family. I suspect
that her past is relatively blameless.”
But Renie didn’t agree. “She may have run over a
cripple. She could have done drugs. She might have
gone off on a lark with some friends and held up a convenience store at gunpoint.”
Bill gave his wife a withering look. “She may have
been the homecoming queen and won a scholarship to
Yale. Let’s assume she’s in the clear. You’re just being
contrary.”
“True,” Renie admitted, not looking the least contrite. “Still, I think there must be something unsavory
about Chips. And where did he get a name like that
anyway? It’s got to be a nickname.”
“You may be right,” Bill said. “Midwesterners are
very good at hiding things they don’t want others to
see, especially their dark side.”
Bill ought to know, Judith thought, since he was a
Wisconsin native. “Who’ve we left out?” she asked.
“Winifred?”
“Yes.” Bill tapped the circle nearest to Bruno’s.
“What do we know about her background?”
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Mary Daheim
“I think she was a Demure,” Judith said, walking
over to the stereo, where she had slipped the tape behind a rack of CDs. She related Renie’s discovery
along with Winifred’s reaction. “I’m sure it’s her,” Judith concluded, “but she doesn’t want it known.”
“Ah,” said Bill.
“I remember them,” Joe put in. “They were a onehit wonder. Vivian used to sing their song when she did
her piano-bar stints. ‘Come Play with Me,’ wasn’t it?”
Judith gave her husband a censorious look. “I’m
sure she did.”
Joe waved a hand. “It was her job. At least I had a
spouse who worked. Sometimes.”
“She only worked because she got free drinks,” Judith asserted.
“Truce!” Renie shouted, holding up both arms like
a football official signaling a touchdown. “No fighting,
no biting. Let’s go back to Winifred.”
Joe calmed down first. “So Winifred’s ashamed of
being a Demure? Why?”
“Because,” Judith suggested, still bristling a bit,
“they only had one big hit?”
“Another person deeply affected by failure,” Bill
murmured. He used the purple pen to make some
marks by Winifred’s circle. “Yet,” he continued, making a squiggle with the orange pen, “she rebounded to
become Bruno’s assistant, a position of great power.
So why,” he concluded, adding a chartreuse slash,
“wouldn’t Winifred be able to laugh off her early experience in the music world?”
“Bill,” Renie inquired, “have you any idea what all
those marks mean?”
“Of course.” With an expectant expression, he gazed
SILVER SCREAM
235
at the others as if waiting for the brightest student to
give the correct answer. “Well?”
“Because,” Judith said slowly, “there was something
shameful about that experience.”
Bill nodded approval. “There has to be. What could
it have been?”
“Guesswork,” Joe said in a disgusted voice. “That’s
all we can do is guess. That’s not a professional approach in law enforcement.”
“We don’t have anything else,” Renie pointed out.
With a hopeful expression, Judith turned to Renie.
“You couldn’t find it on the Internet?”
“I doubt it, coz,” Renie said.
“Then there has to be another way,” Judith declared,
getting up from the sofa and heading out of the room.
“Hey,” Renie called after her cousin, “what are you
going to do?”
Judith turned just before she reached the entry hall.
“I’m about to crash the dinner party. Anybody care to
join me?”
“Hey,” Bill said sharply, “I’m not finished yet.”
“Later,” Judith shot back. “I feel useless. I’m frustrated. I’m getting out of here.”
“Don’t act like a moron, Jude-girl,” Joe said with a
scowl. “You can’t go barging in on those people like that.”
“Look,” Judith said, almost stamping her foot but
afraid to, lest she jar her artificial hip, “we’re running
out of time. The guests may be gone by tomorrow.
You’re not the one who worked your tail off to build
this B&B. Do—or don’t do—what you want, but I’m
not sitting around waiting for a bunch of L.A. lawyers
to fleece us.” She turned on her heel and headed for the
back hallway to get her jacket.
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Mary Daheim
“Wait for me!” Renie cried, hurrying after Judith.
“Our car’s blocking the driveway. I’m coming with you.”
Judith waited, though it took only seconds until her
cousin was in the Joneses’ Toyota Camry. A moment
later Renie was reversing out into the foggy cul-de-sac.
“It’s just as well to take your car,” Judith said, fastening her seat belt. “It’s newer than my Subaru.
Maybe the parking attendants at Capri’s won’t act so
snooty.”
“They aren’t as snooty as they used to be,” Renie
replied, heading onto Heraldsgate Avenue. The fog had