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house. But we said we thought it’d be better to go out.

You and Pop didn’t say anything, so we assumed it was

all set.”

“Probably,” Renie muttered to Judith, “they were all

talking at once—and so loud—that we couldn’t hear

them.”

“What’s that, Mom?” Tony inquired.

“I said I guess we goofed.” Renie looked unusually

subdued. “I’ll call Pop and get him over here.”

“He won’t answer the phone,” Anne warned.

“He’s not home,” Renie said, delving into her brown

suede purse for her cell phone.

Judith whispered into Renie’s ear. “I’m out of here.”

“Coz!” Renie cried as she hit the wrong button,

causing the phone to emit a sharp squawk.

“Sorry,” Judith apologized. “I have a job to do.”

She scooted out of the room.

The only similar door was on her left. The other

doors along the corridor were for rest rooms, storage,

and other restaurant facilities. Grasping the mahogany

242

Mary Daheim

door’s brass lever, Judith took a deep breath. Now that

her prey were at hand, she didn’t know what to do. Barging in, as Joe had cautioned, wasn’t a good idea. The

door was too thick to allow her to overhear what was

going on in the private dining room. Worse yet, the

servers were all young men wearing tuxedos. A wild idea

involving the impersonation of a waitress had struck her

earlier. Not only was it far-fetched, it was impossible.

At that moment, one of the waiters appeared at the

top of the stairs carrying a jeroboam of champagne.

Swiftly, Judith fished into her purse, searching for a

piece of paper.

“Young man,” she said, blocking the door, “could

you deliver a message to the Smith party? I’m with the

Joneses, in the other private dining room.”

The waiter, who was young, Asian, and very goodlooking, was too well trained to show surprise.

“To whom shall I give the message?” he asked.

Having found a small notebook, Judith scribbled out

a half-dozen words. “Morris Mayne,” she said. “Tell

him it’s urgent. Thank you.”

The waiter disappeared inside. Judith wondered if

she should have slipped him five dollars. Or ten. Or

twenty-five, considering that she was at Capri’s.

Moments later Morris Mayne dashed out into the

hall. “What is it? What’s happened at the studio?” Not

nearly as tall as Judith, he peered up at her through

rimless spectacles. “Wait! You’re the bed-andbreakfast lady, aren’t you?”

“That’s right,” Judith said, hoping to look appropriately solemn. “I think we’d best go downstairs to the

bar. Perhaps they’ll serve us a drink.”

“A drink?” Morris’s sparse tufts of hair stood out on

SILVER SCREAM

243

his round head. “Yes, I could use a drink. Though of

course I’ve already had . . . Never mind, let’s talk.” He

hurried down the winding staircase.

Charles the maître d’ expressed great pleasure at

serving the duo. Judith ordered Scotch rocks; Morris

requested a Bottle Rocket. Judith had never heard of it,

but it appeared to consist of several alcoholic beverages and a slice of kiwi.

“Tell me, please,” Morris begged after Charles

handed him his drink. “Why am I being recalled?”

“Recalled?” Judith’s dark eyes widened. “Is that

what I wrote? Oh, dear. My handwriting is so bad. I

meant you’d been called by the studio to . . . well, I

didn’t quite catch the rest of it, so I thought I’d better

come in person to make sure you got the message.”

Morris slumped in relief. “Oh! Thank God! I

thought I’d been fired!”

“Why would you think such a thing?” Judith asked,

still wide-eyed.

Morris gulped down some of his Bottle Rocket.

“Because of this Gasman mess. I mean,” he amended

quickly, “it’s not exactly a mess, but it does present

some problems. With Bruno dying and all, you see.”

“Yes, that complicates matters,” Judith said in a

sympathetic tone. “What do you think will happen to

the movie now?”

“Who knows?” Morris spread his arms, knocking

over a candle on the bar. “Oops! Sorry, Charles.” The

gracious maître d’ picked up the candle and turned discreetly away.

“Hasn’t the studio given some instructions?” Judith

asked, taking a small sip of Scotch. It was excellent

Scotch, maybe Glenlivet. She sipped again.

244

Mary Daheim

“Paradox is waiting to find out what happened to

Bruno,” Morris replied.

“What do the studio executives think happened?”

Judith asked.

Morris drank more Bottle Rocket. “Whew!” he exclaimed, passing a hand over his high forehead. “That’s

strong!” He leaned closer to Judith. “What did you say?”

She repeated the question. Morris reflected, though

his eyes weren’t quite in focus.

“Paradox is sure Bruno had a tart ahack. I mean”—

he corrected himself—“a heart attack. He’s had problems, you shee. See.” The publicist hiccuped once.

“You mean he’d had a history of heart trouble?”

Morris grimaced. “Not exactly.” He hiccuped again

and drew himself up on the bar stool, which luckily

had a large padded back. “Strain. That’s what Bruno

had. He worked under a lot of strain. That’s why he—”

He stopped abruptly. “I shouldn’t tell tales out of

school, should I?”

“You’re not,” Judith assured him. “I’m not in the

business. I don’t count. I’m nobody.”

“Thash shtrue,” Morris agreed. “You’re not.” He

took another gulp from his glass. “Anyway, Bruno

worked too hard. That caushes strain.”

“Yes,” Judith said amiably. “And strain can lead to

many things. To help him cope, of course.”

“Cope!” Morris’s arm shot out, striking a calla lily

in a tall black vase. “Oops!” He giggled and put a hand

over his mouth. “Mushn’t drink this too fast. Had a lot

of champagne upstairs.” He jabbed at the ceiling with

a pudgy finger.

“Yes, to cope,” Judith said patiently. “People cope in

many ways. Sometimes those ways aren’t healthy.”

SILVER SCREAM

245

Sadly, Morris shook his head. “True, too true. Like

Bruno. Not healthy. Don’t blame him. Too much

presshure. Not all his fault. Blame Big Daddy Dumas.”

Judith was taken aback. “Big Daddy Dumas? Who’s

that?”

Morris giggled some more and shook a finger at Judith. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Yes,” Judith said seriously, “I would.”

At the desk by the bar, the phone rang. Charles

picked it up. He appeared to be taking a reservation.

“Phone,” Morris said. “Musht phone the studio.” He

patted himself down, apparently searching for his cell.

“Hunh. Musht have left it upstairs. Here I go.” He

picked up what remained of his Bottle Rocket and

staggered off to the iron staircase.

Judith was on his heels. “But, Morris,” she said urgently, “you can tell me about Big Daddy Dumas. I’m

nobody, remember?”