where she saw a plain brown door. Turning the knob,
she discovered a narrow hallway on her left that presumably led to the kitchen. On her right was a staircase. Judith ascended to another plain door and opened
it. She came out into another narrow hall, where she
saw two identical doors.
The first one led into the main corridor, but judging
from her position in the restaurant, the second door
had to go into the Smith party’s private dining room. In
the shadows just beyond the door was a busing area.
On tiptoes, she approached the second door and cautiously opened it just a crack.
“. . . lose my investment” were the first words she
managed to hear, and they were spoken by a nasal male
voice she didn’t recognize. Heathcliffe MacDermott,
alias the Wienie Wizard? Judith peered through the
sliver of open doorway. All she could see was Morris
Mayne with his head down on the table and Dade
Costello’s blunt profile.
“Not necessarily,” said a smooth voice that Judith
identified as belonging to Vito Patricelli. “Paradox
may not shelve the picture. They have an investment,
too, even larger than yours, Mr. MacDermott.”
SILVER SCREAM
255
“Idiots,” snapped a waspish female voice that didn’t
sound like Winifred, Ellie, or Eugenia. “Idiots,” the
woman repeated. Judith figured the speaker had to be
Mrs. MacDermott.
“I don’t get it,” declared Heathcliffe MacDermott.
“The movie’s a dud. If I made wienies like Zepf made
movies, I’d be wearing a paper hat and peddling hot
dogs at minor league baseball games instead of running a billion-dollar empire.”
“The studio can make changes,” Vito said, his voice
unperturbed. “They’ll have free rein—under the circumstances.”
“You beast,” murmured Winifred. “How can you
say such things when Bruno has been dead less than
twenty-four hours?” Though Judith couldn’t see her, it
sounded as if Winifred was close to the service door.
“What kind of changes?” Ellie asked, not quite as
pert as usual.
“Cutting, for one thing,” Vito replied. “No one can
argue that the picture should be shortened by at least
an hour.”
“Are you saying,” Heathcliffe asked in a slightly
confused voice, “that Paradox can do whatever it wants
now that Bruno Zepf is dead?”
“Exactly,” Vito responded. “The studio has the
major chunk of money invested in the picture. They
can do as they please.”
Except for the creak of chairs and shuffling of
limbs, a silence fell over the room. Judith glanced at
the door to the stairs to make sure the coast was
clear. As far as she could tell, no one seemed to be
eating. Perhaps the group had finished its most recent course.
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Mary Daheim
“What about Utah?” the unfamiliar female voice demanded. “What about my script?”
Judith heard Dade Costello snort.
Vito waited a moment to reply. “Your script?”
“All the Way to Utah,” Amy Lee MacDermott retorted with anger. “Bruno bought it, and it’s supposed
to star darling Ellie.”
“I can’t answer that right now,” Vito said, smooth as
ever. “There hasn’t been time for anyone to make that
decision.”
“Who makes it?” Amy Lee’s voice had grown strident.
“Bruno’s production company,” Vito replied.
“Isn’t that a weird setup?” Ben Carmody put in.
The actor sounded uncharacteristically harsh. “Bruno
had no second in command. He thought he was immortal.”
“That’s not true,” Winifred said in a strong, stiff
voice. “If anything happened to Bruno, I was to take
over. I already had, when he was in . . . the hospital.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Ben’s voice brightened. “Then I
guess any big decisions would be up to you, Win.”
“Not necessarily,” Vito interjected. “I suspect that
Winifred’s powers are limited to such situations as
Bruno being temporarily out of the picture. So to
speak.” No one laughed except Dirk Farrar, and the
sound wasn’t pleasant. “There are two other factors involved, one of which is the studio’s agreement to put
money into All the Way to Utah. But now that Bruno is
dead—let’s not mince words—Paradox would be free
to pull out.”
“They wouldn’t dare!” Amy Lee cried. “They made
a commitment!”
SILVER SCREAM
257
“It’s not legally binding when the producer dies,”
Vito asserted. “But the other factor involves the heirs
to Bruno’s estate. Winifred, do you know if he made a
will?”
“Why . . .” Winifred’s voice sounded faint. “No,”
she went on slowly, “I don’t believe he did.”
“It figures,” Dirk snarled. “From A to Zepf. Bruno
thought he was the Alpha and the Omega, with no end
in sight.”
“Stop that!” Winifred shouted. “You’re angry because you and Bruno got into a big fight and Ben
ended up with the leading role in the Utah picture.”
“Let’s stop wrangling and back up here,” Heathcliffe broke in, his voice sounding like that of a man
obviously used to exercising authority. “What’s this
other factor, Mr. L.A. Lawyer?”
Vito cleared his throat. “That was what I was getting
at when I inquired about a will. Since Bruno had no
wife, his entire estate goes to his two children.”
“His children?” Amy Lee and Ellie Linn shrieked in
unison.
“That’s ridiculous,” the mother scoffed.
“That’s stupid,” the daughter declared. “Those kids
aren’t as old as I am!”
“How old?” Amy Lee demanded.
“Greta was twenty in June,” Winifred said quietly.
“Greg just turned eighteen a month ago.”
“The son’s name is Greg?” Ellie’s voice had taken
on a lighter note.
“Yes,” Winifred replied. “After Gregory Peck. Greta
was named for Garbo.”
“Hmm.” There was a faint simper from Ellie.
Judith saw Dirk Farrar’s back at the door. She
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Mary Daheim
tensed, wondering if he might be about to leave the
room.
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about that Utah crap,” he
said. “All I want to know is when the hell we can get
out of this fog bank and go back to L.A.”
“The matter should be resolved by tomorrow,” Vito
responded.
“It better be,” Dirk shot back. “This place sucks
scissors.” His back moved away from the door. Apparently, he’d gotten up only to stretch his legs.
“Mr. Farquhar,” Amy Lee said sternly, “don’t speak
so nastily of my Utah script. It’s going to be a blockbuster. After all,” she added with a sneer in her voice,
“you were slated to star in it until you behaved so
badly toward Mr. Zepf.”
“The name’s Farrar,” Dirk shouted, “as you
damned well know! And I’ll tell you something else,”
he continued, not as loud, but just as intense, “I didn’t
really give a damn when Bruno canned me. I’d put up
with enough crap from him with The Gasman and