My daughter was brought in today with . . .” She
feigned embarrassment. “A drug reaction.”
Wanda’s expression went from unpleasant to sour.
“Oh, yes. One of those.” She scowled at Judith, no
doubt blaming her for the daughter’s decadence. “May
I see some ID?”
Momentarily flustered, Judith tried to come up with
SILVER SCREAM
263
another tall tale. “Her father and I,” she began, fumbling for her wallet, “were only married for—”
The phone rang on the desk. Wanda held up a hand
for Judith to be silent. After tersely answering some
questions regarding the status of another patient, the
aide hung up.
“Let’s see that ID,” she ordered. “I don’t need your
life story.”
Judith handed over the wallet with her driver’s license. Wanda gave it a piercing look, then nodded.
“Miss Flynn is in Room 704, back down the hall and
on your left.”
With a gulp, Judith nodded and hurried off before
Wanda noticed her astonishment at the coincidence.
The door to Room 704 was closed. Judith knocked
in a tentative fashion, but when no one responded, she
slowly opened the door. Except for the green and red
lights on the various monitors, the room was dark.
Nearing the bed, Judith saw that Angela was on her
side, turned away from the door. The IVs that trailed
from her left hand looked all too familiar.
Judith thought she was asleep. But the actress must
have heard someone approach. “What now?” she
asked in a disgruntled, if subdued voice.
“It’s Judith Flynn.”
“Who?” Angela didn’t bother to move.
“Judith Flynn, your innkeeper at the B&B. How are
you?”
“Awful,” Angela replied, still not moving. “What do
you want?”
Judith sat down in the molded plastic visitor’s chair.
“You’re my guest. Naturally I’m concerned.”
264
Mary Daheim
“Bull,” Angela muttered. “You’re here to pry. Why
should you be concerned? Are you afraid I’m going to
peg out like Bruno did?”
“Of course not,” Judith said a bit testily. “I’m genuinely concerned about your welfare. You gave us an
awful scare today.” She paused, waiting for a response.
There was none, except for a restless flutter of the
young woman’s hands at the top of the bedsheet. “I
also wanted to know,” Judith continued, her voice a bit
stern, “why you used my name when you checked into
the hospital.”
“I didn’t use it,” Angela said querulously. “Dirk
checked me in. Or somebody. I was out of it.”
“But why Flynn?” Judith persisted.
At last Angela turned to look at her visitor, though
the movement made her wince. “Why? Because it’s
my name, dammit. You don’t really think I was born
Angela La Belle?”
“Ah . . .” Judith hadn’t considered this possibility. “I
see. I’m sorry I was impertinent. That is, I didn’t mind
you using my name, I just thought it was . . . odd.”
“It’s not odd,” Angela insisted, her voice a trifle
stronger. “I was born Portulaca Purslane Flynn. My
mother was into plants and herbs. Even if I hadn’t become an actress, I’d have dumped all three of those
names just like my mother dumped me when I was
two. Now how about getting out of here? My head
hurts like hell.”
“Shall I ring for the nurse to bring you more pain
medication?” Judith offered.
“Are you kidding? These sadists are afraid I’ll get
addicted to aspirin.”
“I’m sorry, really I am,” Judith said. “I was in the
SILVER SCREAM
265
hospital last January. I know how difficult the medical
profession can be when it comes to administering
painkillers.”
“Don’t be cute,” Angela snapped. “You know
damned well why they won’t give me anything. I’m a
coke hound. Now beat it, will you?”
“Of course,” Judith said, standing up. “Really, I feel
so sorry for you. Is it possible that you could kick the
habit if you went into rehab?”
Angela scowled at Judith. “The goody-goody side
of the Quick Fix, huh? Easier said than done, Mrs.
Flynn.” Suddenly her eyes widened. “Where are you
from?”
Judith was taken aback. “You mean . . . where was I
born?”
“Yes. Where? When?” The queries crackled like
scattershot.
“I was born right here,” Judith replied, “about two
blocks away, in a hospital that’s been turned into condos. Why do you ask?”
“Are you sure?”
“Certainly I’m sure,” Judith answered, indignant.
Then, seeing the disappointment on Angela’s face, she
understood the reason for the questions. “I’m sorry.
I’ve only had one child, a boy. And I didn’t become
Mrs. Flynn until ten years ago.”
Wearily, Angela turned away. “Never mind. I keep
hoping someday I’ll find my mother.”
Even when she wasn’t wanted, Judith was too softhearted to walk away. She remained standing, gazing
down at Angela’s blond hair and twitching hands.
“Do you want to meet your mother for revenge,” Judith asked softly, “or for an explanation?”
266
Mary Daheim
Angela didn’t respond immediately. Indeed, her
whole body convulsed, then went slack. “I know why
she gave me away,” the actress finally replied, her
voice muffled by the pillow. “She never really wanted
me. My mother was a free spirit, a big-time flower
child. I was just a burden in her personal revolution.”
“Your mother sounds selfish and immature,” Judith
declared. “Who raised you?”
“An aunt in San Bernardino,” Angela said. “She meant
well, but she had four kids of her own. I was much
younger than they were. I was always the outsider.”
Abruptly, she turned again to face Judith. “This is none of
your business. Quit asking so damned many questions.”
“I apologize,” Judith said. “I can’t help myself. I’m
interested in people. I care about them.”
“You’re an oddity, then,” Angela said. “Most people
only care in terms of what they can get from you. The
funny thing is, my mother didn’t want anything from
me. She didn’t want me, period.”
“She may be a villain,” Judith said quietly, “but
she’s not the one who hooked you on drugs. Who did?”
Angela gaped at Judith. “What a rotten, snoopy
question!”
“No, it isn’t,” Judith said reasonably. “Addicts have
to start somewhere, and usually because someone
coaxed or goaded them into it. You don’t just walk into
the supermarket and get cocaine on Aisle B.”
“Why do you care?” Angela’s voice was toneless.
“It’s abnormal.”
“I guess,” Judith said, “I’m one of those rare people
who do care. I must be eccentric. Humor me.”
Angela heaved a deep, shuddering sigh. “Why not?
It doesn’t matter now. It was good old Bruno.”
SILVER SCREAM
267
Judith was surprised. “Bruno? Did he do drugs?”
“For years,” Angela said, “right up until he overdosed midway through the making of The Gasman.”