anymore. She’s married to an oil sheikh. They brought
their yacht to Cannes to attend all the parties.”
“What about the first and third wives?” Judith persisted. “Did you meet either of them? Wasn’t the third
wife in the movie business?”
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299
“Right,” Dade said. “She was a film editor or something. I never met her. I think her name was Mary
Ellen.”
“But you don’t know if her maiden name was
Carp?”
“I’ve no idea.” Dade looked apologetic.
“I assume you never met wife number one,” Judith
said. “I understand that was a youthful marriage.”
“Way before my time,” Dade said, still leaning on
the banister. “She was the one Bruno rarely talked
about. When he did, he was critical. I’ll say this for
him—he never bad-mouthed the other two wives.”
“Why was he so hard on the first one?”
Dade grimaced. “I guess she was kind of a terror. I
recall Bruno saying he ran into her someplace where
he least expected. He always called her Spider
Woman.”
Judith stared up at him. “Did that have something to
do with his superstition about spiders?”
“I don’t think so.” Dade yawned. “Sorry, Ms. Flynn,
I’m beat. I’m afraid I haven’t been much help.” Once
more, he started up the stairs, but this time he was the
one to stop his own momentum. “Why do you need to
know about Bruno’s wives?”
Judith offered him an uncertain smile. “I’m just curious. You know—when someone dies under your roof
and all . . .” She let the sentence trail away.
“Oh. That makes sense. I guess.” At last he continued on up the stairs and out of sight.
Wearily, Judith trudged back to the kitchen. Renie
was wearing her suede jacket and holding her huge
handbag.
“What was that all about?” she asked.
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Mary Daheim
“Dade Costello. He lost his house key.” Judith made
a face. “But guess what? Bruno referred to his first
wife as Spider Woman.”
Renie looked surprised. “Really? Who was she?”
“Dade doesn’t know,” Judith said, espying The Gas-
man novel on the counter. “Did you find any of the
keepsakes interesting?”
Renie started ticking off items on her fingers. “The
usual pressed flowers and leaves, a faded red ribbon, a
pair of ticket stubs from the 1968 World Series between
St. Louis and Detroit, another pair of stubs from the
1975 Iowa State Fair, a lock of what looked like baby’s
hair, a young woman’s photo, a newspaper clipping of
C. Douglas Carp’s obituary, and a recipe for prune pie.”
Judith looked thoughtful. “Let’s see the obit.”
Renie flipped through the book, then handed her the
yellowed clipping.
“Hmm,” Judith said. “Nothing here that wasn’t in
the other account of his life and times. By the way, did
you come across a picture of a young woman?”
Renie flipped through the pages. “Yes, here it is.
Anybody we know?”
Judith studied the youthful face with the innocent
expression. “I don’t think so. And yet . . .” She held the
photo out for Renie’s perusal. “There is something familiar about her. Or maybe I’m imagining things. Do
you recognize this face?”
But Renie didn’t. “Why,” she inquired in a wistful
voice, “are you fixated on Mr. Carp?”
“Because,” Judith replied in a peevish tone, “I don’t
know where to go with this damned mess. I still think
the motive for this crime—if it was a crime—is personal. I don’t believe that anybody under this roof
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301
killed Bruno for professional reasons. Somebody has a
secret that was worth committing murder for, or somebody just plain hated Bruno.”
Renie set her handbag down on the floor and leaned
against the counter. “As in hated him for personal reasons?”
Judith nodded. “Exactly.”
“A woman scorned?” Renie suggested.
“Possibly.”
“Which woman? Wives one through three, or someone who wanted to be number four?”
Judith sighed along with the wind, which was now
a dull moan. “It’s possible. We know nothing about the
personal lives of Eugenia Fleming or Winifred Best.”
“Eugenia?” Renie wrinkled her pug nose. “Hardly
the type you’d expect a bigwig producer to marry.”
“We might say Eugenia isn’t the right type,” Judith
pointed out, “but that doesn’t mean Eugenia would
agree.”
“Winifred?”
“She’s been a wife, in a way,” Judith said. “Women
who work closely with men are like wives.”
“True,” Renie said. “I’ve seen it in the corporate
world. The business partner, the executive secretary,
the special assistant. It’s not usually a sexual relationship, but sometimes it is. And of course one of the parties may suffer from unrequited love.”
“I think we can scratch Ellie and Angela,” Judith
mused. “They owe their careers to him in some way—
despite the Big Flop—but I can’t picture either of them
panting with desire for Bruno.”
“Power’s a great aphrodisiac, though,” Renie noted.
“Still . . .” She gave a shake of her head.
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Mary Daheim
“We’re on the wrong track there,” Judith said.
“We’re back to professional motives. I wish we knew
why Winifred is so reluctant to talk about her brief career as a singer.”
“Because it was so brief?” Renie offered.
“I think it’s more than that,” Judith said. “I think that
the brevity of her musical career could be a secret
worth keeping.”
Renie didn’t bother to stifle a big yawn. “I’ve got to
head home. The fog’s just about gone and the wind’s
dying down. If I had to, I could drive with my feet.”
“That might be an improvement,” Judith murmured.
“Sometimes you’re not so hot at using your hands.”
“Funny, coz,” Renie said sarcastically. “Talk to you
in the morning.”
As Renie left via the back door, Judith glanced at
the schoolhouse clock. It was almost midnight, the
witching hour on Halloween.
Maybe she wasn’t losing her mind. Maybe she
wasn’t even losing her nerve.
But she still believed she could be losing Hillside
Manor.
NINETEEN
“THE AIRPORT’S STILL closed,” Joe announced as he
brought in the morning paper. “That’s bad news.”
“I didn’t know it was closed,” Judith responded
with a frosty look.
“It’s the fog,” Joe said. “Haven’t you noticed it
settled in again during the night?”
“I haven’t had time to notice anything,” Judith retorted. “I’ve been too busy figuring out what to
serve our unwanted guests for breakfast.”
Joe rested his chin on her shoulder. “Need some
help?”
Judith jerked away from her husband. “Help? Like
what, plugging in the coffeemaker? I already did that.”
“Hey!” Joe sounded offended. “What’s wrong?”
She whirled on him. “What’s wrong? Are you
kidding?”
Joe held up his hands in a defensive gesture.
“Take it easy, Jude-girl. I know you’re upset, but