Like Dirk Farrar, the next arrival ignored Judith and
the others. Unlike Dirk, the pencil-thin black woman
in the gray Armani suit glided over the threshold as if
she had wheels on her Manolo Blahnik pumps. Once
inside, she joined Bruno Zepf, who had migrated into
the front parlor. The woman closed the parlor door behind her, leaving the cousins and Arlene staring at each
other.
Last but not least was a small, exotic creature who
apparently was communing with the squirrels in the
maple tree near the front of the house.
“Who is that?” Arlene inquired, her pretty face perplexed. “She reminds me of someone.”
30
Mary Daheim
“Ellie Linn-MacDermott,” Renie said. “Except I
think she’s dropped the MacDermott.”
“Y-e-s,” Arlene said slowly, “that’s who she reminds
me of. Ellie Linn-MacDermott. I’ve seen Ellie in two
or three movies. Funny, this girl’s a dead ringer for
her.”
“She is Ellie Linn,” Renie responded, making way
for the chauffeurs, who were carrying in the luggage.
“She has a role in The Gasman.”
“Oh!” Arlene’s hand flew to her mouth and her blue
eyes widened in surprise. “Of course! The actress! Or
is it hot dogs?”
“Both,” said Renie, then jumped out of the way as
the wheels of a large suitcase almost ran over her foot.
“Her father, Heathcliffe MacDermott, is the Wienie
Wizard of the Western World.”
Arlene again looked puzzled. “But this girl . . .” She
waved an arm toward the young woman who was trying to coax one of the squirrels down from the maple
tree. “She looks Chinese.”
“Her mother’s from Hong Kong,” Renie said. “Or
Shanghai. Or someplace like that.”
Judith excused herself to show the drivers where to
stow the luggage upstairs. When she started down
again, Angela La Belle met her on the second landing.
“Where’s my room?” she asked, blinking big brown
eyes that were offset by long lashes that might or might
not have been her own. The lashes, like the eyes, were
dark, and made a striking contrast with the actress’s
waist-length blond hair.
“Um . . .” Judith hesitated. “Let me get the room
chart. I’ll be right back. There’s a settee in the hallway
and a phone, if you need it.”
SILVER SCREAM
31
Without any response, Angela passed on to the second floor. Judith hurried to fetch the room chart, which
she’d left on the entry-hall table. The only thing she remembered was that Bruno Zepf had the largest room,
Number Three, to himself, though he shared the bathroom with Room Four. Judith couldn’t believe that she
was so rattled by a bunch of Hollywood hotshots. After
ten years in the hostelry business, she thought she’d
met just about every type of person from every level of
society. Maybe she was more impressionable than she
realized.
Swiftly, Judith tabulated the guests who had arrived
so far. Unless she was mistaken, at least one of the
members of Bruno’s party hadn’t shown up yet.
“Psst!” Renie hissed from the hallway. “We’re on
the job.”
Judith turned sharply. “You are? Doing what?”
“Plying your guests with adult beverages,” Renie
replied. “Or, in some cases, the freshest of springwaters and a vegetable drink that looks like a science
experiment.”
“Thanks, coz,” Judith said with a grateful smile.
“Thank Arlene for me, too. I’ll be right with you.”
Checking the chart, Judith noted that Winifred Best,
Bruno’s special assistant, was slotted for Room One.
Since there were only three women in the party and Judith had recognized the two actresses, Winifred must
be the Armani-clad black woman who had sailed into
the house and closeted herself with Bruno.
Dirk Farrar and Ben Carmody were sharing Room
Four. Judith wondered how—and why—they’d put up
with such an arrangement. The same could be said for
Angela La Belle and Ellie Linn, who would be staying
32
Mary Daheim
in Room Six. Of course it was only for two nights. Perhaps the proximity to Bruno was worth the sacrifice.
Still, Judith wasn’t accustomed to such self-effacement
among the Well-Heeled.
Room Five had been assigned to The Gasman’s director, Chips Madigan; the film’s screenwriter, Dade
Costello, was set for Room Two, the smallest of the
lodgings. Chart in hand, Judith went back upstairs to
find Angela La Belle.
“Room Six,” Judith said with a cheerful smile.
Angela was sprawled on the settee in the hallway,
leafing through one of the magazines Judith kept
handy for guests. “Okay.” The actress didn’t look up.
“Your key,” Judith said, reaching into the pocket of
her best black flannel slacks. “I’ll give the other one to
Ms. Linn.”
“Fine.” Angela still didn’t look up.
“Your baggage is right there,” Judith said, pointing
to the piled-up suitcases and fold-overs the drivers had
placed in front of Grandma and Grandpa Grover’s old
oak book shelving. “Only Mr. Zepf’s has been put
away because I wasn’t exactly sure who was staying
where. Some of his belongings arrived earlier today
via UPS.”
Angela yawned. “Right.”
Judith gave up and headed past Rooms Four, Five,
and Six to the back stairs. She wanted to pop the appetizers into the oven before she joined her other guests.
Halfway down, she realized she hadn’t given Angela
the front door key along with the one to her room.
Though her hips were growing weary, Judith hurried
back to the second floor.
The settee was empty, the magazine that Angela had
SILVER SCREAM
33
been perusing lay on the floor. Judith frowned. Could
Angela have already collected her luggage and gone
into Room Six so quickly?
The stacks of baggage sat untouched. But the door
to Room Three, Bruno’s room, was ajar.
“Hunh,” Judith said to herself. When she picked up
the copy of In the Mode magazine, she noticed that it
was open to a spread on a recent Hollywood gala. The
large color photo on the left-hand page showed Dirk
Farrar and Angela La Belle with their arms around
each other. The caption read, Super Hunk and the Ul-
timate Babe get cozy at the annual Stars for Scoliosis
Ball. Are Dirk and Angela hearing La Wedding Belles?
Judith wondered if Angela and Dirk had no intention of staying in different rooms.
THREE
RENIE AND ARLENE seemed to have everything under
control. Arlene already claimed to have formed a
fast friendship with Ellie Linn, and insisted that Ben
Carmody would be the perfect husband for her unmarried daughter, Cathy.
“They’re not snooty,” Arlene declared, putting
another batch of puff pastries into the oven. “You
just have to go about it the right way when it comes
to asking questions. For example, when I spoke to
Dirk Farrar about the paternity suit that was in the
news a year ago, I mentioned how wonderful it was