Read Online Silver Scream: A Bed-And-Breakfast Mystery by Mary Daheim - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mary Daheim
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annoyance. “If you want something pressed, you’ll have to take it up to the cleaners at the top of the hill.”
Winifred’s dark eyes snapped. “We’re not running errands. Since you don’t have a laundry service today and it seems you’re the innkeeper and concierge, taking care of the costumes falls on you. The costumes must be back by four. Don’t worry, you can send the bill to Bruno.”
For a long moment Judith stared at Winifred, who was again attired in Armani. Her only accessory was a slim gold bracelet on her left wrist. If she wore makeup, it was too discreet to be noticeable. Late thirties or maybe forty, Judith guessed, and a life that may have been difficult. The Hollywood part, anyway. Judith wondered what it was like for a woman—a black woman especially—to wield such power as assistant to the biggest producer in filmdom.
Nor were Winifred’s demands entirely outrageous. If it hadn’t been for Bruno’s superstition about staying in a B&B before a premiere, Winifred and the others would be ensconced in luxury at the Cascadia Hotel with every convenience at their fingertips.
“Okay,” Judith said. “I’ll take the stuff up to Arlecchino’s. It’s a costume shop, so they’ll know exactlyhow to handle the garments and whatever other items need to be fluffed up.”
The faintest look of relief passed over Winifred’s face. “Thank you,” she said.
Judith thought the woman sounded almost sincere, though that was a word she knew she probably shouldn’t apply to anyone from Hollywood. The coffee, which looked strong enough to melt tires, was ready just as Chips Madigan loped into the dining room.
“Hey, Win, hey, Mrs. Flynn,” he said with a cheerful expression. “Hey—that rhymes! I should have been a writer, not a director.” Abruptly, the grin he’d been wearing turned down. “I guess,” he muttered, pulling out one of the chairs from Grandpa and Grandma Grover’s oak set, “I shouldn’t say stuff like that.”
“No, you shouldn’t,” Winifred said with a warning glance.
The guests trickled down for the next hour and a half, creating a frustrating breakfast service for Judith. Normally, she prepared three basic items and offered appropriate side dishes. But the menu requirements for the Hollywood people were vast and varied. Angela La Belle desired coconut milk, kiwi fruit, and yogurt. Dirk Farrar requested a sirloin steak, very rare, with raw eggplant and tomato slices. Ellie Linn ordered kippers on toast and Crenshaw melon. Ben Carmody preferred an omelette with red, green, and yellow peppers topped with Muenster cheese. An apparently restored Bruno Zepf downed a great many pills, which may or may not have been vitamins, shared the strong coffee with Winifred, and ate half a grapefruit and a slice of dry whole-wheat toast. Chips Madigan asked for cornflakes.
Dade Costello never showed. The moody screen-writer had gone for a walk, said Ellie Linn. He wasn’t hungry. Nobody seemed curious about his defection.
The omnipresent cell phones were in use again, especially by Bruno, Winifred, and Ben. Somehow they all seemed capable of talking to whoever was on the other end of the line and to members of the party at the table. Between rustling up the various breakfast items and making what seemed like a hundred trips in and out of the dining room, Judith caught snatches of conversation. Most of it dealt with the logistics of the premiere and how to deal with the media. It struck Judith that the only topic of conversation the group shared was the movie business. Maybe it was the only thing that really mattered to them. She tuned her guests out and got on with the task of running Hillside Manor.
As soon as she finished clearing up the kitchen, Judith called Renie. “Give me the details,” she requested. “Who’s marrying whom?”
An elaborate sigh went out over the phone line. “I’m not sure I’ve got all this straight myself. Tom’s fiancée is the daughter of a
Winifred’s dark eyes snapped. “We’re not running errands. Since you don’t have a laundry service today and it seems you’re the innkeeper and concierge, taking care of the costumes falls on you. The costumes must be back by four. Don’t worry, you can send the bill to Bruno.”
For a long moment Judith stared at Winifred, who was again attired in Armani. Her only accessory was a slim gold bracelet on her left wrist. If she wore makeup, it was too discreet to be noticeable. Late thirties or maybe forty, Judith guessed, and a life that may have been difficult. The Hollywood part, anyway. Judith wondered what it was like for a woman—a black woman especially—to wield such power as assistant to the biggest producer in filmdom.
Nor were Winifred’s demands entirely outrageous. If it hadn’t been for Bruno’s superstition about staying in a B&B before a premiere, Winifred and the others would be ensconced in luxury at the Cascadia Hotel with every convenience at their fingertips.
“Okay,” Judith said. “I’ll take the stuff up to Arlecchino’s. It’s a costume shop, so they’ll know exactlyhow to handle the garments and whatever other items need to be fluffed up.”
The faintest look of relief passed over Winifred’s face. “Thank you,” she said.
Judith thought the woman sounded almost sincere, though that was a word she knew she probably shouldn’t apply to anyone from Hollywood. The coffee, which looked strong enough to melt tires, was ready just as Chips Madigan loped into the dining room.
“Hey, Win, hey, Mrs. Flynn,” he said with a cheerful expression. “Hey—that rhymes! I should have been a writer, not a director.” Abruptly, the grin he’d been wearing turned down. “I guess,” he muttered, pulling out one of the chairs from Grandpa and Grandma Grover’s oak set, “I shouldn’t say stuff like that.”
“No, you shouldn’t,” Winifred said with a warning glance.
The guests trickled down for the next hour and a half, creating a frustrating breakfast service for Judith. Normally, she prepared three basic items and offered appropriate side dishes. But the menu requirements for the Hollywood people were vast and varied. Angela La Belle desired coconut milk, kiwi fruit, and yogurt. Dirk Farrar requested a sirloin steak, very rare, with raw eggplant and tomato slices. Ellie Linn ordered kippers on toast and Crenshaw melon. Ben Carmody preferred an omelette with red, green, and yellow peppers topped with Muenster cheese. An apparently restored Bruno Zepf downed a great many pills, which may or may not have been vitamins, shared the strong coffee with Winifred, and ate half a grapefruit and a slice of dry whole-wheat toast. Chips Madigan asked for cornflakes.
Dade Costello never showed. The moody screen-writer had gone for a walk, said Ellie Linn. He wasn’t hungry. Nobody seemed curious about his defection.
The omnipresent cell phones were in use again, especially by Bruno, Winifred, and Ben. Somehow they all seemed capable of talking to whoever was on the other end of the line and to members of the party at the table. Between rustling up the various breakfast items and making what seemed like a hundred trips in and out of the dining room, Judith caught snatches of conversation. Most of it dealt with the logistics of the premiere and how to deal with the media. It struck Judith that the only topic of conversation the group shared was the movie business. Maybe it was the only thing that really mattered to them. She tuned her guests out and got on with the task of running Hillside Manor.
As soon as she finished clearing up the kitchen, Judith called Renie. “Give me the details,” she requested. “Who’s marrying whom?”
An elaborate sigh went out over the phone line. “I’m not sure I’ve got all this straight myself. Tom’s fiancée is the daughter of a
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