Silver Scream, page 29
part #18 of Bed and Breakfast Series
Meg reached into her purse. “Okay,” she said. “But not yet.” In her hand was a .45 revolver. No doubt it had been used previously to shoo away unwelcome birds and even more unwelcome strangers on the Izard farm.
Judith tensed in her chair. Her feet were planted firmly on the floor, her fingers gripping the table’s edge. “Why would you shoot me?” she asked in a voice that didn’t sound like her own.
“I want my book,” Meg said, now holding the gun with both hands. “Give me my book.”
“Okay.” Judith forced herself to move. “May I?”
“Yes.” Meg stood up. “No tricks, just my book.”
It had never been harder for Judith to walk, not even when she’d taken her first tenuous steps after hip surgery. Slowly, agonizingly, she made her way to the drawer by the computer. Keeping one hand in full sight, she reached down to get the book.
“Here,” she said, still moving with difficulty. “Here’s your book.”
Meg removed her left hand from the gun and took the heavy volume from Judith. “Thank you,” she said with great dignity. She clasped The Gasman to her flat breast and slipped the gun back into her purse. “Goodbye.”
Judith stared as Meg walked toward the entry hall. The other woman moved slowly now, almost decorously, to the front door. Trying to control a sudden spasm of trembling, Judith started to follow. But Meg had closed the door behind her before Judith could get beyond the dining room.
“My God!” Judith exclaimed under her breath, and leaned against the wall.
She took several breaths before she could go on. Finally, she reached the door just as the shot rang out. Judith had expected it. She didn’t want to look outside, but she had to.
Meg Izard was lying facedown at the sidewalk’s edge. Her copy of The Gasman had fallen in the gutter.
Judith inspected the items on the silver tray and decided to start breakfast with the fruit compote. “How’s your omelette?” she asked of Joe, who was sitting in a plush armchair with his tray on his lap.
“Excellent,” he replied. “I couldn’t have made a better one myself. The Cascadia Hotel has one of the best chefs on the West Coast.”
“I have to admit it,” Judith said with a pleasurable little smile, “this is heaven.”
“As long as we’ve been turned out of our house, we might as well make the most of it,” Joe said, his green-eyed gaze taking in the extensive hotel suite with its lavish old-world appointments. “Especially since Paradox Studios is paying for it.”
“I can’t believe they ended up paying us,” Judith remarked, admiring the thick slice of Virginia ham on the white Limoges plate. “Twenty-five thousand dollars, plus our expenses. And the insurance money for the fire—I’m wondering if we shouldn’t keep the B&B closed for a while. Business gets increasingly slow this time of year. We could make some renovations I’ve been thinking about.”
“You decide,” Joe said.
“We might even enlarge the toolshed for Mother now that she’s gotten used to being out of it for a few days while the major work is being done to the house.”
“I still say all the noise of the construction wouldn’t have bothered her,” Joe asserted. “She’s deaf, she’s daffy.”
“She’s also selling her life story to the movies,” Judith pointed out. “At least she hopes so.”
Joe merely shook his head. He didn’t notice that his wife was staring at him.
“I’m not so hungry anymore,” Judith said softly. She put the tray aside. “At least not for breakfast.”
“What?” Joe looked up from his marmalade-covered toast. He grinned. “Well, now. Maybe I’m not either. But do you really want to let things cool off?”
“That depends on what you’re talking about,” Judith replied.
Joe set his tray down on a French marquetry table and moved toward her. “You’re right. Seize the moment.” Instead, he climbed onto the king-size bed and seized his wife around the waist.
“Oh, Joe.” Judith sighed, her lips against his cheek. “This is perfect!”
A knock sounded at the door.
“Damn!” Judith breathed. “Shall I get it?”
Joe buried his face in the bare curve of her shoulder. “No,” he said, his voice muffled.
The knock sounded again, louder, more insistent.
“We’d better answer that,” Judith said through clenched teeth. “Whoever it is will go away fast enough.” Pulling her terrycloth robe closed, she slipped off the bed and went to the door.
Gertrude stood in the hallway. “Where’s my breakfast?”
Judith gaped at her mother. “Didn’t you order from room service?”
“Of course not,” Gertrude shot back. “You know how I hate to use the phone.” She and her walker clumped past Judith and into the room. “Lunkhead here can order for me. And what’s this leaving a newspaper outside my door? I’m not paying for it. I get my news on TV. Why are people always giving me things to read that I don’t want? Even that nice Dade Whoozits brought me some goofy script when he was here, all about the Mormons. Now why would I want to read such a thing? I’m not a Mormon. I’m a Catholic and a Democrat. I just put that script in the barbecue and set a match to it. I think I’ll do the same thing with that newspaper. It’s not even local.” Gertrude ran out of breath, but not for long. She glared at Joe. “Where’s my breakfast?”
Judith proffered her own tray. “Here. I’ve lost my appetite.”
As Gertrude sat down in the armchair Joe had vacated, Judith cast a longing look at her husband. Joe simply shook his head.
“Hey,” Gertrude cried, “where are my dentures?”
“In your mouth,” Judith responded a bit testily.
“Oh.” Gertrude began to eat. After swallowing a mouthful of omelette, she stared at her daughter. “Where’s that danged cat?”
“In your room, remember?” Judith said.
“Maybe not,” Joe put in. He gestured at Judith. “Let’s go look for him.”
Judith started to protest, caught the gleam in Joe’s eyes, and agreed. They’d search for Sweetums.
“Take your time eating, Mother,” Judith called over her shoulder as they headed for Gertrude’s adjoining room.
Hand in hand, Judith and Joe hurried out of the suite.
If life wasn’t perfect, this was the next best thing.
About the Author
Seattle native MARY RICHARDSON DAHEIM began reading mysteries when she was seven. She began her writing career about the same time, but after getting a journalism degree, she put her skills to use on newspapers and in public relations. Publishing novels was always her goal, and she finally hit the racks with her first B&B mystery in 1991, adding the Alpine series the next year. Daheim received the Pacific Northwest Writers Association’s Achievement Award in 2000. She lives with her husband, David Daheim, in Seattle.
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Praise
“MARY DAHEIM IS THE REIGNING QUEEN OF THE COZIES”
Portland Oregonian
“Delightful mysteries.”
Kansas City Star
“Daheim writes with wit, wisdom, and a big heart…Judith and Renie are sleuths to treasure.”
Carolyn Hart
“Silver Scream is a pleasing addition to a joyous series.”
Romantic Times
“Like Joan Hess’ Maggody series, Daheim’s bed-and-breakfast mysteries show a funny and often stinging insight into people’s relationships and behavior.”
Houston Chronicle
“Rife with loony Hollywood types, Mary Daheim’s latest is a ‘Scream.’”
Stuart News (Fl.)
“Mary Daheim is one of the brightest stars in our city’s literary constellation.”
Seattle Times
“Silver Scream is a must read…If you’re not familiar with award-winning author Mary Daheim, become so.”
I Love A Mystery
Bed-and-Breakfast Mysteries by Mary Daheim
SILVER SCREAM
SUTURE SELF
A STREETCAR NAMED EXPIRE
CREEPS SUZETTE
LEGS BENEDICT
SNOW PLACE TO DIE
WED AND BURIED
SEPTEMBER MOURN
NUTTY AS A FRUITCAKE
AUNTIE MAYHEM
MURDER, MY SUITE
MAJOR VICES
A FIT OF TEMPERA
BANTAM OF THE OPERA
DUNE TO DEATH
HOLY TERRORS
FOWL PREY
JUST DESSERTS
Available in hardcover
HOCUS CROAKUS
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SILVER SCREAM. Copyright © 2002 by Mary Daheim. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub © Edition FEBRUARY 2007 ISBN: 9780061736797
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Mary Daheim, Silver Scream
