seat with her feet tucked under her. It seemed to Judith
that the young actress hadn’t been nearly as vocal
about the unfortunate movie premiere as her colleagues.
It was time, Judith believed, to cut someone from
the herd. She singled out Winifred Best.
“Excuse me,” she said in a deferential voice, “but
could I speak with you privately, Ms. Best?”
Briefly, Winifred looked hostile. Or maybe just
wary. But her response was sufficiently courteous.
“Yes, if you like.”
Judith led her guest into the front parlor. “It’s really
none of my business, but since I’ll have to fill out some
forms, I should know what the plans are for Mr. Zepf’s
body.”
“Oh.” Winifred’s face fell. “I’ve contacted his children—they’re both in the L.A. area—and they’re making the arrangements. My understanding is that the
body will be shipped from here tomorrow. Under the
circumstances, I should think any kind of service will
be private. Very private.” She uttered the last words
through taut lips.
Judith wondered if the very private services were
because the family was very private or because the deceased had suffered a huge professional catastrophe
and the survivors were afraid that nobody would attend.
“Are his children grown?” Judith inquired.
Winifred nodded. “Practically. That is, they’re both
in college. Greta’s at Pepperdine and Greg just started
USC.”
“Um . . .” Judith cleared her throat. “Is their mother
also in L.A.?”
Winifred arched her thin eyebrows. “Their mother is
in Dubai. She divorced Bruno several years ago and
married an emir. She was an actress named Taryn
McGuire. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d never heard
of her. She did mostly TV and only appeared briefly in
two or three feature films.”
The name meant nothing to Judith. “I suppose being
married to Bruno wasn’t easy,” she said in a sympa-
thetic tone. “That is, he really was considered a movie
genius, wasn’t he?”
“Brilliant.” Winifred’s eyes lit up and her voice became almost caressing. “He always had his dreams.
Bruno attended every Saturday matinee, his attention
fixated on the screen, his imagination catching fire.
Early on, he understood what made a successful picture. It was born in him.”
Judith felt as if Winifred were reading from a press
release. Maybe she was; maybe she’d written it.
“It was only in the last six or seven years that he began
