the door in Judith’s face.
THIRTEEN
JUDITH STOOD ROOTED To the spot, staring at the tape
in her hand. She jumped when Chips Madigan came
into the hall, apparently heading for the bathroom
between Rooms Three and Four.
“Whoa!” he called, a bath towel slung over the
terrycloth robe that reached to his knees. “Sorry.
Did I scare you?”
“Startled is more like it,” Judith said with a weak
smile. “I was lost in thought.”
Ever the director looking for the perfect shot,
Chips half knelt to frame Judith’s stance by
Winifred’s room. “ ‘Shaken innkeeper, anxious about
guest, medium shot.’ ” He stood up and moved
nearer. “ ‘Close-up of innkeeper, looking weary and
somewhat distraught.’ How am I doing?”
“Better than I am,” Judith answered, keeping her
voice down. “How much do you know about
Winifred’s background?”
Chips fingered the towel. “Not much. I mean,
she’s been with Bruno a long time. As far as I
know, she started working for him nine, ten years
ago, after he made his first hit,
ture that won a film-festival prize at PAW in Iowa
City.”
Judith was puzzled. “PAW?”
Chips nodded. “It’s called THAW nowadays. I’m
not sure what it stands for.”
Judith hesitated before posing another question.
Judging from his youthful appearance, she assumed he
was in the same thirty-to thirty-five age group as
Mike. “Do you remember the Demures?” she asked,
holding out the tape.
Chips looked bemused. “Yes . . . yes, I do. They had
a big hit . . . What was it called?”
“ ‘Come Play with Me,’ ” Judith responded. “It’s on
this tape.”
“Right.” The director beamed at Judith. “It was a
single, really popular the year I graduated from high
school. We wanted to play it at our senior prom, but the
principal wouldn’t let us. It was kind of raunchy for
those days. I grew up in a typical Midwestern town,
sort of straitlaced. You know what they say—change
starts on the coasts, and it takes a long time to get to
the middle.”
Judith smiled back. “One of the singers was named
