“Who was that?” Judith inquired.
“Dilys,” Joe replied, looking preoccupied. “Stone
Cold Sam Cairo is in Norway General Hospital with a
heart attack.”
“Oh, no!” Judith exclaimed. “How serious is it?”
“Serious enough, I guess,” Joe said, trying to look
sympathetic but not succeeding very well. “Dilys is
waiting to hear who’ll take over the case with her until
he recovers.”
“I was wondering why we haven’t heard from
downtown,” Judith said. “I thought that Cairo and
Dilys had taken the day off. At least the police haven’t
given up. I mean, they must still believe that Bruno
could have been murdered.”
“It’s high profile,” Joe said. “They have to stay on it,
or they could get sued, too.”
“Don’t mention it.” Judith nodded at Bill. “Go ahead,
what else have you attached to Winifred’s circle?”
“The possibility of a love affair,” Bill replied, “or
her wish to have one with Bruno. Men and women
who work so closely together—especially in the Hollywood atmosphere where sex is so prevalent in every
phase of life. Often, it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just
casual sex. But sometimes it can be more, at least for
one of the parties involved.”
“Say,” Judith put in, “what’s Bruno’s marital track
record? Was he married to anyone besides the starlet
who’s now an emir’s wife in Dubai?”
The others looked blank. Finally, Renie spoke.
“Didn’t Winifred say Bruno’s kids were of college
age? He must have married—what was her name?”
Judith thought hard. “Tamara . . . no, Taryn. Taryn
McGuire.”
Renie gave a brief nod. “Bruno must have married
Taryn at least twenty years ago. It’s hard to imagine
that he never married anyone else. I saw on one of
those discarded statements that he turned fifty-three
this year. Surely he couldn’t be the only man in Hollywood who had just one wife.”
“True,” Judith remarked. “But Winifred didn’t mention any other family except the two children. Let’s
face it, we don’t know much about his background.
Except,” she continued with a wag of her finger, “he
was related to the C. Douglas Carp who wrote
“Ah.” Bill glanced at Renie. “I need an orange pen.”
Dutifully, Renie reached into the box of markers on
the coffee table and handed her husband the object of
his desire.
