Silver Scream : A Bed-and-breakfast Mystery

Cedar Falls, Iowa, in 1907, the son of Louis Franklin

Carp and Annabelle Ernestine Carp (nee Morgan). An

outstanding student, Carp began his epic novel of civ-

ilization, The Gasman, while still attending Northern

Iowa State Teachers College. While Carp’s fictional

style has been criticized by some as tedious, pedantic,

and maladroit, his meticulous attention to historical

detail and his accuracy have merited praise from oth-

ers. Although the novel never sold well except to li-

braries, his next work, a nonfiction treatise on the

Dahlak Archipelago, was eagerly awaited by scholars.

Unfortunately, Carp suffered from severe alcoholism,

and died at the age of thirty-eight, leaving the two-

hundred-thousand-word tome unfinished. His son,

William Euclid Carp, and his daughter, Marguerite

Louisa Carp, attempted to find a publisher for the

work in the mid-1960s, but without success.”

“No kidding,” Judith said. “Where’s the Dahlak

Archipelago?”

Renie shrugged. “Wherever it is, I doubt that it’s a

major book market.”

“Pappy,” Judith said thoughtfully. “Whose Pappy?”

“You mean in reference to the guests?”

“Yes. Nobody would call someone Pappy—especially a man who died quite young—unless he was

their father or the father of someone they knew.”

Renie rested her chin on her fist. “I’m not sure why

it matters. Aren’t you grasping at straws?”

“Of course I am,” Judith said testily. “I’m desperate.”

SILVER SCREAM

291

“Okay.” Renie’s tone was unusually agreeable.

“Pappy Carp is dead. He died in 1945 or thereabouts,

right? Which means that if any of these people are his

offspring, it has to be someone over fifty. Bruno’s

out—his father was a German war groom. Dade,

Chips, Ben, Dirk, and Angela are too young. Did you

say Angela’s real last name is Flynn?”

“I did. It is.” Judith was still a bit testy.

“Rule Ellie out because her father is alive and hustling hot dogs,” Renie said. “That leaves Eugenia,

Morris, and . . . Vito?”

“Vito wasn’t here for the postpremiere supper,” Judith pointed out.

“Are you sure?”

Judith gave Renie a peculiar look. “What do you

mean?”

“How do you know that someone didn’t change costumes? Or that there weren’t two Arabian sheikhs or a

pair of matching Gutenbergs?” Renie demanded.

Judith considered the idea. “But never in the same

room at the same time,” she murmured. “It’s a thought.

There’s another thing we might have overlooked—