“What did he say?” Judith inquired.
“Oh, it was very cute,” Arlene replied breezily.
“He sort of hung his head and mumbled something
about ‘mother’ and ‘Tucker.’ I think he said
‘Tucker.’ That must be the little fellow’s name.”
The cousins exchanged bemused glances before
Judith carried a tray of French pate and English
crackers into the living room. Dirk Farrar, with a cell
phone affixed to his ear, lazed on one of the matching sofas by the fireplace while Ellie Linn and
Winifred Best sat opposite him. Winifred was also
using a cell phone. Ben Carmody was examining the
built-in bookcases next to the bay window. A big shambling man in khaki cargo pants, plaid shirt, and suede
vest had his back turned and was staring out through
the French doors. There was no sign of Bruno Zepf.
Judith cleared her throat. “I’ll be serving the hors
d’oeuvres in just a few minutes,” she announced.
Only Ben Carmody looked at her. “Sounds good.
I’m kind of hungry.”
Winifred Best’s head twisted around. “You should
have eaten more of Bruno’s buffet on the plane. You
know he always serves excellent food.”
With an off-center grin, Ben shrugged. “I wasn’t
hungry then.”
Renie, who had been out in the kitchen with Arlene,
joined Judith. “Hey, coz,” she said brightly, “have you
met Dade Costello, the screenwriter for
He’s been telling me all about the script.”
Judith nodded toward the big man by the French
doors. Renie’s nod confirmed his identity.
“I’ll introduce myself,” Judith murmured. Passing
through the living room, she caught a few cutting remarks:
“. . . worse than that no-star hotel in Oman . . .”
“. . . If I’d wanted to stay in a phone booth, I’d prefer it was in Paris. . . .”
“. . . bath towels like sandpaper. Whatever happened
to plush nubbiness? Atlanta was nubby, but Miami was
the nubbiest . . .”
Wincing, Judith arrived at Dade Costello’s elbow
before he turned around. “I’m Judith Flynn,” she said,
putting out a hand. “Your innkeeper.”
“That right?” Dade shook Judith’s hand without enthusiasm. Or maybe because he was so big, he’d
learned to be gentle with somewhat smaller creatures.
“Yes.” Judith’s smile felt false. “I’m interested in
the story behind
Dade’s ordinary features looked pained. He had
bushy dark hair dusted with gray, and overly long sideburns. “It’s not my story,” he said, with a trace of the
