Old South in his voice.
“Oh.” Judith’s phony expression turned to genuine
confusion. “I thought you wrote the script.”
“I did.” Dade stuck his hands in his pockets. “But
the story isn’t the script.”
Judith waited for an explanation, but none was
forthcoming. “You mean . . . you adapted the story?”
Dade nodded. “My script was based on a novel.”
“I see.” Judith understood that this was often the
case. “Did the book have the same title?”
Again, Dade nodded, but offered no details. For a
man of words, Dade Costello didn’t seem to have
many at his command in a social situation. Maybe, Judith thought, that was why writers wrote instead of
talked.
“I never heard of the book,” she admitted. “Was it
published recently?”
This time, Dade shook his head. “No. It’s been
around awhile.”
“Oh.” Now Judith seemed at a loss to make conversation. She was about to excuse herself when Dade
rapped softly on one of the panes in the French doors.
“There’s a head in your backyard,” he said.
Judith gave a start. “What?”
Dade’s thumb gestured out past the porch that
flanked the rear of the house. “A head. It’s been sitting
there for at least five minutes.”
Judith tried not to shriek. “Where?”
“There.” Dade pointed to a spot almost out of their
line of vision. “See it? On top of those bushes.”
Judith stared. “Oh!” she exclaimed in relief. “That’s
not a head, it’s my mother. I mean . . .” With a rattle of
the handle, she opened the French doors. “Excuse me,
I’d better see what she’s doing out there.”
Despite the rain, Gertrude wore neither coat nor
head covering. She stood next to the lily-of-the-valley
bush, leaning on her walker and panting. At the foot of
the porch steps, Bruno Zepf hovered in the shelter of
the eaves with his head cocked to one side.
“So,” Bruno was saying to Gertrude, “you actually
survived the
“You bet,” Gertrude replied, catching her breath.
“It’s a good thing I could swim.”
“Mother!” Judith spoke sharply as she moved to
take Gertrude’s arm. “It’s raining. What are you
doing out here?” She darted a glance at Bruno. “Excuse me, Mr. Zepf, but my mother shouldn’t be outdoors without a coat or a rain hat. I’ll take her back
inside.”
But Gertrude batted Judith’s hand away. “Stop that!
I’m not finished yet with this fine young Hollywood
