“No,” Judith said. “I thought she’d pitch a fit.”

Renie got up from her kneeling position. “What

time do they leave for the premiere?”

“Five,” Judith replied, heading for the kitchen.

“That doesn’t give them much time to dress,” Renie

pointed out.

84

Mary Daheim

“They’re dressing at the hotel with the others,” Judith said, putting a mixture of salmon pate into the

food processor. “The movie theater is just a minute’s

walk from the Cascadia, but they’ll still show up in

limos, so I suppose they’ll drive around the block a

couple of times first.”

“It’ll be a mob scene,” Renie remarked, cutting up

scallions. Her gaze traveled to the American artists’

calendar she’d given Judith for Christmas. “Say, how

much have you learned about twentieth-century

painters from that? I hoped it would be a teaching

tool.”

“I’ve learned there are a lot of them I don’t like,” Judith replied. “I must admit, though, September taught

me something. I didn’t realize that John Singer Sargent

painted anything but portraits.”

Renie went over to the wall and flipped back a page.

“Ah— Spain. Sunlight and tiled roofs and fat green

plants in terra-cotta pots. Done with daubs and blobs.

Very different from Madame X.” She returned to dicing

vegetables. “How many are coming for the midnight

supper?”

“The current guest list,” Judith said, “plus a few others connected with the film.”

“Not the entire Hollywood crew?”

Judith shook her head as she went to the pantry to

get a jar of mayonnaise. “This bunch will mingle with

the others at the costume ball in the hotel.”

“I hope they don’t stay late,” Renie called after her

cousin. “You know how Bill likes to make an early

evening of it.”

“He’ll have to tough it out tonight,” Judith said,

holding the jar of mayo and glancing out the back-door

SILVER SCREAM

85

window. “I really appreciate—” She stopped. “There’s

Dade Costello. He just came out of the toolshed.”

The screenwriter shambled along the walk, indifferent to the rain that had begun to fall again. Judith

opened the door for him.

“Hi,” she said. “Were you visiting my mother?”

“Mrs. Grover?” Dade nodded. “Interesting woman.”

“She is?” Judith bit her tongue. “I mean, you found

her interesting.”

“Yes.” Dade proceeded down the hall, through the

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