kitchen, the dining room, and disappeared.
“Good grief,” Judith muttered. “I hope Mother
wasn’t telling Dade a bunch of tales like she did with
Bruno.”
“I wouldn’t put it past her,” Renie said.
Half an hour later the limo drivers arrived, along
with a small van in which the other costumes were
loaded. The guests straggled downstairs, Bruno and
Winifred first, then Dirk Farrar, Chips Madigan, and
Angela La Belle. Ben Carmody came next, apparently none the worse for his three shots of vodka.
Ellie Linn descended the stairs backward, humming
to herself. Finally, Dade Costello appeared. As usual,
he seemed to detach himself from the others as the
limos filled up.
Judith and Renie watched from the entry hall. At
precisely five o’clock, the trio of sleek white cars
pulled out of the cul-de-sac like so many ghosts floating just above the ground. Blurred by the rain, even the
headlights seemed ethereal in the gathering darkness.
“To work!” Renie exclaimed, holding up a finger
and marching into the kitchen.
But Judith paused at the foot of the stairs. “Now that
they’re gone, I’ll straighten their rooms. Arlene should
be here to help in about twenty minutes.”
The state of the guest rooms was no better and no
worse than when they were used by more ordinary
mortals. Indeed, Dade Costello’s small quarters looked
as if it had never been occupied. The bed was made,
the bureau was bare, and no clothes had been hung in
the closet. Everything that Dade had brought with him
appeared to be contained in a suitcase and a briefcase.
Both were locked.
Though it showed signs of human habitation,
Winifred’s room was also orderly; so was that of Chips
Madigan. The bathroom that Chips shared with Ellie
and Angela was another matter. Hairdryers, curling
irons, magnifying mirrors, and at least two dozen
beauty products were strewn everywhere. Judith
looked around the sink for any signs of what Joe had
deemed to be cocaine. There were none.
Room Six, where the two actresses were bunking
together, was as untidy as the bathroom. Clothes were
everywhere, all casual, all bearing designer labels. At
least ten pairs of shoes littered the floor. Upon closer
scrutiny, Judith saw that except for some size-four
cross-trainers and strappy sandals, the rest belonged to
Angela’s size-seven feet.
In Room Four, Dirk and Ben’s movie stardom was
