“May I help you?” Judith inquired.

  “You sure didn’t help us before,” the woman asserted, “so I don’t expect you can help us now.”

  The voice sounded familiar, but Judith couldn’t place it. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. This is a B&B. Have you been a guest here on a previous occasion?”

  “Hell, no,” the man responded in a deep bass. “We tried, though.”

  “We need to find the place where they put us instead,” the woman said. “Some fool sent the directions to your B&B instead of the one we got changed to.”

  “Oh!” Judith exclaimed in relief, noticing what appeared to be a rental compact car out in the cul-de-sac. “You must be the Izards. Of course, come in, let me figure out how you can get where you’re going.”

  City maps and guidebooks were kept at the registration desk in the entry hall. Walt Izard showed Judith the address of the substitute inn, which was located about four miles away, near the zoo. She gave him directions while Meg Izard wandered around the big living room.

  “I’d like to check out your place,” she declared, returning to the entry hall. “I want to make sure we’re not getting cheated in case this other B&B isn’t up to snuff. We’d stay with my brother, Will, but his place is too small.”

  “Well…” Judith hesitated. “All right, but don’t take too long. My guests are due at any moment.”

  Meg gave a snort. “Movie folks, right? Think they’re big stuff. Bunch of phonies, if you ask me.”

  Judith hadn’t asked, so she didn’t comment. “The guest rooms are on the second floor. They’re unlocked at present, but please just take a quick look. I have to stay downstairs.”

  “Will do,” Walt replied in the deep voice that seemed too large for his skinny frame.

  Judith stayed by the front door, but the phone rang just as the Izards disappeared around the corner of the second landing.

  It was Alice Kidd, the wife of the other displaced couple. “We’re at Cozy Fan Tutte,” she said, “and I wanted to let you know it’s not nearly as nice as Hillside Manor.”

  Judith knew the establishment, which was located north of the university. It was a veritable stately mansion, Georgian in design, and featured amenities not possessed by Hillside Manor, including a sauna and a whirlpool.

  “That’s very kind of you,” Judith said, hearing the Izards’ footsteps overhead. “I’d love to have you come to Hillside Manor again. I can’t say how sorry I am about the inconvenience.”

  “I suppose,” Alice Kidd said in a slightly wistful voice, “the filmmakers have been given a warm welcome.”

  “They’re not here yet,” Judith replied, jumping slightly as the back door banged open. “Excuse me, Mrs. Kidd, but someone has just arrived. Remember us the next time you visit the area, and enjoy your stay.”

  Clicking off, Judith saw Renie charge out of the dining room. “I’m here. Where’s Hollywood?”

  “They’re late,” Judith noted, glancing at her watch, which told her it was almost five-fifteen. “They probably got stuck in Friday rush-hour traffic coming from the airport.”

  “Probably,” Renie remarked, opening the oven. “No appetizers?”

  “No guests,” Judith said. “I’ll wait until they arrive. Hey, what are you doing here? I don’t need help until tomorrow night.”

  “Yes, you do,” Renie insisted, pointing a finger at her cousin. “You’re already twitching. You’re agitated, uneasy, even a little scared. Hollywood descends upon Hillside Manor. You have to be nervous.”

  “I guess,” Judith admitted, “I am.”

  “So,” Renie said, extending her arms in a gesture of goodwill, “I’m at your disposal.”

  “But what about dinner for Bill and the kids?” Judith inquired.

  “Incredibly,” Renie said, removing a can of Pepsi from the fridge, “Bill informed me that the kiddies are making dinner tonight. Very brave of them.”

  “It would be,” Judith said dryly, “if they were still kiddies. But since they’re all in the thirtysomething range and still living at home…”

  Renie waved a hand. “Don’t remind me. They’re merely a bit slow to develop a sense of independence.”

  “Leeches,” Judith said under her breath as footsteps emanated from the front hall.

  Renie looked startled. “Who’s that? Is Joe home already?”

  “No,” Judith replied, heading out of the kitchen. “It’s my ex-guests, the ones I had to cancel to make room for the movie people. Hang on while I say good-bye.”

  Renie, however, wandered out behind Judith, but stopped in the archway between the dining room and the entry hall. The Izards were at the door, city map in hand.

  “This place isn’t too bad,” Meg Izard allowed. “Maybe next time we come through here, you’ll actually let us stay.”

  “I hope so,” Judith said, not quite truthfully.

  Walt Izard opened the door. “Lousy weather, though.” He gestured outside. “It’s started to rain. Does it really rain here all the time?”

  “Often,” Judith answered, this time with honesty. “Especially this time of year. Windy, too,” she added.

  “Halloween weather, all right,” Meg said with a grimace. “That’s too bad. I hoped we’d have some sun to celebrate our silver anniversary.”

  “Drive safely,” Judith cautioned, moving closer to the Izards in an effort to get them out of the house and into their compact rental. “These streets can be slippery when—”

  She stopped, staring into the cul-de-sac as a pair of limos glided to the curb.

  “Well, well,” Meg Izard muttered, “here come the rich and famous. Let’s get out of their way, Walt. We wouldn’t want to give them any just-plain-folks germs.”

  Judith was too flustered to protest. As the limo doors were opened by their drivers, a third car pulled up and stopped in front of the Steins’ house at the corner.

  “Hey,” called one of the other drivers as a diverse group of people began to emerge from the chauffeur-driven cars, “will somebody move this crate?” The young man gestured at what Judith assumed was the Izards’ rental.

  Both Meg and Walt froze momentarily on the threshold. “Big-shot bastards,” Walt muttered. “To hell with ’em.”

  But Meg had already started for the car. With an annoyed shrug, Walt followed his wife. The couple drove away as Arlene Rankers appeared from the other side of the hedge and the first of the celebrities made their way toward Hillside Manor.

  Although at least a half-dozen people were approaching the front porch in styles ranging from a brisk trot to a languid lope, Judith’s gaze was fixated on just one man, who held a cell phone to his ear: He was almost bald, with a short grizzled beard and a fire-plug build. What little hair he had left had grown out and was tied with a black ribbon into a thin, foot-long ponytail. His cheeks were pitted with old acne scars, and while his movements were controlled, energy exuded from him like sparks from a faulty toaster. Judith realized that she recognized him from casually glimpsed photographs. He was Bruno Zepf, megaproducer and Hollywood legend-in-the-making.

  “Mr. Zepf,” Judith said, putting out her hand.

  “Mr. Zepf,” echoed Renie and Arlene, who had joined Judith on the porch. Renie looked as if she were trying very hard not to be impressed; Arlene appeared close to bursting with unbridled gush.

  Zepf clicked off the cell phone and zeroed in on Judith, his shrewd blue eyes narrowing a bit. “You’re Mrs…. Flynn?”

  “I am.” To her horror, Judith dropped a slight curtsy.

  “Welcome to Hillside Manor,” Arlene burbled, grabbing the hand that Judith had just released. “This is a wonderful B&B. This is a wonderful neighborhood. This is a wonderful city.” She lowered her voice only a jot. “That’s why we’re thinking of moving.”

  Judith and Renie were used to Arlene’s contradictions. Judith flinched, but Bruno apparently hadn’t heard Arlene. He had already moved on to shake Renie’s hand without ever looking right at her, and was now in the entry hall, surveying his new surroundings. Such was his air of possession that Judith felt as if she’d not only rented Bruno a room but sold him the entire house.

  Judith had to force herself to take her eyes off the great man and greet the other guests. She immediately recognized Dirk Farrar and Angela La Belle, whose famous faces had appeared in a series of hit movies. Judith had actually seen two of their films, on video. Just as the pair reached the porch, Judith noticed that Naomi Stein had come out of her house on the corner and Ted Ericson was pulling into his driveway across the street.

  As Ted got out of his car, Dirk Farrar also saw the newcomers. “Beat it, scumbags!” he yelled. “No paparazzi!” Pushing past Angela La Belle and the three-woman welcoming team, he disappeared into the living room.

  With a faint sneer on her face, Angela La Belle ignored the gawking neighbors along with her fellow actor and proceeded up the front steps.

  “Ms. La Belle,” Judith said, gathering her aplomb, “I so enjoyed your performance in”—her mind went blank—“your last movie.”

  Angela’s face, which seemed so angelic on the screen, wore a chilly smile. “Thanks. Where’s the john?”

  “Straight ahead,” Renie said, pointing to the new door that Skjoval Tolvang had recently installed.

  Judith was left to confront a somewhat less familiar face. She racked her brain to recall who else was on Bruno’s guest list.

  “Hi, Mr. Carmody,” Renie said, coming to the rescue. “My husband and I were sorry you didn’t win Best Supporting Actor this year. You were a really great villain in To Die in Davenport.”

  “Thanks,” Ben Carmody replied with what appeared to be a genuine smile. “Face it, I was up against some pretty tough competition.”

  Judith was startled by Carmody’s benign appearance. She was so used to seeing him as the embodiment of evil that she scarcely recognized him. He was tall and lean, much better looking in person than on the screen. Judith shook Ben Carmody’s hand and also received a warm smile.

  Like Dirk Farrar, the next arrival ignored Judith and the others. Unlike Dirk, the pencil-thin black woman in the gray Armani suit glided over the threshold as if she had wheels on her Manolo Blahnik pumps. Once inside, she joined Bruno Zepf, who had migrated into the front parlor. The woman closed the parlor door behind her, leaving the cousins and Arlene staring at each other.

  Last but not least was a small, exotic creature who apparently was communing with the squirrels in the maple tree near the front of the house.

  “Who is that?” Arlene inquired, her pretty face perplexed. “She reminds me of someone.”

  “Ellie Linn-MacDermott,” Renie said. “Except I think she’s dropped the MacDermott.”

  “Y-e-s,” Arlene said slowly, “that’s who she reminds me of. Ellie Linn-MacDermott. I’ve seen Ellie in two or three movies. Funny, this girl’s a dead ringer for her.”

  “She is Ellie Linn,” Renie responded, making way for the chauffeurs, who were carrying in the luggage. “She has a role in The Gasman.”

  “Oh!” Arlene’s hand flew to her mouth and her blue eyes widened in surprise. “Of course! The actress! Or is it hot dogs?”

  “Both,” said Renie, then jumped out of the way as the wheels of a large suitcase almost ran over her foot. “Her father, Heathcliffe MacDermott, is the Wienie Wizard of the Western World.”

  Arlene again looked puzzled. “But this girl…” She waved an arm toward the young woman who was trying to coax one of the squirrels down from the maple tree. “She looks Chinese.”

  “Her mother’s from Hong Kong,” Renie said. “Or Shanghai. Or someplace like that.”

  Judith excused herself to show the drivers where to stow the luggage upstairs. When she started down again, Angela La Belle met her on the second landing.

  “Where’s my room?” she asked, blinking big brown eyes that were offset by long lashes that might or might not have been her own. The lashes, like the eyes, were dark, and made a striking contrast with the actress’s waist-length blond hair.

  “Um…” Judith hesitated. “Let me get the room chart. I’ll be right back. There’s a settee in the hallway and a phone, if you need it.”

  Without any response, Angela passed on to the second floor. Judith hurried to fetch the room chart, which she’d left on the entry-hall table. The only thing she remembered was that Bruno Zepf had the largest room, Number Three, to himself, though he shared the bathroom with Room Four. Judith couldn’t believe that she was so rattled by a bunch of Hollywood hotshots. After ten years in the hostelry business, she thought she’d met just about every type of person from every level of society. Maybe she was more impressionable than she realized.

  Swiftly, Judith tabulated the guests who had arrived so far. Unless she was mistaken, at least one of the members of Bruno’s party hadn’t shown up yet.

  “Psst!” Renie hissed from the hallway. “We’re on the job.”

  Judith turned sharply. “You are? Doing what?”

  “Plying your guests with adult beverages,” Renie replied. “Or, in some cases, the freshest of spring-waters and a vegetable drink that looks like a science experiment.”

  “Thanks, coz,” Judith said with a grateful smile. “Thank Arlene for me, too. I’ll be right with you.”

  Checking the chart, Judith noted that Winifred Best, Bruno’s special assistant, was slotted for Room One. Since there were only three women in the party and Judith had recognized the two actresses, Winifred must be the Armani-clad black woman who had sailed into the house and closeted herself with Bruno.

  Dirk Farrar and Ben Carmody were sharing Room Four. Judith wondered how—and why—they’d put up with such an arrangement. The same could be said for Angela La Belle and Ellie Linn, who would be staying in Room Six. Of course it was only for two nights. Perhaps the proximity to Bruno was worth the sacrifice. Still, Judith wasn’t accustomed to such self-effacement among the Well-Heeled.

  Room Five had been assigned to The Gasman’s director, Chips Madigan; the film’s screenwriter, Dade Costello, was set for Room Two, the smallest of the lodgings. Chart in hand, Judith went back upstairs to find Angela La Belle.

  “Room Six,” Judith said with a cheerful smile.

  Angela was sprawled on the settee in the hallway, leafing through one of the magazines Judith kept handy for guests. “Okay.” The actress didn’t look up.

  “Your key,” Judith said, reaching into the pocket of her best black flannel slacks. “I’ll give the other one to Ms. Linn.”

  “Fine.” Angela still didn’t look up.

  “Your baggage is right there,” Judith said, pointing to the piled-up suitcases and fold-overs the drivers had placed in front of Grandma and Grandpa Grover’s old oak book shelving. “Only Mr. Zepf’s has been put away because I wasn’t exactly sure who was staying where. Some of his belongings arrived earlier today via UPS.”

  Angela yawned. “Right.”

  Judith gave up and headed past Rooms Four, Five, and Six to the back stairs. She wanted to pop the appetizers into the oven before she joined her other guests. Halfway down, she realized she hadn’t given Angela the front door key along with the one to her room. Though her hips were growing weary, Judith hurried back to the second floor.

  The settee was empty, the magazine that Angela had been perusing lay on the floor. Judith frowned. Could Angela have already collected her luggage and gone into Room Six so quickly?

  The stacks of baggage sat untouched. But the door to Room Three, Bruno’s room, was ajar.

  “Hunh,” Judith said to herself. When she picked up the copy of In the Mode magazine, she noticed that it was open to a spread on a recent Hollywood gala. The large color photo on the left-hand page showed Dirk Farrar and Angela La Belle with their arms around each other. The caption read, Super Hunk and the Ultimate Babe get cozy at the annual Stars for Scoliosis Ball. Are Dirk and Angela hearing La Wedding Belles?

  Judith wondered if Angela and Dirk had no intention of staying in different rooms.

  THREE

  RENIE AND ARLENE seemed to have everything under control. Arlene already claimed to have formed a fast friendship with Ellie Linn, and insisted that Ben Carmody would be the perfect husband for her unmarried daughter, Cathy.

  “They’re not snooty,” Arlene declared, putting another batch of puff pastries into the oven. “You just have to go about it the right way when it comes to asking questions. For example, when I spoke to Dirk Farrar about the paternity suit that was in the news a year ago, I mentioned how wonderful it was to be a parent. Then I asked how he liked being called Daddy. So simple.”

  “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 pâté 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 The Gasman? He’s been telling me all about the script.”