“They’re still in Bruno’s room,” Winifred said, exhibiting the delicacy of a neurosurgeon in placing the damaged Scarlett O’Hara costume into a garment bag. “The masks are ready. Yours is marked with your name on the inside.”

  “Great.” Ellie stood up. “Wow”—she giggled—“Angela’s going to be wild! I’ll tell her what happened to her costume. You know—it’ll save you the trouble, Win.” This time, her giggle sounded slightly sinister as she headed for the entry hall.

  “Ellie,” Winifred called after her, “don’t be mean! Angela has enough problems as it is.”

  Halfway up the stairs, Ellie leaned over the banister. “Hey, Win, that’s not entirely my fault, is it?” The young actress skipped up the steps, long hair swinging behind her.

  “I suppose,” Judith said in a musing tone as she put Dirk Farrar’s doublet and hose into another garment bag, “there’s bound to be jealousy between actresses like Ellie and Angela.”

  Winifred shot Judith a sidelong look. “Oh, yes. You’ve no idea.”

  Judith dared to risk a thorny question: “Enough that Ellie would slash Angela’s gown?”

  “No,” Winifred said flatly. “Ellie Linn doesn’t have to resort to cheap stunts like that.”

  Emboldened, Judith was about to ask why not when Renie gave a shout from the kitchen.

  “I’m here. I’m early. I’m out of my mind.”

  Judith looked at her cousin, who had come into the hallway and definitely appeared a little deranged. Her hair, which was rarely combed unless she was attending a business meeting or a social event, was going off in every direction of the compass. A smudge of dirt stood out on one cheek and a pair of red socks peeked through the holes in her shoes. Even the ratty-sweatshirt-and-baggy-pants combination that made up Renie’s working ensemble was more disreputable than usual. And old. The sweatshirt featured the Minnesota Twins World Series victory in 1991.

  “Good grief,” Judith breathed, “you do look sort of awful.”

  “I know.” Renie, who was carrying a large suitcase, offered Winifred a desultory wave. “I had to get out of the house. The children are arguing about who should get married first. Bill left early for a very long walk, maybe all the way to Wisconsin.”

  Judith pointed to the suitcase. “Is that your costume?”

  “Mine and Bill’s,” Renie replied. “We dumped the pumpkin idea. Bill’s glasses kept getting steamed up. Oh!” she exclaimed, showing a spark of animation. “Look at those costumes. They’re beautiful, and they look familiar.”

  Judith and Winifred explained how and why the costumes had been chosen, then told Renie about the damage that had been done to Angela’s.

  Renie was genuinely upset. “That’s horrible. Bill and I watched a special on TV a while ago about movie costume restoration. It was criminal the way so many of those gorgeous outfits had been left to deteriorate and rot. If I hadn’t become a graphic artist, I might have been a costume or a dress designer.”

  “Then maybe you can help your sister here with getting these costumes to wherever she’s taking them,” Winifred said briskly. “It’s almost twelve-thirty. We don’t have much time, especially if Angela’s is to be ready.”

  Renie had bristled over the commanding tone in Winifred’s voice, but Judith intervened, putting a hand on her cousin’s arm.

  “We’re not sisters,” she explained with a smile. “We’re cousins. But we’ve always been as close as sisters. Closer, perhaps, without the sibling rivalry.”

  “Lovely,” Winifred remarked, putting the last costume into a bag. “I’ll see you later.” She marched toward the stairs and out of sight.

  Driving to the top of Heraldsgate Hill, Judith allowed Renie two minutes to vent her ire about Winifred’s high-handed manner. As they unloaded the car in Arlecchino’s small parking lot, Judith gave her cousin another three minutes to complain about the Jones children. Then Judith insisted that Renie stay in the car while she dealt with the costume store’s owner. The cautions about the valuable ensembles and the discussion of how to repair Angela’s Scarlett O’Hara gown took a full ten minutes. By the time she got back to her Subaru, Renie was fuming again.

  “You should have let me help you in there,” Renie declared. “I’m not exactly a dunce when it comes to color and fabric.”

  “No, you’re not,” Judith acknowledged, “but it would have taken twice as long with two of us. Time is of the essence. Besides, I want to tell you about some weird things that have been happening. Let’s drive to Moonbeam’s, where we won’t be overheard by my very peculiar guests.”

  Moonbeam’s, however, was jammed and there were no empty parking spots. On the Saturday before Halloween, the Heraldsgate Hill merchants had opened their doors to all the trick-or-treaters in the area.

  “I could have told you that,” Renie grumbled. “While I was wasting away in the car, I counted eight Harry Potters, four bunny rabbits, six fairy princesses, three crocodiles, and two skunks. Not to mention assorted ghosts, witches, and skeletons. This part of the avenue is a zoo—almost literally.”

  Judith, who was stalled at the four-way stop between Moonbeam’s and Holliday’s Pharmacy, watched the passing parade in awe. Not only were the children—from infants to teenagers—in costume, but so were many of the parents. Adults dressed as prima ballerinas, football players, sheikhs, African warriors, Argentine gauchos, and a very realistic-looking gorilla were strolling the sidewalks and filling the crosswalks along with their offspring.

  “I forgot about all this,” Judith said. “They only started doing it a couple of years ago. I guess I’ve been too caught up with my guests to think much about Halloween.”

  “You’d better have treats in store for tonight,” Renie said. “I understand some of the kids will be going out a day early because Sunday is a school night.”

  “I bought all my candy a week or so ago,” Judith replied. “Hey, where are we headed?”

  “Let’s go down to the bottom of the hill,” Renie suggested. “I haven’t had lunch. How about you?”

  “I forgot about lunch,” Judith admitted. “Okay, I’ll turn off by M&M Meats and we’ll take the back way out of here.”

  Ten minutes later, the cousins were sitting in a wooden booth at T. S. McSnort’s. Even there a handful of customers were dressed for the holiday.

  “Would it be terrible to have a drink?” Judith asked. “I could use one.”

  “So could I,” Renie responded. “It’s been a rough outing at our house the past few hours.”

  The cousins ordered screwdrivers, telling themselves that the orange juice would provide them with a healthy dose of vitamin C. To Judith’s surprise, Renie didn’t even bother to study the menu.

  “Aren’t you hungry?” Judith asked. Renie was always hungry. Her metabolism could have permitted her to gobble up at least two aisles of Falstaff’s Grocery in a single day.

  Renie shook her head. “I’ve lost my appetite. Besides, Bill and I can’t afford food anymore. We have to pay for all of Anne’s wedding and pony up for our share of Tom and Tony’s. Are you forgetting how Kristin’s parents tried to fleece you and Joe when Mike got married?”

  Judith hadn’t forgotten, but as usual, she tried to be charitable. “I think it was mostly a misunderstanding.”

  “Ha.” Renie looked up as their waitress brought the drinks and asked if they wished to order their meal. “I’m having just a cup of clam chowder,” Renie said.

  Judith quickly perused the menu. “That sounds good. Your chowder is so delicious. I’ll have the small Caesar with it.”

  Renie looked at the waitress again. “Yes, I should eat some greens. I’ll have the Caesar, too. You can put smoked prawns on it along with the anchovies. Oh, and maybe I’ll make that a bowl of chowder.”

  The curly-haired waitress smiled. “Got it. Anything else?”

  Judith shook her head, but Renie held up a hand. “How about the lox platter with the thin slices of rye and onion and cream cheese and capers? That should give me some strength.”

  “Gee,” Judith said as the waitress trotted off, “I’m glad you’re not hungry.”

  “I’m not.” Renie sighed. “But I can’t allow myself to become frail. Now tell me what’s going on at the B&B.”

  Judith complied, relating the rubber-spider incident as well as the quarrel between Dade Costello and Chips Madigan.

  “Chips?” Renie said. “He doesn’t seem like a fighter.”

  “He’s tougher than he looks,” Judith said. “He has to be, to deal with all those inflated egos when he’s directing a movie.”

  Renie tipped her head to one side in a gesture of assent. “Could you catch any of the exchange between Chips and Dade?”

  “Not much,” Judith admitted. “It sounded as if they might be arguing about the script. They disagreed about something or other. Maybe interpretation? Would that make sense?”

  “Yes,” Renie said slowly, “it could. Dade told me The Gasman is based on a novel.”

  “He told me the same thing.” Judith paused as the salads arrived and the waitress sprinkled black pepper over them. “Have you ever heard of it?”

  “No,” Renie replied, attacking a plump pink prawn. “I got the impression it was published years ago.”

  “The concept for the movie sounds kind of weird,” Judith said, “though I’m no film expert.”

  Renie nodded. “I thought so, too. But I guess we’d have to see it first. Bruno Zepf is a remarkable film-maker. Remember his last movie, They All Had Influenza?”

  “I remember when it came out,” Judith said, savoring the tangy dressing on her salad. “But I didn’t see it.”

  “Neither did I,” Renie responded, buttering a slice of Irish soda bread. “I heard it was a big hit, though, and I think the critics liked it. It was about the terrible flu epidemic of 1918, with imagery of the Black Death. Or so Bill told me. He watched it on video one night while I was at a baby shower for one of Anne’s girlfriends.” Renie’s face fell. “Oh, gosh—do you suppose I’ll end up being a grandmother after all?”

  “Why so glum?” Judith queried as the rest of their order arrived. “I thought you envied my status.”

  “I did. I do.” Renie sprinkled salt and pepper on her bowl of chowder, then broke up a handful of water crackers. “It’s just that…it’s kind of a shock somehow. All of this is a shock,” she said, dumping the crackers into the chowder. “What if our kids all get married at once?”

  “That would save money,” Judith said dryly.

  Renie brightened. “That’s a great idea. It would cut down on arrangements, too. Anne’s already talking about where she wants to have the reception.”

  “Are you going to suggest a triple wedding?” Judith asked.

  Renie grimaced. “It sounds a little like the Reverend Moon extravaganzas. I don’t know that the kids would go for it.”

  “It’s an idea,” Judith said as a familiar figure at the bar caught her eye. “Hey—coz,” she said in a whisper, “turn around as discreetly as you can to see who just showed up for a drink.”

  “Let’s try this,” Renie said, dumping her knife on the floor. “I prefer using my hands when I eat anyway.” She bent down to pick up the knife, then glanced up to see Ben Carmody a mere ten feet away.

  “Why isn’t he swilling down Bruno’s expensive stash of alcohol at the B&B?” Judith murmured, noticing that some of the other customers were trying not to stare at Ben. “Why is he here, alone?”

  “Because,” Renie replied, loading a slice of rye with lox, “he wants to be just that—alone. You know, like Garbo.”

  “I suppose.” Judith kept her eye on the actor. “He’s ordering what looks like straight vodka. Two, in fact. Uh-oh. Here comes Ellie Linn. Now what?”

  “Maybe the second vodka is for her,” Renie suggested.

  Between bites of salad and spoonfuls of chowder, Judith watched the couple at the bar, who were now being eyeballed by at least a dozen other customers. Typical of a city known for its good manners, none of the oglers approached the famous pair.

  A glass of white wine was placed before Ellie; Ben downed both shots of vodka.

  “They’re having a very serious conversation,” Judith said. “I’m trying to read their body language. Oddly enough, Ellie seems to be in control. She’s all business. That strikes me as peculiar. I figure her for no more than twenty or twenty-two at most.”

  Renie had lapped up her chowder and almost finished the lox plate. “The control factor is money,” she said. “Her dad, Heathcliffe MacDermott, is the hot-dog king, remember? I heard he put money into The Gasman.”

  “Why? To ensure that Ellie got a good part?”

  “I suppose,” Renie replied, breaking up more crackers. “I don’t think she’s made more than two or three movies before this.”

  When the cousins had finished their meal and paid the bill, Ben and Ellie were still head-to-head. Ben was on his third vodka, though Ellie had barely touched her wine. Unnoticed, Judith and Renie left T. S. McSnort’s and headed back to Hillside Manor.

  Joe met them in the driveway. “Nobody’s home except that writer, Costello. I tried to tell him about your mother’s mistake, but he blew me off. I still think that it serves them right. A grand for a bunch of mushrooms. Sheesh.”

  “I know.” Judith started for the back door with Renie behind her.

  “Do you need some help?” Joe called after them.

  “Not yet,” Judith replied. “You and Bill and Carl Rankers will be waiters at the midnight supper, remember?”

  Joe looked amused. “I remember. I’m dressing as a choirboy.”

  “So you are.” Judith sighed. “I’m dressing as a Roman slave. It fits my role to a T. Oh,” she added as an afterthought, “you’ll have to pick up the costumes from Arlecchino’s before four.” Keeping it brief, she explained the damage that had been done to Angela’s Scarlett O’Hara outfit.

  “Sabotage?” Joe said. “What’s with this bunch?”

  “Jealousy, hatred, malice, hostility,” Renie put in. “All the usual Hollywood emotions.”

  Joe shrugged. “I’m glad I never wanted to be a movie star. Being a cop seems like a breeze by comparison. Perps aren’t nearly as vicious as people in the movie business. Though,” he continued in a musing tone, “I suppose a cop’s life is always interesting to filmmakers.”

  Judith scowled at Joe. “What are you thinking of?”

  Joe gave Judith an innocent look. “Nothing. Not really.”

  “Good,” said Judith, and went into the house.

  For the next hour the cousins worked in the kitchen, preparing the supper dishes that could be made ahead. Joe finally came in from the garage around three. He was carrying a battered FedEx package.

  “The deliveryman just brought this,” he said. “Shall I?”

  “Go ahead, open it,” Judith replied, wiping her hands off on a towel. “It must be more exotic items for tonight, though I thought we already had everything on hand.”

  “Whatever it is, it’s marked perishable,” Joe said, using scissors to cut the strong paper wrapping. “In fact, I guess this was supposed to arrive yesterday. The driver apologized, but explained that because it came from overseas—” He stopped cold as he saw the box. “It’s French truffles.”

  Judith stared at the embossed gold lettering. “Périgord truffles. Dare we?” She cut away the tape that sealed the box and lifted the lid. “Yuk! No wonder Mother threw the other box out!”

  Renie peered around Judith’s arm. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, it’s just a bunch of brown truffles! I wouldn’t mind tasting one.”

  “Bleah!” Judith stuck out her tongue. “Go right ahead. I wouldn’t touch those things with a ten-foot pole.” But even as Renie picked up a paring knife, Judith smacked her hand. “No, you don’t! These are for the guests, and now that they got here, Joe can pretend he found them.”

  “Hey,” Joe cried, “that would be a lie! I’m not accepting a fee on false pretenses.”

  “Ooh…” Judith ran an agitated hand through her salt-and-pepper hair. “It just seems to me that after all the—” She stopped and sighed. “You’re right, we’ll tell them the truth. The truffles got held up because they came from”—she looked at the mailing label on the wrapper—“Bordeaux.”

  “Makes sense,” Renie remarked.

  Judith turned to her cousin. “What does?”

  Renie held out her hands. “That it would take longer than if they came from Butte, Montana.”

  Judith blinked at her cousin, then looked at Joe. “True,” she said in a distracted voice. “But would they send two boxes? I wonder what was in the package that Mother flushed down the toilet?”

  Judith offered up a prayer of thanksgiving when Joe brought the costumes back from Arlecchino’s at three-fifty. The Scarlett O’Hara costume had been mended, if not restored. While Judith and Renie were examining it, Angela La Belle wandered into the living room.

  “Oh,” she said in a disinterested voice, “that’s mine, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Judith replied. “I had the costume shop put on a different skirt. It looks rather nice, doesn’t it?”

  Angela barely glanced at the costume. “I guess. Where’s Dade? Bruno’s looking for him.”

  Judith said she hadn’t seen him, but understood that he was the only member of the Zepf party who hadn’t gone out that afternoon.

  “Well, he’s not down here, and he’s not in his room,” Angela declared. “Maybe he flew back to Malibu.” With a languid toss of her long blond hair, the actress wandered out to the front porch.

  Renie gave Judith an inquiring look. “She doesn’t seem very upset about her costume, does she?”

  “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.

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