carrying her big glass bowl of three-bean salad through the front door, she spotted him on Vivianâs side of the cul-de-sac, talking to one of the two men who appeared to be waiters. At least two dozen people Judith didnât recognize were gathered around Herselfâs lavish buffet and equally opulent bar.
âIâve never seen so many bags of ice in my life,â Arlene remarked as Judith set the salad bowl on the trestle table. âItâs going to melt all over the place. How much are they going to drink? And who are they?â
âHangers-on,â Judith replied bitterly. âProbably some of the barflies Vivian knew in the old days. Iâd have assumed most of them had been permanently pickled by now.â
âTheyâre certainly not from around here,â Arlene huffed. âExcept,â she added, lowering her voice, âfor your husband.â
âDonât rub it in,â Judith shot back. âHe probably knows some of those creeps from the cop bars. Thatâs how he met Vivian. She was the lounge singer in a seedy dive downtown.â
Arlene looked sympathetic. âA momentâs madness,â she murmured. âAnd years of sorrow.â She paused as Joe slapped one of the waiters on the back and broke into an uncharacteristically boisterous laugh. âOr maybe not,â Arlene said under her breath.
Judith turned her back on Herselfâs gathering. âRemind me to kill Joe when he gets over here.â
Arlene brightened. âWould you like help? I can practice on Carl.â
Judith shuddered. âI shouldnât have said that. About killing Joe. Just saying that out loud scares me.â
âYes,â Arlene said, putting a hand on Judithâs arm. âYou do seem to attract dead people. That is, people whoââ
She was interrupted by the sudden sound of a snare drum. A half-dozen musicians had set up on the bandstand across the cul-de-sac. Ragtime music blared from speakers, almost deafening Judith. âOh, no!â she cried, putting her fingers in her ears. âThis is awful!â
âWorse than that,â Arlene shouted. âHere come some of your B&B guests.â
The couple who had been startled by the gunshot and twoyoung women from Boston stood on Hillside Manorâs front steps, staring in surprise at the commotion. The lean and lanky Iowa husband spotted Judith and marched in her direction.
âIs this your evening entertainment?â he demanded, his florid face almost purple. âYou didnât mention that in your brochure.â
âIt has nothing to do with me,â Judith declared. âIâm angry, too.â
The man from Iowa jerked a thumb in the direction of Herselfâs gathering. âThen why is the man I thought was your husband dancing with that blond hussy in the silver dress?â
Judith stared. Sure enough, Joe and Vivian were doing a foxtrot to the music. Several others had joined in. Gertrude sat in her motorized wheelchair, tapping her foot in time to the beat.
âI apologize,â Judith finally said, shoulders slumping. âLet me treat you and your wife to dinner. I have some gift certificates inside.â
She hurried back into the house, the man and his wifeâas well as the two Bostoniansâfollowing. She unlocked the drawer of the small desk in the entry hall and removed a hundred-dollar gift certificate for the Manhattan Grill Steak House. Aware that the two young women were about to pounce, she took out a second gift card, this one for Ugetoâs, an upscale Italian restaurant. The foursome grudgingly thanked her and withdrew to the living room just as the two older couples traveling together from Bakersfield, California, came down the stairs.
âHere,â she said, grabbing the only remaining pair of certificates, which were for Papaya Peteâs expensive Polynesian eatery in one of the cityâs big hotels.