Silver Scream: A Bed-And-Breakfast Mystery Read Free Page A

desk yockeys? They be lucky to find the bathroom, let alone know vhere to put it!”
    “It was only a thought,” Judith said meekly.
    “You vorry too much,” Skjoval declared, putting the thermos back into his toolbox. “I don’t need no hassles. I quit.”
    It wasn’t the first time, nor would it be the last, that the handyman had quit over some quibble. Skjoval never lacked for work. He was good and he was cheap. But he was also temperamental.
    Judith knew the drill, though it wasn’t easy to repeat at six-ten in the morning. She pleaded, groveled, cajoled, and used all of her considerable charm to getSkjoval to change his mind. Ultimately, he did, but it took another ten minutes.
    Luckily, the rest of the week and the Labor Day weekend went smoothly. It was only the following Friday, when Skjoval was finishing in the toolshed, that another fracas took place.
    “That mother of yours,” Skjoval complained, wiping sweat from his brow as he stood on the back porch. “She is Lucifer’s daughter. I hang the bathroom door yust fine, but vhy vill she not let me fix the toilet?”
    “I don’t know,” Judith replied. Indeed, she had been afraid that Gertrude and Mr. Tolvang would get into it before the job was done. Given their natures, it seemed inevitable. “Did she give you a reason?”
    “Hell, no,” the handyman shot back, “except that she be sitting on the damned thing.”
    “Oh.” Judith frowned in the direction of the tool-shed. “I’ll talk to her.”
    “Don’t bother,” Skjoval snapped. “I quit.”
    “Please, Mr. Tolvang,” Judith begged, “let me ask—”
    But the handyman made a sharp dismissive gesture. “Never you mind. I don’t vant to see that old bat no more. She give me a bad time all veek. Let her sit on the damned toilet until her backside falls off.” Skjoval yanked the painter’s cap from his head and waved it in a threatening manner. “I go now, you call me if she ever acts like a human being and not a vitch.” He stomped off down the drive to his pickup truck, which was piled with ladders, scaffolding, and all manner of tools.
    Judith gritted her teeth and headed out under the golden September sun. Surely her mother would cooperate. The toilet needed plunging; Gertrude threw all sorts of things into it, including Sweetums. It was either Skjoval Tolvang for the job or a hundred bucks to Roto-Rooter.
    Gertrude wasn’t on the toilet when Judith reached the toolshed. Instead, she was sitting in her old mohair armchair, playing solitaire on the cluttered card table.
    “Hi, Toots,” Gertrude said in a cheerful voice. “What’s up, besides that old fart’s dander?”
    “Why wouldn’t you let Mr. Tolvang plunge the toilet?” Judith demanded.
    “Because I was using it, that’s why.” Gertrude scooped up the cards and put them in her automatic shuffler. “When’s lunch?”
    “You ate lunch two hours ago,” Judith responded, then had an inspiration. “Why don’t you come inside with me? I’m going to make chocolate-chip cookies.”
    Gertrude brightened. “You are?”
    “Yes. Let me give you a hand.”
    Judith was helping her mother to the door when Skjoval Tolvang burst into the toolshed.
    “You got spies,” he declared, banging the door behind him. “Building inspectors, ya sure, you betcha.”
    Judith’s dark eyes widened. “Really? Where?”
    “In the bushes,” Skjoval replied. “Spying.”
    “Here,” Judith said, gesturing at Gertrude, “help my mother into the house. I’ll go check on whoever’s out there.”
    But Gertrude balked. “I’m not letting this crazy old coot touch me! He’ll shove me facedown into the barbecue and light it off.”
    “Then stay here,” Judith said crossly, and guided her mother back to the armchair.
    “Hey!” Gertrude shouted. “What about those cookies?”
    But Judith was already out the door. “Where is this inspector or whoever?” she asked of Mr. Tolvang.
    “By them bushes,” the handyman answered,