A Corpse in the Soup by Morgan St James and Phyllice Bradner Page A

headed for the rickety stairs. Today’s horoscope had told her she would find the answers to her questions in an old place and this certainly fit the description.
    Godiva, the official wine taster, was just about as wobbly as the railing she was hugging for support. The sign taped to a cracked pane of stained glass told guests to “Come on in” so Goldie pushed open the ornate door. A little bell tinkled as bits of peeling paint landed on the hall carpet.
    Their hostess materialized through a faded portiere curtain in the same way that a ghost would appear in a Hollywood movie. Her dress, almost the same fabric as the door hanging, made her seem vaguely translucent at first glance.
    “Well, well, how do you do?” The old woman blinked and wiped her glasses “ Himmel ! I must be seeing double...oh, you’re the sisters from Los Angeles.” She screwed up her birdlike face, “Twins!”
    “Yes, I’m Goldie Silver and this is my sister Godiva.”
    “I’m Hilda Hammacher.” She held out a gnarled hand for a delicate little shake. “Your room is ready, top of the stairs. Sorry, I can’t help with your bags.”
    “’Sno problem, we can handle ’em.” Godiva wove back and forth, tucking her Louis Vuitton valise under her arm.
    “You girls go up and get settled. You can come down later and fill out the registration card. Just ring this bell when you’re ready.” Their hostess clanked the little cowbell on the corner of her reception desk. Godiva winced at the racket.
    Goldie took the key, grabbed her own suitcase and guided her sister up the stairs. The door to their room, the first of five doors on that floor, was ajar. Godiva stumbled into the room first and surveyed her surroundings with a critical eye. She clicked her tongue, “My, my, how verrrry quaint.” She put extra emphasis on the last word.
    “Come on, Sis, it’s not so bad, it seems to be clean anyway. What in the world are you looking for?” Godiva was circling the ell-shaped room, peeking into alcoves and corners, releasing a little cloud of dust from the shabby yellow curtains when she peered through them.
    “The bathroom. Where’s the bathroom?”
    “Down the hall, no doubt, this is a bed and breakfast, Godiva, not the Waldorf.”
    Godiva turned up her nose as she ran her finger across the wainscoting and came away with a thick layer of grime.
    Goldie took it all in with the eye of an antique appraiser and felt as though she was sitting on the stage set of Arsenic and Old Lace . Godiva, however, plopped down on one of the beds and stretched out. “Whew! There’s even dust on this. And it’s lumpy to boot!” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “The bed is lumpy, I mean. Not the dust. Yep...gotta hand it to you, Sis. You really found us a lumpy, dusty dump.”
    Goldie rolled her eyes. “I’ll go back down and take care of signing us in. You’re in no shape to navigate the stairs again.” Or be trusted to hold a civilized conversation with that sweet old lady.
     

CHAPTER 13
     
    Goldie jingled the little cowbell and Hilda Hammacher floated into the entry hall in the same magical way she had before.
    “Well now, dear, is everything satisfactory?” Her cheeks were as rosy as the potted begonias beside her desk. “I do the best I can these days. You shouldn’t have any trouble using the bathroom. There’s only one other guest. Nice old gent, goes by the name of Pearly Buttons. Used to be an old character here at the Accordion Festival. Moved to Seattle where his daughter lives, but he still comes a couple times a year. Visits his sister in the nursing home, you know.”
    Goldie took an immediate liking to the chatty old woman who was vaguely reminiscent of her mother-in-law, Belle. “Oh, yes, I look forward to meeting him.” She filled out the registration card. “You have such a lovely old home, I’m sure we’ll enjoy our stay here.”
    “Ya, it sure was a jewel in its day. So, what brings you girls to Cotati? We don’t