Suture Self : A Bed-and-breakfast Mystery

for the door.

“Say,” Judith called after him, “may I ask you a

question?”

Jim looked apprehensive. “Yes?”

“Your nephew, Bob Jr., mentioned that his mother—

Margie—felt like ‘the vessel’ in terms of bringing on

the deaths of your brother, Mr. Kirby’s wife, and

Joaquin Somosa. Do you have any idea what Bob Jr.

was talking about?”

Jim blinked several times and his hands twitched.

“No. No idea. Whatsoever. Margie—as usual—is

being hard on herself. Poor Margie.” He sketched a little bow and dashed out of the room, narrowly missing

a collision with Dr. Garnett.

“I have some good news for you,” the doctor said to

Jim as both men proceeded down the hall and out of

hearing range.

Judith turned to Addison. “I’m sorry I had to bring

that up about Margie being a vessel. Did you know that

your wife had two Italian sodas the morning that she

passed away?”

“No.” Addison’s voice was hushed. “Are you sure?

They were her favorites, but no one told me about it.”

“No one tells anyone about anything around here,

right?”

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“Right.” Addison looked sour. “How did she get

them?”

“I have no idea,” Judith admitted, “other than that

apparently Margie Randall took them to her. I just happened to hear a chance remark from one of the nurses.”

Addison nodded. “Otherwise, a wall of silence. Do

you know what happened today? Dr. Van Boeck informed the front desk I wasn’t to have any visitors.

That’s because they must be afraid one of my colleagues in the media will try to see me. I can’t call out

on my phone, either. That’s why I couldn’t call in the

obit myself.” He gestured toward the floor on the

other side of the bed. “You probably can’t see it from

your wheelchair, but at least four people have tried to

visit me today, including my editor. All they could do

was leave me their get-well gifts and go home. Imagine, after going to the trouble of coming out in this

snow.”

Judith made an extra effort to steer the wheelchair

around the end of Addison’s bed without bumping him.

His position in traction temporarily made her stop feeling sorry for herself.

“Oh,” she said, making the final maneuver without

mishap, “I see. That’s all very nice. Lovely chocolates,

a crossword puzzle magazine, a couple of other books

I can’t make out, and a bag of black jelly beans.”

“I love black jelly beans,” Addison declared. “I

won’t eat any of the other kinds. Do you think you

could reach them? I’m not much of a chocolate fan,

though. I’d give that box to the nurses, but the whole

damned staff makes me angry. Do you want them?”

Judith tried to edge closer to the stack of presents.

“I’ll take the chocolates, but are you sure you want to

eat those jelly beans?”

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Addison gave a small shrug, which was all his posture permitted. “Why not?”

Judith didn’t dare bend down far enough to pick up

the cellophane bag with its bright blue and yellow ribbons. “Well . . . what if they’ve been . . . interfered

with?”

“My God.” Addison breathed. “So that’s how you

think Joan and the others died? My money was on the

IVs.”

“It’s possible,” Judith said, just managing to pick up

the chocolate box, which was on top of the books.

“Using an IV to administer some kind of deadly dose

would be trickier, unless the killer is a medical professional. Which is also possible, of course.”

“If you believe in the poisoned-present theory, why

are you taking that candy?” he asked, looking suspicious.

“I don’t intend to eat it,” Judith said. “I’m going to

have my husband get it analyzed. He’s a retired cop,

remember?”

“Hunh.” Addison’s gaze turned shrewd. “Good idea.

Take the jelly beans, too.”

“I can’t reach them,” Judith admitted. “I have to be

very careful about bending with this hip replacement.

If I lean or reach, it could dislocate without warning.”

She stopped speaking to examine the cellophane bag.

“The jelly beans look okay, they seemed tightly sealed.

Maybe you can get them to me later. But if they’re one

of your favorite things and somebody knows that, I

wouldn’t take any chances.”

“I won’t,” Addison responded, looking grim.

“Maybe I will offer those to the staff. If anybody

turns me down, I might get an inkling of the culprit’s

identity.”

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“You might also poison some innocent people,” Judith warned.

“I might.” Addison’s brown eyes were hard.

“Frankly, it’d be worth it if I could find out who killed

my wife. I’m not in a merciful mood.”

“Chocolates!” Renie exclaimed after Judith had related the details of her visit next door. “Yum!”

“Forget it,” Judith said, placing both hands on the

gold-foil box. “This little present for Addison Kirby

just might prove fatal.” Cautiously wheeling herself to

the bedside stand, she slipped the chocolates into the

drawer, then explained the situation to Renie.

“What if our night thief comes back and swipes the

candy box?” Renie inquired when Judith had finished

her account of the visit with Addison and Jim Randall.

“Let’s face it,” Judith said, wondering if she could

get back in bed by herself, “we don’t know if that was

a homicidal thief—or just a thief.”

“True.” Renie said. “Hey—you need some help?”

“Could you buzz?” Judith asked. “I don’t want to

undo anything.”

“You can lean on me,” Renie said, getting out of bed.

“Haven’t we each done quite a bit of leaning on each

other for the past fifty-odd years?”

Judith smiled fondly at her cousin. “Closer than sisters,” she murmured.

Renie stumbled over the commode. “Oops!” she cried,

then swore.

“Are you okay, coz?” Judith asked in alarm.

“Yeah, yeah, I didn’t really need ten toes. Here, I’ll

steady the wheelchair with my right hip and you lean

on my left side.”

To Judith’s surprise, the tactic worked. Judith inched

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her way onto the bed, sat on the edge to get her breath,

then let Renie help her swing her legs onto the mattress. Lying back on the pillows, Judith closed her eyes

and sighed.

“I can’t believe how glad I was to get out of bed and

go down the hall,” she said with a feeble smile. “Now

I can’t believe how glad I am to get back into bed. I’m

exhausted.”

“I know,” Renie said, heading back to her own bed.

“These surgeries take a lot out of us. And, sorry to say,

we aren’t spring chickens anymore.”

“I forgot to look out at the weather,” Judith said.

“What’s it doing?”

“Nothing,” Renie replied. “Dr. Ming stopped by

while you were gone to tell me I could start PT tomorrow. He said the temperature had dropped down to

eighteen degrees by four-thirty, but there was no snow

in the forecast for tonight. There’s black ice on the

streets, and, as usual, our city’s snow-removal crew—

you know, the two guys with the truck, the buckets,

and the shovels—hasn’t been able to sand any streets

except for the major thoroughfares.”

Judith nodded faintly. “We get snow so seldom,

sometimes not at all, that I guess the city doesn’t

feel it should spend money on something that might

not be needed for a couple of years at a time.” She

looked at her watch. “I didn’t realize how late it is.

It’s after five. I guess Joe wasn’t able to make it to

the hospital after all.”

“At least you spoke with him,” Renie said, irked. “I

haven’t heard a peep out of Bill all day. I know he hates

the phone, but it wouldn’t kill him to call and check in.”

“Maybe he got involved in trying to find your car,”

Judith suggested.

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“What’s he doing?” Renie retorted. “Conducting a

street-by-street search? Or is he too caught up with

those damned Chihuahuas?”

Judith tried not to smile as she envisioned Bill teaching the dogs to dance. Or fetch. Or make his lunch.

“The phones might be out of order in some parts of

town,” Judith said, trying to soothe Renie. “If there’s

ice, the lines could be down. In fact, if Blanche Van

Boeck wants to do something helpful for the city, she

should advocate better weather preparedness. Do you

really think she’s going to run for mayor?”

Renie had turned listless. “Who knows? Who cares?

Where’s dinner? What is dinner? My Falstaff bag’s

getting low.”

“Want to watch the news?” Judith asked in her most

cheerful voice.

“No. I hate television news. Why can’t we get an

evening paper?”

“They may not be able to deliver it,” Judith said,

clicking on the TV. “Look, there’s Mavis Lean-Brodie

again.”

“Why do we get only four channels on this stupid

set? Why can’t we get ESPN or Fox Sports so we

could watch basketball?”

“Mavis looks like she’s changed her hair color. It’s

much lighter. I like it.”

“How can I find out who’s heading for the NCAA

tournament? What about our own drippy pro basketball team? Why don’t I like hockey?”

“What’s the other anchor’s name? Tim Somethingor-Other?”

“I like the violence in hockey. I just don’t understand the game. And I never learned to ice-skate. I have

weak ankles.”

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219

“They don’t seem to be showing anything but the

weather. Goodness, the city really is paralyzed.”

“Without ESPN and Fox Sports, I can’t even keep

up with the Hot Stove League. How do I know which

baseball players have been traded in the off-season? I

might as well be in never-never land.”

“Look at all the event cancellations. Oh, here come

the school closures. Goodness, the entire public school

district and the private schools are shut down for the

duration.”

Dinner arrived, courtesy of the silent orderly. Judith

optimistically uncovered her entrée. It looked like

some kind of cutlet.

Renie turned her back on the orderly and buried her

head in the pillow. “Take it away. I can’t eat things that

look like high school science experiments.”

The orderly set the tray on the nightstand and wordlessly walked out.

“This isn’t bad,” Judith said, tasting her entrée. “It’s

pork.”

Renie didn’t look up until her phone rang. “Now

what?” she grumbled, yanking the receiver off the

hook. “Bill!” she cried in surprise. “I thought you’d

forgotten me. What’s going on with Cammy?”

Her sudden pleasure turned to consternation. “Oh?

That’s rotten luck. But it can’t be helped with all the

snow, I guess . . . Yes, I’m sure they’ll find the car

eventually . . . I’m doing okay, I’m just sore and hungry . . . Because it’s inedible, that’s why. Say, what

about those Chihuahuas?”

Judith watched her cousin closely, but Renie’s face

revealed only perplexity. “Well, you’re the psychologist, so I guess you know what you’re doing, but it

sounds kind of loony to me. Don’t you think the dogs’

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owners would like them back? . . . Yes, I know, the

weather . . .” Renie heaved a big sigh. “The weather is

putting a crimp in everything, from finding our car to

seeing you and the kids . . . Friday, unless they throw

me out, which Blanche Van Boeck has threatened to

do . . . Never mind, it’s a long story . . . You’re what? ”

Renie pulled a face, cradled the phone against her

shoulder, and made circular “he’s nuts” motions with

her finger by her ear. “Anne can’t sew any better than

I can. How could she and Tony make the damned dog

a Sea Auks uniform? Forget the dogs, how’s everything else going?”

This time, Renie’s face fell. She stared at Judith,

then turned away. “Really? That’s not good.” Her voice

sounded unnatural; she grew silent, listening intently.

“Yes . . . Yes . . . Yes . . . No. I wouldn’t dream of it.

Let me know what happens. Love you. Bye.” Renie

hung up and disappeared under the covers.

“What was that all about?” Judith asked. “At the

end, I mean.”

“Nothing,” Renie said in a muffled voice.

Judith, who had turned down the sound on the TV,

now turned off the set. “Is everything all right?”

“It’s fine,” Renie replied.

Judith stared at the mound that was her cousin.

“Look at me,” she demanded.

“I don’t feel good,” Renie said. “Leave me alone.”

“Coz.” Judith’s tone was stern, almost imperious.

“Get out from under there and talk to me. We don’t

keep secrets from each other.”

The mound didn’t move. Judith set down her fork

and folded her arms across her breast. “This cutlet is

quite good. I thought you were starving.”

“I’m not hungry,” Renie mumbled.

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221

Judith’s sense of apprehension mounted. “Coz, this

isn’t funny. Talk to me or I’ll . . .” She stopped, aware

that there wasn’t anything she could do to Renie except

get angry or sulk.

At last Renie’s head appeared from under the bedclothes. She propped herself up and regarded Judith

with a pale, drawn face. “Please don’t insist.”

Judith felt something sink in the bottom of her stomach, and it wasn’t the pork cutlet. “Out with it. I can’t

sit here and look at you look at me like that. You know

it’s impossible.”

Shuddering, Renie faced Judith head-on. “You know

Bill—how he has to build up to bad news in his careful, deliberate fashion. Finally, he told me Joe’s been

stabbed. He’s been taken to the hospital, and his

chances are fifty-fifty.”

Judith passed out cold.

FOURTEEN

HEATHER CHINN CAME running. It wasn’t Renie’s insistent buzzer or even her horrified shrieks, but the

sudden change in status on Judith’s monitor at the

nurses’ station.

“What happened?” Heather asked in alarm, seeing Judith’s unconscious figure and ashen face.

“She got some bad news,” Renie replied. “She

fainted.”

Heather began chafing Judith’s wrists and speaking to her in low, encouraging tones. Sister Jacqueline entered the room, followed by Dr. Garnett and

another nurse, who wheeled in some sort of equipment. Renie clung to the edge of her bed, eyes

wide, breathless.

“I didn’t want to . . .” she moaned, but was ignored.

Judith’s eyelids flickered open. “Ohhh . . .” She

tried to recognize the pretty face with the almondshaped eyes. It was someone she knew. Wearing

white, with a cap. A nurse. She must have fainted

during her labor. “The baby,” she gasped. “Is he

okay?”

Apparently, doctor, nurse, and nun weren’t unfamiliar with Judith’s type of reaction.

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“Everything is fine, Mrs. Flynn,” Dr. Garnett said in

a soft but authoritative voice. “You’ve had hip surgery,

remember?”

“Hip?” Judith was mystified. “What do you mean

‘hip surgery’?”

Dr. Garnett signaled for the nurse to back off with

the resuscitation equipment. “You had a hip replacement. What year is it, Mrs. Flynn?”

Judith looked down at the big dressing on her hip.

“Then I didn’t go into labor?”

“No,” Dr. Garnett replied. “Dr. Alfonso replaced

your right hip.”

At last, Judith grasped the present and tried to sit

bolt upright. But she fell back at once. “Joe!” she cried

in a thin, reedy tone. “What happened to Joe?”

Dr. Garnett, who was wearing surgical scrubs, took

in the puzzled looks of his colleagues.

“It’s her husband,” Renie said, some of the color returning to her ashen face. “He’s had a very bad accident. Mrs. Flynn just found out about it. That’s what

made her faint.”

All eyes were now on Renie. “If you don’t mind, I’d

rather not discuss it in front of everybody,” she said

firmly.

Sister Jacqueline was not put off, however. “Where

is Mr. Flynn? Was he in a car accident?”

Renie was looking mulish, but Judith intervened. “For

God’s sake, coz, tell me. I don’t care who knows what.”

Renie flung out her good hand in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, okay. Joe found out this morning that

another homeless man was murdered yesterday. He

couldn’t start investigating because of the weather, but

he managed to get out this afternoon after he chained

up your car.”

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Though Judith’s gaze was riveted on Renie, she

sensed that the two nurses and Sister Jacqueline were

going into various states of shocked surprise. Renie

never took her eyes off Judith, and continued speaking in her most businesslike voice: “Bill didn’t

know the details, but Joe headed out for a park two

or three blocks from here, which was where the

homeless people moved when it started snowing so

hard. I guess many of them had abandoned that

place under the freeway along with some of their

other usual haunts. The city had opened up some of

the public buildings because of the bad weather.

Anyway, he was trying to question witnesses when

somebody stabbed him in the back. He was able to

stagger out of the park and get the attention of a

man who was shoveling his walk. The guy called

911.”

Tears stung Judith’s eyes. “I knew he was keeping

something from me. I should have guessed . . . Oh, my

God, will he be okay?”

“They notified Bill because both you and Joe have

our phone numbers for emergencies,” Renie said. “Bill

was told that his chances were even. But that’s not bad

odds, coz,” she added, her voice suddenly breaking as

she got out of bed and put her good arm around her

cousin.

Judith fought for control. Despite the tears, she managed to choke out a question. “Where is he?”

It was Dr. Garnett rather than Renie who answered.

“Mr. Flynn is here,” he said. “He’s in the intensive care

unit. I just finished operating on him.”

Peter Garnett explained that he had just been on his

way up to inform Judith about her husband’s stabbing.

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225

He hadn’t wanted to alarm her until the surgery was

completed. Because of the weather, all the other hospitals were full. Joe had been rushed to Good Cheer,

which was closest to the park where he was stabbed.

“What do you really think, Doctor?” Judith inquired, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.

“I think,” Dr. Garnett responded carefully, “that

we’ll have to wait and see. The blade went very deep,

and there was quite a loss of blood before he reached

the hospital. The good part is that the weapon missed

his vital organs.” He tried to give Judith a smile of

comfort, but his attempt seemed forced. “Nurse Chinn

will get you a sedative,” he said, nodding at Heather. “I

know this has been a terrible shock.”

Sister Jacqueline moved closer to the bed. “I’m very

sorry about all this. I didn’t realize until just now that

Mr. Flynn was your husband. I didn’t see him when he

was brought in. I do know that Father McConnaught

has administered the Sacrament of the Sick. I’m sure

that will help in your husband’s recovery.”

The Sacrament of the Sick, Judith thought, and felt

sick at heart. It used to be Extreme Unction or the Last

Rites, but had been renamed, and in some theological

feat that defied her understanding, revamped as an encouragement to heal rather than as a signal of impending death. On the other hand, she had asked to be

anointed before her own surgery. Maybe Father McConnaught’s efforts wouldn’t be wasted on Joe. She

mustn’t lose hope. That, Judith understood, was what

the sacrament was all about.

Moving away from Judith, Renie eyed Dr. Garnett.

“I assume they haven’t caught whoever stabbed Joe?

My husband didn’t mention it, and I couldn’t quiz him

closely because I didn’t want to frighten Judith.”

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“I don’t know any of the details,” Dr. Garnett said.

“I’d just come from attending to Dr. Van Boeck and

had to scrub up immediately to operate on Mr. Flynn.”

The surgeon, who looked so weary that his mustache

seemed to droop, started for the door.

As beset as she was with her own troubles, Judith

managed to take in the wider world. “How is Dr. Van

Boeck?”

“He’ll be fine,” Dr. Garnett said without turning

around. “Unfortunately.”

“He doesn’t like his boss much, does he?” Renie

said, directing the remark to Sister Jacqueline after Dr.

Garnett had left.

The nun’s fine features puckered slightly. “They

have differing philosophies on some issues. It’s common among medical professionals.”

“You’ll keep me posted on Joe?” Judith asked Sister

Jacqueline as Heather returned with the sedative.

“Of course.” Sister Jacqueline’s smile seemed

tense. “Once he’s out of intensive care, I’m not sure

what floor he’ll go to. We’re terribly crowded here,

too. Maybe tomorrow we can release some of the patients who are ready to go home. Right now, we can’t

take chances since our patients are all orthopedic

post-op. A spill on the ice or an out-of-control vehicle could be disastrous.”

“Blanche Van Boeck wants to throw me out into the

snow,” Renie said. “Do you think she’s serious?”

Sister Jacqueline cocked her head to one side. “I

doubt it. That would be up to Dr. Ming. She’d have to

convince him that you’re ready to be discharged.”

“She could do it, though,” Renie said. “She has the

influence.”

Sister Jacqueline’s nod was curt. “That’s true. But

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227

she’ll be too busy tomorrow to worry about you.

Blanche Van Boeck is announcing her candidacy for

mayor.”

The Valium helped relax Judith, but it didn’t erase

her fears for Joe. For an hour, she fussed and fretted.

She also repeated over and over how she wished she

could see him.

Renie was remarkably patient. But as seven

o’clock rolled around, she finally called a halt.

“You’re literally going to make yourself sick,” she

told Judith. “If you don’t stop stewing, I’ll ask somebody to give you another dose of Valium.”

“Okay,” Judith said, “but you know you’d worry like

this if it were Bill.”

“I’m already worried about Bill,” Renie responded.

“It isn’t normal—even for a shrink—to dress up Chihuahuas.”

“That’s nothing compared to what happened to Joe,”

Judith pointed out.

“It could be if Bill’s gone nuts,” Renie argued. “Do

you think I look forward to visiting him in some institution where he’s wearing a waffle on his head and

talking to the begonias?”

“You’re just trying to make me stop fussing,” Judith

declared. “Okay, so tell me what Bill said about the Chihuahuas. What was that about a Sea Auks uniform?”

“I’m not sure,” Renie admitted. “Between the doggy

concept, the car, and his news about Joe, I couldn’t figure out what he was talking about. Maybe Bill should

analyze himself.”

“I gather you didn’t get a chance to ask him about

Nancy and Bob Jr.,” Judith said, though her mind was

mostly in the ICU with Joe.

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“No,” Renie replied. “I could tell from the start

that something was wrong. I knew he’d get to it in

his own good time, but I didn’t want to put any detours in the way.” She glanced out the window,

where night had settled in over the snow-covered

city. “I still can’t believe that obit the Randall family

put together. Jim and Margie are both kind of weird,

but I didn’t think they were stupid.”

Judith didn’t respond immediately. “You’re right.

Maybe they simply wanted to vent. The odd thing is

that when we spoke with him right after Bob died,

Jim acted as if he was fond of his brother. And, in

fact, there was no mention of his relationship to Bob

in the write-up. Does that mean Bob and Jim really

did get along?”

“I don’t know,” Renie said, delving into her Falstaff ’s bag. “It’s a good thing I’m not hungry anymore.

All I have left is an apple and a small chunk of Gouda.

I’ll be a bag of bones by the time I leave this place. We

could use some good news around here. Then maybe

my appetite will come back.”

Judith eyed Renie curiously. “That’s funny, now that

you mention it—when Jim Randall left Addison

Kirby’s room this afternoon, Dr. Garnett met him in

the hall. He said he had some good news for Jim. I

wonder what he meant?”

“Didn’t Jim have some tests done the other day?”

Renie responded. “Maybe the results came back.”

Judith snapped her fingers. “That must be it. I’d forgotten.” She gazed at the phone. “I think I’ll call ICU.”

“They’ll let you know when they have anything to

report,” Renie said, munching on her apple.

“I should call Mike,” Judith said. “I should have done

that sooner. Why didn’t I?” She picked up the phone.

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229

“Because you don’t know anything for sure and you

don’t want to scare the wits out of Mike until you do.

Hold off,” Renie urged.

“I can’t,” Judith declared. “It wouldn’t be fair.” She

used her long distance calling card to get an outside

line, then waited as the phone rang a dozen times up at

the mountain summit. “Nobody’s answering,” she said,

finally clicking off. “Where could they go in this

weather?”

“Maybe the phone lines are down,” Renie suggested.

“Or maybe Mike’s got his other line tied up. He could

be busy.”

“True,” Judith allowed, but redialed in case she’d

made a mistake the first time. The result was the same.

Nobody picked up the phone.

“Doesn’t he have an answering machine?” Renie

asked.

“Not on his private phone,” Judith said. “Kristin

feels it’s bad enough to have the forest service lines

ring in the house. She’s not much for gadgetry. My

daughter-in-law is strictly a no-nonsense person.”

“I know,” Renie acknowledged. “Kristin’s a natural

phenomenon, like a giant redwood.” Renie did not add,

as she might have, that Kristin was damned near as big.

Judith tensed as Sister Jacqueline quietly entered the

room. “Mrs. Flynn?”

“Yes?” Judith flinched, her voice hoarse.

“I wanted to thank both you and your husband for

being organ donors,” the nun said, approaching Judith’s bed. “We’re very big proponents of the program,

and I’m sure you know what a wonderful thing it is.”

Judith barely heard what Sister Jacqueline was saying. “What about Joe?”

“He’s still in the ICU,” Sister Jacqueline replied.

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“The last I heard, he was holding his own. He’s officially listed as in critical condition.”

“Is that the worst?” Judith asked in an anguished

voice.

The nun shook her head. “No. Please don’t fuss.

We’ll let you know as soon as there’s any change in

your husband’s condition. I simply wanted to mention

our gratitude for your participation in the organ donor

program, and,” she went on, moving over to Renie’s

bed, “to encourage you to sign up, Mrs. Jones. Your

husband might be interested, too.”

“My husband could give you a couple of overdressed Chihuahuas,” Renie replied, “but I’m not sure

he wants to surrender his body parts.”

A faint smile touched the nun’s mouth. “We don’t

take them while you’re still alive, Mrs. Jones. People

say miracles don’t occur in the modern age. But they

do, in ways that we can understand and that are made

possible by people whose generosity saves lives every

day. Heart, kidneys, liver, eyes—they make many miracles. What, for instance could be a better gift? For example, Mr. Randall’s corneas went to an aspiring artist

who had lost his sight in a tragic accident. Now that

young man will be able to see again and fulfill his

dream.”

“That’s sweet,” Renie allowed. “But who’d want my

eyes? I’m not exactly a kid anymore.”

“Neither was Mr. Randall,” Sister Jacqueline declared. “Of course, he had excellent vision, which I’m

told was one of his greatest assets on the football field.

But even slightly impaired eyesight is better than none.”

Renie gave a slight nod. “Yes, I realize that. Bill and

I’ll talk it over when he gets out of the doghouse. So to

speak.”

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Sister Jacqueline looked pleased, if vaguely puzzled.

“That’s wonderful. I’ll pray that you make the right decision.”

A voice erupted sharply from the hallway. “Sister!

Come at once! We need your help!” Blanche Van

Boeck stepped inside the door, beckoning with an imperious finger.

“What is it?” Sister Jacqueline inquired.

“We have decisions to make,” Blanche declared.

“With Jan not feeling well, you’re going to have to

help with this crisis. After all, you are the hospital administrator.”

“Crisis?” The nun quickly crossed herself. “Of

course.” She nodded vaguely at the cousins. “Good

night, God bless.”

“Wait!” Judith cried. “Does this have anything to do

with my husband, Joe Flynn?”

Blanche scowled at Judith. “Not unless he’s the

CEO of Restoration Heartware,” she snapped.

As the two women left the room, Judith sighed with

relief. “That scared me. I thought something had happened to Joe.”

“If it had,” Renie said dryly, “they wouldn’t have

called in Blanche and the hospital administrator. There

must be some new word out of Cleveland about a possible takeover.”

“At this time of night?” Judith asked. “It must be

going on eleven o’clock back there.”

“Big business never stops working,” Renie said. “In

fact, I think the late-night sessions are strategic. They

wait to make decisions until everybody’s so exhausted

that they give in just so they can go home.”

Judith didn’t comment immediately, and when she

finally spoke, it was of a different, if related, matter.

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“Who benefits from unexpected deaths in a hospital? I

mean, in a business sense? I assume that the mortality

rate is important when it comes to rating a hospital.”

“Of course,” Renie replied. “Reputation is vital.

Admit it, weren’t we nervous about coming here after

Joaquin Somosa and Joan Fremont died?”

“Yes,” Judith said. “I certainly was. If Bob Randall

had died before I was admitted, I might have changed

my mind. Or at least postponed the surgery. But what

would be the point of indiscriminately killing off patients?”

Renie thought for a moment. “I understand they all

had different doctors, so it can’t be that somebody’s

out to get just one surgeon. Still, the ultimate responsibility rests with Dr. Garnett as head of surgery, and of

course with Dr. Van Boeck as chief of staff. So I suppose it’s possible that someone may be after one of

them. But I can’t imagine who’d benefit.”

“Garnett, wanting Van Boeck’s job?” Judith suggested.

“That’s a possibility,” Renie allowed. “Or Van

Boeck trying to ruin Garnett to eliminate a potential

rival.”

“That doesn’t wash,” Judith countered, “not as long

as Blanche Van Boeck wields so much clout. Anyway,

what’s the point of any of it if the hospital’s about to be

absorbed by some big company from the East? Aren’t

they likely to put in their own people?”

“That depends,” Renie said. “Sometimes corporations like to leave the locals in charge. It’s good public

relations, and it’s good business if the people in place

are already doing a satisfactory job for a particular

company. Then there’s the tactic where the headquarters’ chieftains move slowly, not wanting to upset the

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apple cart. Changes are made, but the powers that be

take their time doing it.”

Judith grew thoughtful. “I don’t see how dead patients can be to anyone’s advantage. Unless,” she

added slowly, “it’s someone trying to scare off

Restoration Heartware from making the merger.”

“That,” Renie said, “would be the current owners,

who happen to be a religious order. Can you picture Sister Jacqueline cold-bloodedly killing helpless people?”

“No,” Judith admitted, “but as you said earlier,

nuns are human, too. Hasn’t this order been around

the Pacific Northwest for well over a hundred and

fifty years? Weren’t they the first women in the territory? Pride is a sin, but they have a right to be proud

of their heritage. They were pioneers, especially in

medicine. All those years that the sisters dedicated

themselves to their hospital work is down the drain in

this city if they lose control of Good Cheer.”

Renie shivered. “I hate to even consider such an idea.”

“Me, too,” Judith agreed as Mr. Mummy appeared in

the doorway.

“Just dropped by to wish you a restful night,” he said

in his cheerful voice. “By the way, I assume that the

man who was stabbed is no relation to you, Mrs.

Flynn.”

“He’s my husband,” Judith said tersely.

“Oh!” Mr. Mummy slapped at his bald head. “I’m so

sorry! I thought the name was just a coincidence.

Whatever happened?”

“Someone attacked him,” Judith said. “The assailant

hasn’t been caught, as far as I know.”

“My, my!” Mr. Mummy was agog. “Do you know

what provoked the attack?”

“No,” Judith said, unwilling to elaborate.

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Mr. Mummy appealed to Renie. “Mrs. Jones, surely

you have some ideas on the matter? A clever guess,

perhaps.”

Renie shrugged. “Not a clue. There are plenty of

loonies out there. Most of them don’t need any provocation to harm an innocent person.”

“That’s so,” Mr. Mummy remarked, looking puzzled. “Still . . . Have you spoken with the police?”

The question caught Judith off guard. “What? No,

I . . . ah . . . I guess I was too focused on my husband’s condition to think of it.”

“You can hardly be blamed for the oversight,” Mr.

Mummy allowed. “You mustn’t fret too much and

make yourself ill. I’m sure Mr. Flynn is getting the best

of care.”

“It’s very kind of you to look in on us,” Judith said,

trying to smile. “We hope you have a good night, too.”

The obvious, if tactful, dismissal seemed to hurt Mr.

Mummy’s feelings. “Really, I didn’t mean to intrude.

Or to upset you. I had no idea that the Mr. Flynn who

was—”

“Forget it,” Renie said with a wave of her hand. “See

you in the morning.”

Mr. Mummy, with a rueful expression on his round

face, nodded and left. Judith turned to Renie. “He was

right about contacting the police. I should have done

that right away. But I’ve been too worried about Joe to

think logically.”

“You probably won’t learn much even if you call,”

Renie pointed out. “Unless, of course, you could talk

to Woody.”

“Woody.” Judith pressed her palms together, as if in

prayer. “Of course. I’ll call him at home.” She reached

for the phone.

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Sondra Price answered right away. “Judith?” she

said in surprise. “How are you? How’s Joe? I’ve been

afraid to call the hospital.”

“You know?” Judith asked, giving Renie a high sign.

“Yes,” Sondra replied. “When Woody heard what

happened, he demanded to be assigned to the case. Do

you want to talk to him?”

“Of course,” Judith said. “I’m so relieved that

Woody’s involved.”

“How are you? ” Sondra inquired. “I tried to send

flowers yesterday, but nobody’s delivering until the

streets are clear.”

Judith informed Sondra that she was doing all right.

Sondra, sensing Judith’s urgency, put Woody on the

line.

“I don’t know much,” Joe’s former partner admitted

in his mellow baritone. “Joe had talked to me about

the previous homicides involving homeless people,

but there wasn’t much I could tell him. I hadn’t

worked either of those cases, so all I could do was

look over the reports the other detectives had filed.”

He paused, then his voice turned apologetic. “Joe may

have mentioned that, as a rule, indigent murders don’t

get a high priority. It’s a terrible shame, but with such

a shortage of personnel these days, that’s the way it

is.”

“Were there any leads at all?” Judith asked.

“Not really,” Woody answered. “When the first one

occurred a month or so ago, one of the other homeless

persons told the detectives that he’d seen a guy in a

raincoat hanging around late that evening. Two of the

killings took place at night, you see, when everybody

was asleep. Have you heard anything new on Joe?”

“No,” Judith admitted. “I keep waiting for word. To

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be honest, I’m scared. Someone meant to kill Joe, I’m

convinced. What if they try again? Plus, Renie and I

think someone searched our room last night. It’s occurred to me that we might be in danger, too.”

Woody didn’t answer at once. “Well,” he finally

said, “maybe I can get a patrol officer to watch out for

you folks. Though if Joe was stabbed in a homeless

camp, I doubt very much that his assailant would show

up at the hospital. Whoever it was probably wouldn’t

know where he’d been taken. Not to mention that the

attacker may assume Joe is already . . . ah . . . dead.”

Judith winced at the word, but Woody continued:

“As for you and Serena, I wouldn’t worry too much.

Was anything stolen?”

“No,” Judith admitted.

“Then,” Woody said, “whoever searched your

room—and he or she might have been just a compulsive snoop—did you no harm. It’s doubtful that this

person would come back.”

“You may be right,” Judith allowed, though her concern ebbed only a jot. “I guess it’s just that my anxiety

over Joe makes me more sensitive to potential peril.

The uncertainty about whether Joe will recover may

have addled my brain.”

“Joe’ll be fine,” Woody said, and Judith hoped that

he had a good reason for the confidence in his voice.

“When he comes to, he may be able to give some sort

of description.”

“They said he was stabbed in the back,” Judith said,

having difficulty getting the words out. “I have a feeling he never saw his assailant.”

“That’s possible,” Woody said. “But Joe might have

seen someone suspicious before the attack. I imagine

that the members of FOPP will be very concerned

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about this. They wouldn’t have hired Joe if they

weren’t serious about making the homeless camps

safer.”

“It’s a worthy cause,” Judith said, though when it

came to Joe’s welfare, FOPP’s anxieties couldn’t possibly be as serious as her own. “Who are these people,

anyway?”

Woody chuckled faintly. “Are you thinking of suing

them?”

“It crossed my mind,” Judith confessed. “But Joe

took on the job, and thus assumed the liability. I doubt

that we’d have a case.”

“That I can’t say,” Woody responded, his tone

solemn. “But FOPP’s members mean well. And they’re

building political momentum.”

“How is that?” Judith asked, not particularly interested. She suddenly felt as if she should get off the

phone, just in case she was tying up the line and making it impossible for Joe’s caregivers to contact her.

“FOPP’s president is one of the city’s biggest

movers and shakers,” Woody replied. “In fact, you may

know who she is. Does the name Blanche Van Boeck

ring a bell?”

FIFTEEN

“SO,” RENIE SAID after Judith had finished speaking

to Woody Price, “Blanche hired Joe?”

“Blanche or one of her minions,” Judith replied.

“She certainly does have a finger in every pie

around this town.”

“And now she’s going to try to run it,” Renie

mused. “As mayor, I mean.”

“Yes,” Judith said absently, then after a pause

turned to face Renie. “What if some political rival is

trying to discredit Blanche because she’s on the hospital board and her husband is chief of staff?”

“That’s a stretch,” Renie said, still thoughtful.

“On the other hand, if the current administration and

the board are so good at running this place, why

does Good Cheer have to be absorbed by Restoration Heartware?”

“Good point,” Judith responded. “Except that so

many hospitals can’t go it alone these days. Good

Cheer is owned by a religious order. If Dr. Van

Boeck has been ineffective, why not just fire him?”

“Maybe the Sisters of Good Cheer are too kindhearted,” Renie said.

“The Sisters of Good Cheer are very sensible

businesswomen,” Judith asserted. “If they weren’t,

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they wouldn’t have been around for so long. It’s not

their fault that medical care in this country has gone

down the drain.”

Dr. Garnett entered the room so quietly that the

cousins didn’t notice him until he was at Judith’s bedside. “Mrs. Flynn?” he said as Judith gave a start. “I’ve

just come from the ICU.”

Judith tensed. “Yes?”

The bedside lamps left Dr. Garnett’s face in shadow.

“I thought that you and Mrs. Jones would want to

know that Dr. Van Boeck has been moved out of the

ICU and is spending the night in a private suite. He

ought to be able to—”

“What about Joe?” Judith interrupted.

“. . . return to the job in a few days.” Dr. Garnett

looked at Renie. “I didn’t want you to think you’d

caused any real harm to our chief of staff.”

“Thanks,” Renie said in a bleak voice. “But what

about Joe?”

“No change,” Dr. Garnett said with a shake of his

head before looking again at Judith. “You’ll make sure

you discourage all visitors to your husband, won’t you,

Mrs. Flynn?”

“Of course,” Judith said, trying to overcome her distress. “I doubt that anyone would try to come out to see

him in this weather.”

“We’ve already had at least one inquiry,” Dr. Garnett

said with a frown. “Most insistent, I understand. It’s

very important that Mr. Flynn is kept absolutely quiet.”

“Yes,” Judith agreed, trying to concentrate on the

matter at hand. “Who wanted to see him?”

“I don’t know,” Dr. Garnett responded. “I believe

someone at the main switchboard took the call. Whoever this person was, I understand that he or she was

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difficult to put off. You’d think people would know better. That’s what happens when these incidents get on

the news.”

“Joe’s stabbing was on the news?” Judith gaped at

the surgeon. “Oh, dear! I didn’t see that. I turned off

the news when dinner arrived.”

“Perhaps that was just as well,” Dr. Garnett said, his

expression sympathetic. “You shouldn’t become

overly upset so soon after surgery.”

“Upset?” Judith felt as if her eyes were bugging out.

“How can I not be upset when my husband is hovering

between life and death?”

“I meant,” Dr. Garnett said carefully, “that sometimes learning bad news through the media can be far

more disturbing than hearing about it from a friend or

relative.”

Judith glanced at Renie. “I still passed out,” Judith

said.

“Yes, so you did.” Dr. Garnett put a cold, dry hand

on Judith’s. “But you seem to be doing much better

now. I’ll see to it that the night nurse brings you some

more Valium so you can sleep.” He withdrew his hand

and headed for the door. “Please don’t distress yourself, Mrs. Flynn. You’ll hear immediately when we

have any news about your husband.”

“Wow,” Renie said in a dejected voice, “I’m racking

up some big scores around here when it comes to upsetting people, you included.”

“That’s not your fault,” Judith countered. “Somebody

had to tell me about Joe. I’d much rather it was you.”

The male night nurse, whose name was Avery, arrived with the Valium. Judith eyed the small yellow

tablet and told the nurse she’d take it a little later. It

was too early to try to go to sleep.

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241

After Avery had left, Renie gave Judith a suspicious

look. “Every so often, I can tell when you’re lying.

What’s up, coz?”

“Nothing,” Judith replied. “Nothing concrete.”

Renie looked at her watch, which said that it was

eight-thirty. “Shouldn’t you let Carl and Arlene know

what’s happened to Joe?”

Judith shook her head. “It’s hard for me to pass the

news on. I’m actually glad I couldn’t reach Mike.”

“I’ll call the Rankerses,” Renie volunteered. “If they

haven’t seen it on TV, they’ll begin to wonder when

Joe doesn’t come home.” She picked up the phone and

dialed.

Just as Renie greeted Arlene, Judith’s phone rang.

She grabbed the receiver and almost dropped it in her

eagerness to hear if there was news of Joe.

“Mrs. Flynn?” said a familiar voice that Judith

couldn’t quite identify. “I just heard about your husband’s stabbing. Can you give me any details?”

“Who is this?” Judith inquired.

“Addison Kirby, your next-door neighbor. Excuse

my butting in, but you have to understand that it’s almost impossible for a reporter to lie here helpless and

not know what’s going on.”

“Oh.” Judith relaxed a little, then gave Addison the

bare bones of the incident.

“You say he was working for FOPP?” Addison said.

“As in Blanche Van Boeck’s do-good group?”

“That’s right,” Judith responded, trying to listen in

on Renie’s conversation with Arlene. “Do you think

Blanche is sincere?” Judith asked of Addison.

“Blanche is sincere about Blanche,” Addison said.

“Look, if some project polishes her image, she’ll take

it on. But I don’t think she gives a hoot about the

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homeless or any other category—unless she can convince them to vote for her.”

“You may be right,” Judith said, again glancing at

her cousin.

“Honestly, we don’t know the details,” Renie was

saying on the phone. “Of course Judith’s upset. That’s

why she didn’t call you herself . . .”

“In the past few weeks, I heard some rumors around

city hall,” Addison said. “The first two homeless victims had just made some money. They bragged about

it, and that same night they were killed.”

“So call Herself if you want to,” Renie was saying to

Arlene. “Yes, she has a right to know, even if she is

sunning her body down in Florida . . .”

Judith stared at Renie. The mention of Joe’s first

wife’s name distracted her, and a sudden feeling of

resentment roiled up in the pit of her stomach. The

emotion was more from habit than any real threat

posed by Vivian Flynn. But Arlene was right; Herself

should be informed. She was the mother of Joe’s

daughter, Caitlin. In fact, Judith realized, Caitlin

should also be notified at her home in Switzerland

where she worked for an international banking firm.

Herself could make the call. Judith didn’t have

Caitlin’s number with her.

Getting back on track with Addison, Judith asked if

he thought the men had been murdered for the money

they’d acquired.

“That was the weird part,” Addison replied. “According to what I heard, at least one of the victims still

had the money on him. Damn, if only I could get out

of bed and use a different phone. I could do some

checking myself.”

“You’re using your phone now,” Judith pointed out.

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“I can only make calls inside Good Cheer,” Addison

grumbled. “I can’t get an outside line. And of course

you can’t use a cell phone in a hospital. They won’t

work and they can screw up the high-tech equipment.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Judith said. “Where did those

homeless men get the money? That’s very strange. I

wonder if this most recent man who got killed also had

cash on him.”

“I’ve no idea,” Addison replied. “I only heard about

your husband through the grapevine here. I won’t

watch TV news. Those so-called pretty-faced reporters

and anchors don’t know their heads from their hind

ends.”

“I appreciate your feelings,” Judith said as Renie

suddenly gave a start, apparently at something unexpected from Arlene.

“Judith doesn’t know anything about it,” Renie said,

wincing. “Are you sure?”

The comment rattled Judith, who decided she’d better terminate the conversation with Addison. “I’ll let

you know when I hear anything about Joe,” she said

into the receiver. “Thanks for calling.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Renie said to Arlene.

“We’ll let you know when we hear anything about Joe.

Bye.”

“What was that all about?” Judith inquired.

Renie gave herself a little shake. “Arlene sometimes

gets things mixed up, but she’s certain about this one.

She got a call at the B&B today saying that Federal

Express couldn’t make deliveries to Heraldsgate Hill

with all the snow, but they were holding two potbellied pigs for you in their warehouse.”

“Pot-bellied pigs?” Judith was incredulous.

“That’s what Arlene said,” Renie responded, looking

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bewildered. “They’re in cages. Or kennels. Or something.”

“Maybe FedEx has the wrong address,” Judith said

hopefully.

“They can’t deliver the pigs—if they are pigs—until

the streets are clear,” Renie pointed out. “Don’t fuss

about it.”

“I can’t,” Judith responded in a weary voice. “I’m

already fussing too much about Joe. Who do you suppose wanted to see him? If it had been Woody, he or

Sondra would have told me.”

But Renie couldn’t even guess. Instead, she called

home, hoping that one of her children would answer.

Luckily, Tony Jones picked up the phone.

“You mean it?” Renie said, brightening at her son’s

words on the other end of the line. “Oh.” Her face fell.

“Then hide that Uzbekistani cookbook from your father. You can’t live on millet until I get back in the

kitchen. Tell me,” she inquired of her son, “what’s he

doing with those damned Chihuahuas?”

Judith ignored Renie’s anxious probing on the

phone and dialed zero and asked to be connected to the

ICU. Whatever Bill Jones was doing with a couple of

dogs wasn’t nearly as urgent as Joe fighting for his life.

It took some time for Judith to be connected to the intensive care unit. Meanwhile, she imagined that the problem reaching a nurse was because Joe had taken a sudden

turn for the worse. She’d seen it happen with Bob Randall, with people shouting, running, and rushing equipment down the hall. She could visualize the same frantic

movements being performed on Joe’s behalf.

Finally, a tired-voiced female answered. Judith felt

momentarily strangled by anxiety, but she managed to

give her name and ask how Mr. Flynn was doing.

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“Flynn . . . Flynn . . . Joseph Flynn,” the nurse said

in a voice that dragged. “He’s listed in critical condition.”

Judith flinched. “No change from earlier this

evening?”

“That’s correct.”

“Officially, you mean,” Judith said. “But can’t you

tell whether he’s a little bit better or . . . not?”

“There’s been no change,” the nurse replied and

yawned in Judith’s ear.

Judith and Renie hung up at the same time, then

stared at each other.

“Well?” Renie inquired.

Judith’s features sagged with disappointment. “No

change.”

“I told you they’d let you know as soon as anything

happened,” Renie said. “Take it as a good sign.

Wouldn’t you think that if Joe wasn’t going to pull

through, he would have gotten worse by now? It’s almost ten o’clock.”

Judith flopped back on the pillows. “Maybe.”

Renie waited a few moments before speaking again.

“Tony says Bill has the Chihuahuas in his workroom in

the basement. He sits down there watching them. Then

the dogs watch Bill. And he watches them watch him.”

“Maybe it’s better than watching what’s on TV,” Judith said without much interest.

“Bill doesn’t usually conduct those kinds of experiments,” Renie fretted as Avery, the night nurse, came

in for the relentless vital signs routine.

“Maybe,” Judith suggested after submitting herself

to the procedures, “he did that kind of thing while he

was still teaching at the university. You just never knew

about it.”

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“Dubious,” Renie replied before the thermometer

was stuck in her mouth.

Judith bided her time, drumming her fingernails on

the bedclothes. After the nurse left, she turned to

Renie.

“I can’t stand it,” Judith announced. “I’m getting out

of here.”

Renie sighed. “I should have known. That’s why

you didn’t take your Valium a while ago.”

“Yes.” Judith signaled for Renie to be quiet. A full

five minutes passed as she listened for the voices to die

down and the patter of feet to fade. “They’re settling in

for the night. Help me get into the wheelchair.”

“No.” Renie glared at Judith. “You’ll do yourself

some harm. Besides, we’ll get caught.”

“We won’t,” Judith asserted, laboriously starting to

get out of bed. “Come on, give me a hand.”

“That’s all I’ve got,” Renie shot back. But, seeing

that Judith was determined, she got out of bed. “I

really don’t want to do this, coz. Where are we going?

As if I couldn’t guess.”

“You can,” Judith replied. “The ICU, of course.”

“Of course.” Renie shoved the wheelchair next to

the bed, then used her good arm to help Judith stand.

“Didn’t you tell Woody you thought we were in danger? Isn’t this trip a trifle risky?”

“It’s also necessary,” Judith declared.

Renie sighed again as she helped her cousin prepare

to sit down in the wheelchair. “Are you okay?”

Judith waited to make sure she didn’t feel dizzy.

“I’m fine.” She let Renie help ease her into place and

put a blanket across her lap. “Let’s roll.”

Just down the hall, an older nun sat at the nurses’

station. She looked up and eyed the cousins curiously.

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“Excuse me,” she said with a faint lisp, “where are you

going this time of night?”

“The chapel,” Judith replied. “My husband is in the

ICU. Perhaps you’ve heard. He was stabbed earlier

today. I want to pray for him.”

“I see,” the nun replied with a benevolent smile.

“You know where the chapel is? The second floor.”

“Thank you,” Judith replied as Renie leaned into the

wheelchair to aid her cousin’s progress.

The elevator was empty. “Blasphemy,” Renie muttered. “What next?”

“I really would like to go to the chapel,” Judith said.

“Luckily, it’s on the same floor as the ICU.”

“That makes sense,” Renie said as the elevator

stopped on two. “Gosh,” she remarked, giving Judith a

shove into the hallway, “it’s dark around here. Which

way, I wonder?”

Metal light fixtures with three bulbs hung from the

ceiling at twenty-foot intervals. The somber dark green

walls were relieved only by the tan linoleum floor. A

wooden sign with flaking gold letters and arrows directed the visitor to the operating rooms, the intensive

care unit, the isolation unit, the waiting room, and the

chapel.

“To the left,” Judith said, steering herself. “Everything but the ORs are that way.”

Heavy glass-and-steel double doors bore a sign that

read “No Admittance—Staff Only.” Perplexed, Judith

paused. “Now what?” she asked.

“There’s some kind of buzzer system on the wall to

punch in what must be a code,” Renie replied. “As you

may have guessed, we don’t know what it is.”

“Drat.” Judith gripped the arms of the wheelchair

and peered through the glass. She could see nothing

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except for a short hallway and another set of doors

about ten yards away. “Double drat.”

Behind them, they heard the elevator doors open and

close, followed by a beeping sound. “Robbie!” Renie

exclaimed. “He’s headed this way.”

The robot cruised down the hall, swerving to avoid

the cousins. The double doors swung open at his approach. Hurriedly, Renie pushed Judith inside. Instead

of going straight ahead, Robbie swung to the right

where a single wood-frame door said “Keep Out.”

Again, Robbie was given access and disappeared as

the door swung shut behind him.

“What’s that, I wonder?” Judith murmured.

“How should I know?” Renie replied. “Hey, this

second set of double doors doesn’t have a code system.

Shall we?”

The cousins passed through, using the wheelchair for

leverage to open the heavy doors. Almost immediately

they came upon a nurses’ station that looked out through

glass at the patients in the ICU.

“Oh!” Judith gasped. “Joe must be in there. Where

is he?”

A middle-aged nurse with a jutting jaw stared at the

cousins. “What are you doing here?” she demanded,

whipping off her glasses.

“Where’s Joe Flynn?” Judith asked, refusing to be

put off by the nurse’s fierce countenance.

“You don’t belong in this area,” the nurse retorted.

“This is off-limits to anyone but medical staff. Please

leave at once.”

“Where’s Joe Flynn?” Judith persisted as Renie tried

to angle the wheelchair so that they could see into the

dimly lighted ward that lay behind the glass windows.

Some half-dozen patients lay in small cubicles with

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elaborate lighted monitors that looked as if they belonged in the cockpit of a jumbo jet.

“If you don’t get out,” the nurse growled, “I’m calling Security.”

“Look,” Renie said in the voice she reserved for

dealing with dimwitted CEOs and obstinate public relations directors, “this is Mrs. Flynn, and the least you

can do is point her husband out to her.”

“That does it!” the nurse cried, and reached under

the desk. A soft but persistent alarm sounded, making

Judith jump.

“Come on, you old crone,” Renie railed at the nurse.

“Give this poor woman a break! She’s just had hip surgery and her husband may be at death’s—”

Torchy Magee appeared as if from nowhere, huffing

and puffing through the near set of double doors. “What’s

up?” he wheezed, practically falling against the desk.

“Get these two out of here,” the nurse ordered.

“They’ve broken into the ICU without permission.”

If Torchy had still had his eyebrows, he probably

would have raised them. Instead, he merely stared at

the cousins. “I know you two. Aren’t you from the

third floor?”

“Y-e-s,” Judith said, as something moving in the

shadows of the ICU caught her eye. Probably a busy

nurse, prompting Judith to worry that Joe was in there,

requiring immediate medical attention.

Torchy shook his head. “Now, now, you should

know better than to come into an area like this. It’s

staff only. Didn’t you see the sign?”

“Yes,” Judith began, “but—”

“In fact,” Torchy said, scratching his bald head,

“how did you get in here?” He gave the nurse a questioning look.

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“I didn’t let them in,” the nurse snapped. “They must

have tripped the code somehow and opened the outer

doors.”

“Is that what happened?” Torchy asked, looking

stumped.

“Something like that,” Renie answered. “Look, as

long as we’re here, couldn’t Hatchet-Face at least point

out to Mrs. Flynn where her husband is in the ICU?”

The nurse fingered her glasses, scowled at Torchy,

then looked down at her charts. “If I do, will you leave

right away?”

“Yes,” Judith promised. “Just point him out and tell

me how he’s doing.”

The nurse turned to her computer screen. “What was

the name again?”

“Joe Flynn,” Judith said with emphasis.

There was a long pause. The nurse scrolled the

screen up and then down. She slowly shuffled through

the charts on her desk. “Sorry,” she said with an expression of supreme satisfaction, “you must be mistaken. There’s no Joe Flynn here.”

SIXTEEN

JUDITH WILLED HERSELF not to faint twice in one day,

but she definitely felt light-headed. She couldn’t

find her voice. The words formed in her brain but

wouldn’t come out.

“You’re crazy,” Renie yelled at the nurse, banging

her left fist on the desk. “Joe Flynn had surgery this

afternoon and was moved to the intensive care unit.

Dr. Garnett operated on him. Look again.”

“Look for yourself,” the nurse smirked, turning the

computer monitor so that Renie could view the

screen. “Do you see any Flynn?”

“No,” Renie gulped after carefully eyeballing the

patient list, which included a Kyota, a Fairbanks, a

Diaz, a Gustafson, a Littlejohn, and a McNamara—

but no Flynn. “When did you come on duty?” she

demanded with a lowering stare.

“Tonight.” The nurse still seemed smug. “Ten

o’clock.”

“You mean you just got here?” Renie asked.

“That’s right,” the nurse replied. “About fifteen

minutes before you two showed up.” She leaned

past Renie to look at Torchy Magee. “Can you get

these pests out of here? I’ve got patients to monitor.”

“I’ll see these ladies home,” Torchy said with a

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chuckle. “Come on, let’s head back to the old corral.”

He grasped the wheelchair firmly and steered Judith

through the double doors.

She regained her speech only when they got to the

elevator. “Mr. Magee,” she said, sounding weak, “can

you check this whole thing out for me? I swear to you,

my husband was in ICU until . . . until whenever he

was moved.”

“I’ll try,” Torchy replied as the elevator doors

opened, “but I’m the only one on duty tonight. My

backup couldn’t get here in this snow.”

“Please.” Judith sounded pitiful. Then, summoning

up all her courage, she asked the question that had

been uppermost on her mind: “If something happened—that is, if my husband didn’t make it—

wouldn’t they tell me right away?”

“Oh, sure,” Torchy replied breezily, hitting the button for the third floor. “Say,” he said, looking around

the car, “where’s the other one?”

Judith gave a start. For the first time, she realized

that Renie wasn’t with them. “I don’t know. Wasn’t she

right behind us?”

“If she was, she didn’t get in the elevator,” Torchy

said as the car began its ascent. “I hope she’s not still

down in the ICU, giving Bertha heat. Bertha’s pretty

tough.”

“So’s my cousin,” Judith said. But her worries rose

right along with the elevator.

“I’ll check on Mrs. Jones after I get you to your

room,” Torchy said as they exited into the hall. “Maybe

she didn’t make it into the car before the door closed.

She’ll probably show up in a few minutes.”

When Judith and Torchy passed the third-floor

nurses’ station, the nun at the desk looked up. “Your

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mind must be at rest after going to the chapel,” she said

with a smile. “Prayerful moments with our Lord before

bedtime are much better than any sedatives.”

Judith uttered a response that was supposed to come

out as “My, yes,” but sounded more like “Mess.”

Which, Judith thought dismally, was more appropriate

to her situation.

“Please,” she begged after the security guard had

gotten her back into bed, “can you find out what happened to my husband?”

“I’ll give it a try,” Torchy said. “What about your

cousin?”

“She’ll be all right,” Judith said, though not with

complete conviction. “For now, I’m more worried

about Joe.”

Torchy nodded half-heartedly. “Okay, I’m off.”

It was impossible for Judith to get comfortable. She

called the main desk and asked for Sister Jacqueline,

but the nun was unavailable. Then she dialed Woody’s

number at home.

Woody sounded half asleep when he answered. Judith briefly apologized before explaining that Joe had

gone missing.

“How can he be missing?” Woody asked, sounding

confused.

“Maybe that’s the wrong word,” Judith said as she

heard Sondra’s sleepy mumbling in the background.

“But I don’t know where he is. Which makes him

missing as far as I’m concerned.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Woody said. “Frankly, I

think it’s just a mix-up. Try to calm down. It isn’t good

for you to get yourself so upset after surgery.”

Judith had confidence in Woody, but realized that

the most he could do at the moment was try to send a

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couple of patrol officers to the hospital. They might

get the runaround, too. She cudgeled her brain to

think who else she might contact for help. Feeling

impotent and distraught, Judith considered taking the

Valium to settle her nerves. But it might fuddle her

brain, so she set aside the yellow pill in its tiny

pleated cup. It was almost eleven o’clock; she considered turning on the late-night news. She might see

the story on Joe. But, she decided, that would only

upset her.

For a quarter of an hour, she twisted, tossed, and

turned—at least as much as she could without disturbing the artificial hip. She was about to ring the front

desk again when Renie staggered into the room.

“Coz!” Judith cried. “Where have you been? Did

you find Joe?”

Dragging herself to her bed, Renie shook her head.

“No. But he’s not dead. I finally got that much out of

Bertha down there in the ICU. They moved him to a

private room on the fourth floor.”

Judith clutched the bedsheet to her breast. “Does

that mean he’s better?”

“It may,” Renie replied, collapsing onto the mattress. “Bertha wouldn’t give me any details. The only

way I got any information was to grab the power cord

to her computer with my good hand and threaten to unplug her. To tell the truth, I don’t think she knew anything else. Remember, she just came on duty. Joe was

moved before she got there.”

Judith grabbed the phone. “I’m calling the nurses’ station on four.”

A man with a foreign accent answered. “Very sorry,”

he said after Judith stated her request for information.

“We cannot give out any word on that patient.”

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255

“But I’m his wife,” Judith protested. “I’m next of kin.”

“Very sorry,” the man repeated. “We must follow

strict orders.”

“Tell me this much,” she persisted. “Would they

have moved him if he’d still been on the critical list?”

“No word on that patient. Good-bye.” The man hung

up.

“Damn!” Judith cried. “Is this some kind of conspiracy?”

“I don’t know,” Renie said in an exhausted voice.

“But at least you found out Joe’s still in one piece.”

“That’s not a great deal of comfort,” Judith moaned.

“And why move him at all?”

“It gets zanier,” Renie declared. “Didn’t you wonder

how Torchy Magee arrived so fast after Bertha hit the

alarm button?”

“No,” Judith admitted. “I didn’t even think about it.

I was too upset about Joe.”

“Torchy may run hard, but he doesn’t run fast,”

Renie pointed out. “He’s too bulky. Anyway, I figured

that the only place he could have come from in that

short period of time was the room we saw Robbie the

Robot enter. After giving Bertha the third degree, I

peeked inside the door. Robbie was still there, all

beeped out. The room is where they keep some of their

records, and it has a paper shredder that had been left

on. I figured that Torchy was in there shredding documents, maybe some that Robbie had delivered. Sure

enough, Torchy had left a couple of undamaged pages

next to the shredder.” Renie looked hard at Judith.

“They bore the name ‘Joe Flynn.’ ”

At first, Judith was baffled. According to Renie, the

two sheets appeared to be only the standard admitting

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forms. Except for Joe’s identification, the date, the

time, the type of injury, and the signature of the hospital staff member who had signed him in, there was

nothing of interest.

“That’s why I didn’t swipe them,” Renie explained.

“As long as they didn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know, I thought that stealing the two pages

would cause more trouble than it was worth.”

Judith frowned. “I wonder how many records from

this place have gone through that shredder in the past

month or so?”

“You mean like Joaquin Somosa’s and Joan Fremont’s and Bob Randall’s?” Renie suggested.

“Exactly.” Judith was silent for a few moments, then

turned to Renie again. “There is a cover-up, but I’m beginning to think it doesn’t have anything to do with the

hospital’s reputation per se.”

“What do you mean?” Renie asked.

Judith shook her head. “I’m not sure. I just have this

feeling that maybe it’s more personal than professional.”

She saw that Renie looked confused. “I have to think it

through, really, I do. By the way, did you notice someone moving around in the ICU while we were there?”

Renie made a face. “I don’t think so. Why? Did

you?”

Judith hesitated. “I did, and my first reaction was

that it was a nurse, but there was something not quite

right about whoever it was. Except for all those monitors with their red, green, and yellow lights, it was

completely dark. I could only make out a form. But

now that I think about it, the person wasn’t wearing a

nurse’s cap or scrubs.”

“It could have been a male nurse,” Renie said. “They

don’t wear caps. It might even have been a doctor.”

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Judith shook her head. “No. The doctors here wear

either white coats or scrubs. Ditto for the male nurses.

I don’t think this person was dressed like that. But it’s

only an impression.”

“Hunh.” Renie stared up at the ceiling. “Maybe it

was an orderly or the cleaning crew.”

“Maybe,” Judith said, but wasn’t convinced. She remained silent for a few moments, then announced,

“It’s eleven o’clock.”

“Yes.” Renie was trying to get comfortable. “So

what?”

“I want to go to the fourth floor.”

“N-o-o-o,” Renie groaned, pulling the sheet over her

head. “Not tonight. Please, I’m worn out.”

“I’ll go without you,” Judith said with an obstinate

set to her jaw.

“Don’t,” Renie shot back as she emerged from under

the sheet. “You’re as tired as I am. You’ll do yourself

some serious harm. The killer may be loose, and out to

get you. Knock it off. Please.”

“I can’t go to sleep until I find out more about Joe’s

condition,” Judith declared, then pointed a finger at

Renie. “I don’t think Torchy’s going to be any help.

Would you go ask Mr. Mummy to check on Joe?”

“Mr. Mummy?” Renie looked startled. “I thought

you didn’t trust him.”

“I’m not sure I do,” Judith said, “but I can’t see any

danger in asking him to peek in on Joe.”

“Other than that Mr. Mummy’s probably asleep,”

Renie responded. “It’s not fair.”

“I’ll bet he wouldn’t mind,” Judith asserted. “He’s

always nosing around, and this would make him feel

useful. Can you ask him?”

“No,” Renie replied, “I’m utterly beat. Dial his room

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number. If he doesn’t answer, one of the nurses will

pick up the line and wake him. But,” she added in a

disapproving tone, “I think it’s a bad idea.”

Judith ignored her cousin and punched in Mr.

Mummy’s number. It rang six times before a woman

answered.

“Excuse me,” Judith said, trying not to notice

Renie’s critical expression, “is Mr. Mummy in Room

322 sleeping?”

“I don’t think so,” the nurse replied. “When I looked

in on him five minutes ago, he wasn’t there.”

“What is this?” Judith railed after hanging up the

phone. “Musical beds? First Joe, now Mr. Mummy.”

“The nurse didn’t say that Mr. Mummy was moved,

did she?” Renie said in a reasonable tone. “Maybe he’s

just wandering around, trying to settle down for the

night.”

“On a broken leg?” Judith shot back. “No, coz. Mr.

Mummy may be doing some snooping of his own.”

“To what purpose?” Renie responded.

Judith was brooding. “I don’t know. I wish I’d asked

Woody to check out Mr. Mummy.”

“You think he’s a crook?” Renie asked, stifling a

yawn.

“I don’t know what to think,” Judith replied, “except

that he’s a phony.”

Renie’s eyes were half closed. “At this point, I don’t

care if Mr. Mummy is really Fidel Castro. Take that

damned Valium and knock yourself out. I’m going to

sleep.” She turned off the bedside lamp.

For several minutes, Judith lay with arms folded

across her chest, face set in a stubborn line, and worrisome thoughts racing through her brain like mice in a

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259

maze. But though her mind was active, her body betrayed her. Weariness tugged at every muscle, every

sinew, and, finally, at her eyelids. She reached for the

little cup with its little pill, but her hand failed. Judith

fell asleep with the light still burning by her bed.

The sounds and smells of the morning routine

were becoming all too familiar to Judith. The food

arriving in the big steel carts, the cleaning crew’s

disinfectant, the clatter of breakfast trays, the soft

padding of the nurses in the hallway, the incessant

announcements over the PA system—all had piqued

Judith’s curiosity at first. But on this Thursday, the

fourth day at Good Cheer, they were nothing more

than a tiresome reminder of her confinement and

concerns. Her first thought was of Joe. She fumbled

for the phone as Renie got out of bed and went over

to the window.

“The sun’s out,” Renie announced. “Maybe it’s

warming up enough that the snow will start melting.”

Judith ignored the remark as she dialed the fourthfloor nurses’ station. To her dismay, the line was busy.

“It’s a cruel plot,” Judith declared, “just to make me

crazy. Furthermore,” she went on, taking her frustration out on Renie, “I don’t see how you seem so awake

this early when you’re in the hospital. The rest of the

time, you don’t get up until almost ten, and even then

you’re not exactly bright-eyed.”

“At home, I don’t have thirty people running around

outside my bedroom door,” Renie replied. “Nor am I

usually in pain. Not to mention that until recently, I

could sleep in more than just one position. Hospitals

are not conducive to sleeping in.”

Judith barely heard the rest of her cousin’s explana-260

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tion. She dialed the fourth floor again; the line was still

engaged.

Corinne Appleby appeared, going through the usual

check on the cousins’ conditions. Renie asked the

nurse if the weather was getting warmer. Corinne

didn’t know, and seemed unusually glum.

“What’s wrong?” Judith inquired, hoping to ingratiate herself so that the nurse might prove useful in the

quest for Joe. “Has being stuck over in the residence

hall gotten you down?”

“In a way,” Corinne replied without looking up from

Judith’s chart. “My mother’s not feeling at all well, and

I can’t be home with her.”

“Is she alone?” Judith asked.

Corinne made some notations before responding.

“We’re lucky to have a neighbor who can look in on

her. Stay with her, too, when I’m on duty. But this is

the longest time in years that I’ve been away. It’s very

hard on Mother.”

“And on you, I imagine,” Judith said with sympathy.

“You must worry so. I know I do when I’m away from

my mother, though we have wonderful neighbors who

help out.”

“You’re fortunate,” Corinne replied, fine lines appearing on her forehead. “Is your mother able to get

around on her own?”

“She uses a walker,” Judith replied, then glanced at

Renie. “My cousin’s mother is pretty much confined to

a wheelchair, but she has very kind neighbors, too. Of

course our mothers are both very elderly.”

Corinne gave a brief nod. “Yes. My mother isn’t

much older than you are. You’re really blessed that

you’ll be able to come out of this surgery and be independent. So many people don’t appreciate the good

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health they’ve been given. I can’t help but take offense

at that. But of course I see so many patients who complain about the least little infirmity. They don’t understand real suffering and helplessness.”

Judith gave Corinne a compassionate smile. “That’s

true. I feel so helpless now, but I know I’ll get over it.

I’m grateful for that. Meanwhile, though—are you

aware that my husband is on the fourth floor as a result

of a severe stab wound?”

Corinne gave a start. “That was your husband? No.

I didn’t realize . . . I’m so sorry.”

“They moved him from the ICU to the fourth floor

last night,” Judith explained. “I can’t get through on

the phone this morning. Would it be an imposition to

ask you to check on him for me? I’m very worried.”

“I’ll try,” Corinne said, though she sounded dubious.

“I must finish my rounds first, though.”

“I’d certainly appreciate it,” Judith said. “Of course

I’ll keep calling up there.”

Breakfast arrived while Corinne was taking Renie’s

vitals. “Say,” Renie said to the nurse, “you don’t happen to have an extra tray this morning, do you? I got

cheated on dinner last night, and I’m famished.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Corinne replied, then

turned back to Judith. “We’re going to try to get you

in the shower today. I imagine you’re tired of sponge

baths.”

Judith made a noncommittal noise. The sponge

baths were dreary, but she was frightened by the

thought of standing in a shower. Before starting to eat

her breakfast, she tried to call the fourth floor again.

The line was still busy.

Corinne went off on the rest of her rounds. Judith

nibbled on toast and a soft-boiled egg. Renie, mean-262

Mary Daheim

while, was devouring oatmeal mush, grapefruit, toast,

eggs, and bacon.

“If you don’t want all of yours, I’ll eat it,” Renie volunteered.

“I’m not hungry,” Judith admitted. “I’m too worried about Joe.”

Renie started to say something, but stopped when

she saw Margie Randall enter the room. The recent

widow wore her volunteer’s blue smock and a surprisingly cheerful expression.

“Nurse Appleby told me you had an errand,” Margie

said, smiling at Judith. “I understand it involves your

husband.”

“It does,” Judith said, and explained the situation.

Though Margie didn’t seem particularly moved by

Judith’s plight, she shook her head in commiseration.

“That’s terrible. Those homeless people are dangerous,

not only to themselves, but to others. I hope they catch

whoever did it. Was Mr. Flynn robbed?”

“No,” Judith replied. “What makes you ask?”

“Well . . .” Margie blinked several times. “It seems

like a motive for such an attack, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose,” Judith said. “Did you hear about the

other homeless people who were also victims of stabbings?”

Margie shoved her hands in the pockets of her

smock and avoided Judith’s gaze. “Did I? Yes, I suppose I did. On the news. Or in the paper. I forget exactly.” She back-pedaled out of the room. “I’ll go up to

the fourth floor right now and see what I can find out

about your husband.”

“Weird,” Renie remarked, wiping egg yolk off her

chin.

“Yes,” Judith agreed. “Everything about Margie

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263

seems weird. When is the funeral for Bob Randall

being held?”

“Saturday, I think,” Renie said, unfolding the morning paper, which had arrived just minutes earlier.

“Let’s see if there’s anything in here about Joe.”

Judith leaned closer, her nerves tingling at the mere

thought of hearing the account of her husband’s attack

in cold black type.

“It’s pretty brief,” Renie said. “There’s about two

inches in the local news roundup in the second section.

Shall I read it out loud?”

“Yes,” Judith said, steeling herself for the worst.

“Please.”

“ ‘A Heraldsgate Hill man was stabbed yesterday at

Viewpoint Park,’ ” Renie read. “ ‘According to police,

Joseph Flynn was allegedly attacked by one of the

homeless persons who have set up a temporary camp

in the park. Flynn, who apparently wandered onto the

site without realizing that it was occupied, was taken to

Good Cheer Hospital, where he is listed in critical condition. Two days ago, a homeless man was stabbed to

death in the same vicinity. No suspects have been

found in either attack.’ ”

Judith shuddered. “How odd. They give Joe’s name,

but not his previous or current occupation.”

“The police don’t want to broadcast Joe’s activities,”

Renie said.

“Maybe,” Judith allowed, deep in thought.

“Addison Kirby might be able to read between the

lines,” Renie suggested as her phone rang. Once again,

she smiled broadly as she heard Bill’s voice on the

other end.

Judith started to listen to her cousin’s half of the

conversation, but was interrupted by the arrival of Dr.

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Alfonso. He was upbeat about her progress, and assured her that she’d be able to manage a shower.

“Just don’t stay in there too long singing Broadway

hits,” he advised. “We’ll see about getting you on a

walker tomorrow. It looks as if you’ll be able to go

home Saturday if you keep improving at this rate.”

Judith started to ask the doctor if he knew anything

about Joe, but his beeper went off, and he made a

hasty, if apologetic, exit. Renie had just hung up the

phone and was looking disconcerted.

“Bill just spoke with Jeff Bauer, the manager at the

Toyota dealership,” she said. “It seems that some

scruffy-looking guy was hanging around the lot and

they figured he must have stolen it. Cammy still hasn’t

turned up.”

“Why didn’t they keep an eye on him?” Judith

asked.

“They were really busy,” Renie replied. “Bill wasn’t

the only customer who’d come in to have work done

before the snow started. The salesman who noticed the

scruffy guy was with some long-winded customer who

wanted to look at a used car on the other side of the lot.

Bill figures that Cammy was taken while the salesman

and the customer were looking at the other car.”

“Scruffy, huh?” Judith murmured.

“It figures,” Renie said, looking angry. “Who else

but some impecunious jerk would steal a car?”

“Good question,” Judith said with an odd expression

on her face.

“What are you thinking?” Renie asked, narrowing

her eyes at her cousin.

“Well . . . Nothing much, really, except that . . .” Judith’s voice trailed off as she avoided Renie’s gaze.

“Fine,” Renie snapped. “If you’re going to keep se-SUTURE SELF

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crets, I won’t tell you what Bill said about the Randall

kids.”

Judith jerked to attention. “What?”

“My husband’s mind works in convoluted ways,”

Renie said cryptically. “After thirty-five years, more or

less, I still have trouble figuring out what lies behind

his rationale for doing things. That’s one of the many

reasons Bill never bores me.”

“Good grief,” Judith cried, “you sound like Bill. Just

tell me what he said about the Randall kids. And don’t

give me your usual parroting of your husband’s psychobabble.”

“Okay.” Renie’s expression was bland. “Bill broke

his confidence because you need a distraction. That’s

how I figure it, anyway.”

“What?” Judith stared blankly at her cousin.

“Because you’re so worried about Joe,” Renie said.

“Besides, Margie Randall isn’t Bill’s patient anymore.

Not to mention the fact that Margie’s husband has been

murdered.”

“Get on with it,” Judith said between clenched teeth.

“According to Margie, Bob had been an extremely

stern, demanding father,” Renie said. “The obituary the

family put together wasn’t too far off the mark. In consequence, the kids rebelled. Nancy has been fighting a

drug addiction and Bob Jr., who is gay, was tested for

HIV.”

“Good Lord!” Judith cried. “Those poor kids! And

poor Margie!”

Renie nodded. “It’s awful. But Bill didn’t know

what the results of the HIV test were because Margie

quit seeing him about that time. It seems that Bob Sr.

left quite a legacy—and it’s not in dollars and cents.”

“Not in common sense, either,” Judith murmured.

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“He doesn’t seem to have been a very good father. I

guess he wasn’t much of a husband, either. Of course

you can’t blame him for everything. That is, children

can make choices. But to rebel, they often choose

the—” Judith stopped speaking as Margie Randall all

but pranced into the room.

“No matter what happens,” she said in a chipper

voice, “we don’t want to be glum, do we?”

“What?” Judith gasped.

“Life can be hard, so it’s not always easy to endure

what fate has in store for us,” Margie said, all smiles.

“Just tell me about Joe,” Judith said as apprehension

overcame her.

“I will,” Margie replied. “If you think you can take

it.”

Judith swallowed hard, and said she could.

SEVENTEEN

“I FOUND MR. FLYNN,” Margie Randall announced

with a triumphant expression.

“Oh!” Judith clenched her hands. “How is he?”

Margie simpered a bit. “Doing rather well,” she said

in a tone that indicated she was taking some of the

credit. “He’s expected to recover.”

Judith sagged against the pillows. “I’m so relieved! When can I see him?”

“Well . . .” Margie frowned, chin on hand, fingers

tapping her cheek. “That’s a different matter. He’s

not allowed visitors.”

“But,” Judith protested, “I’m not a visitor, I’m his

wife!”

Margie shook her head. “That doesn’t matter. Dr.

Van Boeck is back at work today, and he makes the

rules. I’m sure it’s all for your husband’s good. He

mustn’t be disturbed.”

“Can I call his room?” Judith asked.

“No,” Margie replied. “There’s no phone. Tomorrow, perhaps. Time is the best healer.” Again, her expression changed, radiating joy. “I must dash. My

brother-in-law has just gotten the most amazing

news. I must be with him.”

Margie fairly flew out of the room.

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“Damn!” Judith breathed. “I know I should be elated

that Joe’s better, but I wanted so much to see him. I

wonder if Margie’s right about the no-visitors rule?”

“It makes sense, in a way,” Renie said. “After all,

he’s just turned the corner and he probably has to stay

completely quiet.”

“I guess.” Judith heaved a big sigh, then turned to

Renie. “Goodness, I hadn’t thought about it until now,

but how are Joe and I going to manage when we both

get discharged? Neither of us will be in any shape to

help the other, let alone take charge of the B&B. I can’t

expect the Rankerses to keep pitching in.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Renie cautioned. “If

things get really desperate, won’t the state B&B association help you out?”

“Yes,” Judith answered slowly, “they have backup

personnel. But I’d hate to avail myself of it. Besides,

I’d go nuts watching somebody else run Hillside

Manor.”

“Relax,” Rene urged. “We’ve got other things to

worry about. Like our recovery. And Joe’s. Not to

mention Bill’s mental state.”

“Did he mention the Chihuahuas this morning?” Judith inquired, trying to stop fussing.

“No,” Renie said. “He was too involved with the car

disaster and the Randall kids.” She paused, gazing out

the window. “Hey—the icicles are dripping. Maybe

it’s finally beginning to thaw.”

“It’s certainly sunny enough,” Judith said, then gave

a start as a loud whirring noise could be heard from

somewhere. “What’s that? I don’t recognize it as a routine hospital sound.”

The whirring grew louder, making Renie wince. “I

don’t know. I think it’s coming from outside,” she said,

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her voice rising to be heard over the noise as she got

out of bed and went to the window. “Good grief!” she

cried. “It’s a helicopter! It looks as if it’s going to land

on the roof!”

“An emergency, I’ll bet,” Judith shouted. “Someone

has been flown in from an outlying site.”

“What?” Renie watched as the copter disappeared

from her view. The whirring died down a bit. “Did you

say an emergency?”

“What else?” Judith said. “An accident, I suppose.”

The whirring resumed almost at once. Renie gaped

as the helicopter reappeared and began ascending over

the parking area. “It’s leaving. What did they do, throw

the patient onto the roof?”

Judith frowned. “I suppose they can make the transfer really fast,” she said. “But that was really fast.”

“Too fast,” Renie muttered, heading back to bed.

She’d just gotten back under the covers when Dr. Ming

appeared.

“I hear you’ve been a very active patient,” the surgeon remarked with an off-center grin. “You aren’t

wearing yourself out, are you, Mrs. Jones?”

“Me?” Renie gave the doctor a sickly smile. “I don’t

want to get weak.”

“You won’t,” Dr. Ming assured her. “What’s making

you run all around the hospital?”

“Oh—this and that,” Renie replied vaguely. “For example—what was with that helicopter just now?”

Dr. Ming was examining Renie’s shoulder. “That’s

coming along just fine. Your busy little ways haven’t

done any visible damage.” He paused, moving Renie’s

wrist this way and that. “Helicopter? Oh, that was a

transplant delivery. We don’t usually get them here

since we do only orthopedic work. But with the snow,

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this week has been different. We’ve had to take on

some exceptional cases.”

“Transplant?” Renie said. “What kind?”

“I’m not sure,” Dr. Ming replied. “Does this hurt?”

he inquired, bending Renie’s arm toward her body.

“Not much,” she answered. “Heart, maybe?”

“Heart?” Dr. Ming frowned. “Oh—the transplant. I

don’t think so. We couldn’t do that here at all. What I

suspect is that the organ was flown in along with the

surgeon. None of our doctors could handle a transplant. We aren’t trained for that kind of specialty.” He

patted Renie’s lower arm. “You’re coming along just

fine. Want to visit the physical therapist and then go

home tomorrow?”

“You mean Blanche Van Boeck isn’t evicting me

today?” Renie asked, faintly surprised.

Dr. Ming laughed as he backed away from the bed.

“No, she’s too busy.” He glanced at his watch. “In

fact, in about twenty minutes, Blanche is going to

hold a press conference just down the hall. If you’re

not doing anything else, Mrs. Jones, you might want

to listen in. I’m sure she’ll have some words of wisdom for us all.”

Renie sneered, but said nothing until Dr. Ming had

left. “Why is Blanche holding her damned press conference out in the hall? Why not the foyer? Or the auditorium? I assume they have one. Teaching hospitals

always do.”

“Don’t ask me,” Judith responded without enthusiasm. She couldn’t take her mind off Joe, though something else was niggling at her brain. Not that it had

anything to do with her husband. Or did it? Judith was

afraid that the anesthetic had dulled her usually logical

mind. “Blanche held that other press conference out in

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the hall,” she pointed out. “Maybe she likes the intimacy.”

Renie had gotten out of bed again. The icicles were

definitely thawing, in big, heavy drips. “Hey,” Renie

said, excited, “there are some workmen out in the

parking lot. It looks as if they’re clearing off the cars

that have been stuck there.”

“Good.” Judith shifted positions, trying to get more

comfortable. The sound of happy voices in the hallway

distracted her. “Who’s out there?” she asked Renie.

“Huh?” Renie turned toward the door. “I can’t

see . . . Oh, it’s the Randall kids. Jeez, they’re practically skipping down the hall.” She moved as quickly as

she could to watch their progress, which halted at the

elevator. “They’re high-fiving,” she said. “What’s

going on with this family? Whatever happened to

proper respect and bereavement?”

Judith’s interest perked up. “They’re glad he’s

dead,” she declared. “That’s the only possible explanation.”

As the brother and sister disappeared inside the elevator, Renie stared at her cousin. “Do you think they

killed Bob Randall?”

Judith shook her head. “No. I can’t imagine an entire family plotting to murder another relative. I mean,

I can, but it seems unlikely.”

“Hold it,” Renie said, sitting down in Judith’s visitor’s chair. “What are the three guidelines Joe uses

when it comes to homicide? Motive, means, and opportunity, right?”

“Right.” Judith was looking dubious. “Okay, so

Margie had all three, assuming she really hated Bob. In

fact, she indicated that she may have delivered something lethal to each of the victims.”

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Renie raised a hand in protest. “Who told you she

admitted being the so-called vessel? It was Bob Jr., not

Margie. How do we know Margie ever said such a

thing?”

“Good point. But either way, it assumes that

Margie—or her son—knew what was in Joan’s Italian

soda, Joaquin’s juice, and Bob’s booze. Why would

Margie admit such a thing to anyone?”

“Because she’s a total ditz?” Renie offered.

“I don’t think she’s as much of a ditz as she pretends,” Judith said. “I think Margie—if she really said

it in the first place—was speaking metaphorically.

Why would she go to all that trouble to kill Joan and

Joaquin before finally getting to Bob? And why kill

him here, in the hospital? She could have slipped him

a little something at home.”

“What about the others? Bob Jr. and Nancy and even

Jim?” Renie asked. “Could one of them have used

Margie?”

“As ‘the vessel’?” Judith gave her cousin an ironic

smile. “Maybe. But why kill the other two? We haven’t

seen any connection between Joaquin Somosa and

Joan Fremont and Bob Randall Sr.—except that they

were all well-known, successful individuals.”

Renie looked thoughtful. “I know that Margie and

Jim both evinced a certain amount of sadness at the

time of Bob’s death. But then they let loose, and the funeral hasn’t even taken place yet. What do you think?

Denial? Relief? Hysteria?”

Slowly Judith shook her head. “It’s impossible to

figure out because we don’t know them. You have to

consider who benefits from any or all of the three

deaths. Apparently, not the Randalls. Bob Sr. was

worth more to them alive. Stage actresses in repertory

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theaters don’t earn that much. Of course you have to

consider insurance policies, but would Joan or Bob

have had huge amounts? That means expensive premiums. Bob was probably insured to the max when in his

playing days, but the team, not Margie, probably was

the beneficiary. And he didn’t really play ball in the era

of million-dollar quarterbacks.”

“Somosa might have had a big personal policy, since

he did play in the era of million-dollar pitchers,” Renie

pointed out. “But Mrs. Somosa was in the Dominican

Republic when Joan and Bob died. That bursts that

balloon.”

Judith looked startled. “What?”

“I said, that bursts that . . .”

“Balloons,” Judith broke in. “What about the guy

who delivered the balloons and the cardboard cutout to

Bob’s room after he came back from surgery? Did you

get a good look at him?”

“No,” Renie confessed. “He went by too fast. And I

was still sort of groggy. The only thing I really remember besides what he was carrying was that his

shoes didn’t match.”

“Interesting.” Judith paused for a moment. “What

if he also delivered the Wild Turkey? They must

know at the desk who came in.”

“Probably,” Renie said, then stopped as a chattering

stream of people began to filter down the hall, accompanied by TV equipment and snaking cables.

“It must be the newshounds arriving for Blanche’s

announcement,” Judith said. “Help me get into the

wheelchair. I want to hear this.”

It was a bit of a struggle, but the cousins managed it.

Judith, who was becoming accustomed to the wheelchair’s vagaries, was able to propel herself into the

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doorway, where she sat with Renie standing next to

her. At least thirty people had filled the corridor. Sister

Jacqueline was one of them, and she didn’t look happy.

While the reporters and cameramen positioned

themselves, Dr. Van Boeck and Dr. Garnett appeared,

coming from different directions. Judith noted that Dr.

Van Boeck didn’t look much the worse for his collapse

the previous day, though both physicians seemed grim.

At last, the elevator doors opened and the star of the

show made her entrance. Blanche Van Boeck had shed

her furs, revealing what Renie whispered was a gray

Armani suit. Knee-high boots and a black turban completed the ensemble. “Big bucks,” Renie noted as

Blanche passed by on her way to the alcove down the

hall.

Judith gestured at the empty doorway across the

hall. “No Mr. Mummy,” she murmured. “Where do

you suppose he is?”

Renie shrugged as Sister Jacqueline found herself

being pushed back in the cousins’ direction.

“Excuse me,” the nun apologized, bumping into Judith’s wheelchair. “This is quite a mob. I wish Mrs.

Van Boeck hadn’t chosen this place for her announcement.”

“It does seem like an odd venue,” Judith remarked.

“Does she have a reason?”

“Does she need a reason?” Sister Jacqueline retorted, then gave herself a little shake. “Sorry. That was

unkind, especially given that Mrs. Van Boeck has always been such a big supporter of Good Cheer. The

truth is, the auditorium is being painted. The workers

just got started Monday, and then weren’t able to come

back after it began snowing. And it’s too cold and

draughty to hold the press conference in the foyer.”

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“Not to mention,” Renie put in, “that I suspect

Blanche enjoys the cozy atmosphere of a more intimate setting.”

“A more neutral setting as well,” Sister Jacqueline

said, then again looked rueful. “The foyer, the auditorium, so many other places in the hospital feature religious symbols. If Mrs. Van Boeck is going to run for

mayor, she has to appeal to a broad range of voters, the

majority of whom aren’t Catholic.”

“So she’s going to announce her candidacy today,

right?” Renie whispered as, down in the alcove, Blanche

raised her hands for silence.

Sister Jacqueline shot Renie a swift, puzzled glance.

“I’m not certain. Maybe she’ll do that later, downtown.”

Judith gave the nun a puzzled look, but there was no

opportunity for further questions. Blanche was beginning to speak, her strong, sharp voice carrying easily

without a microphone.

“I’ll keep my remarks brief,” Blanche said, her expression somber. “I appreciate your efforts in coming

out in this winter weather. I know it wasn’t easy getting here.” She paused, her gaze resting on her husband, who stood a little apart from the rest of the

crowd. “As of February first of this year, Good Cheer

Hospital will be taken over by Restoration Heartware

of Cleveland, Ohio.”

A gasp went up from the crowd in the hallway.

Hardened journalists they might be, but Blanche’s

statement wasn’t what they’d expected. Judith gasped

right along with them, then turned to Sister Jacqueline.

“Did you know this was coming?” she asked of the

nun.

“Yes.” Sister Jacqueline kept staring straight ahead,

in Blanche’s direction.

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“This,” Blanche continued, “is a very difficult time

for those of us who have been associated with Good

Cheer. We are all very grateful to the sisters who

founded this hospital almost a century ago. Their dedication to physical, emotional, and spiritual health has

been unparalleled in this region. Fortunately, the order

still has hospitals in other cities, and will continue to

administer Good Cheer’s retirement and nursing

homes.”

Blanche drew in a deep breath. “This is a sad day for

us, but we are not without hope. The state of medicine in

this country is pitiful, and universal health care has been

only a dream for the past fifty-odd years. It’s time to stop

talking about it, and act. Therefore, I intend to run for

Congress in the upcoming election. Health care will be

the issue—my only issue. Thank you very much.”

Blanche stepped down amid more gasps from her

audience. She moved quickly through the crowd to her

husband’s side. A few yards away, Dr. Garnett glared

at the couple. Sister Jacqueline had bowed her head

and appeared to be praying.

“Well.” Renie was fingering her chin and observing

the reporters who were pressing in on the Van Boecks.

Dr. Garnett had turned away and was coming down the

hall toward the cousins. He stopped when he spotted

Sister Jacqueline.

“Courage,” he said, touching the nun’s arm. “You

know that you and the other sisters share no blame in

this disaster.” He nodded in the direction of the Van

Boecks, who were trying to escape the media. “If there

are villains other than governmental ineptitude, there

they are.”

Sister Jacqueline gave Dr. Garnett a bleak look.

“What’s the use of blame? It’s over.”

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Dr. Garnett said nothing. He merely patted Sister

Jacqueline’s hand, offered her a small, tight smile, and

walked away.

“Courage?” the nun echoed bitterly. “What good is

courage? You can’t fight the Devil when you can’t see

him.”

As Sister Jacqueline started to turn away, Judith

called her name. “My condolences,” she said. “There

are many of us in the community who will be sorry to

see the Order of Good Cheer relinquish the hospital.”

“Thank you,” Sister Jacqueline replied, her voice

devoid of life.

“A question,” Judith went on. “A very minor question. Do you know who brought Bob Randall the balloons and cutout of him in his playing days?”

“No,” the nun replied without interest. “Sister Julia

at the front desk would know. She was on duty Monday night. Why do you ask?”

An embarrassed expression flitted across Judith’s

face. “Oh—ah, my cousin thought she recognized him

as one of her children’s old high school chums. How

do I get in touch with Sister Julia?”

“You don’t,” Sister Jacqueline replied. “She started

making a private retreat in the convent Tuesday morning. Sister can’t be reached until Sunday afternoon. It’s

a shame, since I wish I could tell her that not all of her

prayers were answered.” Shoulders slumped, the nun

left the cousins and headed for the stairwell.

As the Van Boecks disappeared around the corner at

the far end of the hall, Renie reversed Judith’s wheelchair and pushed her cousin back into their room. “Did

Sister Julia volunteer for the retreat or did somebody

give her an order—excuse the pun.”

“I think your imagination may be running away with

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you,” Judith said. “I’m sure the retreat was Sister

Julia’s idea, but her isolation is inconvenient. And what

did Sister Jacqueline mean by fighting the Devil?”

“Restoration Heartware?” Renie suggested as

Corinne Appleby came into the room. “Or a certain individual?”

“Time for your shower,” Corinne announced with

forced cheer. “Good, you’re ready to go,” she added,

indicating the wheelchair. “Shall we?”

Judith had no choice. Renie volunteered to go along

and take her own shower. As they reentered the hall,

the journalists were dispersing. Snatches of conversation could be heard as they passed down the hall

toward the elevators.

“. . . Funny stuff going on around here . . .” “. . . Hey,

I intend to keep my job . . .” “Congress, huh? Why not,

she’s no bigger windbag than they already . . .”

At the rear of the group, Judith spotted Mavis LeanBrodie. She was standing outside Addison Kirby’s

room. “Kirby!” Judith heard Mavis exclaim as the

KINE-TV anchorwoman saw the newspaper reporter’s

name posted by the door. Mavis galloped across the

threshold and disappeared.

“What’s going on?” Judith heard Mavis demand as

Corinne pushed the wheelchair down the hall. “Are

you a prisoner in this place or what?”

Judith hit the brake, catching Corinne off balance.

The nurse almost fell over the top of the wheelchair.

“Sorry,” Judith apologized, looking shamefaced.

“Could we back up a bit?”

“What for?” Corinne asked, catching her breath.

“I just saw an old friend,” Judith said with a lame little smile. “I wanted to say hello.”

“If your friend has come to visit, whoever it is will

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wait,” Corinne declared. “I have to keep to a schedule.

I don’t want to lose my job when this Cleveland bunch

takes over. I have a mother to support, remember?”

Judith felt the wheelchair move forward at what

seemed to be headlong speed. Unfortunately, Renie

was up ahead. If she had seen Mavis, she hadn’t bothered to stop. But Renie and Mavis didn’t always get

along. Maybe, Judith thought, her cousin had chosen

to ignore the TV anchorwoman.

Once they reached the shower area, Corinne struck

a more amiable attitude. “I’m sorry if I was rude,” she

said as she helped Judith take off her hospital gown,

“but this has been a very difficult day, what with this

takeover and all. Plus, we’ve had some problems with

the showers the last couple of days. Curly, our maintenance man, thinks one or two of the pipes may have

frozen. In fact, the shower area has been off-limits

until just a little while ago.”

“That’s fine,” Judith murmured. “It’s just that I’m so

worried about my husband, and when I saw Mavis . . .

my old friend . . . I thought she might be able to help

me find out what’s going on.”

“There’s nothing to fret about,” Corinne said glibly as

she turned on the taps and helped Judith into the shower.

“I’ll stand right outside. If you need help, just call.”

Judith regarded the steady stream of water with

trepidation. “Are you sure this waterproof cover on the

dressing will keep my wound dry?”

Corinne nodded. “That’s why it’s there. Just don’t

do anything to dislodge it.”

“Where’s my cousin?” Judith asked, looking around

at the other stalls as if she were searching for a lifeline.

A stream of curses exploded out of a shower stall

across the aisle, answering Judith’s question.

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“My cousin hates showers,” Judith explained to a

startled Corinne. “She never can manage the taps.”

“She manages quite well with her mouth,” Corinne

noted with disapproval.

“Uh . . . yes,” Judith replied, maneuvering her way

under the showerhead. Though she was unsteady, the

rush of warm water felt wonderful. For a brief time,

she submitted her body to a sense of total cleansing,

as if her anxieties were flowing right down the drain.

Confidence as well as strength seemed to grow

within her. She vaguely heard Corinne say something about having to step outside for a moment.

Then Judith found the shampoo and began to wash

her hair.

“I’m done,” Renie announced grimly. “Are you

okay?”

Judith peeked around the curtain. “Yes, I’m almost

finished.”

Renie finished putting on her gown and robe. “I’ll

get Corinne to help you come out.”

Judith rinsed the shampoo out of her hair, then fumbled with the taps. She wasn’t quite sure which way to

turn them, but eventually figured it out before scalding

herself. She shook herself as vigorously as possible,

then reached for the towel that Corinne had left on a

peg just outside the stall. Judith was awkwardly drying

off when she heard a noise nearby.

“Coz?” she called, wielding the towel. “Coz?”

Renie didn’t answer. Nor was there any response

from Corinne. Puzzled, Judith rubbed at her wet hair,

then wiped away the moisture that had gotten into her

eyes. When she finished, she blinked several times to

bring her vision into focus.

Then she screamed.

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281

A man’s hand appeared from the other side of the

shower curtain and was reaching out to grab her.

As strong masculine fingers wrapped around her

wrist, Judith screamed again.

EIGHTEEN

“MOM! WHAT’S WRONG?”

Judith’s mouth hung open as she gaped at her son.

“Mike?” she gasped, squeaking out his name as if

she were more mouse than mother.

“Didn’t you hear me call to you from outside?”

Mike asked, gallantly trying to avoid peering into

the shower stall.

“Ah . . . No.” Judith swallowed hard, then did her

best to wind the towel around her body. “The water

was running.”

“Hang on to me,” Mike said, looking sheepish.

“I’ll help you out. Gee, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Judith gingerly stepped out of the stall. Her

knees wobbled and she had to lean against her

son. “Give me a minute to collect myself. This is

the first time I’ve been able to take a—” She

stopped, her heart suddenly in her mouth as she

realized what Mike’s arrival could portend.

“Joe . . .” she said with difficulty. “Is he . . . ?”

“He’s doing okay,” Mike said. “I talked to him a

few minutes ago.”

“Oh!” Relief swept over Judith. “You’re sure? He

really seemed to be on the mend?”

Before Mike could answer, Renie reappeared. “I

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see you got your mother out in one piece,” Renie said.

“It’s a good thing—Corinne was called off to help

some post-op patient.”

Judith stared at her cousin. “You knew Mike was

here?”

Renie nodded. “I met him when I went to get

Corinne. Aren’t you tickled to see him?”

Judith started to laugh, a gust of relieved tension that

verged on hysteria. Renie put an arm around her

cousin. “Take it easy, I’ll help you get dressed. Then

we can talk.”

Ten minutes later, Judith was back in their room,

where she gratefully let Mike help her get settled.

“Now,” she said, finding the least painful position in

the bed, “tell me about Joe and how you got here.”

“I saw the story on the news,” Mike explained after

pulling Renie’s visitor’s chair over by Judith’s bed so

that both he and his aunt could sit down. “The snow

had stopped up at the summit around midnight, and the

highway crew started clearing the pass not long afterward. I’d called the hospital to ask about Joe, but they

wouldn’t tell me anything, even when I tried to get

tough with them. What really bugged me was that they

wouldn’t put me through to you. They said it was too

late. I guess it was, maybe twelve-thirty.”

“I can understand why they don’t want to disturb patients that late,” Judith said, “but I’m sorry I didn’t get

to talk to you.”

Mike shrugged his broad shoulders. “Not talking to

you made up my mind—as soon as the roads were

clear, I headed for the city. I’ve got four-wheel drive,

chains, everything except skis on my forest service vehicle. When I arrived at the hospital, they wouldn’t let

me come up to the third floor. No visitors, they said at

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the front desk, because of some dumb press conference. So,” Mike continued, lifting his hands, “I went to

the fourth floor, to see how the other Flynn was doing.”

Judith smiled fondly at her son. “I’m so glad. I

haven’t seen Joe since they brought him in here. It’s

been terrible. How did he look?”

Mike laughed ruefully. “Like hell. And bitching like

crazy. I guess he was in a pretty bad way, but the surgeon who worked on him was some kind of wizard.”

“Dr. Garnett?” Judith put in.

Mike shrugged. “Whoever. Anyway, they moved

him out of intensive care last night.”

“We know,” Renie said dryly. “We thought he’d

been kidnapped. Or worse.”

“What else did he say?” Judith asked eagerly. “Does

he know who stabbed him?”

Mike shook his head. “I didn’t want to wear him out,

so we didn’t talk much.” He paused, his gaze wandering around the room. Maybe, Judith thought, Mike was

aware that since her marriage, he and Joe didn’t ever

talk much.

‘So,” Mike went on, “I left and came down to this

floor. Whatever they were doing here was over by then,

and I was able to see you. But you weren’t in your

room, and somebody told me they thought you’d gone

to the shower.” He shrugged again. “That’s where I

went, and found Aunt Renie. I feel bad that I scared

you.”

“It’s been a scary kind of hospital stay,” Renie said.

“You don’t know the half of it.”

Mike looked unsettled. “Do I want to?”

“Probably not,” Judith said with an ironic smile.

“It’s a long story, and really doesn’t have anything to

do with us. I don’t think.”

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Mike eyed both Judith and Renie curiously. “What

does that mean?” Mike asked.

Judith winced. “Nothing. Have you had lunch? It’s

almost noon. How are Kristin and little Mac? Will you

take me to see Joe?”

Mike grinned at the onslaught of queries. “Kristin

and Mac are great. I’ll get some lunch in the cafeteria.

I didn’t have much breakfast this morning because I

wanted to get an early start.” He hesitated and grew serious. “I don’t know if I can take you to see Joe. I had

to sort of sneak in to see him myself.”

“Why?” Judith demanded. “Is his condition still

critical?”

“No,” Mike responded, “it’s not that. It was more

like a question of security or something. In fact, there

was a cop outside the room. Officer Boxx, I think his

name was.”

“Woody!” Judith grinned. “That must have been his

doing, thank goodness. But Officer Boxx let you in

when you identified yourself?”

“Not at first,” Mike replied. “I had to prove we were

related, and having different last names didn’t help, so

I—”

Torchy Magee appeared in the doorway. “Mrs.

Jones? I got a crazy question for you.” He glanced at

Judith and Mike. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“What kind of crazy question?” Renie asked.

Torchy laughed. “I know Jones is a real common

name, but all the same . . . This sounds stupid, but . . .”

“But what?” Renie was impatient.

“We’ve been clearing off the cars in the parking lot

this morning,” Torchy explained. “We can’t get into

most of them, so we don’t know who they all belong

to. But this one car, a beige Toyota Camry, had a work

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order from the dealership on the front seat that had the

name Jones, William on it. Any relation?”

Renie was speechless.

After Renie got her keys out of her suitcase, she insisted that Torchy Magee take her to the parking lot.

The security man wasn’t happy with the idea.

“I want to make sure it’s our car,” Renie insisted.

“Too risky,” Torchy argued. “The lot’s real slippery.

You might fall and hurt yourself. Let me take the keys.

I can check the registration.”

“But is Cammy okay?” Renie demanded.

Torchy looked puzzled. “Cammy?”

“That’s what we call our car, dammit,” Renie

barked. “Has Cammy suffered any damage?”

“Not that I can see,” Torchy replied, bemused.

“Come on, let me go check and save you a nasty accident.”

Renie relented. As soon as Torchy had left, she went

to the phone and called Bill. Judith and Mike kept

quiet while Renie spoke with one of her children.

“What do you mean, Anne? Your father went

where? ”

There was a long silence, then Renie shook her

head. “I don’t believe it. He’ll freeze. He’ll wear

himself out. It must be four or five miles from our

house to the hospital.” She paused, apparently for

Anne to reply. “Okay, I’ll try not to have a nervous

breakdown. Thanks, and let me know if you hear

from your father.”

Replacing the receiver, Renie stared at Judith and

Mike. “Bill took off for the hospital about an hour or

more ago. He decided to come in person to try to find

out what was going on with Joe.”

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“He’s walking?” Judith said, incredulous.

Renie nodded. “The buses haven’t started running

again, and you know how Bill likes to walk. But it’s a

long, long trek and it’s cold and the streets are slippery

and . . .” She fell back against the pillows.

“Maybe,” Mike offered, “I could take my vehicle

and try to figure out what route Uncle Bill would follow. Then I could meet him and give him a ride the rest

of the way.”

“That’s sweet, Mike,” Renie said, “but not very

practical. I imagine a lot of the streets are still closed

to traffic. Bill can walk anywhere he wants, but you’d

never get through to collect him.”

Unusual noises in the hallway distracted the trio.

Mike got up to find out what was happening.

“They’re moving somebody into the room across the

hall,” Mike said. “It looks as if whoever it is has just

come from surgery.”

The cousins exchanged puzzled glances. “Mr.

Mummy?” they chorused.

Mike moved farther into the hall. “Is that his real

name?” he called over his shoulder.

“Yes,” Judith replied. “Don’t you see it posted next

to the door?”

Mike disappeared briefly. When he came back into

the room, he shrugged. “There’s nobody named

Mummy—what a goofy name—listed outside the

room. It’s some other person—Randall, James. Does

that sound familiar?”

Judith and Renie were dumbfounded. “What,” Judith asked, “happened to Jim Randall that he required

surgery? I thought we heard somebody tell him he’d

gotten good news. And where is Mr. Mummy?”

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Renie simply shook her head. “This place keeps getting crazier. How the hell did our car end up in the parking lot at Good Cheer?”

Judith shot Renie a sharp look. “That may not be as

crazy as it sounds.”

“What do you mean?” Renie demanded.

“Let me think,” Judith said, frowning. “I wish my

brain wasn’t still addled from that blasted anesthetic. If

I could just put everything in logical order, I might be

able to figure this out.”

“Figure what out, Mom?” Mike asked, looking bewildered. “Say, wasn’t that football player who died

named Randall, too?”

“Oh, Mike.” Judith’s expression was pitying.

“There’s so much you don’t know, that you don’t need

to know . . . Except,” she went on, suddenly looking

panicked, “if Joe’s in real danger. Can you go upstairs

and stay with him?”

Mike was clearly perplexed. “Isn’t that Officer

Boxx’s job?”

“Officer Boxx may have to go to the bathroom, get

some lunch, whatever,” Judith said, still speaking rapidly. “I want you to go up to the fourth floor now and

make sure Joe is okay. Will you do that?”

“Sure.” Mike stood up and gave his mother an offcenter smile. “Why wouldn’t I? After all, he’s—”

Corinne Appleby entered the room, looking harried.

“Sorry about the shower,” she said to Judith, then noticed Mike. “Oh—I didn’t realize you had company.”

“I’m just leaving,” Mike said with a wave for Judith.

“Relax, Mom. I’ve got it under control.”

Corinne’s gaze followed Mike out of the room. “Is

that your son?”

“Yes,” Judith said. “He’s a forest ranger.”

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“He’s a nice-looking young man,” the nurse remarked. “I admire the color of his hair.” Corinne

twirled one of her own red locks. “He must get it from

his father.”

“Yes,” Judith said in a weak voice. “Yes.” She spoke

emphatically the second time. “He gets his red hair

from his father, Joe.” Judith shot a quick, exultant

glance at Renie. “There,” she murmured as Corinne

left the room, “I said it.”

“So you did,” Renie nodded with a smile. “But how

does Corinne know about Joe’s hair?”

Judith sucked in a startled breath. “You’re right—

when did she see Joe? More to the point, why did she

see Joe? There may be a logical explanation, but my

logic seems to have stalled since the surgery.”

“Which means you can’t figure out why Jim Randall

is across the hall,” Renie noted as she got out of bed.

“I’m going to take a peek.”

It was a temptation for Judith to join her cousin, but

she decided it would take too long to get into the

wheelchair by herself. Almost five minutes passed before Renie returned.

“I was getting worried about you,” Judith said.

“What’s up with Jim Randall?”

“That’s what I was finding out,” Renie replied, looking a bit rattled. “That helicopter—it was for Jim,

bringing him new corneas for a transplant.”

“Oh!” Judith was astounded. “But . . . that’s wonderful!”

“For him,” Renie replied, sitting down in the wheelchair. “I guess you don’t have to be stone blind to receive a transplant.”

“What happened to Mr. Mummy?” Judith asked.

“Did they move him to another room?”

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“No,” Renie answered slowly. “Mr. Mummy was officially discharged late last night.”

Judith didn’t say anything for at least a full minute.

“I wish I could figure out what Mr. Mummy was doing

here. I’m convinced he wasn’t a real patient. And why

did Sister Jacqueline have that late-night closed-door

meeting with him?”

“He certainly was snoopy,” Renie remarked.

“Yes.” Judith’s voice held a curious note. “He

seemed driven to find out every little thing that went

on in this hospital. Remember how he interrogated

us—politely—about Blanche stopping by our room

and some of the other seemingly small incidents. He

tried to do the same thing with Addison Kirby. Mr.

Mummy didn’t want to miss a trick. To what end, I

wonder?”

“A spy?” Renie suggested.

Judith frowned. “Maybe. Industrial espionage.”

Renie uttered an ironic laugh. “They call it keeping

abreast. And it wouldn’t be industrial espionage in this

situation. That is, nobody wants to steal trade secrets

from Good Cheer. Hospitals aren’t creative institutions, like chemical or munitions companies.”

“Maybe,” Judith said, “Mr. Mummy was spying for

Restoration Heartware.”

“He might have been spying for Good Cheer,” Renie

offered. “He had to have the approval of the hospital

administration. How else could he get himself in here

with a fake injury?”

Judith was pondering the question when the phone

rang. It was Arlene, and she was highly agitated. “I

hope there’s room for me in that hospital when I have

a nervous breakdown in the next ten minutes,” she an-SUTURE SELF

291

nounced in a voice that shook. “Do you have any idea

how worried I’ve been about Joe?”

Judith hung her head. “I’m so sorry. But I didn’t

know myself if he was going to . . . It’s only in the last

few minutes that I got good news from Mike.”

“He’ll live?” Arlene asked in a breathless voice.

“Yes,” Judith replied. “He’s improved enought to

complain. How’s everything at your end?”

“Fine,” Arlene replied, the tremor no longer in her

voice. “By the way, I got another call from FedEx this

morning. I canceled the pigs, but now they have a fiftypound case of Granny Goodness chocolates awaiting

delivery. They wanted to let us know that if the snow

melts enough, they may be able to bring it to the B&B

by late afternoon.”

Judith was astounded. “I never ordered any . . .” The

light dawned. “Mother,” she said under her breath,

glancing again at Renie.

“You ordered them for your mother,” Arlene broke

in. “That’s lovely, Judith. So thoughtful of you to give

her a little treat while you’re not able to be with her.

Let’s hope that the streets are passable in a few hours.

Oops!” she cried. “I must run. There goes Ernest. Now

how did he manage to get up there? He could fall in

my minestrone soup!”

Arlene hung up.

“Is there no end to my troubles?” Judith wailed,

holding her head. “I finally get some encouraging

news about Joe, but now I realize that Mother has been

using my credit card to order all those weird items.

Only she would put me in debt for fifty pounds of

Granny Goodness chocolates.”

“Oh, dear,” Renie said, obviously trying not to

laugh. “That’s awful.”

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“And Ernest is still on the loose,” Judith lamented.

“Damn this weather—I want those Pettigrew people to

leave my B&B and take their stupid snake with them.”

“Maybe they will today,” Renie said. “The airport

closing must have screwed up their travel plans.”

“I don’t care,” Judith groaned. “They never should

have brought the snake into Hillside Manor.”

“If they’d delivered the pigs, they might have eaten

Ernest,” Renie said brightly.

Judith gave Renie a dirty look. “It’s not funny. And

how am I supposed to make a speedy recovery if I’m

beset with all these horrible problems? My health is

probably beginning a downhill descent into my early

demise.”

“Speaking of which,” Renie said, “I’m curious. I

thought only really healthy people could get cornea

transplants.”

As the silent orderly came in with the cousins’

lunches, Judith gave Renie a puzzled look. “What are

you talking about?”

Renie withheld her answer until the orderly had

gone. “Jim Randall,” she said, scrutinizing the food on

her tray. “I may be wrong, and of course I have no idea

what the demand is for cornea transplants, but if he’s

as big a mess as everybody claims, how did he get so

high on the recipient list?”

“I don’t know how to answer that,” Judith admitted,

also staring at the three mounds of multicolored food

on her plate. “I think these are salads, by the way.”

“Like Donner & Blitzen Department Store has in

their tearoom?” Renie said. “Those salads are really

good. My favorite is the one with shrimp.”

Judith sampled a bite from the mound that was primarily white. “This could be potato salad.”

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293

Renie followed her cousin’s lead. “It could also be

library paste. Oddly, I used to like library paste when I

was a kid. Sometimes I’d ask to be kept in for recess

just so I could be alone and eat the paste.”

“You also ate erasers, as I recall,” Judith said, trying

the mostly green salad next. “If you could eat stuff that

really wasn’t edible, why can’t you eat hospital food?”

She swallowed the mouthful of green and let out a startled cry. “Mrrff! That’s not very good.” Judith choked

twice before she could get whatever it was down into

her digestive tract.

“I refuse to try the red stuff,” Renie declared. “I’m

sure it has tomato aspic in it. I hate tomato aspic. These

so-called salads should be taken out and shot. Maybe

they’re wholesome, possibly even nutritious, but to

me, they’re an insult. I’m personally offended by being

forced to consider this ersatz meal as food.”

Judith gazed inquiringly at Renie. “For once, I almost wish you’d say all that nonsense again.”

“Huh?” Renie looked surprised.

“I think,” Judith said deliberately, “you may have

just enlightened me as to the killer’s identity.”

NINETEEN

RENIE WAS AMAZED by Judith’s theory. She was even

more astonished by the alleged motive. “What,” she

asked in an awestruck voice, “are you going to do

about it? You have absolutely no evidence.”

“That’s the problem,” Judith said, looking worried. “Not to mention that the whole thing’s so crazy

I can’t be absolutely sure. If only Joe had seen who

attacked him.”

“DNA,” Renie put in. “There’s got to be some

trace of the killer in our car.”

“That doesn’t prove that person was the killer,”

Judith pointed out.

“You’re right.” Renie scowled at the salad

mounds on her plate, then dumped them in the

wastebasket. “I’m thinking, honest.”

Judith set the luncheon tray aside and picked up

the phone. “I’m not going to eat this slop, so I’ll call

Woody instead.”

Woody was about to leave for the hospital to see

Joe. Although he tried to sound enthusiastic about

Judith’s idea, a note of skepticism lingered in his

mellow voice. “I’ll certainly have the Joneses’

Camry checked out. Don’t let Bill drive it anywhere

until we’ve finished.”

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295

Judith passed the message along to Renie. “That’s

fine,” Renie said in a doleful tone. “Bill’s probably

frozen into a grape-flavored Popsicle by now anyway.”

“It’s above freezing,” Judith pointed out, “or it

wouldn’t be thawing so much.”

The silent orderly came in to remove the cousins’

trays. As usual, he made no comment, not even when

he saw that Judith’s lunch was virtually untouched and

Renie’s was lying in the wastebasket. For the first time,

Judith noticed that his name tag read “Pearson.” Assuming it was his surname, she called out to him as he

started to leave.

“Mr. Pearson?”

Even though he wasn’t through the door, the orderly

didn’t stop.

“That’s rude,” Judith declared as Heather Chinn entered the room, seeking vital signs. “Say,” she addressed the nurse, “why won’t that orderly, Mr.

Pearson, talk to me? Does he disapprove of us?”

Heather gave Judith a gentle smile. “Pearson is his

first name, and he’s a deaf-mute.”

“Oh!” Judith reddened with embarrassment. “I feel

terrible!”

“Don’t,” Heather said, applying the blood pressure

cuff. “You couldn’t know.”

“I’d still like to talk to him,” Judith said. “I mean,

exchange written notes. To let him know we appreciate

his work. Could you ask him to drop by when he has

the time?”

Heather looked wary, but agreed. “I know how to

sign,” she offered. “Would you like to have me join

you?”

Judith started to accept, then politely declined. “I

don’t want to take up your valuable time. I also wanted

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to ask him a couple of questions about . . . how we might

be able to get some other kind of food. My cousin hasn’t

been able to eat some of the last few meals.”

“Oh.” Heather looked dubious. “I’m not sure Pearson

could help you. That’s something that should be taken

up with the dietician.”

“Let Mrs. Flynn do it her way,” Renie broke in. “I

trust her. She knows my needs.”

Apparently, Heather wished to avoid arguing with

the cousins. “All right,” she said, putting the thermometer in Judith’s mouth.

A quarter of an hour passed before Pearson reappeared. He wore a curious expression and tugged at the

ear that bore the gold stud.

Judith had already written her questions on a piece

of paper. Giving Pearson a big smile, she handed him

the single page. “No rush.” She formed the words as

emphatically as possible.

Pearson sat down in the visitor’s chair, carefully

reading the questions. He scratched his shaved head

and frowned. Judith handed him a ballpoint pen. With

a quizzical glance, Pearson began to write down his

answers.

1. Were you on duty when any of these persons

died—Joaquin Somosa, Joan Fremont, Bob

Randall? Yes.

2. Which ones, if any? All of them.

3. If you were, do you recall seeing such items as

a take-out juice cup in Somosa’s room, one or

two plastic Italian soda glasses in Fremont’s

room, and a pint of Wild Turkey in Randall’s

room? Yes, all of them, vaguely.

4. If so, what happened to the containers?

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At the fourth and last question, Pearson looked

flummoxed. He started to give Judith a palms-up signal, but stopped abruptly.

“Nurse Appleby removed S’s and F’s drink contain-

ers,” he wrote, and gave Judith a diffident grin. Then

he formed a single word: “Why?”

Judith wasn’t sure what he meant. “Why do I ask?”

she wrote. Pearson nodded. “Because I’m trying to

help my husband, who has been stabbed.” Pearson

looked bewildered. Judith added another note. “His

stabbing may be connected with the deaths of S, F, and

R.” The orderly grimaced. Judith scribbled another

question.

“What about R’s liquor bottle?”

Pearson shook his head and shrugged.

Judith held up one finger to indicate she had yet another query. “What did Appleby do with the juice and

soda containers?”

Pearson pointed to Judith’s wastebasket, then held up

two fingers.

“Both?” Judith formed the word carefully.

Pearson nodded again.

Judith put out her hand. “Thank you,” she mouthed,

and gave the orderly a grateful smile.

Pearson stood up and smiled back, then nodded at

Renie and left.

“Let’s see those questions,” Renie said, getting out

of bed.

“What do you think?” Judith asked after her cousin

had finished reading.

Renie’s face screwed up in concentration. “Corinne

threw out the containers belonging to Somosa and Fremont. So what?”

“Let’s call on Addison Kirby,” Judith said, attempt-298

Mary Daheim

ing to sit up on her own. To her astonishment, she managed it. “Hey, look at me! I’m just like a real person!”

“So you are,” Renie said with an encouraging smile.

“Don’t get too frisky. I’ll help you into the chair.”

A few minutes later, the cousins were at Addison’s

door. He turned and grinned, apparently glad to see

them.

“I’m so bored I could start tweezing my beard with

ice tongs,” he told them as they moved to the bedside.

“Since I don’t watch much TV except sports, all I can

do is read, and it seems the hospital library is woefully

lacking in sex-and-violence thrillers.”

“That’s probably because the nuns are reading

them,” Renie said, only half joking.

Addison chuckled, then turned a more serious face

to Judith. “I guess you never had a chance to ask your

husband about those chocolates. I heard he got himself

stabbed. How’s he doing?”

“Better,” Judith replied, “though I still haven’t seen

him. My— our—son is with him right now. As soon as

I hear from Mike—our son—I’ll try to see Joe. Right

now, I’ve got a couple of questions for you. They may

be painful.” She hesitated, then continued. “After

Joan’s death, when and where did you first see the

body?”

Addison looked surprised. “In her room. They

wouldn’t move her until I’d gotten here. I’d been covering a story downtown, and only found out she was

dead when I got here. I suppose it was at least an hour

after she . . . died.”

“Think hard,” Judith urged. “Was her wastebasket

empty?”

Addison Kirby gave Judith an odd glance, then

slowly nodded. “I know what you’re getting at. I re-SUTURE SELF

299

member, because my first, crazy reaction was that Joan

wasn’t wearing her wedding band. She never took it

off, not even onstage.” He held up his left hand, revealing an intricately carved gold ring that caught the

sunlight coming through the window. “We had these

specially made. The masks of tragedy and comedy are

entwined with a pen, to symbolize both our professions. My first thought was that the ring had been

stolen, but somehow that seemed unlikely at Good

Cheer. Then I wondered if it had fallen off and was on

the floor or under the wastebasket. I looked around and

saw that the wastebasket was empty. And then I remembered that Joan had left the ring at home, on the

hospital’s advice.” Addison’s face clouded over at the

memory.

“Empty,” Judith echoed. “That makes sense. Can you

tell me the exact date that your wife died? I want to be

very sure about this.”

“January sixth,” Addison replied promptly. “How

could I forget? We had the funeral last Saturday.”

Exuding sympathy, Judith nodded. “Do you remember exactly when Joaquin Somosa died?”

Addison gave Judith a crooked little smile. “Actually, I do. It was on my late father’s birthday, December nineteenth.”

“Good,” Judith said. “I mean, it’s good that you remember.”

Addison was eyeing her curiously. “You’re on to

something, aren’t you, Mrs. Flynn? Or should I call

you Miss Marple?”

Judith assumed a modest expression. “I don’t want

to elaborate because my theory is so far out that, along

with my hip, Dr. Alfonso may have replaced my brain

with a battery—a faulty one at that. And unlike Miss

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Marple with her St. Mary Mead village eccentrics, I

don’t know anyone on Heraldsgate Hill who reminds

me of the possible suspect.”

Addison looked disappointed. “So I can’t ask who

it is?”

“Don’t feel bad,” Renie put in. “Sometimes, when

she really gets whacked out, she won’t even tell me

who she suspects.”

Addison grinned. “You aren’t going to tell me who

I should be wary of? Remember, I almost got killed out

there in front of the hospital.”

Coincidentally, Torchy Magee poked his head in the

door. “Mrs. Jones? That’s your Camry, all right. At

least it is if you live at this address I copied down.” He

recited the house and street number from a slip of

paper. “That yours?”

“It sure is,” Renie said with a big smile. “Thanks.

I’m relieved that the car is safe.”

Suddenly angry, Addison was staring at Renie.

“Your car was the one that hit me?”

“I’m afraid so,” Renie said. “Our Toyota Camry was

stolen from the dealership. I didn’t recognize it when I

saw it hit you because it looks like every other midsized sedan these days. Besides, I’m not used to looking down on it unless I’m on a ferry boat’s upper deck.”

Addison was frowning. “I don’t get it—somebody

stole your car and then hit me. Was it deliberate?”

Renie glanced at her cousin, who shrugged.

“Who?” Addison asked, still frowning.

“I’m not sure what his name is,” Judith replied, “but

he may be dead.”

As Judith rolled out of the room with Renie behind

her, Addison made a request.

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“Hey—you never told me who I should watch out

for.”

“I told you,” Judith said, over her shoulder. “The

man who hit you might be dead.”

“He was the man who killed my wife? For God’s

sake, I have to know that.”

“No,” Judith responded. “He didn’t kill your wife.

He didn’t kill anybody. I’m not entirely convinced that

your accident wasn’t just that—an accident.”

Addison wasn’t finished. “Am I in danger?”

“I don’t think so,” Judith said, “but it’s always prudent

to trust absolutely nobody in this kind of situation.”

“Not even you two?” Addison shot back.

“Not even us,” Judith replied. But she smiled.

Judith was intent on talking to Sister Jacqueline.

Heather Chinn thought that the hospital administrator

was in a meeting, probably something to do with the

Restoration Heartware takeover. But she promised to

convey the message to Sister Jacqueline.

“Meanwhile,” Judith said, “I’m going to see Joe.”

Renie made a face. “Are you sure you’re up to it?

That shower must have taken a lot out of you.”

“Of course I’m up to it,” Judith asserted, once again

sitting up on her own. This time she managed to swing

her legs around to the side of the bed, put her feet on

the floor, and start to stand up. “See? I can . . . Oops!”

Judith started to topple forward and caught herself on

the wheelchair.

“Good grief,” Renie muttered, hurrying as fast as

she could to help her cousin, “I warned you about

being too rash.”

“Okay, okay,” Judith grumbled, “let’s get out of

here.”

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The cousins paused briefly outside the door to what

had been Mr. Mummy’s room and now was tenanted

by Jim Randall. Two nurses and a doctor Judith didn’t

recognize were hovering over Jim’s bed.

“He must have been almost blind,” Judith remarked.

“Otherwise, he might not have gotten a cornea transplant.”

The lunch carts had been removed from the hallway;

the Pakistani woman was polishing the floor with an

electric cleaner; the two nurses at the station, one of

whom was a nun, were consulting over charts. No one

stopped Judith and Renie as they proceeded to the elevator.

But they were stopped anyway. An OUT OF ORDER

sign was on the door of the car.

“Damn!” Judith cursed under her breath. “Where’s

the freight elevator?”

Renie didn’t know. “It’s probably down this hall,”

she said, pointing to their right. “It’s the only place I

haven’t been yet.”

Judith was about to suggest that they try it when Sister Jacqueline appeared from the stairwell. “You

wanted to see me?” she inquired.

“Yes,” Judith said, then added, “when will this elevator be fixed?”

“Curly’s working on it now,” Sister Jacqueline

replied. “Our elevators are not only too few, but too

old. I imagine Restoration Heartware will install new

ones. Among other things,” she concluded on a baleful

note.

The three women returned to the cousins’ room,

where Sister Jacqueline tentatively seated herself in

Judith’s visitor’s chair. The nun looked as if she either

expected to be ejected from the chair by force, or else

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didn’t want to be there in the first place. A real hot

seat, Judith thought as she got back into bed.

“You’re probably going to think I’m nuts,” Judith

said with a self-deprecating smile, “but would it be

possible for you to find these dates for me?” She

handed the nun a slip of paper on which she’d already

written her request.

Sister Jacqueline looked startled. “That would be a

breach of patient confidentiality,” she said. “Why on

earth do you want this answered in the first place?”

“Sister,” Judith said earnestly, “would you believe

me if I told you it was a matter of life and death?”

It hadn’t been easy, but Judith had finally convinced

Sister Jacqueline that it was imperative to provide the

information. Mike returned shortly after the nun left.

“Did you know the elevator’s broken?” he said upon

entering the room.

“Yes,” Judith retorted, “we know. We tried to get up

to the fourth floor to see Joe. How is he?”

“Good,” Mike replied, taking the chair that Sister

Jacqueline had just vacated. “He seemed better than

when I saw him earlier. Woody Price is with him.

Gosh, it was great to see Woody after all this time.”

“Did Joe see who stabbed him?” Judith asked anxiously.

“That’s what Woody was asking,” Mike replied.

“Joe told him that he thinks he saw the attacker before

it happened. At least he saw some guy who was acting

suspicious. Joe has an instinct for that sort of thing,

being a cop for so many years.”

Judith could barely contain her excitement. “Who

was it?”

Mike gave his mother and his aunt an ironic smile.

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“That’s the weird thing. He didn’t look like most of the

homeless types.”

Judith nodded. “I’m not surprised.”

“Huh?” Mike looked puzzled. “What do you

mean?”

Maybe, Judith thought, it was only fair to enlighten

her son. But before she could say anything, Bill Jones

came through the door, panting mightily.

“Bill!” Renie cried. “You’re alive!”

Bill leaned one thermal-gloved hand against the

door frame and panted some more. “Huhuhuhuhuhu,”

he uttered.

“Did you bring me some snacks?” Renie asked,

smiling widely.

Bill, his tongue hanging out, shook his head.

“Uhuhuh.”

Renie’s face fell. “Oooh . . .”

“Why don’t you smack her, Uncle Bill?” Mike

asked, half serious.

Bill finally caught his breath. “The crowns in heaven

that await me . . . ,” he murmured, coming all the way

into the room and kissing his wife.

Renie appeared contrite. “Are you all right? Are you

cold? Are you tired?”

Bill nodded emphatically at each question, then

slumped into Renie’s visitor’s chair and removed his

snap-brim cap. “I came to find out how Joe was doing,

but the elevator’s broken. I couldn’t make it all the way

to the fourth floor on the stairs. What’s happening?”

“Joe’s much better,” Judith said happily. “Mike’s

seen him, but I haven’t yet. Because of the elevator.”

Bill nodded again. “You two seem to be doing okay.”

“We are,” Renie replied, patting Bill’s arm. “Are you

sure you don’t have frostbite?”

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This time, Bill shook his head. “It’s actually beautiful out there, with the sun shining and all the snow

that’s still left. I didn’t mind the walk at all.”

“Good,” Renie said, then turned serious. “Tell me,

what on earth are you doing with those blasted Chihuahuas? I was beginning to think you’d gone over the

edge.”

“Oh.” Bill chuckled. “This may sound whimsical,

but an occasional nonscientific experiment can prove

interesting, if not entirely valid. This was one I’d had

in mind for a long time. I became curious about animal

versus human behavior several years ago and—”

“Bill,” Renie interrupted, “spare us the background,

okay?”

“What?” Bill frowned at his wife. “Okay, okay. Anyway, you must realize that this wasn’t a controlled situation. But recently I’d read an abstract in one of my

psychology journals by Dr. Friedbert Von Schimmelheimer in Vienna, who had some fascinating ideas on

the subject, though his experiments involved—”

“Bill . . .” Renie broke in.

“What? Oh, all right, never mind. If you understand the

problems with replication, then you’ll appreciate how—”

“Bill!” Renie looked fierce. “Layman’s language,

please.”

Bill glared at his wife. “Okay, I’ll cut to the chase. I

would have preferred to do it with monkey siblings,

but then we found the dogs. Anyway, you know how

Oscar is about experimenting with apes.”

Renie nodded while Judith gazed at the ceiling and

Mike looked puzzled. Oscar was the Joneses’ stuffed

ape and was treated like a member of the family.

“So how did it turn out?” Renie asked, her patience

restored.

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“Fascinating,” Bill replied. “I called them John and

Paul. For the pope. John’s the one wearing Archie’s

tuxedo.” He paused to look at the doll on his wife’s

nightstand. “Hi, Archie. How are you doing? You look

really cheerful.” Judith and Mike exchanged amused

glances. “Anyway,” Bill continued, “Paul has on those

Wisconsin sweats, the ones that Clarence ate most of

the badger symbol off. John got the expensive dog

food, Paul got the cheaper kind. I made a bed for John

in the bottom drawer of my desk. I put Paul in a cardboard box. John drank Evian water; Paul had to make

do with water from the tap. Sure enough, after twentyfour hours, John started to become spoiled, while Paul

sulked. Then, this morning, when I gave John a leftover rib-steak bone, Paul pounced on him. The experiment proved what I thought would be true. Even

nonhuman siblings can suffer resentment and lack of

self-esteem when one of them gets preferred treatment

over the other. They can also exhibit hostility and aggression.”

Judith stared at Renie. “What do you think?”

Renie glanced at Bill. “I think my husband’s right.

As usual.”

Judith turned to Mike. “Go upstairs and get Woody.

The time has come to call in a consulting police detective.”

Sister Jacqueline telephoned a few minutes later.

The nun still sounded dubious about revealing the information Judith had requested, but when she finally

did, another piece of the puzzle fell into place. Feeling

as if she had a solid grip on the solution to the murders,

Judith smiled grimly.

Mike and Woody had their own way of making Ju-SUTURE SELF

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dith smile. When they entered the ward fifteen minutes later, they were pushing a wheelchair. Joe Flynn

offered his wife a feeble, though fond, grin.

“Joe!” Judith cried. In her excitement, she instinctively leaned forward to touch him, then screamed and

doubled over in pain. “Oh, my God!” she cried through

her misery. “I think I’ve dislocated my hip!”

TWENTY

JUDITH LET OUT a terrible cry of anguish. Joe tried to

reach out to help his wife, but weakness overcame

him. It was Mike who rushed to his mother’s side as

she moaned in pain.

“Mom!” He attempted to move her into a sitting

position, but she resisted.

“I can’t move!” she gasped through tears. “Get a

nurse! A doctor!”

Corinne Appleby and Heather Chinn both

showed up almost immediately. Then, in a haze of

agony, Judith saw Pearson, the orderly, arrive with a

gurney. Though the slightest movement was agonizing, she endured being moved onto the gurney,

rushed down the hall and into the elevator, which

obviously had been repaired, and hustled to a room

with bright lights. Staff members she’d never seen

before were at the ready.

Despite a fresh dose of painkillers, the next half

hour was a nightmare. At last, after X rays had been

taken and Dr. Alfonso had arrived, her self-diagnosis

was confirmed: She had indeed dislocated the new hip.

It would take only a couple of minutes to put it back,

but Judith would have to be virtually unconscious during the procedure. She welcomed the oblivion.

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309

An hour later, Judith awoke in her own bed on the

third floor. Through a haze, she saw the same people

who had been there when disaster had struck.

“Joe . . .” she murmured.

“I’m here, Jude-girl,” he said, taking her hand.

“So cunning, so cruel . . .” she mumbled.

Joe looked at Renie, who was sitting in Judith’s visitor’s chair. “Does that mean me? ” he asked with a

worried expression.

Renie, however, shook her head.

“Threes . . .” Judith murmured, squeezing her eyes

shut against the bright, setting sun. “Everything in

threes . . . Three lives saved . . . three patients dead . . .

three homeless men stabbed . . . three inedible salads . . .”

“Salads?” Joe looked at Bill.

Bill shrugged.

“Is she delirious?” Woody whispered.

“Must be,” Joe muttered. “My poor little girl.”

“Planned in advance . . . Surgical instruments

stolen . . . Should have guessed . . . to kill homeless . . .

Poor souls, set up with bribes to provide iron-clad alibis and drive car . . . Bill and Renie’s car . . . stolen because the snow starting, couldn’t get to usual

vehicle . . .”

Renie glanced at Bill. “Poor Cammy,” she sighed.

Joe shot both the Joneses a quizzical look. “Your

Toyota?”

Bill nodded.

“Who’s Cammy?” Woody asked.

“Uncle Bill and Aunt Renie’s car,” Mike said

under his breath.

Woody looked befuddled.

“So sad, those homeless men . . .” Judith made a fee-310

Mary Daheim

ble attempt to squeeze Joe’s hand. He made a feeble attempt to squeeze back. “Had to die, couldn’t be trusted

not to tell . . . Only organ donors need apply . . .”

“What?” Joe leaned closer to his wife. “Jude-girl,

what the hell are you talking about?”

“Definitely delirious,” Woody murmured. “Maybe I

should come back later.”

“No, please . . .” Judith opened her eyes and gazed

compellingly at Woody.

Woody stayed.

“So many odd little things . . .” Judith tried to sit up,

failed, and pointed to the water container on the nightstand. Mike filled a glass and handed it to her.

“Thirsty,” she said with a small smile of thanks. “After

surgery, fluids so important . . . Everybody must drink,

drink, drink . . . Why not put street drugs into IVs?

Simple, if you know how . . . not so simple if you

don’t . . . Everybody must drink, any fluids, all fluids . . . exotic juice, Italian sodas, booze . . . Just keep

pouring it down . . .” She paused to take another sip of

water. “The Chihuahuas, one in a tuxedo, one in a

sweatsuit . . . They clinched it.”

“I’m afraid,” Joe said, a note of alarm in his voice,

“that whatever they gave her when they put her hip

back in has fried her brain. Do you think we should

send for a psychologist?”

“I am a psychologist,” Bill reminded Joe. “She’s not

crazy. I think I know what she’s trying to say.”

Joe glanced at Archie, cheerfully smiling on Renie’s

nightstand, then gave both the Joneses a look that indicated he wasn’t convinced of their sanity, either. “O-oo-kay,” he said under his breath.

“All those years of being the opposite,” Judith said,

her eyes wide open and almost in focus, “of feeling in-SUTURE SELF

311

ferior, of being a mirror twin, of suffering near blindness . . . That’s why Jim Randall killed his brother, and

several innocent victims along the way.”

The golden light from the fading winter sun bathed

the room in a tattered antique splendor. With the dark

wood, the wavery window glass, and the religious statues, Judith could almost believe she was in a nineteenthcentury hospital, where only gaslights and candles

provided illumination. The Demerol was working, and

so was her brain. A wondrous calm came over her as

she saw some of the people she loved most standing or

sitting around her bed. Then her gaze traveled from Joe

to Mike, and a surge of panic filled her. But she had

made her resolution to tell the truth. Not quite yet, but

later, maybe when she was home again.

“Jim Randall!” Woody exclaimed, his usual quiet

demeanor shattered. “You mean Bob’s brother?”

“His mirror twin,” Judith replied after drinking more

water. “They faced each other in the womb, they’re exactly opposite. Bob once saved Jim’s life, and I’m not

entirely sure Jim was grateful. Even as a child, he must

have sensed his physical inferiority. Then, when Jim

started to lose his sight—or maybe he never had full

vision—he brooded. Finally he got on a list for cornea

recipients. Even there, he knew that he probably

wasn’t high on the list, and in some twisted, deranged

way, decided to speed up the process. He found out—

probably from Margie, his sister-in-law—where he

stood on that list and which patients were organ donors

at Good Cheer. Obsessed with the concept of finally

being able to see clearly, he began to eliminate patients. Not just any patients, but successful ones, the

type of person he could never be. Yes, those victims

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were all organ donors, though he didn’t necessarily expect to get their corneas.”

Judith paused to pick up the notes she’d taken down

from Sister Jacqueline. “On each of the dates that Somosa and Fremont died, Jim had scheduled medical

tests, right up to Tuesday when Bob Randall had his

surgery. Jim didn’t strike me as a healthy person,

though he may also have been a hypochondriac. I suspect he faked that faint to allay suspicion. Anyway, he

talked his doctors into a CAT scan, an ultrasound, and

an MRI. But he never took those tests, he had a homeless person do it for him. Renie told me after she had

her MRI for her shoulder that all she had to do when

she went to the place where they did the test was hand

them some information in a folder she’d gotten from

the reception desk.”

“Judith’s right,” Renie chimed in. “I thought it was

odd at the time, and even asked the people giving the

test how they knew it was really me. They said they

didn’t, I could be anybody as long as I was female and

of a certain age.”

“This deception not only gave Jim an alibi,” Judith

went on, “but allowed him to get the homeless men to

drop off the special treats for his victims. Jim couldn’t

risk doing it himself, and he certainly never could have

put the drugs into the IVs. He couldn’t see well enough.”

“Hold on,” Woody interrupted. “How could Jim

know what special drinks Joaquin Somosa and Joan

Fremont wanted?”

“Margie,” Judith said simply. “She’d hardly be suspicious of such an innocent question. Even though she

may have delivered the drinks—though not her husband’s booze—it wouldn’t dawn on her that Jim had

purchased the stuff.”

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313

“Still,” Renie put in, “it must have occurred to

Margie that the lethal drugs were in those drinks.

That’s why she referred to herself as ‘the vessel.’ ”

Joe was still looking skeptical. “How,” he asked,

“could Jim ensure that he’d actually get corneas if he

wasn’t at the top of the list?”

“He couldn’t,” Judith said. “First of all, he may not

have been down as far as you’d think. Even if the

medical tests showed that something was wrong, it

wasn’t really him undergoing the tests. If one of the

homeless men turned up with a problem, Jim could

simply ask to retake the test and claim a medical mistake. But another key was the weather. Organs are

flown in from all over the country. When we first met

Jim, he mentioned that he knew there was a big storm

coming in. That usually means the airport is closed—

and it was—so that if a local donor died, the corneas

could only be delivered by helicopter. And, having

maneuvered himself to the top of the city’s list, he

knew he’d be here to receive them. Even if he wasn’t

number one, he was at the hospital. Another recipient

might not have been able to reach a hospital in this

weather.”

“Taylor,” Renie murmured. “I overheard Bob Randall talking to someone named Taylor. Addison Kirby

said that was the name of his wife’s eye doctor. Maybe

he was Jim’s doctor, too, and Bob was thanking him

for good news, like Jim being near the top of the recipient list.”

“That would make sense,” Judith said.

Joe sucked in his breath, an effort that obviously cost

him pain. “So a cold-blooded killer with new eyes is

lying across the hall from us?”

Judith nodded. “I’m afraid he is.”

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Woody shook his head. “I’ve never heard of such a

strange homicide case. All those innocent victims.”

“Three in the hospital,” Judith said. “The number

three was symbolic to Jim. His brother had saved three

lives—Jim’s, and two children who were rescued by

Bob from a house fire. It was as if Jim had to do just

the opposite—take three successful lives, including

that of the mirror twin who had saved him from drowning. The three homeless men may have—perhaps subconsciously—symbolized his own inferiority. Jim felt

like them—a loser.”

“I wonder,” Renie said, “if Bob was really as big a

jerk as Jim and the rest of the family indicated.”

“I’ll bet he was,” Judith replied. “Big sports stars

can be very hard to live with.”

“What,” Joe inquired, “about Addison Kirby getting

run down? Was that an accident or something Jim

cooked up?”

“I’m not sure,” Judith admitted. “I’m not even certain who was driving. It might have been Jim after he

got the homeless man to steal the Camry from the dealership. He might have told the guy to run over Addison, or at that point Jim himself may have been

driving. If so, he may not even have seen Addison

Kirby. We’ll know when Woody checks for hairs and

fibers.”

“Good Lord!” Renie cried. “Jim may have driven

our car? It’s a wonder we didn’t find it in pieces!”

“He wouldn’t have driven it far,” Judith said dryly.

“Jim had used the homeless to help him get around, no

doubt stealing cars and returning them, perhaps before

the owners knew they were gone. This time, he had to

leave Bill and Renie’s Camry because of the bad

weather. Plus, the last homeless victim was staying

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315

closer to the hospital because the camp had been

moved from under the freeway. The snowstorm

worked both for and against Jim Randall. And of

course he couldn’t take a chance of being seen with his

stooge.”

“Say,” Renie put in, “was Jim Randall the one who

got into my suitcase? And who was it you glimpsed in

the ICU?”

“I still don’t know who was in the ICU,” Judith

replied, “but I’m sure it wasn’t Jim. It was dark, he

couldn’t see well, and I can’t think of any reason why

he’d be interested in us.” She gave Woody a shrewd

look. “Why don’t you tell us who the intruder in our

room was? Could it be the same person I saw in the

ICU?”

“Ah . . .” Woody looked embarrassed. “I’m not supposed to say . . .”

“Come on, Woody,” Judith coaxed. “Tell us.”

Woody glanced at Joe. “She exerts a certain irresistible power, doesn’t she?”

“In more ways than one,” Joe murmured, the gold

flecks flashing in his green eyes.

“I guess it’s all right to reveal the truth,” Woody said,

though he cast a wary gaze on the closed door. “The intruder in your room was Harold Abernethy.”

“Who?” Judith and Renie chorused.

Woody bestowed his engaging grin on the cousins.

“I knew you wouldn’t know who he was. Well,” he

amended with a quick glance at Judith, “I sort of

thought you might have found out his real name.”

“Mr. Mummy!” Judith exclaimed. “His name wasn’t

really Mumford Needles?”

“No,” Woody replied, looking faintly amused. “That

was his working alias. Blanche Van Boeck hired him to

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try to solve the murders before Restoration Heartware

changed its mind and decided to withdraw its takeover

attempt.”

“But,” Renie put in, “I thought Blanche actually

sounded sincere when she expressed regret about the

takeover.”

“She probably was,” Woody responded. “But it was

the only way Good Cheer could survive. It was either

that, or turn the place into condominiums. Dr. Garnett

blamed Dr. Van Boeck for the hospital’s problems. That

was probably professional jealousy. Sister Jacqueline

and Van Boeck were fighting an uphill battle, like so

many other chiefs of staff and administrators.”

“So,” Renie murmured, “that’s why Mr. Mummy—

I mean, Harold Abernethy—checked out last night.

The takeover had happened, his job was ended. No

wonder he was so snoopy. But why was he interested

in us?”

“Harold was interested in everybody,” Woody said.

“He probably went through your things to make sure

you were what you appeared to be. Of course we knew

about his investigation, which was why we agreed,

along with county law enforcement, to keep the lid on

everything, including the media. Blanche, Dr. Van

Boeck, Sister Jacqueline, even Dr. Garnett all agreed

that it was the best way to handle the situation. Given

that Good Cheer is the only orthopedic hospital inside

the city, they felt that publicity should be kept to a

minimum. The main fear, aside from the damage to

Good Cheer’s reputation, was that people who really

needed surgery would be put off and possibly cause

themselves serious harm.”

“But,” Judith asked, “did Harold ever learn the

killer’s identity?”

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317

Woody shook his head. “No. He felt like a big failure. He’s been a private detective for over thirty years,

and he insisted that he’d never come across such a baffling crime.”

Joe shot Judith a rueful look. “The cunning killer

never dreamed he’d come across my dear wife.”

“Now, Joe . . .” Judith began, then turned to Woody.

“What are you going to do about Jim Randall? I know

he’s probably not in any condition to be arrested right

now, but later when he . . .”

Woody was looking remorseful. “Judith, I’m sorry.

The truth is, we have no evidence. Even what’s been

collected before now doesn’t prove Jim Randall was

the killer.”

“What was collected?” Renie asked.

“The containers,” Woody said. “Sister Jacqueline

saved all the containers, including the whiskey bottle.

The fingerprints were smudged, but Sister had the

dregs analyzed. You’re right, the drugs were in the

juice and the soda and the liquor. But what did that

prove? It was impossible to pin down who had delivered them to the hospital, and in the first two instances,

Margie Randall had brought the items to Joaquin Somosa and Joan Fremont. No one paid any special attention to the homeless men being at Good Cheer

because the nuns offer them free medical care.”

“But,” Renie argued, “now you can have the technicians who gave those medical tests testify that they

didn’t give them to Jim Randall.”

“That’s possible,” Woody allowed.

“You can do better than that,” Judith declared.

Woody seemed skeptical. “How?”

Judith turned to Joe. “Could you ID the suspiciouslooking man you saw in the park?”

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Joe grimaced. “Maybe. It was pretty dark.”

Judith nodded. “I’ll bet you can when you see Jim

Randall. But there’s another way.” She looked at

Woody. “If you check Jim’s clothes, I’ll bet you’ll find a

surgical instrument or two among his belongings. He

hasn’t been able to go home because of the snow, and he

wouldn’t risk throwing them away. He couldn’t be sure

that there might not be some residual evidence implicating him. Nor would he have had time to get rid of them

before he went into surgery. I’m told that with transplants, everything happens very fast. Anyway, the medical examiner should be able to match the wounds to the

kind of weapon that killed those poor men.”

Woody winced. “He already has. At least he indicated that surgical instruments might have caused the

deaths. And of course he examined Joe.”

Judith swung around to stare at her husband. “He did?”

Joe shrugged.

“That’s why,” Woody explained, “there was such secrecy surrounding Joe’s hospitalization. In fact,

Blanche hired Joe in the first place because she had an

inkling that there might be some oddball connection

between the hospital slayings and the homeless murders. It didn’t seem like a coincidence that in each instance, the first two pairs of Good Cheer homicides,

and the first two killings in the homeless camp, had occurred within twenty-four hours of each other. Say

what you will about Blanche Van Boeck, she is one

very sharp woman.”

Judith looked at Joe. “Did you know Blanche

thought there was a connection?”

Joe shook his head. “She never mentioned it. All she

told me was that FOPP was concerned about the homeless homicides.”

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“So,” Woody continued, “the ME was here last night

in the ICU before Joe was moved upstairs. We’d begun

to put together some theories of our own.”

“That’s who I saw in the ICU?” Judith cried. “The

ME?”

“Probably,” Joe said. “He couldn’t get here until

late, and I had to stay down there until he showed up.

Bringing him to a ward would have raised a lot of

questions. Or so Sister Jacqueline felt.”

“Is that why some of Joe’s medical records were

shredded?” Judith asked. “For security reasons?”

Woody nodded. “Apparently Mrs. Van Boeck felt it

was necessary to keep Joe’s real condition a secret.

Maybe—and I’m guessing—she had a hunch the murderer was on the premises, or at least in the immediate

area. If Joe’s life was already in jeopardy, Jim Randall—or whoever—might not bother to finish him off.

Remember, Jim had undoubtedly seen Joe around the

hospital. Jim may have learned he was a former detective and now a private investigator. Apparently, Jim

never did figure out that Harold Abernethy—Mr.

Mummy—was also on the case, but from a different

angle.”

“Wait a minute,” Judith said, narrowing her eyes at

Joe. “Are you trying to tell me you weren’t at death’s

door?”

“Well . . .” Joe began, but avoided his wife’s incensed gaze. “I wanted to tell that redheaded nurse I

saw in the elevator because she was getting off on your

floor . . .”

“Corinne,” Judith breathed, and glanced at Renie.

“That’s where she saw Joe. Couldn’t she tell me he

wasn’t in extremis?”

“He wasn’t in good shape,” Woody put in. “Really.”

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“But not fifty-fifty?” Judith demanded. “Not critical?”

“More like seventy-thirty,” Joe said, grinning

weakly. “And ‘critical’ covers a broad range these

days.”

“Joe.” Judith folded her arms across her breast. “You

can’t imagine how upset I was.”

“It couldn’t be helped,” Joe said, wincing a bit.

“Honest.”

“I don’t care,” Judith asserted. “I’m mad at you.”

She turned to Woody. “Well? Are you going to check

Jim Randall’s clothes or sit here and watch me ream

your ex-partner?”

Woody appeared more than willing to do Judith’s

bidding. “I really should be going. Great to see you all

again. Get well, ladies, Joe. Nice work with the dogs,

Bill. Take care of your mother, Mike. Bye.”

“Maybe,” Bill said, more to himself than to the others, “I should try more random, unscientific experiments. Those Chihuahuas seem to have done . . .

something or other.”

“You’re brilliant,” Renie declared, with a loving

look for her husband. “Haven’t I always said that?”

“Well—” Bill began.

But Renie cut him off. “Are you sure you didn’t

bring me some snacks?”

The lethal surgical instruments had indeed been

found in Jim Randall’s clothing. The arrest was made

shortly after five o’clock. Woody reported that Jim had

laughed in his face. He didn’t care if he went to prison,

he didn’t even care if he got the death penalty. He

could see, and that was all that mattered. The case was

closed.

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321

Addison Kirby was impressed, as were members of

the hospital staff. Now that the murders were solved,

Addison had a big exclusive for the newspaper. He

vowed to write it up in such a way that he’d be a shoein for a Pulitzer Prize. That would scarcely make up

for losing his wife, though Addison said he’d dedicate

the award to Joan’s memory.

His candy gifts had been tested, though not scientifically. The night nurses had managed to swipe the jelly

beans from Addison’s room as well as the chocolates

that Judith had claimed earlier. They had been devoured; no one died. Addison discovered that they had

been sent by his fellow journalists. He also vowed to

describe the night staff as pigs in his Pulitzer

Prize–winning story.

Mike returned to his mountain cabin early that

evening. Renie went home Friday, as scheduled. Joe

was released the next day. But Judith, having dislocated the artificial hip, was told by Dr. Alfonso that

she’d have to remain in the hospital until Monday. She

protested mightily, but in vain. Meanwhile, she was

treated like a queen by the staff. Even Blanche Van

Boeck sent her four dozen roses, in magnificent red,

white, yellow, and pink hues.

The roses, which had arrived Friday, were still fresh

when Judith was ready to leave. She was checking

through her belongings to make sure she hadn’t left