Suture Self : A Bed-and-breakfast Mystery

by Mary Daheim

  three deaths.

  “So you think there may be something fishy

  about Somosa and Randall as well?” she asked.

  Addison shrugged. “Maybe. I can’t speak for Somosa, because I didn’t know him. But I heard

  through my county sources that the autopsy indicated

  he’d overdosed on some kind of street drug. Ecstasy,

  I think. As for Randall—we don’t know yet, do we?”

  Their visitor paced back and forth in front of

  Judith’s iron bedstead. He seemed to be arguing

  with himself. “I just spoke with Randall’s son,

  Bob Jr., and his daughter, Nancy. They caught

  snatches of conversation among the staff that indicated suicide.”

  “What?” Judith couldn’t believe her ears.

  “That’s right,” Addison said, nodding gravely. “I

  can’t get to Mrs. Randall—she’s had some kind of

  emotional collapse.”

  “What about his brother, Jim?” Judith asked.

  “Has he been notified?”

  “Jim?” Addison blinked several times. “I didn’t

  realize Bob Randall had a brother. Is he around?”

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  “He was here last night,” Renie put in. “He was fussing because Bob had too many visitors and so much hubbub going on in his room.”

  “Interesting,” Addison remarked. “I’ll try to get hold

  of him.”

  “Say,” Renie said, adjusting her sling and leaning

  forward in the bed, “why haven’t you gone public with

  any of the stuff about your wife and Somosa? I haven’t

  seen a word about it in the Times.”

  The journalist gave Renie a twisted little smile.

  “You don’t understand the politics of publishing,

  Mrs. . . . Jones, right? My superiors don’t want me ruffling feathers. Blanche Van Boeck is a powerful figure

  in this community.”

  Renie slapped at her head with her good hand. “Of

  course! I didn’t make the connection with Dr. Jan Van

  Boeck. That’s his wife, right? She’s on the city council and just about everywhere on the map in this town.

  Oh, my.”

  Addison’s smile became wry. “She certainly is. Rumor

  has it she may run for mayor. She has powerful friends in

  powerful places. Of course, she has enemies, too.”

  Renie was suddenly wearing what Judith called

  her “boardroom face,” the no-nonsense sharpening

  of her features that she presented to corporate clients

  in her graphic design business.

  “Blanche has made some big waves in the past few

  years,” Renie said. “She’s always struck me as putting

  Blanche at the head of her agenda, rather than the social and political programs she espouses.”

  Addison nodded. “That’s what many people would

  say, which is why I have to dance all around her in

  print. Which also means I have to dance around Good

  Cheer Hospital, because her husband runs the place.”

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  “But Good Cheer was on the news last night,” Judith

  pointed out. “We missed the first part of the story.

  What was that all about?”

  “The Seafarers are calling for an investigation into

  Somosa’s death,” Addison replied. “Apparently, they

  think something’s wrong, too. I intend to meet with

  Tubby Turnbull, the team’s general manager, this afternoon.”

  Judith was shaking her head. “So I wasn’t wrong,”

  she said faintly.

  At the door, Addison frowned at Judith. “Wrong

  about what?”

  “About these deaths being linked,” Judith said.

  “Frankly, the deaths of your wife and Somosa struck

  me as more than a coincidence right from the start.

  Now, with Randall’s passing, the situation seems

  downright ominous.”

  Addison’s expression was frankly curious. “Why

  does it interest you so much, Mrs. Flynn?”

  Judith felt the color rise in her cheeks. “Oh . . . You

  might say that my hobby is snooping.” She uttered a

  lame little laugh.

  Addison now looked puzzled. “Snooping?” he said.

  “It’d be more accurate,” Renie said, “to say that her

  hobby is murder.”

  “And to think,” Renie mused after Addison Kirby

  had departed, “I wondered how we’d pass the time during our hospital stay.”

  “I don’t think the deaths of those poor people were

  intended to keep us occupied,” Judith said, feeling

  glum and staring up at the mottled plaster ceiling.

  The uncommunicative orderly of the previous day

  came in to remove the cousins’ luncheon trays. If he

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  noticed that neither of them had eaten much, he made

  no comment, but stoically left the room without a

  word.

  “Can he talk?” Renie asked, getting up and heading

  for the bathroom. “Or does he consider us unworthy?”

  “The latter, I suspect,” Judith responded. “Maybe if

  you didn’t trash your bed so much, we’d get more respect.

  Where did that Falstaff ’s grocery bag come from?”

  “Falstaff ’s,” Renie replied, turning around at the

  bathroom door. “It’s my back-up food supply. Fruit,

  cheese, crackers, Pepsi, popcorn. We’ll share when I

  come back to bed. Now I’m hungry.”

  “How did you fit that thing into your purse?” Judith

  asked.

  “Easy,” Renie replied. “I have a huge purse.” She

  went inside the bathroom and shut the door.

  The outer door opened almost simultaneously as

  Heather Chinn entered. “Time to get you on your feet,”

  she said in a cheerful voice. “How do you feel, Mrs.

  Flynn?”

  “Not like I want to get on my feet,” Judith said. “I

  thought we’d do this later in the afternoon.”

  “It’s almost two,” Heather said. “The more you lie

  there, the weaker you’ll become. Here, let me help you

  swing around to the edge of the bed.”

  It took Judith a few moments to sit up straight. Then,

  slowly and unsteadily, she let Heather help her move

  her legs. Pain spread out from her hip to envelop her

  entire body. “I feel dizzy already,” Judith asserted.

  “You’re doing fine,” Heather soothed. “Now lean on

  me and try to stand up.”

  Judith could both feel and hear the artificial hip

  move. She was frightened. “Is that . . . ?” she gulped,

  still dizzy.

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  “That’s fine, keep coming. You’ve got all your weight

  on your good leg,” Heather coached. “Now put just a little on the other leg, okay?”

  The worn linoleum was rising up toward Judith in

  tired, wrinkled waves. She felt as if she were falling

  overboard, into a murky yellow sea. Suddenly her

  world went dark, except for shooting stars and trailing

  comets.

  “Coz!” Renie had just come out of the bathroom.

  Moving as quickly as she could, she went to Judith,

  who had, fortunately, fallen backwards onto the bed.

  Heather was looking more annoyed than frightened as

  she took Jud
ith by the hands.

  “It’s nothing,” the nurse said to Renie. “Maybe she

  isn’t quite ready to stand. Still, if she doesn’t try . . .”

  “If she doesn’t try, she won’t pass out,” Renie cut in

  tersely. “Let me get somebody to help you put her back

  to bed.”

  Though Heather was stronger than she looked, she

  didn’t turn down the offer. The nurse was a short, slim

  size four; Judith was a statuesque size fourteen. Another strong body was needed for the task. Renie found

  the silent orderly just outside the door, stacking trays

  onto the meal cart.

  Judith’s eyelids fluttered open as the nurse and the

  orderly got her back into bed. “Oh . . . What happened?” she asked, her mouth dry and her eyes unfocused.

  “You had a little setback,” Heather said, tucking the

  covers around Judith. “We’ll try that again later.” The

  nurse began taking vital signs.

  Renie was standing by the windows. “Damn,” she

  breathed, “I think it may snow. I wish Bill and Joe

  would get here soon, while it’s still daylight.”

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  “Joe said he’d be by around three,” Judith said.

  “Bill’s coming with him, I think.” She took a deep

  breath before Heather popped the thermometer in her

  mouth.

  “Right, there’s no point in taking two cars,” Renie

  said, looking down at the hospital entrance’s graceful

  landscaping and the adjacent parking lot. “Boy, it

  looks really cold out there. I can feel the chill through

  the windows.”

  Judith couldn’t respond with the thermometer in

  her mouth. The dizziness had passed, but she felt

  weak as a newborn lamb. The idea of trying to stand

  up later in the day sounded impossible.

  “I need some water,” she said in a thick voice after

  Heather had removed the thermometer. “I’m so dry.”

  “You mustn’t get dehydrated,” Heather warned,

  proffering the plastic glass. “Remember how we’ve

  told you to keep taking in fluids.”

  “Hey,” Renie said, “I see Addison Kirby heading for

  the parking lot. I wonder if he’s off to see Tubby Turnbull at the . . . Look out!” She shuddered as her good

  arm reached out toward the window in a pleading motion. “Ohmigod!”

  “What?” Judith sputtered, choking on the water.

  Horror-stricken, Renie staggered around to stare at

  Judith and Heather. “It’s awful,” she gasped, leaning

  against the window embrasure for support. “A car just

  came from out of nowhere and ran over Addison

  Kirby!”

  Heather Chinn ran off to get help. Renie stood

  rooted by the window. “The car took off,” she said in a

  shaky voice. “Poor Addison’s lying there in a heap.”

  Judith had rolled over onto her side, though she

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  couldn’t get a better view of what was happening beyond the window. “Is he . . . ?” she asked in a fearful

  voice.

  “No, he’s moving,” Renie said. “Sort of.”

  “Damn!” Feebly, Judith swung a fist in frustration.

  “I feel so helpless!”

  “Here comes a guy in a white coat and another guy in

  some kind of uniform.” Renie was trying to open the

  window with her good hand, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “The white coat may be a doctor. Yes, I think it’s what’shis-name—Garnett, the second in command. The guy in

  uniform may be security. Here comes somebody else, in

  civvies. He looks sort of familiar.” She gave up trying to

  open the window and flexed the muscles of her left arm

  before rapping loudly on the wavery old glass. “Hey,

  he’s looking up. It’s Jim Randall,” Renie said, breathless. “Here come some more people with a gurney.”

  “Double damn,” Judith muttered. “I feel like an

  idiot. Why couldn’t I at least be in a wheelchair?”

  “You will be,” Renie responded. “Huh. They seem to

  be paying special attention to Addison’s left leg.

  Maybe it’s broken. Poor guy.”

  “Where’s the car that ran him over?” Judith asked.

  “I don’t know. It hit Addison and kept going, toward

  the parking lot.” Renie paused, staring down below.

  “Dr. Garnett and one of the others are hovering over

  the gurney. Jim Randall is walking away. The security

  guy is wandering around, like he’s looking for someone or something.”

  “The car, I suppose,” Judith said. “You’ll have to tell

  him you saw it. What color and make was it?”

  “It was sort of beige,” Renie said, “fairly new, but

  from up here on three, I couldn’t guess what make. All

  I could see was the roof.”

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  “Do you remember if there’s an outlet from the

  parking lot?” Judith inquired.

  “No, of course not,” Renie answered. “We pulled

  into the patient admitting area on the opposite side of

  the entrance.”

  “Oh.” Judith rolled over onto her back. “I forgot.

  That anesthesia has muddled my brain.”

  “It does that,” Renie allowed. “They’re all going inside now, including the uniform.” She waited a moment, then went back to her bed. “Shall I phone

  security and tell them I saw it?”

  “Sure,” Judith said. “They’ll need a witness. Insurance,

  and all that.”

  Renie picked up the phone, dialed zero, and asked to

  be connected to security. She was informed that security was out. “He’s it?” she said after leaving her name

  and room number.

  “Probably not, at least not at night,” Judith replied.

  Renie began hauling food out of the Falstaff ’s bag.

  “Let’s eat something before the nurses come around

  with all their paraphernalia. I don’t want them confiscating my stash.”

  “I might nibble on an apple,” Judith said.

  “Red Delicious, Golden Delicious, Granny Smith,

  Gala?” Renie offered.

  “Red Delicious,” Judith said, gazing at the sack with its

  Falstaff logo. “How much stuff have you got in there?”

  “Plenty,” Renie replied, using her left hand to toss

  Judith a shiny red apple. It was a surprisingly accurate

  throw, considering that Renie was normally righthanded. “Hey,” she said with a grin, “maybe I could’ve

  been a southpaw pitcher. Cheese? There’s Monterey

  jack, Havarti, Brie, and a really nice Gouda.” She produced a small knife and held it up.

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  “The apple’s fine,” Judith said with a slight shake of

  her head. “I don’t see how you got all that stuff in your

  purse, big as it is.”

  “That’s because I took everything else out and put it

  in my overnight bag,” Renie said. “Food first; the rest

  is a distant second.”

  The phone rang. Judith thought it must be security,

  calling Renie back. But Renie gave a brief shake of her

  head. It wasn’t her phone. Judith wrestled with the receiver, and finally managed to say hello.

  “Hi, Mom,” Mike said, sounding vaguely apprehensive. “How are yo
u getting along? Joe told me the surgery went fine.”

  “It did,” Judith replied with a big smile on her face.

  “I’m getting along just great.”

  “That’s a huge relief,” Mike said, and Judith knew he

  meant it. Her son was a worrier. “Kristin and Mac and I’d

  like to come into town tonight to see you, but it’s snowing like crazy up here at the pass. I think they’re going to

  close the highway pretty soon. It’s a regular blizzard.”

  In her mind’s eye, Judith could picture the U.S. Forest Service cabin that Mike and Kristin called home. It

  was small but cozy, and with a magnificent view of the

  surrounding mountains and forest. At least when they

  could see through the snow.

  “Don’t even think of coming down until I get home,”

  Judith said. “I’m not going to be here forever.”

  “I know, but I’d still like to pay a visit before the

  weekend,” Mike said. “Didn’t they figure you’d be

  home about Saturday?”

  “They didn’t make any promises,” Judith said.

  “How’s Kristin? What’s little Mac up to?”

  “They’re fine,” Mike said. “Kristin still has the

  queasies sometimes, but basically, she feels strong.”

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  Like a fifty-foot Douglas fir, Judith thought, picturing her daughter-in-law.

  “Mac wants to go back outside to play in the snow,”

  Mike went on, “but it’s blowing too hard. Kristin took

  him out there a while ago, and the wind knocked him

  over. He made a perfect snow angel when he fell,

  though. Thanks again for the snowsuit you gave him

  for Christmas.” He paused, and Judith could hear Mac

  jabbering in the background. “Tomorrow, little fella,

  okay? Say,” Mike said into the phone again, “I wasn’t

  going to mention this until I saw you, but now that I

  think about it, you’re probably pretty bored, huh?”

  “Well . . .” Judith glanced at Renie, who was gobbling cheese and pear slices. “Not exactly, but I may be

  later.”

  “We’re going to put Mac in preschool this fall,”

  Mike said, sounding like a typical proud papa.

  “There’s a really good one about twenty miles down

  the highway. Kristin’s been filling out the forms, and

  one thing they’d like to have is a family tree. Then,

  when the kid enters on the first day, there’s his picture

  on this cutout of a tree, with information about all of

  his ancestors. Cute, huh?”