Suture Self : A Bed-and-breakfast Mystery

by Mary Daheim

wouldn’t get mixed up in this if I were you. I mean it.”

  Judith drew in a sharp breath. “Yes.”

  “Yes what?” Joe said.

  “Get mixed up. In this.” Judith winced.

  “Something’s not right,” Joe said, “but it’s not up to

  you to find out.”

  “No,” said Judith.

  “Okay?”

  “Yes.”

  After Judith hung up the phone, she gazed at Renie.

  “We are in danger.”

  “Yes,” said Renie, and took a big bite out of another

  biscuit. “Ith thapend befwo.”

  Judith nodded. She knew it had happened before,

  but the thought didn’t make her feel any better.

  NINE

  “WHAT ELSE AM I supposed to do while I’m lying

  here like a big lump?” Judith demanded. “At least I

  can speculate.”

  “Which, being in a helpless condition, you figure

  is a harmless pastime,” Renie replied, finally finishing her meal and starting to clean up the mess.

  “Meanwhile, I get to drag my battered body around

  doing all the grunt work.”

  Judith glared at Renie. “I thought you were encouraging me. What would you expect me to do

  with people dropping like flies and the police not investigating? Don’t you find this whole situation

  highly suspicious?”

  “I do,” Renie admitted, shoving boxes and napkins and garbage into her now-overflowing wastebasket. As ever, Judith envied her cousin’s

  metabolism, though sometimes she wondered—

  perhaps with a touch of malice—if Renie didn’t

  have a tapeworm. “You know,” Renie said with a

  scowl, “we’re not in very good shape to defend

  ourselves.”

  “If somebody wanted us out of the way,” Judith

  persisted, “we’d have been dead by now. We’re past

  the deadline for early dismissal from Good Cheer.

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  Besides, what have we done except show a normal

  amount of curiosity?”

  Renie gave a shake of her head. “Curiosity killed the

  you-know-what, and I don’t mean Sweetums, who appears to be an indestructible force of nature.”

  “Do we look dangerous?” Judith shot back. “Here

  we are, a couple of middle-aged matrons swathed in

  bandages and looking like the you-know-what dragged

  us in the you-know-whose small door.”

  Renie climbed into bed. “There’s no dissuading you,

  right?” She gave Judith a look of surrender.

  “Let’s think this through,” Judith said, reaching for

  her purse and taking out a small notebook and pen.

  “Joaquin Somosa, Joan Fremont, Bob Randall. Except

  for being well-known, the only connection is that they

  all died in this hospital after routine surgery.” She

  paused to finish writing down the trio of names. “All

  three died in less than a month.”

  “Maybe there is another connection,” Renie put in,

  her umbrage evaporated. “What if they were all involved in some charitable cause or some other activity

  not directly tied to their professional careers?”

  Judith tipped her head to one side, considering. “It’s

  possible. But who goes around bumping off people involved in good works or other civic activities?”

  Renie shrugged. “Just a thought.”

  “That’s fine,” Judith said. “Think all you want. It

  helps. Anyway, we’ve got two causes of death allegedly nailed down—Somosa and Fremont, both from

  illegal drugs. Randall may be the same, though I’m

  guessing it was something different from the other

  two, who were different from each other.”

  “A different source for drugs?” Renie suggested.

  Judith nodded. “We weren’t here so we don’t know

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  the circumstances of the first two deaths. But Ecstasy

  and that—whatever the date-rape drug is called—provide different kinds of reactions. Street drugs are available to anybody who knows where to get them. It’s a

  little trickier to put them in an IV.”

  Renie had placed the leftovers—such as they

  were—into one of the smaller boxes and slipped it into

  the drawer of her nightstand. “How do we know it was

  an IV?”

  “We don’t.” Judith made another note, then glanced

  at her water carafe. “Everybody who has surgery is instructed to drink plenty of fluids. Not everybody likes

  water or even juice. Look at your Pepsi stash. What if

  Bill had slipped a little something into it?”

  “He couldn’t,” Renie replied. “The cans are foolproof.”

  “I mean, more accessible beverages. Besides,” Judith

  went on with a sly smile, “Bill could doctor your Pepsi

  after you’d opened it.”

  “He wouldn’t dare!” Renie cried. “He knows better

  than to screw with my Pepsi.”

  “You know what I mean.” Judith twirled the pen in

  her fingers. “The problem is, we don’t know what the

  three victims were drinking at the time of their deaths.

  I wonder if the staff took the possibility of tampered

  beverages into account.”

  “Judging from the state of denial they’re in,” Renie

  said, waving her current can of Pepsi at Judith, “I

  doubt it. The party line seems to be that each victim

  was some kind of addict.”

  “Which brings us to motive,” Judith said. “Hospital

  politics. Who benefits from ruining Good Cheer’s reputation?”

  “Dr. Garnett comes to mind,” Renie said. “He wants

  to take over from Dr. Van Boeck.”

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  Judith sighed. “Would a doctor really go to such extremes?”

  “He’d know how to do it,” Renie said.

  “True. Still . . . I like Blanche as a suspect. She’s

  such a self-serving pain.”

  “Why would she sabotage her own husband’s hospital?” asked Renie.

  “Maybe she doesn’t like her husband,” Judith suggested.

  “Maybe Sister Jacqueline doesn’t like either of

  them,” Renie said.

  “Are you considering a nun as a suspect?” Judith

  asked, aghast.

  “Well . . . nuns are human. Maybe it’s for the greater

  good. You know, all those moral theology questions. Is

  it a sin for a father to steal medicine to save his child’s

  life? Et cetera.”

  “Don’t go Jesuitical on me,” Judith cautioned.

  “Okay, I’ll admit you have a point. We can’t rule anyone out.”

  “What about the victims’ nearest and dearest?”

  Renie inquired. “Since when have you not considered

  them as prime suspects?”

  Judith ran a hand through her short salt-and-pepper

  hair. “Since nonpersonal motives seem more obvious.

  Hospitals are big-bucks institutions. Not to mention

  the power involved in running them. Let’s face it,

  we’ve got at least four high-profile people involved—

  Dr. Garnett, Dr. Van Boeck, Mrs. Van Boeck, and Sister Jacqueline.”

  “Agreed,” said Renie. “But you can’t rule out the

  lesser players.” She rolled over as far as she could on

  her right side. “Look at it from this point of view—

  maybe only
one of the three victims needed to die. But

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  in order to throw suspicion off, all three get killed so it

  looks like a serial kind of thing. What if a rival player

  on the Seafarers team wanted to get rid of Joaquin Somosa? Better yet, a rival actress at Le Repertoire who

  felt Joan Fremont was standing in her way? Or something even more basic, such as Margie Randall being

  sick and tired of Ramblin’ Robert?”

  Judith reflected for a few moments. “All of them

  could have some kind of enemies, I suppose. That is,

  in a personal and professional sense. The trouble is, we

  don’t know much about their private lives.”

  “Exactly,” Renie said, lying back on the pillows.

  “I’d rule out Addison Kirby, though,” Judith mused.

  “I can’t help but think that the killer was the one who

  ran him down this afternoon.”

  “It could have been an accident,” Renie pointed out.

  “Do you really think so?” Judith asked with a frown.

  “No. That is, I can’t be sure. People drive like such

  nuts these days.” Renie plucked at her blankets. “Not

  to mention taking cars that don’t belong to them.”

  “I figure that Addison’s on to something,” Judith

  said, remembering to drink her water and taking a big

  swallow. “Maybe not who the killer is, but related to

  the motive.”

  “Why Cammy?” Renie said. “Our Toyota is exactly

  like thousands of cars out there in the city. It’s one of

  the most popular brands in America. Why not steal a

  Mercedes or a Cadillac or a Beamer?”

  “Addison has been covering city hall,” Judith went

  on, “which means he’s probably got the inside dope on

  Blanche Van Boeck. But if it’s something ruinous, why

  not kill him instead of his wife? Why kill Somosa and

  Randall? Or, given Blanche’s clout, why not get Addison fired?”

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  “What,” Renie demanded, “were those morons at

  the Toyota place thinking of? They’re usually so reliable. Why wasn’t somebody watching Cammy? Why

  did they leave the keys in the car?” She stopped and

  made one of her typical futile attempts to snap her fingers. “Because they’d finished their work and sometimes they tuck the keys under the floor mat on the

  driver’s side.” She hung her head. “Oh, my God, until

  my shoulder heals, I won’t be able to drive Cammy for

  months! Maybe we won’t ever ride in her again! What

  if she’s been driven over a cliff?”

  Judith sat up straight and glared at Renie. “Will you

  shut up? ”

  “Huh?” Renie swerved around to face Judith.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I thought,” Judith said in an irritated voice, “we

  were trying to sleuth.”

  Renie stifled a yawn. “We were. We were trying to

  figure out what happened to Cammy.”

  “No, we weren’t,” Judith argued. “We were speculating about methods and motives.”

  “You were,” Renie shot back. “You can afford to do

  that, you have two cars, your Subaru and Joe’s MG.

  Bill and I are now demoted to taking the bus.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Judith sniffed. “You have insurance, you can rent a car until Cammy turns up.

  And if she—I mean, it—doesn’t, you can buy another

  one.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Renie snapped. “Go ahead,

  feel all smug. See if I care.” She reached out with her

  good arm and pulled the curtain between them.

  Again, the room was silent. Someone was paging a

  doctor over the intercom. A glimpse of hospital equipment could be seen rolling down the hall. Somewhere,

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  female voices laughed. Judith sat up in bed, her arms

  folded across her chest, her lower lip thrust out.

  It was she who broke the silence. “Coz. We never

  fight. What’s wrong with us?”

  Judith heard Renie sigh. “We’re tired, we hurt,

  we’ve been through major surgery, and we got a room

  next to a corpse. My car’s been stolen, you’re stuck

  with a major life decision about telling Mike who’s

  who on his family tree. What else could be wrong?”

  “You’re right,” Judith said. “We’re a mess.”

  “Justifiably so,” said Renie, pulling the curtain back.

  “It’s going on nine o’clock and we need a nap. I’m

  shutting off the light.”

  “Go for it,” murmured Judith, clicking off her own

  bedside lamp. “Frankly, I’m exhausted.”

  “We should be,” Renie said. “G’night.”

  “Mmm,” said Judith.

  Five minutes later, the night nurse, whose name was

  Trudy and who wasn’t given to idle chatter, came in to

  take the cousins’ vital signs and replenish their supply

  of pain medication. Ten minutes later, a workman in

  overalls arrived to check the thermostat.

  “Kinda cold tonight, huh?” he said, fiddling with the

  dial.

  Judith and Renie didn’t respond.

  “Still snowing,” he said, pounding on the radiator

  with his fist. “Must be close to six inches out there.”

  The cousins remained silent.

  “Lots of accidents out there,” the workman said.

  “Damned fools don’t know how to drive in this

  weather. All those folks who move up here from California.”

  Judith buried her head in the pillow; Renie chewed

  on her blanket and swore under her breath.

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  “Warm enough now?” the workman asked after yet

  another bang on the radiator, which wheezed like a

  dying asthmatic.

  “Fine,” Judith bit off.

  “Okey-dokey,” he said. “I’ll come back to check on

  it later.”

  “Don’t,” Renie said, “or I’ll have to kill you.”

  “Har, har,” said the workman, who finally left.

  Seven minutes later, Trudy returned. Judith knew it

  was exactly seven minutes because she was now wide

  awake and had been staring at her watch with its glowin-the-dark dial.

  “You need to use the bedpan, Mrs. Flynn,” Trudy announced. “You haven’t voided for almost two hours.

  Are you sure you’re drinking enough fluids?”

  “Yes. No. I’m trying to sleep,” Judith said, sounding

  cross.

  “Plenty of time for that,” Trudy said. “It’s only a little after nine. Come, come, try to lift those hips.”

  “Good Lord,” muttered Renie in a mutinous voice.

  After the usual painful effort to move on and off the

  bedpan, Judith mumbled her thanks to Trudy and

  closed her eyes.

  The radiator clanged and clanked, whistled and

  hissed. After two minutes of what sounded like a oneman band, Renie pressed her buzzer.

  “We can’t sleep with that damned thing making such

  a racket,” she complained. “It was fine until Stoopnagle came in to supposedly fix it.”

  Almost ten minutes passed before a male nurse

  peeked in. Judith explained the problem. The nurse

  said he’d see what he could do about it. The radiator

  continued its atonal cacop
hony.

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  “I’m wide awake,” Renie declared, sitting up and

  turning her light back on. “Damn.”

  “I am, too,” Judith grumbled. “It’s no joke about not

  being able to get any rest in a hospital.”

  “I’m hungry again,” Renie said. “I wonder if there’s

  a microwave around here. Don’t the nurses usually

  have one? I think I smelled popcorn earlier in the

  evening.”

  “Why do you need a microwave?” Judith asked.

  “To heat the leftover chicken,” Renie responded. “I

  don’t care much for cold chicken, unless it’s in a sandwich or a salad.”

  “Go ask,” Judith said.

  “They won’t tell me,” Renie replied, getting out of

  bed. “I’ll take the chicken with me and see what I can

  find. There’s a biscuit left over, too, and one piece of

  corn. I might as well bring them along.”

  “Good luck,” said Judith in a tired voice.

  Renie was gone so long that Judith had almost fallen

  asleep when her cousin returned.

  “Pssst!” Renie called from the doorway.

  “Huh?” Judith raised her head from the pillow and

  tried to focus on Renie. “What?”

  Renie gestured with her bag of food. “Mr. Mummy.

  Sister Jacqueline just went in there and closed the

  door.”

  Struggling to sit up, Judith gave herself a shake.

  “So?”

  “Isn’t this a little late for a visit from the hospital administrator?” Renie asked, half in and half out of the

  room.

  “Maybe,” Judith allowed. “But is it suspicious?”

  Renie stepped all the way inside, keeping her eye on

  the closed door across the hall. “I think so. It’s pretty

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  quiet out here right now. I was sneaking out of the staff

  room, where I found a microwave, and I turned the

  corner just in time to see Sister Jacqueline outside Mr.

  Mummy’s room, looking very furtive. I ducked back

  where she couldn’t see me, and when I peeked around

  the corner again, she slipped inside.”

  “Hunh. That is odd,” Judith conceded, finally wide

  awake.

  Renie sat down on the end of Judith’s bed, where

  she could keep an eye on the hall. “I think there’s

  something peculiar about Mr. Mummy.”

  “I agree,” Judith said. “He’s very vague about his

  family and where he lives. I can’t think of any reason

  why, with a broken leg, his doctor would send him all