Suture Self : A Bed-and-breakfast Mystery

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by Mary Daheim


  Sisters of Good Cheer. A spokesperson for Good

  Cheer stated that the religious order is not interested in

  any kind of merger or buyout at this time.’ Is that

  spokesperson Blanche Van Boeck?”

  Intrigued, Judith leaned on one elbow to face her

  cousin. “Who’s asking the question?”

  “Me,” Renie replied. “The article doesn’t identify

  the spokesperson. Maybe that’s because Blanche

  isn’t official. Why didn’t Dr. Van Boeck or Sister

  Jacqueline meet with the press? How come Blanche

  barged in instead? The morning paper must have gotten this from the TV news story, since KLIP seemed

  to be the only one asking questions out here in the

  hall yesterday.”

  Judith was also puzzled. “You know a lot more

  about the business world than I do, coz. What do you

  make of all this?”

  With her disheveled hair standing on end, the big

  bandage on her shoulder, the blue sling on her arm, and

  the baggy hospital gown sagging around her figure,

  Renie’s boardroom face looked more like it belonged

  in the bathroom. Still, she approached the question

  with her customary professionalism.

  “There’s a conspiracy of silence about Good Cheer,”

  she said. “It’s not necessarily malevolent or mysterious. Any institution or business enterprise deplores

  speculative publicity and rumors. If a company is ripe

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  for a takeover or a merger, they feel vulnerable, like a

  wounded animal. It’s a sign of weakness, particularly

  when stockholders are involved. The top brass go to

  ground to wait for the worst to blow over.”

  “Are you saying,” Judith inquired, “that Good Cheer

  is in financial trouble?”

  “Many hospitals are in financial trouble,” Renie answered. “In the past few years, I’ve done brochures and

  letterheads and other design projects for at least three

  hospitals, including our own HMO. All of them were

  very bottom-line conscious, and all of them expressed

  serious concerns about keeping afloat.”

  Judith nodded. “I understand that modern medicine

  is a mess, but it seems impossible in a country as rich

  and supposedly smart as the United States that we

  could have gotten into such a fix. No wonder Mother

  keeps ranting about how Harry Truman tried to get universal medical coverage legislation through Congress

  over fifty years ago, and how if he couldn’t do it, nobody could. And nobody has.”

  “Very sad, very shortsighted,” Renie agreed. “But in

  the case of Good Cheer, I get the impression that

  they’re simply trying to survive. Certainly the nuns

  would hate to give up the hospital. There may be a

  shortage of vocations, but certainly nursing—and administrative skills—are worthwhile in a religious community. Not to mention that they’re drawing cards for

  women who are contemplating a vocation. If the Sisters of Good Cheer don’t have a hospital to run and patients to care for, what will they do? Medicine is their

  tradition of service.”

  “It’s sad,” Judith sighed. “If it’s true.” She gazed up

  at the statue of Mary with the infant Jesus. The plaster

  was a bit cracked and the paint a trifle chipped, but the

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  Virgin’s expression was easy to read: She looked worried, and Judith couldn’t blame her.

  “It’s the whole bigger-is-better mentality,” Renie

  said in disgust. “By the time our kids are our age,

  about four people will own everything in the world.

  It’ll be stifling, stupid, and I’ll be damned glad to be either dead or gaga.”

  “Don’t say that, coz,” Judith said in mild reproach.

  “And don’t get off on a tangent. You still haven’t explained why you think there’s a cover-up.”

  “Do I need to?” Renie snapped. “There are tons of

  reasons for a cover-up. Good Cheer may be losing

  money hand over fist. They’re certainly losing patients

  in a most terrible way. The hospital and the religious

  order have their reputations on the line. So do individuals, like Dr. Van Boeck, Dr. Garnett, Sister Jacqueline. With Blanche in their corner—or at least in the

  hospital’s corner—there’s enough clout to muzzle the

  media. Except, of course, for a rogue reporter like Addison Kirby, who’s not only something of a star in his

  own right, but who has a personal stake in all this because of what happened to his wife.”

  Judith paused as the mop brigade arrived. Two

  middle-aged women, one Pakistani and the other

  Southeast Asian, silently and efficiently began cleaning Judith’s half of the room. When they reached the

  other side where Renie had trashed her sector, they

  looked at each other in dismay. In her native tongue,

  the Pakistani rattled off a string of what, in any language, sounded like complaints. The Southeast Asian

  looked mystified, but responded with her own invective, jabbing a finger at Renie and scowling.

  “Hey, what did I do? I’m crippled,” Renie said,

  holding up her good hand. “I can’t help myself.”

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  Both women directed their unintelligible, if vitriolic,

  comments to Renie. The Pakistani shook her finger;

  the Southeast Asian stamped her foot. Renie looked

  dazed.

  “Hey, girlfriends,” she finally said, raising her voice

  to be heard, “knock it off. You’re giving me a relapse.”

  The women didn’t stop. In fact, the Southeast Asian

  pointed to the wastebasket and glared at Renie in a warning manner. The Pakistani waved her arms at all the clutter on the nightstand, narrowing her eyes at Archie the

  doll, who grinned back in his eternally cheerful manner.

  “Touch Archie and prepare to be the next patient in

  the OR with a broken arm,” Renie warned.

  The cleaning women looked at Renie, again at

  Archie, and then at each other. They shook their heads.

  Then they shook their fingers at Renie.

  “That’s it,” Renie said. “I’m dead.” She closed her

  eyes and disappeared under the covers.

  The cleaning women simply stared at the mound in

  the bed and shook their heads. Then they resumed their

  work and began chattering to each other, though it was

  clear to Judith that neither of them understood what the

  other was saying. A few minutes later, they left, and

  Renie came up for air.

  “Finally,” she gasped. “I feel like I’ve been smothered.”

  “You can’t really blame the cleaning women,” Judith chided. “You do make a terrible mess.”

  “Nonsense,” Renie scoffed, tearing open a pack of

  gum and tossing the wrapper on the floor. “You know

  I’m a decent housekeeper.”

  “In your own house,” Judith noted, then gave her

  cousin a coy smile. “I wonder if Addison Kirby would

  like a visitor this morning.”

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  “Meaning me,” Renie grumbled. “I’ll be glad when

  I can dump you in a wheelchair and send you off on

  your own.”

  “So will I,” Judith retorted. “Do you think I like

&
nbsp; lying around like a bump on a log?”

  Renie was getting out of bed. “I’m going to go wash

  my hair and take a shower,” she said, unhooking the IV

  bag and carrying it in her good hand. “I’ll visit Mr.

  Kirby on the way back when I’m clean and beautiful.”

  After watching her cousin traipse off to the shower

  area, Judith returned to the family tree with an air of

  resignation. Joe’s mother was already dead by the time

  Judith had met the family. His father, known as Jack,

  but named John, had been a bombastic man with a barrel chest and a booming voice. He drank too much, he

  worked only when he felt like it, and after his wife

  died, he’d let their four sons fend for themselves. That

  all of them had achieved a certain measure of success

  in life was due, Judith felt, to their own ambition and

  determination, along with a debt they felt they owed

  their mother, who had put up with a great deal before

  dying of cancer two days before her fortieth birthday.

  Mary Margaret Flynn had been a redhead, like Joe.

  Like Effie McMonigle, too. Judith considered Effie. If

  she found out that Dan wasn’t Mike’s father, that she

  wasn’t his grandmother or Little Mac’s greatgrandmother—the pen dropped from Judith’s hand. It

  was too cruel. Effie was a selfish woman, but not without reason. Her husband, Dan’s father, had left her for

  another woman. She had become bitter and very protective of herself and her only child. Judith had always

  felt sorry for her mother-in-law. Maybe Effie would

  never find out the truth. Judith looked up at the statue

  of the Madonna and child again, and said a little prayer

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  for her mother-in-law. Then she looked at the statue of

  the Sacred Heart and said a prayer for herself. Having

  created a monstrous deception, there seemed to be no

  way out of it without the risk of hurting someone. Judith wished she weren’t such a convincing liar.

  A pale blonde head edged around the doorway.

  “Ma’am?” said a pitiful voice.

  Judith turned away from the statues. “Yes?” she responded, then saw Nancy Randall hesitate before moving into the room.

  “Excuse me,” Nancy said. “Did my mother leave her

  worry beads in here?”

  “Her worry beads?” Judith responded, then added

  without thinking: “Does she really need them?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Nancy’s china blue eyes were

  wide. “Yes, they’re a great comfort to her. She used to

  say the rosary, but she got too depressed when she recited the five Sorrowful Mysteries.”

  “She should have concentrated on the Joyous and

  Glorious Mysteries,” Judith said before guilt tripped

  up her tongue. “I’m sorry, that was flippant. Do come

  in and look around. If your mother dropped her beads,

  I didn’t see them. But lying here in bed, I’m at a disadvantage.”

  “Yes,” Nancy said slowly, bending down to search

  the floor. “I don’t see them, either. Mother is at a disadvantage, too. She can’t plan my father’s funeral

  without those worry beads.”

  “Surely you and your brother can help her,” Judith

  said in a kindly voice. “What about your uncle Jim? Is

  he here, too?”

  “Not today,” Nancy replied, kneeling by Renie’s

  bed. “He’s very upset. And he’s not well, either.”

  “What’s wrong?” Judith inquired.

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  Nancy, looking frustrated, stood up. “They aren’t

  sure. He’s had all sorts of tests. A CAT scan, an MRI,

  ultrasounds. Uncle Jim has never been in good health.

  He’s just the opposite of my father. They were mirror

  twins, you see.”

  “Yes,” Judith said. “Your uncle mentioned that. I’d

  never heard of it before.”

  “It’s fairly unusual,” Nancy said, her eyes drifting

  around the room. “Bobby—my brother—and I are

  twins, too, but not identical.”

  “Yes,” Judith replied, “I can see that.”

  “Thank you,” Nancy said, and wandered out of the

  room.

  “Vague,” Judith thought, “very vague.”

  She returned to the family tree, reluctantly omitting

  Effie McMonigle. The phone rang as she was trying to

  remember Kristin’s mother’s first name.

  “Jude-girl,” said Joe, sounding chipper. “We found

  Ernest.”

  “Ernest?” Judith frowned into the receiver. “Oh! The

  snake. Good. Dare I ask where he was?”

  “Well . . . Ha-ha!” Joe’s laugh was unnatural. “How

  about around your mother’s neck?”

  “That’s not funny, Joe,” Judith said in a warning

  voice. “Where was this horrible boa constrictor who

  should never have been permitted inside the B&B in

  the first place?”

  Joe’s tone grew serious, if not remorseful. “He was

  in the garbage can under the kitchen sink.”

  “Oh, dear. Who found him?”

  “Arlene,” Joe replied. “This morning, while she was

  making French toast for the guests.”

  “What . . . did . . . Arlene . . . do?” Judith asked with

  trepidation.

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  “She grabbed the snake and turned the clothes basket upside down on him,” Joe explained. “Then she

  went back to fixing French toast.”

  Judith had a feeling that the story wasn’t over.

  “What about Ernest’s owners, the Pettigrews?”

  “Well . . . They were worried, of course.” Joe

  paused. “But they were waiting for breakfast and I

  guess Arlene sort of forgot to tell them about Ernest.

  Phyliss Rackley showed up about then, and the first

  thing she did was—Hold it.” Joe went away from the

  phone, and Judith heard voices in the background. She

  could barely make out her husband’s words but she

  caught fragments that sounded like “. . . can’t make

  it . . . let the medics walk . . . only five blocks . . .

  chains? Oh, good.”

  “Joe?” Judith called into the phone. “Joe!”

  “What?”

  “What’s going on, Joe?” Judith demanded. “Did

  something happen to Phyliss? I can’t afford to lose my

  cleaning woman when I’m laid up like this.”

  “Well . . . It seems that Phyliss grabbed the laundry

  basket to take upstairs so she could strip the beds, and

  as you might imagine, the snake got loose, and—” Joe

  stopped speaking as Judith heard the cleaning woman

  shriek in the background:

  “Lucifer! Satan! Beelzebub! He’s on the loose,

  tempting sinners! Look out, Lord, he may be coming

  after me! Keep him away, Lord! I don’t want to wear

  scanty underwear and dance to suggestive music!”

  “You hear that?” Joe asked. “Phyliss passed out cold

  when she saw the snake, but she’s come to now.”

  “Oh, good grief!” Judith cried, raking her fingers

  over her scalp. “Is she okay?”

  “Not exactly,” Joe replied calmly as voices contin-164

  Mary Daheim

  ued to sound in the back
ground. “She came to, but she

  swears she’s having a heart attack. Arlene says it’s just

  gas, but you know Phyliss, she’s kind of a hypochondriac.”

  Phyliss Rackley was indeed a hypochondriac as well

  as a religious zealot. But she was also a terrific cleaning woman. Judith hung her head. “What’s happening

  now? Did you say ‘medics’?”

  “Yes, yes, I did,” Joe replied, still keeping his voice

  calm. “Phyliss insisted we call an ambulance. But the

  medics were having trouble getting up the hill with all

  this snow. Even with chains, they had trouble, but they

  think they can make it if they give it another try.”

  “Where is Phyliss?” Judith asked, aware that a

  global-sized headache was setting in.

  “On the sofa in the living room,” Joe said. “Really,

  she seems okay. I wish Arlene wasn’t trying to get her

  to take all that Gas-X, though. That can produce some

  pretty revolting results with somebody like Phyliss.”

  “What about the damned snake?”

  “The snake?” Joe hesitated. “A good question. I’m

  not sure.”

  “Joe . . .”

  “I’ll check. Right away. Hey, I really called to see

  how you were feeling this morning.”

  “How do you think I feel?” Judith retorted. “I feel

  absolutely awful. I’m hanging up now so you can

  straighten out this horrible mess. I’m not even going to

  ask how the rest of the guests are managing. Goodbye.” Judith slammed down the phone with a big bang.

  Bob Randall Jr. stood in the doorway. “Excuse me,”

  he said in a diffident voice, “have you seen my sister,

  Nancy?”

  “Yes,” Judith said in a testy voice. “She was here

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  and then she left. She couldn’t find your mother’s

  worry beads.”

  “Oh.” Bob Jr. looked forlorn. “Darn.”

  Judith regretted her sharp tone. It wasn’t Bob Jr.’s

  fault that she was in a bad mood. “I imagine Nancy

  went off to search wherever else your mother had been

  after she’d called on us.”

  But Bob Jr. shook his head. “Mom wasn’t anywhere

  else after we met her in this room. We went straight

  down to the staff lounge.”

  “What about before your mother came in here?” Judith asked, making an effort to be helpful.

  Bob Jr. had moved closer to the bed, and appeared

  as if he’d like to sit down. “Do you mind?” he asked,

  pointing to the chair and panting a bit.

 

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