Suture Self : A Bed-and-breakfast Mystery

by Mary Daheim

  “Not at all,” Judith replied. “Do you feel ill?”

  “Sometimes.” Bob Jr. sat down with a heavy sigh. “I

  think Mom called on Mr. Kirby before she came to see

  you and that other lady. I’ll check in there as soon as I

  catch my breath. He’s close by, right?”

  Judith nodded. “Next door.”

  Bob Jr. also nodded, but didn’t speak.

  “Have you been hurrying?” Judith asked, still feeling a need to make up for her previous curt manner.

  Bob Jr. shook his head. “No. It’s my condition.”

  “Oh?” Judith put on her most sympathetic expression. “Would it be rude to ask what that might be?”

  “Yes.” The young man took a deep breath, then got

  to his feet.

  “I’m sorry,” Judith apologized. “I won’t pry anymore.” She paused, hoping that Bob Jr. might give her

  a hint. But he just stood there, looking desolate. “How

  is your mother doing with the funeral plans? It must be

  very hard for her.”

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  “It is,” Bob Jr. said, very solemn. “Sometimes she

  feels like she’s responsible for all these deaths.”

  “Why is that?” Judith inquired.

  “Because,” Bob Jr. said, “she thinks she was the vessel.” Anxiously, he looked over his shoulder, toward

  the hallway. “I’ll check with Mr. Kirby now. I should

  have done that first before coming in here. I know how

  anxious my mother was to see him.”

  Bob Randall Jr. made his exit, leaving Judith puzzled. And very curious.

  ELEVEN

  BOB JR. HAD scarcely been gone more than a few

  seconds when Renie returned. “In the nick of time,”

  she said. “I just met Bob Jr. going into Addison

  Kirby’s room as I was leaving.” Renie stopped at the

  end of Judith’s bed and peered at her cousin.

  “What’s wrong? You look miffed.”

  “I am miffed,” Judith declared. “My replacements

  are running amok.”

  Renie tipped her head and gazed at Judith’s left

  hip. “I thought you only had one.”

  “I don’t mean that,” Judith said with a wave of

  her arm. “I mean, my replacements at the B&B. It’s

  that damned snake they let in.”

  “Enough with the snakes!” Renie cried, yanking

  the blanket from Judith’s bed and putting it over her

  head. “You know I hate snakes. I don’t want to hear

  another word about that creepy thing.”

  Judith, however, prevailed, her attitude conveying

  just how sorry she felt for herself and how little

  sympathy she had for Renie. As for Hillside

  Manor’s reputation, Judith was certain that it was

  hopelessly tarnished.

  When Judith had finished her tale of woe, Renie

  peeked out from under the blanket. “Phyliss,” she

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  declared, “is not having a heart attack or whatever she

  claims. She’s merely trying to get attention.”

  “That’s the least of my worries. Marooned guests,

  reptiles on the loose, whoopee cushions, emergency

  vehicles in the cul-de-sac—why can’t I be allowed an

  unencumbered recovery?” Judith reached for her water

  glass, took a big swallow, and choked.

  Renie replaced the blanket, doing her best to tuck in

  the corners. “Are you okay?”

  Between splutters, Judith nodded. “Yes,” she

  gasped. “I’m just frustrated. For about a hundred reasons. Tell me about Addison Kirby and I’ll tell you

  about the younger Randall twins.”

  “Twins?” Renie looked intrigued.

  “Yes, but not identical,” Judith deadpanned.

  “No, I guess not.” Renie shifted around on the bed,

  trying to make herself more comfortable while not disturbing Judith’s leg and hip. “Addison’s in pretty good

  shape this morning. Or, as he put it, he’s still alive,

  which I gather sort of surprised him.”

  “I can imagine,” Judith said. “He may have thought

  he’d end up like his wife, Joan.”

  “Right. Anyway, he was reluctant to talk at first, not

  that I blame him. He doesn’t know me, I could be a

  maniacal killer.” Renie stopped as her phone rang.

  “Drat. Let’s hope it’s not my mother.” She managed to

  grab the receiver on the fourth ring. “Hi!” she said with

  a big smile, propping the phone between her chin and

  shoulder. “Yes, I’m feeling better . . . Don’t feel bad

  about not being able to come see me, Tom . . . No, I realize you can’t go to work. Oh? . . . Then ask your

  dad . . . He’s what? ” Renie’s jaw had dropped and she

  was staring at Judith.

  “To what purpose?” Renie said into the phone as

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  her good hand clawed at her hair. “Why? Where?

  Don’t you dare let them near Clarence! . . . What?

  How much smaller? What are they, rats or dogs? Oh,

  good night!”

  There was a long pause as her son apparently offered some sort of explanation. At last Renie spoke

  again. “If you find out, let me know. Or call for the

  men with the white coats and the butterfly net. Meanwhile, I don’t know why you need money—you can’t

  go anywhere . . . Oh, good grief! If you can ski down

  Heraldsgate Hill, you could get to work. Really, you’re

  thirty-one years old and it’s about time you got a serious job instead of making tacos at Miguel’s

  Muncheria. Good-bye, my son. I’m having a relapse.”

  With a weary expression, Renie replaced the receiver.

  “Bill found two Chihuahuas, lost in the snow up at the

  park by our house. He’s taken them in and has dressed

  one in a tuxedo and the other in University of Wisconsin sweats.”

  It was Judith’s turn to stare. “What?”

  “I don’t know why,” Renie responded, holding her

  head. “My husband’s a psychologist. Therefore, he

  can’t possibly be crazy. Can he?”

  “Dare I ask where he got a tuxedo that would fit a

  Chihuahua?”

  Renie glanced at Archie the doll. “It’s Archie’s formal wear. The dogs are very small, not as big as

  Clarence,” she added, referring to the Joneses’ lopeared rabbit. “In fact, the sweats belong to Clarence,

  but he never wears them. The last time we dressed him

  in them, he ate the Badger logo off the front.” She

  paused, holding her head. “I should never leave Bill

  alone for too long, especially now that he’s retired.”

  Judith didn’t feel up to making sense out of her

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  cousin’s report. Renie and Bill had a strange

  menagerie of creatures, both living and stuffed. Sometimes it was best not to ask too many questions. “Could

  we go back to Addison Kirby?” Judith pleaded. “You’d

  begun to get something useful out of him.”

  “I had?” Renie pulled the covers up to her neck.

  “Brrr . . . it’s cold in here. I don’t think Clarabelle is

  working full-time, either.” She glanced at the radiator,

  which was emitting asthmatic hissing sounds. “Yes,

  Addison definitely thinks that his wife, Somosa, and

  Randal
l were murdered. However, he has absolutely no

  idea who did it.”

  Judith frowned. “Was he going to write up his suspicions for the paper?”

  “He can’t,” Renie said. “He has to have facts, evidence, just like a cop. That’s what he was trying to

  gather when he got hit by the car. He’d talked to the

  Randall kids, but they weren’t much help. He’d interviewed Somosa’s widow in the Dominican Republic

  via long distance a couple of days ago, before Bob

  Randall died. Addison said she wasn’t much help. Her

  English is almost nonexistent and she seemed inclined

  to blame her husband’s death on God’s will. Addison

  doesn’t agree, and neither do I. It’d be more likely that

  the teams in the rest of our division did Somosa in. But

  that’s not realistic, either.”

  “What about Tubby Turnbull?” Judith asked. “Did

  Addison find him helpful?”

  Renie gave Judith a sardonic look. “Has Tubby ever

  been helpful to anyone? After hemming and hawing

  and trying to figure out if he’d put his pants on backwards, Tubby insisted he couldn’t think of anyone connected to the team who’d want Joaquin out of the way.

  He was popular with the other players, the press liked

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  him, management considered him a huge part of the

  franchise, and even his agent is a good guy—as sports

  agents go. Anyway, the agent works out of New York.

  He hasn’t been out this way since the end of last season.”

  Judith gave a faint nod. “Nothing there, as far as we

  can tell.” She pondered the matter of Joaquin Somosa

  for a few moments. “The bear,” she said suddenly.

  “What did he mean by saying ‘a bear’ and pointing to

  the TV?”

  Renie frowned at Judith. “I told you, he must have

  been hallucinating. Why else would he keep saying ‘a

  bear, a bear, a bear’?” Renie’s scowl faded as she

  clapped her hand to her head. “A bear—in Spanish,

  that would be aver, to see. Maybe he couldn’t see—the

  TV or anything else. The drugs might have been taking

  effect. Doesn’t Ecstasy blind you?”

  “I’m not sure,” Judith said, “but it would fit. All I

  really know is that it does terrible things, including

  making you crazy. Joaquin must have ingested it just

  before the repairman, Curly, got to his room. I wonder

  who’d been there ahead of him?”

  “We don’t know,” Renie responded with a helpless

  look.

  “That’s the trouble,” Judith said. “We weren’t

  around when these other deaths occurred and it’s almost impossible to get any concrete information out of

  the staff. I sure wish Maya was still here.” She sighed

  and rearranged herself on the pillows. “What about

  Joan Fremont? Did she and Addison sound like a

  happy couple?”

  “Yes,” Renie responded, delving into her goodies

  stash and hauling out some cheese and crackers. “Want

  some?”

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  “No, thanks.”

  “Addison didn’t make a big deal of it,” Renie continued, “which indicated to me that the marriage must

  have been solid. You know, if he’d gone on and on

  about how devoted they were and all that junk, I’d have

  figured him for a phony.”

  “What about their kids?” inquired Judith.

  Renie shrugged and chewed on her crackers. “They

  haven’t been in town since Thanksgiving, which, alas,

  was the last time they saw their mother alive. I mean,

  they came for the funeral. But I got the impression they

  were a close family, emotionally, if not geographically.”

  “What about Joan’s colleagues at Le Repertoire?”

  Renie shrugged again. “By and large, she got along

  with most of them. Addison indicated that she wasn’t

  happy with the direction the theater was going—too

  much emphasis on social issues, rather than good

  drama. But he didn’t know of any big rift. As for socalled rivals, he said that there were always some of

  those. The theater is full of big egos. But Joan knew

  how to handle them. She was a veteran, a real pro.”

  “Gosh,” Judith said in a bleak voice, “it sounds as if

  the community has lost more than just talent. Both

  Joan and Joaquin sound like decent, upstanding human

  beings. Did Addison say anything about Bob Randall?

  We know he was brave both on and off the field. Bob

  saved some lives, as well as games.”

  “Addison hadn’t had time to do more than speak

  with Nancy and Bob Jr.,” Renie responded after she’d

  devoured two crackers and another chunk of cheese.

  “As you might guess from the looks of them, they

  weren’t a lot of help. Like their mother, they seem ineffectual and unable to cope with the rest of the world.

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  I sure wish Bill would open the vault on his blasted patient confidentiality and let us know what’s going on.”

  “Tell me,” Judith said, making yet another attempt

  to get comfortable in the bed, “does Addison know

  why there isn’t a full-fledged homicide investigation

  going on around here?”

  Renie shook her head. “That’s where he sort of

  clammed up. I suspect he knows more about that than

  he’s saying.”

  “But does he agree that the police aren’t involved?”

  Judith persisted.

  “He told me he’d gotten nowhere going to his usual

  sources at city hall, including the police department.”

  Renie shot Judith a cryptic glance. “Think about it—

  Addison Kirby has been covering city hall for ten, fifteen years. He must have cultivated all sorts of people

  who can help him. But not this time. Why? Could it be

  Blanche Van Boeck on the city council? She who

  would be mayor?”

  “Drat,” said Judith. “That woman has clout.”

  Judith had opened her mouth to tell Renie about the

  Randall twins’ visits when Corinne Appleby entered

  the room, looking determined and pushing a wheelchair. “You’re getting up today, Mrs. Flynn. We’re

  going to put you in this swift little number.”

  “That’s good—I think,” Judith responded.

  But she was not without trepidation, especially

  when Corinne didn’t request any help with the lifting

  process.

  “Just take your time,” Corinne said, exuding more

  confidence than Judith felt. “I’m used to doing this.

  My mother is very crippled with arthritis and can’t

  stand without assistance.”

  “My mother also has arthritis,” Judith said, sitting

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  up and struggling to swing her legs over the side of the

  bed. “Unfortunately, it’s often just part of old age.”

  “My mother’s not quite sixty,” Corinne said, her

  freckled face clouding over. “She developed arthritis in

  her early twenties. It was terrible. She’d planned to become a concert pianist.”

  “Oh, that is awful!” Renie exclaimed. “We had a

  dear family friend, we called her Aun
tie May, who

  played beautifully, but she had arthritis, too, and all her

  professional dreams were dashed at a very young age.

  Can your mother play at all?”

  Corinne shook her head as she put her arms under

  Judith’s. “No. She hasn’t played in almost thirty years.

  We sold the piano when I was still a child. Mummy

  couldn’t bear to have it in the house.”

  “That’s very sad,” Judith said, gritting her teeth.

  “Oooh . . . I don’t know if I . . .”

  “You’re doing fine,” Corinne said. “Just keep coming up. Be thankful that eventually you’ll be mobile

  again. Not everyone is so lucky. There. You’re on your

  feet. Don’t move for a few seconds. Steady . . .”

  Judith wasn’t steady. In fact, she was swaying. But

  after focusing her eyes on the bathroom doorknob, she

  began to get her bearings.

  “Good,” Corinne said, slowly letting go of Judith.

  “Now try to take a step toward me. Don’t worry—if

  you fall, I’ll catch you.”

  Judith inched her way forward on her good leg,

  though most of her weight was against the bed. Then,

  closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she tried to

  move her left leg. It hurt, but not as much as she’d

  feared. Corinne gave her a nod of encouragement. Judith gently tested putting weight on the hip replacement. She felt unsure of herself and gritted her teeth.

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  “Go ahead,” urged Corinne. “It’ll hold you up.”

  To Judith’s amazement, it did.

  “Hooray for modern medicine!” Renie cried, grinning at her cousin. “Go, girl, go.”

  Judith didn’t go very far, but she did manage another

  step before she felt on the verge of collapsing.

  “Hold it right there,” Corinne said, angling the

  wheelchair so that Judith could sit down. “That was

  very good. Now you can visit the rest of the world.”

  Uttering a feeble laugh, Judith gratefully eased

  herself into the chair. The nurse pushed her to the

  doorway. Judith, who had thought that Corinne’s remark about the “rest of the world” was merely an attempt at hospital humor, realized that for two days

  she hadn’t seen anything outside the four walls of

  her room. The hallway, with its ebb and flow of

  staff, the nurses’ station, the doors leading to other

  patient rooms, the flowers on desks, and even Robbie the Robot, who was heading her way, were indeed a brave new world. Until now, Judith had relied