by Mary Daheim
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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Mary Daheim
“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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217
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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Mary Daheim
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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223
“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?”
&
nbsp; 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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Mary Daheim
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