by Mary Daheim
just enlightened me as to the killer’s identity.”
NINETEEN
RENIE WAS AMAZED by Judith’s theory. She was even
more astonished by the alleged motive. “What,” she
asked in an awestruck voice, “are you going to do
about it? You have absolutely no evidence.”
“That’s the problem,” Judith said, looking worried. “Not to mention that the whole thing’s so crazy
I can’t be absolutely sure. If only Joe had seen who
attacked him.”
“DNA,” Renie put in. “There’s got to be some
trace of the killer in our car.”
“That doesn’t prove that person was the killer,”
Judith pointed out.
“You’re right.” Renie scowled at the salad
mounds on her plate, then dumped them in the
wastebasket. “I’m thinking, honest.”
Judith set the luncheon tray aside and picked up
the phone. “I’m not going to eat this slop, so I’ll call
Woody instead.”
Woody was about to leave for the hospital to see
Joe. Although he tried to sound enthusiastic about
Judith’s idea, a note of skepticism lingered in his
mellow voice. “I’ll certainly have the Joneses’
Camry checked out. Don’t let Bill drive it anywhere
until we’ve finished.”
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295
Judith passed the message along to Renie. “That’s
fine,” Renie said in a doleful tone. “Bill’s probably
frozen into a grape-flavored Popsicle by now anyway.”
“It’s above freezing,” Judith pointed out, “or it
wouldn’t be thawing so much.”
The silent orderly came in to remove the cousins’
trays. As usual, he made no comment, not even when
he saw that Judith’s lunch was virtually untouched and
Renie’s was lying in the wastebasket. For the first time,
Judith noticed that his name tag read “Pearson.” Assuming it was his surname, she called out to him as he
started to leave.
“Mr. Pearson?”
Even though he wasn’t through the door, the orderly
didn’t stop.
“That’s rude,” Judith declared as Heather Chinn entered the room, seeking vital signs. “Say,” she addressed the nurse, “why won’t that orderly, Mr.
Pearson, talk to me? Does he disapprove of us?”
Heather gave Judith a gentle smile. “Pearson is his
first name, and he’s a deaf-mute.”
“Oh!” Judith reddened with embarrassment. “I feel
terrible!”
“Don’t,” Heather said, applying the blood pressure
cuff. “You couldn’t know.”
“I’d still like to talk to him,” Judith said. “I mean,
exchange written notes. To let him know we appreciate
his work. Could you ask him to drop by when he has
the time?”
Heather looked wary, but agreed. “I know how to
sign,” she offered. “Would you like to have me join
you?”
Judith started to accept, then politely declined. “I
don’t want to take up your valuable time. I also wanted
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to ask him a couple of questions about . . . how we might
be able to get some other kind of food. My cousin hasn’t
been able to eat some of the last few meals.”
“Oh.” Heather looked dubious. “I’m not sure Pearson
could help you. That’s something that should be taken
up with the dietician.”
“Let Mrs. Flynn do it her way,” Renie broke in. “I
trust her. She knows my needs.”
Apparently, Heather wished to avoid arguing with
the cousins. “All right,” she said, putting the thermometer in Judith’s mouth.
A quarter of an hour passed before Pearson reappeared. He wore a curious expression and tugged at the
ear that bore the gold stud.
Judith had already written her questions on a piece
of paper. Giving Pearson a big smile, she handed him
the single page. “No rush.” She formed the words as
emphatically as possible.
Pearson sat down in the visitor’s chair, carefully
reading the questions. He scratched his shaved head
and frowned. Judith handed him a ballpoint pen. With
a quizzical glance, Pearson began to write down his
answers.
1. Were you on duty when any of these persons
died—Joaquin Somosa, Joan Fremont, Bob
Randall? Yes.
2. Which ones, if any? All of them.
3. If you were, do you recall seeing such items as
a take-out juice cup in Somosa’s room, one or
two plastic Italian soda glasses in Fremont’s
room, and a pint of Wild Turkey in Randall’s
room? Yes, all of them, vaguely.
4. If so, what happened to the containers?
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At the fourth and last question, Pearson looked
flummoxed. He started to give Judith a palms-up signal, but stopped abruptly.
“Nurse Appleby removed S’s and F’s drink contain-
ers,” he wrote, and gave Judith a diffident grin. Then
he formed a single word: “Why?”
Judith wasn’t sure what he meant. “Why do I ask?”
she wrote. Pearson nodded. “Because I’m trying to
help my husband, who has been stabbed.” Pearson
looked bewildered. Judith added another note. “His
stabbing may be connected with the deaths of S, F, and
R.” The orderly grimaced. Judith scribbled another
question.
“What about R’s liquor bottle?”
Pearson shook his head and shrugged.
Judith held up one finger to indicate she had yet another query. “What did Appleby do with the juice and
soda containers?”
Pearson pointed to Judith’s wastebasket, then held up
two fingers.
“Both?” Judith formed the word carefully.
Pearson nodded again.
Judith put out her hand. “Thank you,” she mouthed,
and gave the orderly a grateful smile.
Pearson stood up and smiled back, then nodded at
Renie and left.
“Let’s see those questions,” Renie said, getting out
of bed.
“What do you think?” Judith asked after her cousin
had finished reading.
Renie’s face screwed up in concentration. “Corinne
threw out the containers belonging to Somosa and Fremont. So what?”
“Let’s call on Addison Kirby,” Judith said, attempt-298
Mary Daheim
ing to sit up on her own. To her astonishment, she managed it. “Hey, look at me! I’m just like a real person!”
“So you are,” Renie said with an encouraging smile.
“Don’t get too frisky. I’ll help you into the chair.”
A few minutes later, the cousins were at Addison’s
door. He turned and grinned, apparently glad to see
them.
“I’m so bored I could start tweezing my beard with
ice tongs,” he told them as they moved to the bedside.
“Since I don’t watch much TV except sports, all I can
do is read, and it seems the hospital library is woefully
lacking in sex-and-violence thrillers.”
“That’s probably because the nuns are reading
them,” Renie said,
only half joking.
Addison chuckled, then turned a more serious face
to Judith. “I guess you never had a chance to ask your
husband about those chocolates. I heard he got himself
stabbed. How’s he doing?”
“Better,” Judith replied, “though I still haven’t seen
him. My— our—son is with him right now. As soon as
I hear from Mike—our son—I’ll try to see Joe. Right
now, I’ve got a couple of questions for you. They may
be painful.” She hesitated, then continued. “After
Joan’s death, when and where did you first see the
body?”
Addison looked surprised. “In her room. They
wouldn’t move her until I’d gotten here. I’d been covering a story downtown, and only found out she was
dead when I got here. I suppose it was at least an hour
after she . . . died.”
“Think hard,” Judith urged. “Was her wastebasket
empty?”
Addison Kirby gave Judith an odd glance, then
slowly nodded. “I know what you’re getting at. I re-SUTURE SELF
299
member, because my first, crazy reaction was that Joan
wasn’t wearing her wedding band. She never took it
off, not even onstage.” He held up his left hand, revealing an intricately carved gold ring that caught the
sunlight coming through the window. “We had these
specially made. The masks of tragedy and comedy are
entwined with a pen, to symbolize both our professions. My first thought was that the ring had been
stolen, but somehow that seemed unlikely at Good
Cheer. Then I wondered if it had fallen off and was on
the floor or under the wastebasket. I looked around and
saw that the wastebasket was empty. And then I remembered that Joan had left the ring at home, on the
hospital’s advice.” Addison’s face clouded over at the
memory.
“Empty,” Judith echoed. “That makes sense. Can you
tell me the exact date that your wife died? I want to be
very sure about this.”
“January sixth,” Addison replied promptly. “How
could I forget? We had the funeral last Saturday.”
Exuding sympathy, Judith nodded. “Do you remember exactly when Joaquin Somosa died?”
Addison gave Judith a crooked little smile. “Actually, I do. It was on my late father’s birthday, December nineteenth.”
“Good,” Judith said. “I mean, it’s good that you remember.”
Addison was eyeing her curiously. “You’re on to
something, aren’t you, Mrs. Flynn? Or should I call
you Miss Marple?”
Judith assumed a modest expression. “I don’t want
to elaborate because my theory is so far out that, along
with my hip, Dr. Alfonso may have replaced my brain
with a battery—a faulty one at that. And unlike Miss
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Marple with her St. Mary Mead village eccentrics, I
don’t know anyone on Heraldsgate Hill who reminds
me of the possible suspect.”
Addison looked disappointed. “So I can’t ask who
it is?”
“Don’t feel bad,” Renie put in. “Sometimes, when
she really gets whacked out, she won’t even tell me
who she suspects.”
Addison grinned. “You aren’t going to tell me who
I should be wary of? Remember, I almost got killed out
there in front of the hospital.”
Coincidentally, Torchy Magee poked his head in the
door. “Mrs. Jones? That’s your Camry, all right. At
least it is if you live at this address I copied down.” He
recited the house and street number from a slip of
paper. “That yours?”
“It sure is,” Renie said with a big smile. “Thanks.
I’m relieved that the car is safe.”
Suddenly angry, Addison was staring at Renie.
“Your car was the one that hit me?”
“I’m afraid so,” Renie said. “Our Toyota Camry was
stolen from the dealership. I didn’t recognize it when I
saw it hit you because it looks like every other midsized sedan these days. Besides, I’m not used to looking down on it unless I’m on a ferry boat’s upper deck.”
Addison was frowning. “I don’t get it—somebody
stole your car and then hit me. Was it deliberate?”
Renie glanced at her cousin, who shrugged.
“Who?” Addison asked, still frowning.
“I’m not sure what his name is,” Judith replied, “but
he may be dead.”
As Judith rolled out of the room with Renie behind
her, Addison made a request.
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“Hey—you never told me who I should watch out
for.”
“I told you,” Judith said, over her shoulder. “The
man who hit you might be dead.”
“He was the man who killed my wife? For God’s
sake, I have to know that.”
“No,” Judith responded. “He didn’t kill your wife.
He didn’t kill anybody. I’m not entirely convinced that
your accident wasn’t just that—an accident.”
Addison wasn’t finished. “Am I in danger?”
“I don’t think so,” Judith said, “but it’s always prudent
to trust absolutely nobody in this kind of situation.”
“Not even you two?” Addison shot back.
“Not even us,” Judith replied. But she smiled.
Judith was intent on talking to Sister Jacqueline.
Heather Chinn thought that the hospital administrator
was in a meeting, probably something to do with the
Restoration Heartware takeover. But she promised to
convey the message to Sister Jacqueline.
“Meanwhile,” Judith said, “I’m going to see Joe.”
Renie made a face. “Are you sure you’re up to it?
That shower must have taken a lot out of you.”
“Of course I’m up to it,” Judith asserted, once again
sitting up on her own. This time she managed to swing
her legs around to the side of the bed, put her feet on
the floor, and start to stand up. “See? I can . . . Oops!”
Judith started to topple forward and caught herself on
the wheelchair.
“Good grief,” Renie muttered, hurrying as fast as
she could to help her cousin, “I warned you about
being too rash.”
“Okay, okay,” Judith grumbled, “let’s get out of
here.”
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The cousins paused briefly outside the door to what
had been Mr. Mummy’s room and now was tenanted
by Jim Randall. Two nurses and a doctor Judith didn’t
recognize were hovering over Jim’s bed.
“He must have been almost blind,” Judith remarked.
“Otherwise, he might not have gotten a cornea transplant.”
The lunch carts had been removed from the hallway;
the Pakistani woman was polishing the floor with an
electric cleaner; the two nurses at the station, one of
whom was a nun, were consulting over charts. No one
stopped Judith and Renie as they proceeded to the elevator.
But they were stopped anyway. An OUT OF ORDER
sign was on the door of the car.
“Damn!” Judith cursed under her breath. “Where’s
&
nbsp; the freight elevator?”
Renie didn’t know. “It’s probably down this hall,”
she said, pointing to their right. “It’s the only place I
haven’t been yet.”
Judith was about to suggest that they try it when Sister Jacqueline appeared from the stairwell. “You
wanted to see me?” she inquired.
“Yes,” Judith said, then added, “when will this elevator be fixed?”
“Curly’s working on it now,” Sister Jacqueline
replied. “Our elevators are not only too few, but too
old. I imagine Restoration Heartware will install new
ones. Among other things,” she concluded on a baleful
note.
The three women returned to the cousins’ room,
where Sister Jacqueline tentatively seated herself in
Judith’s visitor’s chair. The nun looked as if she either
expected to be ejected from the chair by force, or else
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didn’t want to be there in the first place. A real hot
seat, Judith thought as she got back into bed.
“You’re probably going to think I’m nuts,” Judith
said with a self-deprecating smile, “but would it be
possible for you to find these dates for me?” She
handed the nun a slip of paper on which she’d already
written her request.
Sister Jacqueline looked startled. “That would be a
breach of patient confidentiality,” she said. “Why on
earth do you want this answered in the first place?”
“Sister,” Judith said earnestly, “would you believe
me if I told you it was a matter of life and death?”
It hadn’t been easy, but Judith had finally convinced
Sister Jacqueline that it was imperative to provide the
information. Mike returned shortly after the nun left.
“Did you know the elevator’s broken?” he said upon
entering the room.
“Yes,” Judith retorted, “we know. We tried to get up
to the fourth floor to see Joe. How is he?”
“Good,” Mike replied, taking the chair that Sister
Jacqueline had just vacated. “He seemed better than
when I saw him earlier. Woody Price is with him.
Gosh, it was great to see Woody after all this time.”
“Did Joe see who stabbed him?” Judith asked anxiously.
“That’s what Woody was asking,” Mike replied.
“Joe told him that he thinks he saw the attacker before
it happened. At least he saw some guy who was acting
suspicious. Joe has an instinct for that sort of thing,
being a cop for so many years.”