by Mary Daheim
“Once a month, big thrill,” Effie said with a sharp laugh. “I’m not like you, out running around all over the place and doing as I please.”
“Effie, I’m in the hospital.”
“What?” There was a pause. “Oh—so you are. Well, you know what I mean. Think about what I said, in case Dan had something hereditary. It’ll help kill time. Thinking helps me keep occupied. I’d better hang up. This phone bill is going to put me in the poorhouse.”
“Lord help me.” Judith sighed, gazing at Renie, who was lying back on the pillows looking exhausted. “You, too?”
“At least I love my mother,” Renie said in a wan voice, “but having seen you break out into a cold sweat indicated you were talking to Effie McMonigle.”
“That’s right,” Judith said. “She wonders why I didn’t have an autopsy done on Dan.”
“Before he died? It might have been a smart idea. Maybe you could have figured out what made him tick.”
“Sheesh.” Judith rubbed her neck, trying to undo the kinks that had accumulated. “To think I was putting off calling Mother.”
The door, which had been left ajar, was slowly pushed open. Jim Randall, dusted with snow and carrying a slightly incongruous spring bouquet, stepped into the room and stopped abruptly.
“Oh! Sorry.” He pushed his thick glasses up higher on his nose. “Wrong room.” He left.
“What was that all about?” Renie asked.
“I don’t know,” Judith replied, sitting up a bit.
But Jim reappeared a moment later, looking flustered. “There’s someone in there,” he said, gesturing at the room that had been occupied by his late brother. “How can that be?”
“It’s Mr. Kirby,” Judith said. “The hospital is very crowded. I guess they had to use your…the empty room.”
“Oh.” Jim looked in every direction, cradling the bouquet against his chest. Then, in a jerky motion, he thrust the flowers in Judith’s direction. “Would you like these? I don’t know what to do with them. I was going to put them on Bob’s bed. You know, in remembrance.”
“Ah…” Judith stared at the yellow tulips, the red carnations, the purple freesia, and the baby’s breath. “They’re very pretty. Wouldn’t Mrs. Randall—Margie—like them?”
“Margie?” Jim’s eyes looked enormous behind the thick lenses. “Yes, maybe that’s a good idea. Where is she?” He peered around the room, as if the cousins might be hiding his sister-in-law in some darkened corner.
“We heard she’d collapsed,” Judith replied. “They must have taken her home by now. The children, that is. They were here earlier.”
Jim’s face suddenly became almost stern. “How early?”
“Well…It was an hour or so after your brother…passed away,” Judith said. “Noon, maybe? I really don’t remember.”
Jim’s expression grew troubled. “Were they here before Bob was taken?”
“Taken where?” Renie broke in. “We heard he killed himself.”
“Oh!” Jim recoiled in horror at Renie’s blunt speech. “That’s not true! He wouldn’t! He couldn’t! Oh!”
“Hospital gossip,” Judith said soothingly. “Please, Mr. Randall, don’t get upset.”
“How can I not be upset?” Jim Randall was close to tears. “Bob was my twin. We were just like brothers. I mean, we were brothers, but even closer…Gosh, he saved my life when we were kids. I fell into a lake, I couldn’t swim, but Bob was an excellent swimmer, and he rescued me…. If he didn’t kill himself, what happened? I mean, I’d understand if he did. I’ve felt suicidal sometimes, too. There’ve been days when I wished Bob had never saved me from drowning. But Bob wasn’t the type to take his own life. He had everything to live for, that is.” Jim fought for composure. “Nancy…Bob Jr…. Did they…?”
“Did they what?” Judith prodded.
“Never mind.” Jim gave himself a good shake, shedding some of the moisture from his baggy raincoat. “I should have been here, with Bob. I should have kept watch over him. I’ll never forgive myself.”
“Where were you?” Renie asked, popping a piece of cantaloupe into her mouth.
Jim raised his right arm and used his sleeve to wipe off some melted snow from his forehead. “That’s the irony. I was here, in this very hospital, having an MRI.”
“Goodness,” Judith remarked, “that’s a shame. I mean, that both you and your brother had medical problems at the same time.”
Flexing his left leg, Jim gave the cousins a self-deprecating smile. “It was to be expected. You see, Bob and I are—were—mirror twins. It’s a fairly rare phenomenon. We faced each other in the womb, so everything about us is opposite. Bob was right-handed, I’m left-handed; he was good at numbers, I’m not. And he’s been lucky with his health over the years, except for the kinds of injuries athletes suffer in their playing days. Nothing serious, though. But unlike Bob, my constitution’s not strong. I’ve had my share of medical problems. An MRI, a CAT scan, an ultrasound—you name it, I’ve had them all.”
“That’s a shame,” Judith commiserated. “Nothing serious, I hope?”
“Not so far,” Jim said, adjusting his glasses. “But then Bob’s right knee went out, so my left one goes. That’s part of the mirror-twin effect, you see. I planned to have my surgery after Bob got back on his feet. But now…” Jim’s voice trailed away.
“You still need to think of yourself,” Judith said gently. “Although I suppose Margie and perhaps her children will need your support for a while.”
Jim hung his head. “I can’t replace Bob,” he said on a note of defeat.
“But you can lend them moral support,” Judith said, her voice still gentle.
Clumsily, Jim Randall lowered himself into Judith’s visitor’s chair. He still held the bouquet, though his slack grip allowed the flowers to brush the floor. “I don’t know about Nancy and Bob Jr. Young people, you know how they are. All caught up in their own little worlds. Margie, maybe, will need my help. She’s kind of…high-strung. Well, not exactly. She’s more low-strung—if you know what I mean.”
“Depression?” Renie asked.
Jim nodded. “She’s tried every kind of medication, several different therapists. The last one just about drove her over the edge.”
“Hold it!” Renie yipped.
Judith threw her cousin a fierce warning glance. “Maybe Margie didn’t give him enough time.”
“No,” Jim began, “that wasn’t it. He was very hard on her, saying that maybe she didn’t want to get well. I don’t blame her for—”
“Maybe she doesn’t,” Renie interrupted, ignoring Judith’s glare. “Maybe she likes the attention. Maybe sitting around on the sidelines for almost twenty years while Bob grabbed the headlines ticked her off. Maybe she’s a spoiled brat.”
“Wow.” Jim spoke softly as he peered at Renie. “That’s harsh.”
“Maybe Bob killed himself because Margie was a big fat pain in the butt,” Renie went on, despite the sliver of cantaloupe that dangled from her lower lip. “That’s clinical talk, of course.”
Jim looked dumbfounded. “It is? But it’s not fair. Margie is a wonderful person.”
“Then you’d better take her those flowers before you step on them,” Renie said. Her tongue darted out like a lizard’s as she retrieved the bit of cantaloupe.
“Oh!” Jim snatched up the flowers, which he’d managed to let fall to the floor. “Gosh, that was careless. You’re right, I’d better try to find her.”
“I understand your niece and nephew are dealing with some serious problems of their own,” Judith said, still at her kindliest. “That must be very hard on Margie.”
Briefly, Jim’s pliant features turned hard. “She mustn’t feel guilty about Nancy and Bob Jr. If there’s blame for what’s happened to them, you can look elsewhere.”
“Oh?” Judith’s gaze was fixed on Jim’s face.
Jim dropped his head and shuffled his feet. “Sorry. I spoke out of turn. I’d better get going.�
�
“Say,” Judith said, not quite ready to relinquish their visitor, “you were outside this afternoon when Addison Kirby got hit by that car. Did you happen to see who was driving it?”
“That was Addison Kirby?” Jim had risen to his feet. “Gee, I didn’t realize it was him. His wife died recently, didn’t she?”
Judith nodded. “Yes, here in this same hospital.”
“Gosh.” Jim shook his head several times, then frowned. “What was he doing here?”
“He’d been talking to your weird niece and nephew,” Renie put in. “I suspect he was trying to figure out if they felt their father had been murdered.”
“Oh!” Jim dropped the flowers again. “No! That’s worse than suicide!”
“Same result,” Renie noted.
Judith was trying to shut her cousin up, but the glares and the gestures weren’t working. “Now, Mr. Randall, I’m sure that Mrs. Jones doesn’t mean…”
Tears were coursing down Jim Randall’s gaunt cheeks. He snuffled several times, removed his glasses, and swiped at his eyes. “My brother didn’t have an enemy in the world. He was one of the most beloved sports figures in America. And here, in this city, he was a god.”
“Mr. Fumbles,” Renie muttered. “I remember one headline after a big loss that read, ‘Can Randall Get a Handle on the Ball?’ Between interceptions and fumbles, he turned the ball over six times that day, leading to a total of twenty-four points for the other guys. His so-called eagle eye couldn’t seem to tell who was wearing which uniform.”
“He’d eaten bad beef!” Jim cried. “He was very ill, he was playing on courage alone.”
“He should have played on the field,” Renie retorted. “He should have sat down and let his backup take over. I don’t know what the coach was thinking of, except that Randall was a big star and the second-stringer was a third-year man who was out of football by the next season.”
“I can’t stand it!” Jim bent down to pick up the bouquet and stormed out of the room.
“Coz…” Judith was exasperated.
“I’m sorry,” Renie said, exhibiting absolutely no sense of remorse. “Bill and I were at that game, and it made me mad. Granted, it was probably the worst performance of Bob Randall’s career, but we paid out over a hundred bucks for tickets and we saw a really rotten game. Furthermore, I don’t like Margie Randall blaming Bill for her Sad Sack state. I’ll bet I’m right, she enjoys being miserable.”
“That’s not the point,” Judith said. “You were rude, even mean. The poor guy just lost his brother, he’s got his own health problems, and now he’s saddled with two very unfortunate young people and a sister-in-law who’s an emotional wreck.” Judith pointed to the statue of Mary and the baby Jesus. “You’re in a Christian hospital. How about a little charity?”
Renie let out a big sigh. “Okay, okay. So I was kind of blunt with Jim. I suppose I’m feeling sorry for myself, for you, too, and wondering how many more of these procedures and surgeries and operations we’ll have to have before they carry us out like Bob Randall. If, like Margie Randall, I were inclined to depression, I’d be in about a forty-foot hole by now.”
Judith was quiet for a few moments, considering Renie’s words. “You’re right, this isn’t one of our brightest moments. But we can still act like decent human beings, especially to people who are in a worse mess than we are.”
“Yeah, right.” Renie flipped open the top of a can of Pepsi. “I told you, even though I know Bob Randall was the best quarterback ever to play for the Sea Auks, I simply never saw him give one of his better performances. I guess I had that one lousy game all bottled up inside for the past twenty-odd years. And,” she went on, gathering steam and wagging a finger, “I still don’t know why the coach didn’t pull Randall and put in his backup. Maybe Bob was sick, but if that had been the case, he should have come out of the game. No wonder the second-stringer quit football and went to medical school.”
“He did?” Judith eyed Renie curiously. “Who was he?”
Renie shook her head. “I forget. It was a name like that quarterback from the Rams a million years ago.” She took a big sip of Pepsi and choked.
“Coz,” Judith said in alarm, “are you okay?”
Renie sputtered, coughed, and waved her arms. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Give me a minute.” Getting herself under control, she stared at Judith. “I do remember the guy’s name. It was Jan Van Boeck. I guess,” Renie said slowly, “I remembered Norm Van Brocklin, but I got him mixed up with Bill Van Bredakoff, who played basketball, not football. Anyway, Van Boeck’s name suddenly came to me after all these years. I never made the connection before. He played so seldom for the Auks.”
“I suppose I’m dreaming,” Judith said, fingering her chin. “But what if Dr. Van Boeck has been jealous of Bob Randall all these years? What if he blamed him for ruining his chances at becoming a superstar?”
“Van Boeck would be delusional,” Renie said. “If he’d had any real talent, he could have gone to another team. I don’t recall an era when any franchise had a plethora of outstanding quarterbacks.”
“Maybe not,” Judith admitted. “Still…”
“Besides,” Renie noted, “Van Boeck is a superstar in the medical world.”
“It’s not the same,” Judith pointed out. “Doctors don’t do TV ads for Nike scrubs. Furthermore,” she continued, sitting up as straight as she could manage, “all your harangues kept us from finding out if Jim Randall saw who was driving the car that hit Addison Kirby.”
“Darn. Sorry.” At last Renie looked genuinely contrite.
Judith smiled faintly. “That’s okay. I don’t think Jim Randall can see much of anything with those Coke-bottle glasses. Besides, it all happened so fast.”
Dinner arrived, brought by the silent orderly. Judith was disappointed; she’d hoped that the garrulous Maya would be on duty. After the orderly had left the trays, the cousins dared to take a peek.
“Some kind of meat,” Renie said.
“Some kind of greens,” Judith said.
“Perhaps a potato on the side?” Renie suggested.
“I don’t think so,” Judith replied. “It might be a very pale squash.”
“Turnip—or maybe parsnip?” Renie ventured as she picked up the phone and punched in a single digit. “Operator, can you connect me with Delphi Pizza?” She waited, meanwhile grinning at Judith. “We don’t need this crap. We can get real food. Hello? This is Mrs. Jones at Good Cheer Hospital. I’d like to place an order for delivery. One extra-large pizza with…what? The snow? No, I haven’t looked out lately. Really? Damn. But thanks anyway,” she added hastily.
“What’s wrong?” Judith asked.
Renie was getting out of bed and going to the window. “Good grief, it’s really coming down. The driveway into the parking lot is covered. Oh—here comes a car now. Slowly. It looks like the driver’s having trouble. I guess the children to whom I gave life have another excuse for not visiting their ailing mother.”
“You were expecting them?” Judith asked.
“Sort of,” Renie replied, still watching the snow. “So if we can’t get a Delphi pizza delivered, will anybody else brave the storm?”
Judith poked at her meal with her fork. “I’m not really that hungry. And you have your Falstaff’s stash to fall back on.”
“But I wanted something hot,” Renie said, her tone faintly querulous. “I need serious protein. Now that I think about it, a steak sounds good.”
“Try one of your other sources, some place closer to the hospital,” Judith suggested.
“I don’t know this neighborhood,” Renie complained. “What’s close?”
“Bubba’s Fried Chicken,” Judith said. “Their flagship restaurant isn’t too far from here.”
Bubba’s was legendary. Renie turned away from the window and licked her lips. “Um-um, good idea.”
She’d just picked up the phone when Judith heard voices in the hall. The speechless orderly had left
the door halfway open.
“Hold on,” Judith said, cocking an ear. “Listen.”
A hefty, mild-voiced man in a cashmere overcoat was speaking to a woman Judith couldn’t see. But after a few words the woman’s voice was recognizable as belonging to Sister Jacqueline.
“…just as long as you don’t upset Mr. Kirby,” the nun said. “He hasn’t been out of the recovery room for very long.”
“We had an appointment,” the man said, still sounding mild, almost indolent. “Addison said it was urgent, though I can’t think why. I mean, he’s not a sports reporter.”
“Tubby Turnbull,” Renie said in a whisper.
“Ah.” Judith tried to lean farther away from her pillow.
“Ten minutes,” Sister Jacqueline said. “While you’re with him, please keep reminding him to drink plenty of fluids. He hasn’t been taking in as much liquid as he should, and he’ll become dehydrated.”
“Will do,” Tubby replied, and disappeared from Judith’s range of vision.
Judith looked at Renie. “Addison is going to blow this story all over the Times,” Judith said. “He’s certain that his wife, Somosa, and Randall were murdered. I don’t think that his catastrophe out in front of the hospital was an accident.”
Renie had picked up the phone again. “I don’t either. Obviously, Addison wanted to meet with Tubby Turnbull to see how he and the rest of the Seafarers’ front office felt about Joaquin Somosa’s death.”
“Comparing notes,” Judith said as Renie asked the operator to put her through to Bubba’s Fried Chicken. “Do you suppose the person who ran Addison down is the killer?”
Renie, however, gave a quick shake of her head, then spoke into the phone. “Are you delivering?…Within a one-mile radius? I think we qualify. Now here’s what I’d like…”
After placing the large order, Renie beamed at Judith. “Bubba’s has chained up their delivery vans. They’ll be here in forty minutes. Oh, happy day!”
“For you, maybe,” Judith said with a grim expression. “Not for some other people.”