Suture Self

by Mary Daheim

  Heather nodded. “It’s terrible for the doctors. But you can’t practice medicine without it. Look at what’s happened…” She stopped abruptly and bit her lower lip.

  “Yes,” Judith said kindly. “Have the suits been filed yet in the instances of the Somosa and Fremont deaths?”

  “I can’t say,” Heather replied doggedly as she read the thermometer.

  “Yes, you can,” Renie retorted. “It’s a matter of public record.”

  But Heather refused to cooperate. “Whatever comes next, it’s not Good Cheer’s fault,” she insisted.

  “Meaning?” Judith coaxed.

  “We did nothing wrong,” Heather said, her manner heated. “Not the nurses, not the doctors, not anybody employed by Good Cheer.”

  “You sound very certain,” Judith remarked.

  “Hey,” Renie yipped, “aren’t you putting that blood pressure cuff on awfully tight?”

  Judith grew silent, staring up at the cracks in the aging plaster, as if the wiggly lines provided some sort of map to The Truth. Except for a desultory word of farewell to Heather, she remained quiet for several moments after the nurse continued on her rounds.

  “Maya got fired,” Judith finally announced.

  “I agree,” said Renie. “She talked too much, at least to us. I hope we didn’t get her into trouble.”

  “So do I,” Judith said. “But Maya is the kind who can’t stop talking. And what did Heather mean by that solemn statement about nobody at the hospital being at fault?”

  “It would suggest,” Renie said slowly, “that she knows more than she’s telling. That is, she’s aware that there were no medical mistakes.”

  “In other words,” Judith said, hauling herself up on the pillows, “all three victims were murdered, possibly by outsiders.”

  Renie was skeptical. “Three outsiders?”

  “It’s unlikely,” Judith said, “but you can’t completely discount the notion. Of course the modus operandi is similar, as far as we can tell. Unless they’re copy-cat killings.”

  “And just what is the MO?” Renie asked.

  “It has to be something—the drugs that the victims supposedly ingested on their own—that was put into their IVs.”

  “We still haven’t heard what Bob Randall’s drug of choice was,” Renie pointed out.

  “No,” Judith agreed. “But I’ll bet it’s something like the other two. A street drug, I’d guess.”

  “Not self-ingested?” said Renie.

  “No.” Judith grimaced as she tried to make herself more comfortable. “I don’t know why I haven’t asked Joe if the police are investigating. I think I’ll call him.”

  Before she could pick up the phone, Mr. Mummy appeared in the doorway with a carton marked “Sutures.” “Cluck, cluck,” he said with a merry smile. “May I?”

  “Of course,” Judith said, and introduced herself. “Why don’t you join us, Mr. Mummy? There’s plenty for three.”

  “How kind,” Mr. Mummy said as he helped Renie unload the carton. “The delivery wouldn’t fit in my carryall so I found this box, which makes quite clever camouflage, don’t you think?” He paused as Renie rewarded him with a big smile. “Maybe just a small piece,” he said, sniffing the air that was now redolent with fried chicken. “I’m not terribly hungry. I did manage to eat my hospital tray.”

  “Was it better than the food?” Renie asked.

  “What?” Mr. Mummy looked puzzled, then comprehension dawned. “Oh-ho! Very funny, Mrs. Jones. Yes, I must say, the meals here aren’t very delectable. Still, I’m not a fussy eater.”

  Renie was filling the carton’s lid with chicken, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, coleslaw, and baking powder biscuits. “Here, Mr. Mummy, pass this to my cousin.”

  “Delighted,” Mr. Mummy replied. “I thought it wise to put the chicken delivery box inside something that looked as if it belonged to the hospital. It worked out just fine.”

  “You’re a genius,” Renie said, offering a white box filled with chicken to Mr. Mummy. “Take some.”

  “Indeed, I will.” Mr. Mummy beamed at Renie. “Sometimes I can hear you two from across the hall. It sounds quite lively in here. You’ve had a lot of guests.”

  “Not really,” Judith said, munching on corn. “I mean, only our husbands have been to see us. The others have sort of dropped in.”

  “I see,” Mr. Mummy said. “Yes, even Mrs. Van Boeck was in here briefly, am I not right?”

  “Briefly,” Judith said with a nod.

  “Such a spirited woman,” Mr. Mummy remarked, biting into a juicy thigh. “Did you find her conversation invigorating?”

  Judith hesitated. “Well…I suppose. She didn’t stay long.”

  “I hear she may run for mayor,” Mr. Mummy said. “Our current mayor has had his problems lately.”

  “Yes,” Judith said. “The step up from the city council would be a natural for Blanche Van Boeck.”

  “I’m surprised she didn’t do a little campaigning while she was in here,” Mr. Mummy said with a sly look.

  “Not really,” Judith said, remembering Blanche’s menacing attitude.

  “It sounded to me,” Mr. Mummy said with a twinkle, “as if Mrs. Van Boeck and Dr. Garnett had quite an argument. I don’t suppose she mentioned it to you.”

  “She told him to buzz off,” Renie said, glancing down at the particles of crisp chicken skin that had fallen onto her sling and hospital gown. “Or words to that effect. I gathered there was bad blood between them. You have to wonder how Dr. Garnett and Dr. Van Boeck get along.”

  “Well,” said Mr. Mummy, giving Renie a “May I?” glance before taking a biscuit out of a box, “there must be a rather intense rivalry there. That is, all doctors have big egos, and I assume Dr. Garnett may sometimes resent Dr. Van Boeck’s decision-making.”

  “So Dr. Garnett is ambitious?” Judith asked. “I mean, he’d like to run Good Cheer?”

  Mr. Mummy stretched out his leg with its walking cast. “I have no idea. But he could be. I suspect he doesn’t like what’s been going on around here lately.”

  “You mean,” Renie said, “the epidemic of death?”

  “Yes.” Mr. Mummy nodded slowly. “It’s very unfortunate.”

  “So you’ve heard all about the previous deaths?” Judith remarked.

  “Oh, yes,” Mr. Mummy said. “We may live in a rural area, but we take the city newspapers. Not to mention TV. I find health issues very interesting, since they affect almost everyone in this country.”

  “What’s surprised me,” Renie said, buttering her second piece of corn, “is how little coverage there has been in the media. Considering that Somosa and Joan Fremont were very well-known popular figures—and now Bob Randall—you’d think the local reporters would be all over the stories.”

  Judith clapped a hand to her head. “Oh! We forgot to turn on the evening news.”

  Mr. Mummy waved a pink, pudgy hand. “You didn’t miss much. I saw the news, and they merely said that Mr. Randall had died unexpectedly. They did advise that further details would be on the eleven o’clock news.”

  “Ah.” Judith looked relieved.

  “You two seem very aware of what goes on around you,” Mr. Mummy said with admiring glances for both cousins. “You must pick up on a lot of scuttlebutt.”

  Judith’s expression was modest. “We’re interested in people. Besides, it helps pass the time when you’re laid up.”

  “I think it’s wonderful,” Mr. Mummy said approvingly. “These days, so many people are completely wrapped up in themselves.”

  “Not us,” Renie said through a mouthful of coleslaw. “Fwee lok to kwee abwes.”

  Judith smiled at Mr. Mummy’s understandable perplexity. “My cousin said we like to keep abreast. I’m used to her speaking when she’s eating. I can translate.”

  “Amazing,” Mr. Mummy murmured as he stood up in an awkward manner. “I should be getting back to my room. Thank you for this delicious treat. If you hear anyt
hing interesting, do let me in on it. I’m a bit bored, since my wife and family live so far out in the country that it’s hard for them to get into the city.”

  “Any time,” Renie said. “And thanks for playing deliveryman.”

  Judith didn’t speak until Mr. Mummy was out of earshot. “He seems quite caught up in what’s happening at Good Cheer, don’t you think?”

  “That’s not so very odd,” Renie said, attacking yet another piece of chicken. “Mr. Mummy’s right, you get bored lying around in the hospital.”

  “He never did say exactly where he lived, did he?”

  “Mmm…” Renie swallowed the big bite of chicken and licked her lips. “No. But then I didn’t ask.”

  Judith grew quiet for a few minutes. The only sounds in the room were Renie’s chewing, the hum of the equipment, and the usual distant voices and footsteps in the hall. Judith leaned far enough forward to gaze out the window. It was still snowing, the flakes now smaller, and thus more likely to stick.

  “I’m calling Joe,” Judith announced at last. “I’ve got a question for him.”

  Renie brushed at the collection of crumbs on her front. “About our car?”

  “No,” Judith replied, dialing the number at Hillside Manor. “There’s nothing he can do about that. Nobody else can either until the snow stops.” She paused, then a smile crossed her face. “Hi, Joe. How’s everything going?”

  “Oh, hi.” Joe sounded disconcerted. “How’re you doing?”

  “Fine. What’s wrong?”

  “Um…Nothing. It’s snowing.”

  “I know. Anything going on that I should know about?”

  “No, not a thing,” Joe said rather hastily. “Except that before it started to snow so hard, FedEx delivered a crate containing a hundred whoopee cushions. Where do you want me to store them?”

  “Whoopee cushions?” Judith was perplexed. “I didn’t order any. Why would I? It must be a mistake. Call them and have them returned when FedEx can get back up the hill, okay?”

  “Sure,” Joe said. “I wondered what they were for. I thought maybe a guest had ordered them to be sent here.”

  “How are the guests? Did they get in all right?”

  “Yes. All the rooms are occupied.”

  “They are?” Judith was surprised. “We only had four reservations as of Monday morning.”

  “The airport’s closed,” Joe said. “Some people got stranded. Which, if the planes don’t start flying tomorrow, means we’ll be overbooked for Wednesday.”

  “Oh. That is a problem.” Judith thought for a minute. “Arlene has the B&B association number. She can call them to help out.”

  “Okay.”

  “Nothing else to report?”

  Joe hesitated. “Not really.”

  “You’re a bad liar, Joe.”

  He sighed. “One of the couples who got stuck at the airport have a pet snake.”

  Judith gasped. “No! Pets aren’t allowed. You know that; Arlene knows that.”

  “Nobody told Arlene about the snake,” Joe replied, on the defensive. “I didn’t know anything about it until they got here.”

  “What kind of snake?” Judith asked, still upset.

  “A boa constrictor.” Joe paused again. “I think.”

  “You think?” Judith threw a glance at Renie, whose ears had pricked up.

  “I haven’t seen it,” Joe said. “Nobody has. I mean, not since the Pettigrews arrived.”

  “You mean the snake is loose?” Judith asked in horror.

  “I’m afraid so. His name is Ernest,” Joe added.

  “Oh, good grief!” Judith twisted around so far in the bed that she felt a sharp pain course through her left side. “How are the other guests taking it?” she asked, trying to calm down.

  “Not real well,” Joe replied. “Of course they can’t go anywhere else because of the snow. You know how impassable the hill is in this kind of weather. Anyway, the Pettigrews insist he isn’t dangerous.”

  “They better be right,” Judith said through gritted teeth. “Why couldn’t the Pettigrews leave Ernest at the airport?”

  “They say he has a very nervous disposition,” Joe explained. “Ernest suffers from anxiety attacks. When he has one, they have to put a paper bag over his head. A small paper bag, of course.”

  “Of course.” It was Judith’s turn to heave a big sigh. “Okay, I guess I can’t worry about it. But I will. I wanted to ask if you could find out from Woody what the police are doing about this situation with the three hospital deaths. Could you check in with him tomorrow?”

  “I already did,” Joe replied. “They’re not doing anything.”

  “What?” Judith shot Renie an incredulous look.

  “Woody said there’s no official investigation,” Joe said. “The county isn’t doing much either, according to him.”

  “That’s unbelievable,” Judith declared.

  “I agree,” said Joe.

  “It’s also highly suspicious,” Judith added.

  “Yes.” Joe suddenly became very serious. “I wouldn’t get mixed up in this if I were you. I mean it.”

  Judith drew in a sharp breath. “Yes.”

  “Yes what?” Joe said.

  “Get mixed up. In this.” Judith winced.

  “Something’s not right,” Joe said, “but it’s not up to you to find out.”

  “No,” said Judith.

  “Okay?”

  “Yes.”

  After Judith hung up the phone, she gazed at Renie. “We are in danger.”

  “Yes,” said Renie, and took a big bite out of another biscuit. “Ith thapend befwo.”

  Judith nodded. She knew it had happened before, but the thought didn’t make her feel any better.

  NINE

  “WHAT ELSE AM I supposed to do while I’m lying here like a big lump?” Judith demanded. “At least I can speculate.”

  “Which, being in a helpless condition, you figure is a harmless pastime,” Renie replied, finally finishing her meal and starting to clean up the mess. “Meanwhile, I get to drag my battered body around doing all the grunt work.”

  Judith glared at Renie. “I thought you were encouraging me. What would you expect me to do with people dropping like flies and the police not investigating? Don’t you find this whole situation highly suspicious?”

  “I do,” Renie admitted, shoving boxes and napkins and garbage into her now-overflowing wastebasket. As ever, Judith envied her cousin’s metabolism, though sometimes she wondered—perhaps with a touch of malice—if Renie didn’t have a tapeworm. “You know,” Renie said with a scowl, “we’re not in very good shape to defend ourselves.”

  “If somebody wanted us out of the way,” Judith persisted, “we’d have been dead by now. We’re past the deadline for early dismissal from Good Cheer. Besides, what have we done except show a normal amount of curiosity?”

  Renie gave a shake of her head. “Curiosity killed the you-know-what, and I don’t mean Sweetums, who appears to be an indestructible force of nature.”

  “Do we look dangerous?” Judith shot back. “Here we are, a couple of middle-aged matrons swathed in bandages and looking like the you-know-what dragged us in the you-know-whose small door.”

  Renie climbed into bed. “There’s no dissuading you, right?” She gave Judith a look of surrender.

  “Let’s think this through,” Judith said, reaching for her purse and taking out a small notebook and pen. “Joaquin Somosa, Joan Fremont, Bob Randall. Except for being well-known, the only connection is that they all died in this hospital after routine surgery.” She paused to finish writing down the trio of names. “All three died in less than a month.”

  “Maybe there is another connection,” Renie put in, her umbrage evaporated. “What if they were all involved in some charitable cause or some other activity not directly tied to their professional careers?”

  Judith tipped her head to one side, considering. “It’s possible. But who goes around bumping off peopl
e involved in good works or other civic activities?”

  Renie shrugged. “Just a thought.”

  “That’s fine,” Judith said. “Think all you want. It helps. Anyway, we’ve got two causes of death allegedly nailed down—Somosa and Fremont, both from illegal drugs. Randall may be the same, though I’m guessing it was something different from the other two, who were different from each other.”

  “A different source for drugs?” Renie suggested.

  Judith nodded. “We weren’t here so we don’t know the circumstances of the first two deaths. But Ecstasy and that—whatever the date-rape drug is called—provide different kinds of reactions. Street drugs are available to anybody who knows where to get them. It’s a little trickier to put them in an IV.”

  Renie had placed the leftovers—such as they were—into one of the smaller boxes and slipped it into the drawer of her nightstand. “How do we know it was an IV?”

  “We don’t.” Judith made another note, then glanced at her water carafe. “Everybody who has surgery is instructed to drink plenty of fluids. Not everybody likes water or even juice. Look at your Pepsi stash. What if Bill had slipped a little something into it?”

  “He couldn’t,” Renie replied. “The cans are foolproof.”

  “I mean, more accessible beverages. Besides,” Judith went on with a sly smile, “Bill could doctor your Pepsi after you’d opened it.”

  “He wouldn’t dare!” Renie cried. “He knows better than to screw with my Pepsi.”

  “You know what I mean.” Judith twirled the pen in her fingers. “The problem is, we don’t know what the three victims were drinking at the time of their deaths. I wonder if the staff took the possibility of tampered beverages into account.”

  “Judging from the state of denial they’re in,” Renie said, waving her current can of Pepsi at Judith, “I doubt it. The party line seems to be that each victim was some kind of addict.”

  “Which brings us to motive,” Judith said. “Hospital politics. Who benefits from ruining Good Cheer’s reputation?”

  “Dr. Garnett comes to mind,” Renie said. “He wants to take over from Dr. Van Boeck.”

  Judith sighed. “Would a doctor really go to such extremes?”