by Mary Daheim
Judith hastily identified herself. “From next door, remember?”
“Oh.” Jim nodded as he carefully moved closer. “Yes, we spoke. I just came to let Mr. Kirby know when the funeral for my brother will be held. He’s going to put it in the newspaper for me.”
“Since I can’t call from here, I’ll have a nurse phone it into the obit and sports desks,” Addison said. “Have you written it out?”
Jim fumbled at an inside pocket in his overcoat. “It was a group effort. Margie, Nancy, Bob Jr., and me. Here.” He handed several sheets of paper to Addison.
The handwriting was difficult to decipher. Addison was forced to read the verbiage aloud to make sure that everything was accurate. “You’ve hit the highlights of Bob’s football career,” he said to Jim, “except for the stats. One of the football reporters can fill those in for the sports page.”
“Very illustrious,” Judith remarked. “I’d forgotten how good Bob Randall really was.”
Addison began reading the official obituary. “‘Robert Alfred Randall Sr., born Topeka, Kansas…’” He hurried through the factual information, then slowed down as he read the more personal copy written by the family members: “‘Bob, nicknamed Ramblin’ Randall, and not just for his rushing feats on the football field…’” Addison frowned at Jim. “I don’t get that part.”
Through thick lenses that made his eyes look like oversized coat buttons, Jim peered at Addison. “What do you mean?”
“Okay,” Addison said sharply, “this sounds like you’re talking about your brother’s off-the-field exploits. In particular, his love life.”
Jim nodded once. “That’s right.”
Addison stared at Jim. “You can’t do that. Nobody ever criticizes the deceased in an obit. Upon occasion, they’ll make excuses, especially if it’s a suicide. But criticism—never.”
Jim took umbrage. “I thought you dealt in facts. Isn’t that what you told me the other day when we spoke? That’s a fact—my brother was a philanderer. Margie had to put up with a lot. Read the rest of it.”
“No.” Addison’s bearded jaw set stubbornly.
Judith leaned forward in the wheelchair, and before the journalist could realize what she was doing, she plucked the sheets of paper out of his hand.
“If it means so much to you, Jim,” she said, looking sympathetic, “I’ll go over it with you. During the years, I’ve helped write several obituaries for relatives.”
“Hey!” Addison cried, attempting to retrieve the pages. “Don’t do that!”
But Judith had managed to move herself just beyond Addison’s reach. “Please, we must see what can be salvaged here, or the family will have to do it all over again.”
Jim was hovering over Judith’s shoulder. “Do you see the part where we said he drove Margie to depression? And ruined his children’s lives?”
Judith did, and despite Addison’s professional reservations, she read the sentences aloud:
“‘Bob Sr. was so selfish and self-absorbed that he could offer his wife of twenty-five years no sympathy or understanding, even when her emotional problems threatened to undermine her physical as well as her mental health. His legacy to his children is not that of a loving, caring father, but a cold, conceited athlete who demanded excellence from Nancy and Bob Jr. but who never gave them the slightest word of encouragement, much less any sign of real love. He will be missed by some of his cronies from the sports world, but not by his family.’” Judith was appalled, and could hardly blame Addison for looking outraged. But she’d had to know what was in the scurrilous obituary. “Here,” she said, handing the sheets of paper back to Addison. “I agree. That’s not printable.”
“Then don’t give that crap to me,” Addison cried, batting at Judith’s hand. “It belongs to Jim—or in the trash.”
“But it’s all true,” Jim declared, sounding offended. “How could we lie about my brother? He was a wretched man.”
“I thought,” Judith said, frowning, “that you mentioned how Margie and the kids couldn’t get along without him.”
“They can’t,” Jim replied with a helpless shrug as he took the obituary from Judith. “Bob made good money as a football consultant. Now all they’ll have is what he left in the bank.”
“Which,” Addison sneered, “is considerable, I’d bet.”
Jim shrugged again. “It’s fairly substantial. But Bob didn’t play in the era of million-dollar contracts. And he tended to spend much of what he made. On himself, of course. He had it all, in more ways than one. As if,” Jim added, tearing the obituary into small pieces that fluttered to the floor, “he didn’t have enough to begin with. All that talent and a fine physique and good looks besides.” Defiantly, he flung the final pieces of paper onto the floor.
“Frankly,” Judith asserted, “he sounds like a pitiful sort of person. I can’t imagine he was truly happy.”
“Oh, he was very happy,” Jim said bitterly. “I never knew a man who was as happy as he was. As long as he got his way, which he usually did.”
“Look,” Addison said, his aggravation spent, “I’m sorry I can’t send on that obit. Why don’t you write another draft with just the facts? Plenty of people don’t tack on personal notes. Remember, on the obituary page you’re paying for it by the word.”
“I am? I mean, we are?” Jim fingered his chin. “I’ll tell Margie. I don’t think she knows that.” He started for the door.
“Say,” Judith called after him, “may I ask you a question?”
Jim looked apprehensive. “Yes?”
“Your nephew, Bob Jr., mentioned that his mother—Margie—felt like ‘the vessel’ in terms of bringing on the deaths of your brother, Mr. Kirby’s wife, and Joaquin Somosa. Do you have any idea what Bob Jr. was talking about?”
Jim blinked several times and his hands twitched. “No. No idea. Whatsoever. Margie—as usual—is being hard on herself. Poor Margie.” He sketched a little bow and dashed out of the room, narrowly missing a collision with Dr. Garnett.
“I have some good news for you,” the doctor said to Jim as both men proceeded down the hall and out of hearing range.
Judith turned to Addison. “I’m sorry I had to bring that up about Margie being a vessel. Did you know that your wife had two Italian sodas the morning that she passed away?”
“No.” Addison’s voice was hushed. “Are you sure? They were her favorites, but no one told me about it.”
“No one tells anyone about anything around here, right?”
“Right.” Addison looked sour. “How did she get them?”
“I have no idea,” Judith admitted, “other than that apparently Margie Randall took them to her. I just happened to hear a chance remark from one of the nurses.”
Addison nodded. “Otherwise, a wall of silence. Do you know what happened today? Dr. Van Boeck informed the front desk I wasn’t to have any visitors. That’s because they must be afraid one of my colleagues in the media will try to see me. I can’t call out on my phone, either. That’s why I couldn’t call in the obit myself.” He gestured toward the floor on the other side of the bed. “You probably can’t see it from your wheelchair, but at least four people have tried to visit me today, including my editor. All they could do was leave me their get-well gifts and go home. Imagine, after going to the trouble of coming out in this snow.”
Judith made an extra effort to steer the wheelchair around the end of Addison’s bed without bumping him. 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?”
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.”
“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 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.
“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 Something-or-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.”
“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’ 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.
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.”