by Mary Daheim
Judith shook her head. “No. The doctors here wear either white coats or scrubs. Ditto for the male nurses. I don’t think this person was dressed like that. But it’s only an impression.”
“Hunh.” Renie stared up at the ceiling. “Maybe it was an orderly or the cleaning crew.”
“Maybe,” Judith said, but wasn’t convinced. She remained silent for a few moments, then announced, “It’s eleven o’clock.”
“Yes.” Renie was trying to get comfortable. “So what?”
“I want to go to the fourth floor.”
“N-o-o-o,” Renie groaned, pulling the sheet over her head. “Not tonight. Please, I’m worn out.”
“I’ll go without you,” Judith said with an obstinate set to her jaw.
“Don’t,” Renie shot back as she emerged from under the sheet. “You’re as tired as I am. You’ll do yourself some serious harm. The killer may be loose, and out to get you. Knock it off. Please.”
“I can’t go to sleep until I find out more about Joe’s condition,” Judith declared, then pointed a finger at Renie. “I don’t think Torchy’s going to be any help. Would you go ask Mr. Mummy to check on Joe?”
“Mr. Mummy?” Renie looked startled. “I thought you didn’t trust him.”
“I’m not sure I do,” Judith said, “but I can’t see any danger in asking him to peek in on Joe.”
“Other than that Mr. Mummy’s probably asleep,” Renie responded. “It’s not fair.”
“I’ll bet he wouldn’t mind,” Judith asserted. “He’s always nosing around, and this would make him feel useful. Can you ask him?”
“No,” Renie replied, “I’m utterly beat. Dial his room number. If he doesn’t answer, one of the nurses will pick up the line and wake him. But,” she added in a disapproving tone, “I think it’s a bad idea.”
Judith ignored her cousin and punched in Mr. Mummy’s number. It rang six times before a woman answered.
“Excuse me,” Judith said, trying not to notice Renie’s critical expression, “is Mr. Mummy in Room 322 sleeping?”
“I don’t think so,” the nurse replied. “When I looked in on him five minutes ago, he wasn’t there.”
“What is this?” Judith railed after hanging up the phone. “Musical beds? First Joe, now Mr. Mummy.”
“The nurse didn’t say that Mr. Mummy was moved, did she?” Renie said in a reasonable tone. “Maybe he’s just wandering around, trying to settle down for the night.”
“On a broken leg?” Judith shot back. “No, coz. Mr. Mummy may be doing some snooping of his own.”
“To what purpose?” Renie responded.
Judith was brooding. “I don’t know. I wish I’d asked Woody to check out Mr. Mummy.”
“You think he’s a crook?” Renie asked, stifling a yawn.
“I don’t know what to think,” Judith replied, “except that he’s a phony.”
Renie’s eyes were half closed. “At this point, I don’t care if Mr. Mummy is really Fidel Castro. Take that damned Valium and knock yourself out. I’m going to sleep.” She turned off the bedside lamp.
For several minutes, Judith lay with arms folded across her chest, face set in a stubborn line, and worrisome thoughts racing through her brain like mice in a maze. But though her mind was active, her body betrayed her. Weariness tugged at every muscle, every sinew, and, finally, at her eyelids. She reached for the little cup with its little pill, but her hand failed. Judith fell asleep with the light still burning by her bed.
The sounds and smells of the morning routine were becoming all too familiar to Judith. The food arriving in the big steel carts, the cleaning crew’s disinfectant, the clatter of breakfast trays, the soft padding of the nurses in the hallway, the incessant announcements over the PA system—all had piqued Judith’s curiosity at first. But on this Thursday, the fourth day at Good Cheer, they were nothing more than a tiresome reminder of her confinement and concerns. Her first thought was of Joe. She fumbled for the phone as Renie got out of bed and went over to the window.
“The sun’s out,” Renie announced. “Maybe it’s warming up enough that the snow will start melting.”
Judith ignored the remark as she dialed the fourth-floor nurses’ station. To her dismay, the line was busy.
“It’s a cruel plot,” Judith declared, “just to make me crazy. Furthermore,” she went on, taking her frustration out on Renie, “I don’t see how you seem so awake this early when you’re in the hospital. The rest of the time, you don’t get up until almost ten, and even then you’re not exactly bright-eyed.”
“At home, I don’t have thirty people running around outside my bedroom door,” Renie replied. “Nor am I usually in pain. Not to mention that until recently, I could sleep in more than just one position. Hospitals are not conducive to sleeping in.”
Judith barely heard the rest of her cousin’s explanation. She dialed the fourth floor again; the line was still engaged.
Corinne Appleby appeared, going through the usual check on the cousins’ conditions. Renie asked the nurse if the weather was getting warmer. Corinne didn’t know, and seemed unusually glum.
“What’s wrong?” Judith inquired, hoping to ingratiate herself so that the nurse might prove useful in the quest for Joe. “Has being stuck over in the residence hall gotten you down?”
“In a way,” Corinne replied without looking up from Judith’s chart. “My mother’s not feeling at all well, and I can’t be home with her.”
“Is she alone?” Judith asked.
Corinne made some notations before responding. “We’re lucky to have a neighbor who can look in on her. Stay with her, too, when I’m on duty. But this is the longest time in years that I’ve been away. It’s very hard on Mother.”
“And on you, I imagine,” Judith said with sympathy. “You must worry so. I know I do when I’m away from my mother, though we have wonderful neighbors who help out.”
“You’re fortunate,” Corinne replied, fine lines appearing on her forehead. “Is your mother able to get around on her own?”
“She uses a walker,” Judith replied, then glanced at Renie. “My cousin’s mother is pretty much confined to a wheelchair, but she has very kind neighbors, too. Of course our mothers are both very elderly.”
Corinne gave a brief nod. “Yes. My mother isn’t much older than you are. You’re really blessed that you’ll be able to come out of this surgery and be independent. So many people don’t appreciate the good health they’ve been given. I can’t help but take offense at that. But of course I see so many patients who complain about the least little infirmity. They don’t understand real suffering and helplessness.”
Judith gave Corinne a compassionate smile. “That’s true. I feel so helpless now, but I know I’ll get over it. I’m grateful for that. Meanwhile, though—are you aware that my husband is on the fourth floor as a result of a severe stab wound?”
Corinne gave a start. “That was your husband? No. I didn’t realize…I’m so sorry.”
“They moved him from the ICU to the fourth floor last night,” Judith explained. “I can’t get through on the phone this morning. Would it be an imposition to ask you to check on him for me? I’m very worried.”
“I’ll try,” Corinne said, though she sounded dubious. “I must finish my rounds first, though.”
“I’d certainly appreciate it,” Judith said. “Of course I’ll keep calling up there.”
Breakfast arrived while Corinne was taking Renie’s vitals. “Say,” Renie said to the nurse, “you don’t happen to have an extra tray this morning, do you? I got cheated on dinner last night, and I’m famished.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Corinne replied, then turned back to Judith. “We’re going to try to get you in the shower today. I imagine you’re tired of sponge baths.”
Judith made a noncommittal noise. The sponge baths were dreary, but she was frightened by the thought of standing in a shower. Before starting to eat her breakfast, she tried to call the fourth f
loor again. The line was still busy.
Corinne went off on the rest of her rounds. Judith nibbled on toast and a soft-boiled egg. Renie, meanwhile, was devouring oatmeal mush, grapefruit, toast, eggs, and bacon.
“If you don’t want all of yours, I’ll eat it,” Renie volunteered.
“I’m not hungry,” Judith admitted. “I’m too worried about Joe.”
Renie started to say something, but stopped when she saw Margie Randall enter the room. The recent widow wore her volunteer’s blue smock and a surprisingly cheerful expression.
“Nurse Appleby told me you had an errand,” Margie said, smiling at Judith. “I understand it involves your husband.”
“It does,” Judith said, and explained the situation.
Though Margie didn’t seem particularly moved by Judith’s plight, she shook her head in commiseration. “That’s terrible. Those homeless people are dangerous, not only to themselves, but to others. I hope they catch whoever did it. Was Mr. Flynn robbed?”
“No,” Judith replied. “What makes you ask?”
“Well…” Margie blinked several times. “It seems like a motive for such an attack, doesn’t it?”
“I suppose,” Judith said. “Did you hear about the other homeless people who were also victims of stabbings?”
Margie shoved her hands in the pockets of her smock and avoided Judith’s gaze. “Did I? Yes, I suppose I did. On the news. Or in the paper. I forget exactly.” She back-pedaled out of the room. “I’ll go up to the fourth floor right now and see what I can find out about your husband.”
“Weird,” Renie remarked, wiping egg yolk off her chin.
“Yes,” Judith agreed. “Everything about Margie seems weird. When is the funeral for Bob Randall being held?”
“Saturday, I think,” Renie said, unfolding the morning paper, which had arrived just minutes earlier. “Let’s see if there’s anything in here about Joe.”
Judith leaned closer, her nerves tingling at the mere thought of hearing the account of her husband’s attack in cold black type.
“It’s pretty brief,” Renie said. “There’s about two inches in the local news roundup in the second section. Shall I read it out loud?”
“Yes,” Judith said, steeling herself for the worst. “Please.”
“‘A Heraldsgate Hill man was stabbed yesterday at Viewpoint Park,’” Renie read. “‘According to police, Joseph Flynn was allegedly attacked by one of the homeless persons who have set up a temporary camp in the park. Flynn, who apparently wandered onto the site without realizing that it was occupied, was taken to Good Cheer Hospital, where he is listed in critical condition. Two days ago, a homeless man was stabbed to death in the same vicinity. No suspects have been found in either attack.’”
Judith shuddered. “How odd. They give Joe’s name, but not his previous or current occupation.”
“The police don’t want to broadcast Joe’s activities,” Renie said.
“Maybe,” Judith allowed, deep in thought.
“Addison Kirby might be able to read between the lines,” Renie suggested as her phone rang. Once again, she smiled broadly as she heard Bill’s voice on the other end.
Judith started to listen to her cousin’s half of the conversation, but was interrupted by the arrival of Dr. Alfonso. He was upbeat about her progress, and assured her that she’d be able to manage a shower.
“Just don’t stay in there too long singing Broadway hits,” he advised. “We’ll see about getting you on a walker tomorrow. It looks as if you’ll be able to go home Saturday if you keep improving at this rate.”
Judith started to ask the doctor if he knew anything about Joe, but his beeper went off, and he made a hasty, if apologetic, exit. Renie had just hung up the phone and was looking disconcerted.
“Bill just spoke with Jeff Bauer, the manager at the Toyota dealership,” she said. “It seems that some scruffy-looking guy was hanging around the lot and they figured he must have stolen it. Cammy still hasn’t turned up.”
“Why didn’t they keep an eye on him?” Judith asked.
“They were really busy,” Renie replied. “Bill wasn’t the only customer who’d come in to have work done before the snow started. The salesman who noticed the scruffy guy was with some long-winded customer who wanted to look at a used car on the other side of the lot. Bill figures that Cammy was taken while the salesman and the customer were looking at the other car.”
“Scruffy, huh?” Judith murmured.
“It figures,” Renie said, looking angry. “Who else but some impecunious jerk would steal a car?”
“Good question,” Judith said with an odd expression on her face.
“What are you thinking?” Renie asked, narrowing her eyes at her cousin.
“Well…Nothing much, really, except that…” Judith’s voice trailed off as she avoided Renie’s gaze.
“Fine,” Renie snapped. “If you’re going to keep secrets, I won’t tell you what Bill said about the Randall kids.”
Judith jerked to attention. “What?”
“My husband’s mind works in convoluted ways,” Renie said cryptically. “After thirty-five years, more or less, I still have trouble figuring out what lies behind his rationale for doing things. That’s one of the many reasons Bill never bores me.”
“Good grief,” Judith cried, “you sound like Bill. Just tell me what he said about the Randall kids. And don’t give me your usual parroting of your husband’s psychobabble.”
“Okay.” Renie’s expression was bland. “Bill broke his confidence because you need a distraction. That’s how I figure it, anyway.”
“What?” Judith stared blankly at her cousin.
“Because you’re so worried about Joe,” Renie said. “Besides, Margie Randall isn’t Bill’s patient anymore. Not to mention the fact that Margie’s husband has been murdered.”
“Get on with it,” Judith said between clenched teeth.
“According to Margie, Bob had been an extremely stern, demanding father,” Renie said. “The obituary the family put together wasn’t too far off the mark. In consequence, the kids rebelled. Nancy has been fighting a drug addiction and Bob Jr., who is gay, was tested for HIV.”
“Good Lord!” Judith cried. “Those poor kids! And poor Margie!”
Renie nodded. “It’s awful. But Bill didn’t know what the results of the HIV test were because Margie quit seeing him about that time. It seems that Bob Sr. left quite a legacy—and it’s not in dollars and cents.”
“Not in common sense, either,” Judith murmured. “He doesn’t seem to have been a very good father. I guess he wasn’t much of a husband, either. Of course you can’t blame him for everything. That is, children can make choices. But to rebel, they often choose the—” Judith stopped speaking as Margie Randall all but pranced into the room.
“No matter what happens,” she said in a chipper voice, “we don’t want to be glum, do we?”
“What?” Judith gasped.
“Life can be hard, so it’s not always easy to endure what fate has in store for us,” Margie said, all smiles.
“Just tell me about Joe,” Judith said as apprehension overcame her.
“I will,” Margie replied. “If you think you can take it.”
Judith swallowed hard, and said she could.
SEVENTEEN
“I FOUND MR. FLYNN,” Margie Randall announced with a triumphant expression.
“Oh!” Judith clenched her hands. “How is he?”
Margie simpered a bit. “Doing rather well,” she said in a tone that indicated she was taking some of the credit. “He’s expected to recover.”
Judith sagged against the pillows. “I’m so relieved! When can I see him?”
“Well…” Margie frowned, chin on hand, fingers tapping her cheek. “That’s a different matter. He’s not allowed visitors.”
“But,” Judith protested, “I’m not a visitor, I’m his wife!”
Margie shook her head. “That doesn’t matter.
Dr. Van Boeck is back at work today, and he makes the rules. I’m sure it’s all for your husband’s good. He mustn’t be disturbed.”
“Can I call his room?” Judith asked.
“No,” Margie replied. “There’s no phone. Tomorrow, perhaps. Time is the best healer.” Again, her expression changed, radiating joy. “I must dash. My brother-in-law has just gotten the most amazing news. I must be with him.”
Margie fairly flew out of the room.
“Damn!” Judith breathed. “I know I should be elated that Joe’s better, but I wanted so much to see him. I wonder if Margie’s right about the no-visitors rule?”
“It makes sense, in a way,” Renie said. “After all, he’s just turned the corner and he probably has to stay completely quiet.”
“I guess.” Judith heaved a big sigh, then turned to Renie. “Goodness, I hadn’t thought about it until now, but how are Joe and I going to manage when we both get discharged? Neither of us will be in any shape to help the other, let alone take charge of the B&B. I can’t expect the Rankerses to keep pitching in.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Renie cautioned. “If things get really desperate, won’t the state B&B association help you out?”
“Yes,” Judith answered slowly, “they have backup personnel. But I’d hate to avail myself of it. Besides, I’d go nuts watching somebody else run Hillside Manor.”
“Relax,” Rene urged. “We’ve got other things to worry about. Like our recovery. And Joe’s. Not to mention Bill’s mental state.”
“Did he mention the Chihuahuas this morning?” Judith inquired, trying to stop fussing.
“No,” Renie said. “He was too involved with the car disaster and the Randall kids.” She paused, gazing out the window. “Hey—the icicles are dripping. Maybe it’s finally beginning to thaw.”
“It’s certainly sunny enough,” Judith said, then gave a start as a loud whirring noise could be heard from somewhere. “What’s that? I don’t recognize it as a routine hospital sound.”