by Mary Daheim
The whirring grew louder, making Renie wince. “I don’t know. I think it’s coming from outside,” she said, her voice rising to be heard over the noise as she got out of bed and went to the window. “Good grief!” she cried. “It’s a helicopter! It looks as if it’s going to land on the roof!”
“An emergency, I’ll bet,” Judith shouted. “Someone has been flown in from an outlying site.”
“What?” Renie watched as the copter disappeared from her view. The whirring died down a bit. “Did you say an emergency?”
“What else?” Judith said. “An accident, I suppose.”
The whirring resumed almost at once. Renie gaped as the helicopter reappeared and began ascending over the parking area. “It’s leaving. What did they do, throw the patient onto the roof?”
Judith frowned. “I suppose they can make the transfer really fast,” she said. “But that was really fast.”
“Too fast,” Renie muttered, heading back to bed. She’d just gotten back under the covers when Dr. Ming appeared.
“I hear you’ve been a very active patient,” the surgeon remarked with an off-center grin. “You aren’t wearing yourself out, are you, Mrs. Jones?”
“Me?” Renie gave the doctor a sickly smile. “I don’t want to get weak.”
“You won’t,” Dr. Ming assured her. “What’s making you run all around the hospital?”
“Oh—this and that,” Renie replied vaguely. “For example—what was with that helicopter just now?”
Dr. Ming was examining Renie’s shoulder. “That’s coming along just fine. Your busy little ways haven’t done any visible damage.” He paused, moving Renie’s wrist this way and that. “Helicopter? Oh, that was a transplant delivery. We don’t usually get them here since we do only orthopedic work. But with the snow, this week has been different. We’ve had to take on some exceptional cases.”
“Transplant?” Renie said. “What kind?”
“I’m not sure,” Dr. Ming replied. “Does this hurt?” he inquired, bending Renie’s arm toward her body.
“Not much,” she answered. “Heart, maybe?”
“Heart?” Dr. Ming frowned. “Oh—the transplant. I don’t think so. We couldn’t do that here at all. What I suspect is that the organ was flown in along with the surgeon. None of our doctors could handle a transplant. We aren’t trained for that kind of specialty.” He patted Renie’s lower arm. “You’re coming along just fine. Want to visit the physical therapist and then go home tomorrow?”
“You mean Blanche Van Boeck isn’t evicting me today?” Renie asked, faintly surprised.
Dr. Ming laughed as he backed away from the bed. “No, she’s too busy.” He glanced at his watch. “In fact, in about twenty minutes, Blanche is going to hold a press conference just down the hall. If you’re not doing anything else, Mrs. Jones, you might want to listen in. I’m sure she’ll have some words of wisdom for us all.”
Renie sneered, but said nothing until Dr. Ming had left. “Why is Blanche holding her damned press conference out in the hall? Why not the foyer? Or the auditorium? I assume they have one. Teaching hospitals always do.”
“Don’t ask me,” Judith responded without enthusiasm. She couldn’t take her mind off Joe, though something else was niggling at her brain. Not that it had anything to do with her husband. Or did it? Judith was afraid that the anesthetic had dulled her usually logical mind. “Blanche held that other press conference out in the hall,” she pointed out. “Maybe she likes the intimacy.”
Renie had gotten out of bed again. The icicles were definitely thawing, in big, heavy drips. “Hey,” Renie said, excited, “there are some workmen out in the parking lot. It looks as if they’re clearing off the cars that have been stuck there.”
“Good.” Judith shifted positions, trying to get more comfortable. The sound of happy voices in the hallway distracted her. “Who’s out there?” she asked Renie.
“Huh?” Renie turned toward the door. “I can’t see…Oh, it’s the Randall kids. Jeez, they’re practically skipping down the hall.” She moved as quickly as she could to watch their progress, which halted at the elevator. “They’re high-fiving,” she said. “What’s going on with this family? Whatever happened to proper respect and bereavement?”
Judith’s interest perked up. “They’re glad he’s dead,” she declared. “That’s the only possible explanation.”
As the brother and sister disappeared inside the elevator, Renie stared at her cousin. “Do you think they killed Bob Randall?”
Judith shook her head. “No. I can’t imagine an entire family plotting to murder another relative. I mean, I can, but it seems unlikely.”
“Hold it,” Renie said, sitting down in Judith’s visitor’s chair. “What are the three guidelines Joe uses when it comes to homicide? Motive, means, and opportunity, right?”
“Right.” Judith was looking dubious. “Okay, so Margie had all three, assuming she really hated Bob. In fact, she indicated that she may have delivered something lethal to each of the victims.”
Renie raised a hand in protest. “Who told you she admitted being the so-called vessel? It was Bob Jr., not Margie. How do we know Margie ever said such a thing?”
“Good point. But either way, it assumes that Margie—or her son—knew what was in Joan’s Italian soda, Joaquin’s juice, and Bob’s booze. Why would Margie admit such a thing to anyone?”
“Because she’s a total ditz?” Renie offered.
“I don’t think she’s as much of a ditz as she pretends,” Judith said. “I think Margie—if she really said it in the first place—was speaking metaphorically. Why would she go to all that trouble to kill Joan and Joaquin before finally getting to Bob? And why kill him here, in the hospital? She could have slipped him a little something at home.”
“What about the others? Bob Jr. and Nancy and even Jim?” Renie asked. “Could one of them have used Margie?”
“As ‘the vessel’?” Judith gave her cousin an ironic smile. “Maybe. But why kill the other two? We haven’t seen any connection between Joaquin Somosa and Joan Fremont and Bob Randall Sr.—except that they were all well-known, successful individuals.”
Renie looked thoughtful. “I know that Margie and Jim both evinced a certain amount of sadness at the time of Bob’s death. But then they let loose, and the funeral hasn’t even taken place yet. What do you think? Denial? Relief? Hysteria?”
Slowly Judith shook her head. “It’s impossible to figure out because we don’t know them. You have to consider who benefits from any or all of the three deaths. Apparently, not the Randalls. Bob Sr. was worth more to them alive. Stage actresses in repertory theaters don’t earn that much. Of course you have to consider insurance policies, but would Joan or Bob have had huge amounts? That means expensive premiums. Bob was probably insured to the max when in his playing days, but the team, not Margie, probably was the beneficiary. And he didn’t really play ball in the era of million-dollar quarterbacks.”
“Somosa might have had a big personal policy, since he did play in the era of million-dollar pitchers,” Renie pointed out. “But Mrs. Somosa was in the Dominican Republic when Joan and Bob died. That bursts that balloon.”
Judith looked startled. “What?”
“I said, that bursts that…”
“Balloons,” Judith broke in. “What about the guy who delivered the balloons and the cardboard cutout to Bob’s room after he came back from surgery? Did you get a good look at him?”
“No,” Renie confessed. “He went by too fast. And I was still sort of groggy. The only thing I really remember besides what he was carrying was that his shoes didn’t match.”
“Interesting.” Judith paused for a moment. “What if he also delivered the Wild Turkey? They must know at the desk who came in.”
“Probably,” Renie said, then stopped as a chattering stream of people began to filter down the hall, accompanied by TV equipment and snaking cables.
“It must be the newshounds arriving for Blanche’s announcement
,” Judith said. “Help me get into the wheelchair. I want to hear this.”
It was a bit of a struggle, but the cousins managed it. Judith, who was becoming accustomed to the wheelchair’s vagaries, was able to propel herself into the doorway, where she sat with Renie standing next to her. At least thirty people had filled the corridor. Sister Jacqueline was one of them, and she didn’t look happy.
While the reporters and cameramen positioned themselves, Dr. Van Boeck and Dr. Garnett appeared, coming from different directions. Judith noted that Dr. Van Boeck didn’t look much the worse for his collapse the previous day, though both physicians seemed grim.
At last, the elevator doors opened and the star of the show made her entrance. Blanche Van Boeck had shed her furs, revealing what Renie whispered was a gray Armani suit. Knee-high boots and a black turban completed the ensemble. “Big bucks,” Renie noted as Blanche passed by on her way to the alcove down the hall.
Judith gestured at the empty doorway across the hall. “No Mr. Mummy,” she murmured. “Where do you suppose he is?”
Renie shrugged as Sister Jacqueline found herself being pushed back in the cousins’ direction.
“Excuse me,” the nun apologized, bumping into Judith’s wheelchair. “This is quite a mob. I wish Mrs. Van Boeck hadn’t chosen this place for her announcement.”
“It does seem like an odd venue,” Judith remarked. “Does she have a reason?”
“Does she need a reason?” Sister Jacqueline retorted, then gave herself a little shake. “Sorry. That was unkind, especially given that Mrs. Van Boeck has always been such a big supporter of Good Cheer. The truth is, the auditorium is being painted. The workers just got started Monday, and then weren’t able to come back after it began snowing. And it’s too cold and draughty to hold the press conference in the foyer.”
“Not to mention,” Renie put in, “that I suspect Blanche enjoys the cozy atmosphere of a more intimate setting.”
“A more neutral setting as well,” Sister Jacqueline said, then again looked rueful. “The foyer, the auditorium, so many other places in the hospital feature religious symbols. If Mrs. Van Boeck is going to run for mayor, she has to appeal to a broad range of voters, the majority of whom aren’t Catholic.”
“So she’s going to announce her candidacy today, right?” Renie whispered as, down in the alcove, Blanche raised her hands for silence.
Sister Jacqueline shot Renie a swift, puzzled glance. “I’m not certain. Maybe she’ll do that later, downtown.”
Judith gave the nun a puzzled look, but there was no opportunity for further questions. Blanche was beginning to speak, her strong, sharp voice carrying easily without a microphone.
“I’ll keep my remarks brief,” Blanche said, her expression somber. “I appreciate your efforts in coming out in this winter weather. I know it wasn’t easy getting here.” She paused, her gaze resting on her husband, who stood a little apart from the rest of the crowd. “As of February first of this year, Good Cheer Hospital will be taken over by Restoration Heartware of Cleveland, Ohio.”
A gasp went up from the crowd in the hallway. Hardened journalists they might be, but Blanche’s statement wasn’t what they’d expected. Judith gasped right along with them, then turned to Sister Jacqueline.
“Did you know this was coming?” she asked of the nun.
“Yes.” Sister Jacqueline kept staring straight ahead, in Blanche’s direction.
“This,” Blanche continued, “is a very difficult time for those of us who have been associated with Good Cheer. We are all very grateful to the sisters who founded this hospital almost a century ago. Their dedication to physical, emotional, and spiritual health has been unparalleled in this region. Fortunately, the order still has hospitals in other cities, and will continue to administer Good Cheer’s retirement and nursing homes.”
Blanche drew in a deep breath. “This is a sad day for us, but we are not without hope. The state of medicine in this country is pitiful, and universal health care has been only a dream for the past fifty-odd years. It’s time to stop talking about it, and act. Therefore, I intend to run for Congress in the upcoming election. Health care will be the issue—my only issue. Thank you very much.”
Blanche stepped down amid more gasps from her audience. She moved quickly through the crowd to her husband’s side. A few yards away, Dr. Garnett glared at the couple. Sister Jacqueline had bowed her head and appeared to be praying.
“Well.” Renie was fingering her chin and observing the reporters who were pressing in on the Van Boecks. Dr. Garnett had turned away and was coming down the hall toward the cousins. He stopped when he spotted Sister Jacqueline.
“Courage,” he said, touching the nun’s arm. “You know that you and the other sisters share no blame in this disaster.” He nodded in the direction of the Van Boecks, who were trying to escape the media. “If there are villains other than governmental ineptitude, there they are.”
Sister Jacqueline gave Dr. Garnett a bleak look. “What’s the use of blame? It’s over.”
Dr. Garnett said nothing. He merely patted Sister Jacqueline’s hand, offered her a small, tight smile, and walked away.
“Courage?” the nun echoed bitterly. “What good is courage? You can’t fight the Devil when you can’t see him.”
As Sister Jacqueline started to turn away, Judith called her name. “My condolences,” she said. “There are many of us in the community who will be sorry to see the Order of Good Cheer relinquish the hospital.”
“Thank you,” Sister Jacqueline replied, her voice devoid of life.
“A question,” Judith went on. “A very minor question. Do you know who brought Bob Randall the balloons and cutout of him in his playing days?”
“No,” the nun replied without interest. “Sister Julia at the front desk would know. She was on duty Monday night. Why do you ask?”
An embarrassed expression flitted across Judith’s face. “Oh—ah, my cousin thought she recognized him as one of her children’s old high school chums. How do I get in touch with Sister Julia?”
“You don’t,” Sister Jacqueline replied. “She started making a private retreat in the convent Tuesday morning. Sister can’t be reached until Sunday afternoon. It’s a shame, since I wish I could tell her that not all of her prayers were answered.” Shoulders slumped, the nun left the cousins and headed for the stairwell.
As the Van Boecks disappeared around the corner at the far end of the hall, Renie reversed Judith’s wheelchair and pushed her cousin back into their room. “Did Sister Julia volunteer for the retreat or did somebody give her an order—excuse the pun.”
“I think your imagination may be running away with you,” Judith said. “I’m sure the retreat was Sister Julia’s idea, but her isolation is inconvenient. And what did Sister Jacqueline mean by fighting the Devil?”
“Restoration Heartware?” Renie suggested as Corinne Appleby came into the room. “Or a certain individual?”
“Time for your shower,” Corinne announced with forced cheer. “Good, you’re ready to go,” she added, indicating the wheelchair. “Shall we?”
Judith had no choice. Renie volunteered to go along and take her own shower. As they reentered the hall, the journalists were dispersing. Snatches of conversation could be heard as they passed down the hall toward the elevators.
“…Funny stuff going on around here…” “…Hey, I intend to keep my job…” “Congress, huh? Why not, she’s no bigger windbag than they already…”
At the rear of the group, Judith spotted Mavis Lean-Brodie. She was standing outside Addison Kirby’s room. “Kirby!” Judith heard Mavis exclaim as the KINE-TV anchorwoman saw the newspaper reporter’s name posted by the door. Mavis galloped across the threshold and disappeared.
“What’s going on?” Judith heard Mavis demand as Corinne pushed the wheelchair down the hall. “Are you a prisoner in this place or what?”
Judith hit the brake, catching Corinne off balance. The nurse almost fell over
the top of the wheelchair. “Sorry,” Judith apologized, looking shamefaced. “Could we back up a bit?”
“What for?” Corinne asked, catching her breath.
“I just saw an old friend,” Judith said with a lame little smile. “I wanted to say hello.”
“If your friend has come to visit, whoever it is will wait,” Corinne declared. “I have to keep to a schedule. I don’t want to lose my job when this Cleveland bunch takes over. I have a mother to support, remember?”
Judith felt the wheelchair move forward at what seemed to be headlong speed. Unfortunately, Renie was up ahead. If she had seen Mavis, she hadn’t bothered to stop. But Renie and Mavis didn’t always get along. Maybe, Judith thought, her cousin had chosen to ignore the TV anchorwoman.
Once they reached the shower area, Corinne struck a more amiable attitude. “I’m sorry if I was rude,” she said as she helped Judith take off her hospital gown, “but this has been a very difficult day, what with this takeover and all. Plus, we’ve had some problems with the showers the last couple of days. Curly, our maintenance man, thinks one or two of the pipes may have frozen. In fact, the shower area has been off-limits until just a little while ago.”
“That’s fine,” Judith murmured. “It’s just that I’m so worried about my husband, and when I saw Mavis…my old friend…I thought she might be able to help me find out what’s going on.”
“There’s nothing to fret about,” Corinne said glibly as she turned on the taps and helped Judith into the shower. “I’ll stand right outside. If you need help, just call.”
Judith regarded the steady stream of water with trepidation. “Are you sure this waterproof cover on the dressing will keep my wound dry?”
Corinne nodded. “That’s why it’s there. Just don’t do anything to dislodge it.”
“Where’s my cousin?” Judith asked, looking around at the other stalls as if she were searching for a lifeline.
A stream of curses exploded out of a shower stall across the aisle, answering Judith’s question.
“My cousin hates showers,” Judith explained to a startled Corinne. “She never can manage the taps.”