by Mary Daheim
Renie withheld her answer until the orderly had gone. “Jim Randall,” she said, scrutinizing the food on her tray. “I may be wrong, and of course I have no idea what the demand is for cornea transplants, but if he’s as big a mess as everybody claims, how did he get so high on the recipient list?”
“I don’t know how to answer that,” Judith admitted, also staring at the three mounds of multicolored food on her plate. “I think these are salads, by the way.”
“Like Donner & Blitzen Department Store has in their tearoom?” Renie said. “Those salads are really good. My favorite is the one with shrimp.”
Judith sampled a bite from the mound that was primarily white. “This could be potato salad.”
Renie followed her cousin’s lead. “It could also be library paste. Oddly, I used to like library paste when I was a kid. Sometimes I’d ask to be kept in for recess just so I could be alone and eat the paste.”
“You also ate erasers, as I recall,” Judith said, trying the mostly green salad next. “If you could eat stuff that really wasn’t edible, why can’t you eat hospital food?” She swallowed the mouthful of green and let out a startled cry. “Mrrff! That’s not very good.” Judith choked twice before she could get whatever it was down into her digestive tract.
“I refuse to try the red stuff,” Renie declared. “I’m sure it has tomato aspic in it. I hate tomato aspic. These so-called salads should be taken out and shot. Maybe they’re wholesome, possibly even nutritious, but to me, they’re an insult. I’m personally offended by being forced to consider this ersatz meal as food.”
Judith gazed inquiringly at Renie. “For once, I almost wish you’d say all that nonsense again.”
“Huh?” Renie looked surprised.
“I think,” Judith said deliberately, “you may have just enlightened me as to the killer’s identity.”
NINETEEN
RENIE WAS AMAZED by Judith’s theory. She was even more astonished by the alleged motive. “What,” she asked in an awestruck voice, “are you going to do about it? You have absolutely no evidence.”
“That’s the problem,” Judith said, looking worried. “Not to mention that the whole thing’s so crazy I can’t be absolutely sure. If only Joe had seen who attacked him.”
“DNA,” Renie put in. “There’s got to be some trace of the killer in our car.”
“That doesn’t prove that person was the killer,” Judith pointed out.
“You’re right.” Renie scowled at the salad mounds on her plate, then dumped them in the wastebasket. “I’m thinking, honest.”
Judith set the luncheon tray aside and picked up the phone. “I’m not going to eat this slop, so I’ll call Woody instead.”
Woody was about to leave for the hospital to see Joe. Although he tried to sound enthusiastic about Judith’s idea, a note of skepticism lingered in his mellow voice. “I’ll certainly have the Joneses’ Camry checked out. Don’t let Bill drive it anywhere until we’ve finished.”
Judith passed the message along to Renie. “That’s fine,” Renie said in a doleful tone. “Bill’s probably frozen into a grape-flavored Popsicle by now anyway.”
“It’s above freezing,” Judith pointed out, “or it wouldn’t be thawing so much.”
The silent orderly came in to remove the cousins’ trays. As usual, he made no comment, not even when he saw that Judith’s lunch was virtually untouched and Renie’s was lying in the wastebasket. For the first time, Judith noticed that his name tag read “Pearson.” Assuming it was his surname, she called out to him as he started to leave.
“Mr. Pearson?”
Even though he wasn’t through the door, the orderly didn’t stop.
“That’s rude,” Judith declared as Heather Chinn entered the room, seeking vital signs. “Say,” she addressed the nurse, “why won’t that orderly, Mr. Pearson, talk to me? Does he disapprove of us?”
Heather gave Judith a gentle smile. “Pearson is his first name, and he’s a deaf-mute.”
“Oh!” Judith reddened with embarrassment. “I feel terrible!”
“Don’t,” Heather said, applying the blood pressure cuff. “You couldn’t know.”
“I’d still like to talk to him,” Judith said. “I mean, exchange written notes. To let him know we appreciate his work. Could you ask him to drop by when he has the time?”
Heather looked wary, but agreed. “I know how to sign,” she offered. “Would you like to have me join you?”
Judith started to accept, then politely declined. “I don’t want to take up your valuable time. I also wanted to ask him a couple of questions about…how we might be able to get some other kind of food. My cousin hasn’t been able to eat some of the last few meals.”
“Oh.” Heather looked dubious. “I’m not sure Pearson could help you. That’s something that should be taken up with the dietician.”
“Let Mrs. Flynn do it her way,” Renie broke in. “I trust her. She knows my needs.”
Apparently, Heather wished to avoid arguing with the cousins. “All right,” she said, putting the thermometer in Judith’s mouth.
A quarter of an hour passed before Pearson reappeared. He wore a curious expression and tugged at the ear that bore the gold stud.
Judith had already written her questions on a piece of paper. Giving Pearson a big smile, she handed him the single page. “No rush.” She formed the words as emphatically as possible.
Pearson sat down in the visitor’s chair, carefully reading the questions. He scratched his shaved head and frowned. Judith handed him a ballpoint pen. With a quizzical glance, Pearson began to write down his answers.
Were you on duty when any of these persons died—Joaquin Somosa, Joan Fremont, Bob Randall? Yes.
Which ones, if any? All of them.
If you were, do you recall seeing such items as a take-out juice cup in Somosa’s room, one or two plastic Italian soda glasses in Fremont’s room, and a pint of Wild Turkey in Randall’s room? Yes, all of them, vaguely.
If so, what happened to the containers?
At the fourth and last question, Pearson looked flummoxed. He started to give Judith a palms-up signal, but stopped abruptly.
“Nurse Appleby removed S’s and F’s drink containers,” he wrote, and gave Judith a diffident grin. Then he formed a single word: “Why?”
Judith wasn’t sure what he meant. “Why do I ask?” she wrote. Pearson nodded. “Because I’m trying to help my husband, who has been stabbed.” Pearson looked bewildered. Judith added another note. “His stabbing may be connected with the deaths of S, F, and R.” The orderly grimaced. Judith scribbled another question.
“What about R’s liquor bottle?”
Pearson shook his head and shrugged.
Judith held up one finger to indicate she had yet another query. “What did Appleby do with the juice and soda containers?”
Pearson pointed to Judith’s wastebasket, then held up two fingers.
“Both?” Judith formed the word carefully.
Pearson nodded again.
Judith put out her hand. “Thank you,” she mouthed, and gave the orderly a grateful smile.
Pearson stood up and smiled back, then nodded at Renie and left.
“Let’s see those questions,” Renie said, getting out of bed.
“What do you think?” Judith asked after her cousin had finished reading.
Renie’s face screwed up in concentration. “Corinne threw out the containers belonging to Somosa and Fremont. So what?”
“Let’s call on Addison Kirby,” Judith said, attempting to sit up on her own. To her astonishment, she managed it. “Hey, look at me! I’m just like a real person!”
“So you are,” Renie said with an encouraging smile. “Don’t get too frisky. I’ll help you into the chair.”
A few minutes later, the cousins were at Addison’s door. He turned and grinned, apparently glad to see them.
“I’m so bored I could start tweezing my beard with ice tongs,” he told the
m as they moved to the bedside. “Since I don’t watch much TV except sports, all I can do is read, and it seems the hospital library is woefully lacking in sex-and-violence thrillers.”
“That’s probably because the nuns are reading them,” Renie said, only half joking.
Addison chuckled, then turned a more serious face to Judith. “I guess you never had a chance to ask your husband about those chocolates. I heard he got himself stabbed. How’s he doing?”
“Better,” Judith replied, “though I still haven’t seen him. My—our—son is with him right now. As soon as I hear from Mike—our son—I’ll try to see Joe. Right now, I’ve got a couple of questions for you. They may be painful.” She hesitated, then continued. “After Joan’s death, when and where did you first see the body?”
Addison looked surprised. “In her room. They wouldn’t move her until I’d gotten here. I’d been covering a story downtown, and only found out she was dead when I got here. I suppose it was at least an hour after she…died.”
“Think hard,” Judith urged. “Was her wastebasket empty?”
Addison Kirby gave Judith an odd glance, then slowly nodded. “I know what you’re getting at. I remember, because my first, crazy reaction was that Joan wasn’t wearing her wedding band. She never took it off, not even onstage.” He held up his left hand, revealing an intricately carved gold ring that caught the sunlight coming through the window. “We had these specially made. The masks of tragedy and comedy are entwined with a pen, to symbolize both our professions. My first thought was that the ring had been stolen, but somehow that seemed unlikely at Good Cheer. Then I wondered if it had fallen off and was on the floor or under the wastebasket. I looked around and saw that the wastebasket was empty. And then I remembered that Joan had left the ring at home, on the hospital’s advice.” Addison’s face clouded over at the memory.
“Empty,” Judith echoed. “That makes sense. Can you tell me the exact date that your wife died? I want to be very sure about this.”
“January sixth,” Addison replied promptly. “How could I forget? We had the funeral last Saturday.”
Exuding sympathy, Judith nodded. “Do you remember exactly when Joaquin Somosa died?”
Addison gave Judith a crooked little smile. “Actually, I do. It was on my late father’s birthday, December nineteenth.”
“Good,” Judith said. “I mean, it’s good that you remember.”
Addison was eyeing her curiously. “You’re on to something, aren’t you, Mrs. Flynn? Or should I call you Miss Marple?”
Judith assumed a modest expression. “I don’t want to elaborate because my theory is so far out that, along with my hip, Dr. Alfonso may have replaced my brain with a battery—a faulty one at that. And unlike Miss Marple with her St. Mary Mead village eccentrics, I don’t know anyone on Heraldsgate Hill who reminds me of the possible suspect.”
Addison looked disappointed. “So I can’t ask who it is?”
“Don’t feel bad,” Renie put in. “Sometimes, when she really gets whacked out, she won’t even tell me who she suspects.”
Addison grinned. “You aren’t going to tell me who I should be wary of? Remember, I almost got killed out there in front of the hospital.”
Coincidentally, Torchy Magee poked his head in the door. “Mrs. Jones? That’s your Camry, all right. At least it is if you live at this address I copied down.” He recited the house and street number from a slip of paper. “That yours?”
“It sure is,” Renie said with a big smile. “Thanks. I’m relieved that the car is safe.”
Suddenly angry, Addison was staring at Renie. “Your car was the one that hit me?”
“I’m afraid so,” Renie said. “Our Toyota Camry was stolen from the dealership. I didn’t recognize it when I saw it hit you because it looks like every other mid-sized sedan these days. Besides, I’m not used to looking down on it unless I’m on a ferry boat’s upper deck.”
Addison was frowning. “I don’t get it—somebody stole your car and then hit me. Was it deliberate?”
Renie glanced at her cousin, who shrugged.
“Who?” Addison asked, still frowning.
“I’m not sure what his name is,” Judith replied, “but he may be dead.”
As Judith rolled out of the room with Renie behind her, Addison made a request.
“Hey—you never told me who I should watch out for.”
“I told you,” Judith said, over her shoulder. “The man who hit you might be dead.”
“He was the man who killed my wife? For God’s sake, I have to know that.”
“No,” Judith responded. “He didn’t kill your wife. He didn’t kill anybody. I’m not entirely convinced that your accident wasn’t just that—an accident.”
Addison wasn’t finished. “Am I in danger?”
“I don’t think so,” Judith said, “but it’s always prudent to trust absolutely nobody in this kind of situation.”
“Not even you two?” Addison shot back.
“Not even us,” Judith replied. But she smiled.
Judith was intent on talking to Sister Jacqueline. Heather Chinn thought that the hospital administrator was in a meeting, probably something to do with the Restoration Heartware takeover. But she promised to convey the message to Sister Jacqueline.
“Meanwhile,” Judith said, “I’m going to see Joe.”
Renie made a face. “Are you sure you’re up to it? That shower must have taken a lot out of you.”
“Of course I’m up to it,” Judith asserted, once again sitting up on her own. This time she managed to swing her legs around to the side of the bed, put her feet on the floor, and start to stand up. “See? I can…Oops!” Judith started to topple forward and caught herself on the wheelchair.
“Good grief,” Renie muttered, hurrying as fast as she could to help her cousin, “I warned you about being too rash.”
“Okay, okay,” Judith grumbled, “let’s get out of here.”
The cousins paused briefly outside the door to what had been Mr. Mummy’s room and now was tenanted by Jim Randall. Two nurses and a doctor Judith didn’t recognize were hovering over Jim’s bed.
“He must have been almost blind,” Judith remarked. “Otherwise, he might not have gotten a cornea transplant.”
The lunch carts had been removed from the hallway; the Pakistani woman was polishing the floor with an electric cleaner; the two nurses at the station, one of whom was a nun, were consulting over charts. No one stopped Judith and Renie as they proceeded to the elevator.
But they were stopped anyway. An OUT OF ORDER sign was on the door of the car.
“Damn!” Judith cursed under her breath. “Where’s the freight elevator?”
Renie didn’t know. “It’s probably down this hall,” she said, pointing to their right. “It’s the only place I haven’t been yet.”
Judith was about to suggest that they try it when Sister Jacqueline appeared from the stairwell. “You wanted to see me?” she inquired.
“Yes,” Judith said, then added, “when will this elevator be fixed?”
“Curly’s working on it now,” Sister Jacqueline replied. “Our elevators are not only too few, but too old. I imagine Restoration Heartware will install new ones. Among other things,” she concluded on a baleful note.
The three women returned to the cousins’ room, where Sister Jacqueline tentatively seated herself in Judith’s visitor’s chair. The nun looked as if she either expected to be ejected from the chair by force, or else didn’t want to be there in the first place. A real hot seat, Judith thought as she got back into bed.
“You’re probably going to think I’m nuts,” Judith said with a self-deprecating smile, “but would it be possible for you to find these dates for me?” She handed the nun a slip of paper on which she’d already written her request.
Sister Jacqueline looked startled. “That would be a breach of patient confidentiality,” she said. “Why on earth do you want this answered in the first place?”
“Sister,” Judith said earnestly, “would you believe me if I told you it was a matter of life and death?”
It hadn’t been easy, but Judith had finally convinced Sister Jacqueline that it was imperative to provide the information. Mike returned shortly after the nun left.
“Did you know the elevator’s broken?” he said upon entering the room.
“Yes,” Judith retorted, “we know. We tried to get up to the fourth floor to see Joe. How is he?”
“Good,” Mike replied, taking the chair that Sister Jacqueline had just vacated. “He seemed better than when I saw him earlier. Woody Price is with him. Gosh, it was great to see Woody after all this time.”
“Did Joe see who stabbed him?” Judith asked anxiously.
“That’s what Woody was asking,” Mike replied. “Joe told him that he thinks he saw the attacker before it happened. At least he saw some guy who was acting suspicious. Joe has an instinct for that sort of thing, being a cop for so many years.”
Judith could barely contain her excitement. “Who was it?”
Mike gave his mother and his aunt an ironic smile. “That’s the weird thing. He didn’t look like most of the homeless types.”
Judith nodded. “I’m not surprised.”
“Huh?” Mike looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”
Maybe, Judith thought, it was only fair to enlighten her son. But before she could say anything, Bill Jones came through the door, panting mightily.
“Bill!” Renie cried. “You’re alive!”
Bill leaned one thermal-gloved hand against the door frame and panted some more. “Huhuhuhuhuhu,” he uttered.
“Did you bring me some snacks?” Renie asked, smiling widely.
Bill, his tongue hanging out, shook his head. “Uhuhuh.”
Renie’s face fell. “Oooh…”
“Why don’t you smack her, Uncle Bill?” Mike asked, half serious.
Bill finally caught his breath. “The crowns in heaven that await me…,” he murmured, coming all the way into the room and kissing his wife.