Suture Self : A Bed-and-breakfast Mystery Read online

  I doubt it. On the other hand . . .”

  “I’ll have you moved,” Joe said, suddenly stopping between the cousins’ beds. “To some rehab

  place; I think there’s one connected to our

  HMO . . .”

  “. . . Bob Randall may have been overcome with

  family difficulties,” Bill continued. “Maybe, when

  he signed that release before surgery, he envisioned

  his own mortality and . . .”

  “No, what am I thinking of?” Joe said, catching

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  himself. “There’d still be a damned body somewhere.

  It’s hopeless, it’s beyond comprehension, it’s . . .”

  “. . . given his other problems, Randall felt his life

  was unbearable.” Bill turned his palms up in a helpless

  gesture.

  Judith turned toward Bill. “What did you say? About

  Bob Randall’s family problems?”

  Bill gave Judith a vaguely apologetic look. “Sorry. I

  shouldn’t have mentioned it. You see, I’ve been treating Margie Randall for some time.”

  “What?” Both cousins shrieked at Bill.

  “Good God almighty!” Joe exclaimed under his

  breath and fell into Judith’s visitor’s chair.

  “You never mentioned Bob Randall’s wife as a patient,” Renie said in an accusing tone.

  “Of course not,” Bill replied calmly. “I don’t disclose my patients’ identities to you unless it’s someone

  you’ve never heard of and the name is meaningless. In

  fact, I often make up the names.”

  “Patient confidentiality,” Renie scoffed. “How come

  you didn’t speak to Margie Randall in the waiting

  room yesterday morning?”

  “Because it would have frightened and embarrassed

  her,” Bill said. “Besides, I don’t think she saw me.

  Which is understandable. Part of her problem is that

  she’s completely locked into herself.”

  “So what awful problems—other than Margie—did

  Bob Randall have with his family?” Judith asked, trying to ignore Joe’s angry glare.

  Bill sighed. “Honestly, I shouldn’t say. But we may

  be involved in a homicide here, and eventually, the

  media will get hold of all the details. Besides, Margie

  canceled her last two appointments and may not still

  consider me her psychologist; I can allow that the two

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  Randall children are deeply troubled. In fact, they’re a

  big, fat mess.”

  “That’s clinical enough,” Renie said, her annoyance

  fading. “How so?”

  As was his wont, Bill took his time to answer.

  “Really, I can’t betray a patient’s trust. Nancy, the

  daughter, and Bob Jr., the son, both have what you

  might consider life-threatening problems. Let’s leave it

  at that.”

  “You’re no fun,” Renie said. “I want a divorce.”

  “You can’t have one,” Bill responded. “But I can assure you that life on the home front wasn’t all highlight

  reels. Bob might have had good reasons to do himself

  in.”

  “No such luck,” Joe said glumly with a dirty look at

  his wife. “I’ll bet my old classic MG that he got himself killed. I should be so lucky to have my charming

  bride run into a plain old suicide.”

  Judith felt too tired to carry the fight any further.

  “Knock it off, Joe, please.” She gave him her most

  winsome look. “Be reasonable. I had to have this surgery, Good Cheer is the only hospital in town that does

  it, I’m incapacitated, and it’s not—and never has

  been—my fault that I keep running into dead people.

  I’m just an ordinary wife, mother, and innkeeper.”

  “You’d run into fewer dead people if you were a

  coroner,” Joe muttered. “Okay, okay, your usual logic

  has made a slight impression. For now. Here,” he said,

  reaching down to the shopping bag he’d placed on the

  floor. “I got you some books and magazines.”

  Bill, meanwhile, had given Renie another Falstaff ’s

  grocery bag. A veteran of his wife’s foraging, he

  stepped back as wrappers ripped, paper flew, and liquid spilled from an unknown source. Renie removed

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  sandwiches, peeled carrots, sliced cantaloupe, potato

  chips, two packages of cookies, a box of graham

  crackers, and more Pepsi, the beverage she claimed inspired her graphic designs.

  “Great,” Renie enthused, opening one of the sandwiches, which was on a small baguette. “Lunch was

  inedible.” She leaned toward Judith. “Ham or

  chicken?”

  “I’m not that hungry,” Judith admitted.

  Joe was concerned, so Judith reluctantly related her

  experience in trying to stand up. “I’ve got to do it again

  this afternoon. I don’t suppose you could stick around

  until they make me try it?”

  Joe grimaced. “I can’t, Jude-girl. I’m really sorry. I

  have to get back on this homeless homicide investigation. I finished the background this morning. Now I’m

  going to check out the sites where the bodies were

  found. Both of the murders occurred in the same area,

  not far from here, under the freeway.”

  Judith knew the area that Joe was talking about.

  Many homeless people tucked their whole world beneath the city’s major north-south arteries. It wasn’t as

  aesthetic as the local parks, but citizens and police

  alike were less apt to hassle them. Still, their ragtag little neighborhoods were occasionally sent packing, a

  caravan of bundles, bags, and grocery carts. And people. The thought made Judith sad.

  But she wasn’t naïve. “Be careful, Joe. I don’t like

  this assignment any more than you like me encountering murder.” She paused, a fond expression on her

  face. “Joe, we have to talk.” Judith paused and swallowed hard. “About Mike. He wants a family tree made

  up for little Mac’s preschool.”

  “Oh?” Joe’s face was blank.

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  Judith nodded. “He called just a while ago. I told

  him I’d do it.”

  “Preschool?” The word seemed to strike Joe as an

  afterthought. “Good God, the kid’s only a baby. He’s

  still wetting his pants.”

  “They teach them to stop in preschool,” Judith responded with a glance for Renie and Bill, who suddenly, discreetly, seemed to be absorbed in their own

  conversation. “Mac’s not going to enter until the fall.

  He’ll be two this summer. Anyway, that’s not the point.

  Don’t you want Mike to know the truth? The last time

  we discussed this seriously, you seemed crushed because I wasn’t ready to tell him.”

  Joe sighed and scratched at his thinning red hair. “It

  almost seems like it’s too late.”

  “What do you mean, too late?” Judith was taken

  aback. “Mike’s over thirty, he’s matured, he ought to

  know because you and he have never had that fatherson intimacy. You’ve been buddies, period.”

  “That’s what I mean,” Joe said, ducking his head.

  “He’s a grown man. He doesn’t need a father.”

  “Oh, Joe!” Judith put her hands over her mouth

  and stared wide-eyed at her husband
. “I was still in

  my teens when my dad died, and I miss him every

  day. Your father lived much longer, until you were—

  what?—almost forty. How can you say such a

  thing?”

  “Because,” Joe said slowly, “I wasn’t there for Mike

  when he needed a real father. When Dan died, Mike

  was about the same age as you were when your dad

  passed away. I missed out on all those years. And I still

  marvel at how well Mike turned out. Maybe I owe Dan

  something, too.”

  Judith bit her lip. “You can’t do this to me. Not after

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  all the agony I’ve been through and the guilt and

  the—”

  Joe cut Judith off with a wave of his hand. “Stop.

  This isn’t the time for a family crisis. You need to concentrate on getting well. Let me think it over.” He

  stood up. “I don’t know why the hell a preschooler

  needs a family tree. He’d be better off if I built him a

  tree house.”

  “Do it,” Judith said, forcing a small smile. “That’s

  what grandpas do. If you weren’t around for Mike,

  you’re here for Mac.”

  “Right.” Joe’s shoulders slumped. “Got to go. Hey,

  Bill—let’s hit the pavement.”

  Bill, who had been plucking food particles from

  Renie’s sling and other parts of her person, stood up.

  “Okay.” He turned back to Renie. “Joe picked me up at

  the Toyota place downtown. I left Cammy there to

  have new windshield wipers put on, just in case it

  snows.” Bill bent down to kiss his wife on the one spot

  on her face that wasn’t covered with mayonnaise, butter, or bread crumbs.

  The husbands, who seemed to exit at a rather brisk

  pace, hadn’t been gone for more than five minutes

  when Judith glimpsed a patient being rolled down the

  hall.

  “Who’s that?” Renie asked, following her cousin’s

  gaze.

  Judith didn’t answer right away, listening to see if

  she could hear anyone speak. “I couldn’t see, but I

  wonder if it’s Addison Kirby. I’m almost sure they

  took whoever it was into Bob Randall’s private room.”

  “How can they?” Renie demanded. “Isn’t that what

  you’d call a crime scene?”

  “Not as far as the hospital officials are concerned,”

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  Judith said with a frown. “I don’t get it. Nurse Appleby

  told us that the county has jurisdiction in a sudden hospital death. So why haven’t we seen the sheriff and his

  men prowling around? The only real cop who showed

  up was Johnny Boxx, who looks as if he hasn’t

  sprouted a beard yet.”

  “A beat cop at that,” Renie remarked. “Not a detective.”

  “Exactly. Coz?” Judith leaned in Renie’s direction

  and gestured toward the hallway with her thumb.

  “Could you?”

  Renie finishing cleaning up from her picnic lunch.

  “Yeah, yeah, I can. I have to go to the bathroom anyway. I’ll do that first.”

  “Good. See if you can hear anything through the

  wall,” Judith urged.

  Renie was in the bathroom for almost five minutes.

  When she emerged, she looked triumphant. “It’s Addison Kirby, all right. I could hear a doctor talking to

  him. A very humble doctor, I might add.”

  “Which one?” Judith asked.

  “I don’t know. Shall I?” Renie moved toward the

  door.

  “Please.” Judith tried to sit up a little straighter as

  Renie peered out into the hall. “Anything?”

  “Hold on.” Renie waited for at least a full minute before turning back to Judith. “It’s a damned parade,

  coming from the other direction. TV people, with cameras and sound equipment, in apparent pursuit of a

  woman in a sable coat.”

  “Sable?” Judith was impressed.

  “And a gold turban,” Renie noted. “I’m impressed.”

  She turned to look at Judith. “It’s Blanche Van Boeck.

  I recognize her from her photographs. They’ve stopped

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  down by that alcove with the seats for visitors. It looks

  as if there’s going to be a press conference.”

  “Is Mavis there from KINE-TV?” Judith asked,

  once again undergoing a bout of frustration.

  “It isn’t KINE, it’s KLIP,” Renie replied. “I don’t

  know any of these people, do you?”

  “No. Can you hear them?”

  Again, Renie didn’t answer right away. Finally, she

  stepped back into the room. “They’re too far down the

  hall. I don’t dare go any farther because Dr. Garnett

  just came out of Addison’s room and he’s standing

  about six feet from where I parked myself. He doesn’t

  look very happy, I might add.”

  “It was Garnett next door, huh?” Anxiously, Judith

  pleated the sheet between her fingers. “Let me get this

  straight—Van Boeck is chief of staff, Mrs. Van Boeck

  is queen of the world. Peter Garnett, chief of surgery,

  is second in command to Van Boeck. Thus, Dr. Garnett

  has a stake in all this.”

  “You might say that,” Renie conceded, glancing

  back into the hall.

  “Any sign of Sister Jacqueline?” Judith inquired.

  “Not that I can see,” Renie replied. “She’s tall, too.

  I should be able to spot her.”

  “Yoo-hoo,” called Mr. Mummy from across the hall.

  “Don’t we have excitement around here today?”

  “Yes, Mr. Mummy,” said Renie. “Have you heard

  anything about what happened to Mr. Randall?”

  Mr. Mummy lowered his voice, and Judith could

  barely hear him. “I heard he took poison. Isn’t that

  dreadful?”

  “Yes,” Renie agreed with a sad shake of her head

  and a rise in her own voice. “Taking poison is a bad

  way to kill yourself.”

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  “It may not be true,” Mr. Mummy said. “What do

  you think?”

  “I think,” Renie said slowly and clearly, “that too

  many healthy people die in this hospital.”

  “Exactly.” Again Mr. Mummy’s voice dropped,

  forcing Judith to lean far over to the side of the bed. “I

  don’t believe a word of it. The poison, I mean. Where

  would he get it?”

  “Where indeed?” Renie said a bit absently as she

  tried to keep track of what was going on down the hall.

  “Can you move just a little closer?” Judith asked in a

  humble tone.

  “Well . . . Dr. Garnett is wandering off toward the

  media,” Renie said. “I’ll try to sneak up behind him.”

  As her cousin disappeared, Judith propped herself

  up on the pillows and considered patience as a virtue.

  But there wasn’t time to practice it. A moment later,

  Renie back-pedaled into the room with Heather Chinn

  right behind her.

  “Please, Mrs. Jones!” the nurse admonished, shaking a slim finger. “How many times do I have to tell

  you to stay out of the way?”

  “Sorry.” Renie trudged back to bed. “I was curious,
/>   that’s all. You can’t blame me when the guy next door

  kills himself, another guy gets run over outside my

  window, and Mrs. Van Boeck holds a press conference

  just down the hall.”

  Heather grimaced. “Yes, it has been an eventful day.

  But you won’t make a good recovery unless you rest

  more. Now let me take your vitals.”

  “This,” said Renie, holding out her left arm, “is not

  a restful place. On TV I’ve seen war zones in Bosnia

  that were more peaceful. Speaking of TV, what’s the

  interview down the hall all about?”

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  “I’m not sure,” Heather answered a bit nervously. “I

  gather Mrs. Van Boeck has taken it upon herself to speak

  out on the hospital’s behalf.”

  “In defense of Good Cheer, huh?” Renie said before

  the nurse popped the thermometer in her mouth.

  “Something like that,” Heather replied.

  “Is Blanche Van Boeck on the hospital’s board of directors?” Judith inquired.

  “No,” Heather responded. “Since Dr. Van Boeck is

  chief of staff, that would be a conflict of interest.”

  “How long has Dr. Van Boeck held that position?”

  Judith asked.

  Heather cocked her head to one side. “Mmm . . .

  Nine years? I trained at this hospital, and he was chief

  of staff when I started seven years ago.”

  Raised voices could be heard in the hall. Heather

  turned toward the door, her forehead furrowed in apprehension.

  “. . . no right to speak out on this issue,” an angry

  male voice shouted. “I’ll take this before the board.”

  A woman’s shrill laugh cut through the air like

  jagged glass. “Don’t be silly, Peter. As a member of the

  city council, I have a right to speak out.”

  Judith’s eyes widened as the backs of the sable coat

  and gold turban filled the door. Apparently, the confrontation was taking place just a few feet away.

  Heather had removed the thermometer from

  Renie’s mouth and started for the door. Grabbing the

  nurse’s wrist with her good left hand, Renie shot her a

  warning look.

  “Don’t even think about closing that door,” Renie

  ordered.

  “Mrs. Jones, you mustn’t use physical force,”

  Heather reprimanded.

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  “Yes, I must,” Renie declared. “Now shut up.”

  The nurse gave Renie a helpless look as the wrangling between Blanche Van Boeck and her unseen

  male opponent continued.