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

  “Dr. Van Boeck or Queen Blanche?” Renie retorted.

  “Dr. Van Boeck, of course,” Heather said stiffly.

  “He’s in charge here.”

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  “That’s not the impression I got this afternoon,”

  Renie said. “Now let me think—Good Cheer is kind

  of conservative, old-fashioned. Which is good. I’m

  still here, and in any other hospital in the city, I’d have

  been sent home this morning, right? Keeping me

  longer may not suit the bottom line. So maybe the Van

  Boecks aren’t merely fighting to keep Good Cheer’s

  reputation spotless, but for the hospital’s very survival. How am I doing, Nurse Chinn?”

  Heather yanked the blood pressure cuff off Judith’s

  arm with more force than was necessary. “All hospitals

  are fighting to stay alive,” the nurse said grimly. “Over

  the years, the Sisters of Good Cheer have wisely managed this institution. They’ve refused to remodel for

  the sake of appearances, the plant budget is always

  used for necessities and equipment, and we rely on a

  heavy corps of volunteers.”

  Robbie the Robot could be heard beeping along the

  hallway. “Hi, I’m Robbie . . .” He moved on.

  “Nonpaid personnel like him?” Renie said, pointing

  toward the door.

  “In a way, yes,” Heather replied. “He delivers

  things. He’s programmed to take charts and other paperwork to various departments. Robbie can even use

  the elevators.”

  “Good,” said Renie. “I’d hate to see him clank down

  a flight of stairs. You’d probably have to put his parts

  in a dustpan.”

  Somewhat warily, Heather moved over to Renie’s

  bed, holding the thermometer as if it were a weapon.

  “So what are the problems Good Cheer is facing?” Judith asked.

  “The same as every hospital,” Heather replied,

  showing some enthusiasm for shoving the thermome-128

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  ter in Renie’s mouth. “The merger of medical specialties helped everyone. Hospitals spent far too much

  money on duplicating equipment. It wasn’t necessary

  or feasible, especially in a city like this, where so many

  of the hospitals are within a five-mile radius.”

  “The decline in religious orders must have hurt,” Judith noted. “It certainly made a difference in the

  schools when they had to hire lay teachers instead of

  nuns.”

  “That’s true,” Heather said, then paused to take

  Renie’s pulse. “We only have five nuns on staff at

  Good Cheer. There used to be dozens.”

  “So salaries have gone up dramatically,” Judith

  mused. “Malpractice insurance, too, I suppose.”

  Heather nodded. “It’s terrible for the doctors. But

  you can’t practice medicine without it. Look at what’s

  happened . . .” She stopped abruptly and bit her lower

  lip.

  “Yes,” Judith said kindly. “Have the suits been filed

  yet in the instances of the Somosa and Fremont

  deaths?”

  “I can’t say,” Heather replied doggedly as she read

  the thermometer.

  “Yes, you can,” Renie retorted. “It’s a matter of public record.”

  But Heather refused to cooperate. “Whatever comes

  next, it’s not Good Cheer’s fault,” she insisted.

  “Meaning?” Judith coaxed.

  “We did nothing wrong,” Heather said, her manner

  heated. “Not the nurses, not the doctors, not anybody

  employed by Good Cheer.”

  “You sound very certain,” Judith remarked.

  “Hey,” Renie yipped, “aren’t you putting that blood

  pressure cuff on awfully tight?”

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  Judith grew silent, staring up at the cracks in the

  aging plaster, as if the wiggly lines provided some sort

  of map to The Truth. Except for a desultory word of

  farewell to Heather, she remained quiet for several moments after the nurse continued on her rounds.

  “Maya got fired,” Judith finally announced.

  “I agree,” said Renie. “She talked too much, at least

  to us. I hope we didn’t get her into trouble.”

  “So do I,” Judith said. “But Maya is the kind who can’t

  stop talking. And what did Heather mean by that solemn

  statement about nobody at the hospital being at fault?”

  “It would suggest,” Renie said slowly, “that she

  knows more than she’s telling. That is, she’s aware that

  there were no medical mistakes.”

  “In other words,” Judith said, hauling herself up on

  the pillows, “all three victims were murdered, possibly

  by outsiders.”

  Renie was skeptical. “Three outsiders?”

  “It’s unlikely,” Judith said, “but you can’t completely discount the notion. Of course the modus

  operandi is similar, as far as we can tell. Unless they’re

  copy-cat killings.”

  “And just what is the MO?” Renie asked.

  “It has to be something—the drugs that the victims

  supposedly ingested on their own—that was put into

  their IVs.”

  “We still haven’t heard what Bob Randall’s drug of

  choice was,” Renie pointed out.

  “No,” Judith agreed. “But I’ll bet it’s something like

  the other two. A street drug, I’d guess.”

  “Not self-ingested?” said Renie.

  “No.” Judith grimaced as she tried to make herself

  more comfortable. “I don’t know why I haven’t asked

  Joe if the police are investigating. I think I’ll call him.”

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  Before she could pick up the phone, Mr. Mummy

  appeared in the doorway with a carton marked “Sutures.” “Cluck, cluck,” he said with a merry smile.

  “May I?”

  “Of course,” Judith said, and introduced herself.

  “Why don’t you join us, Mr. Mummy? There’s plenty

  for three.”

  “How kind,” Mr. Mummy said as he helped Renie

  unload the carton. “The delivery wouldn’t fit in my

  carryall so I found this box, which makes quite clever

  camouflage, don’t you think?” He paused as Renie rewarded him with a big smile. “Maybe just a small

  piece,” he said, sniffing the air that was now redolent

  with fried chicken. “I’m not terribly hungry. I did manage to eat my hospital tray.”

  “Was it better than the food?” Renie asked.

  “What?” Mr. Mummy looked puzzled, then comprehension dawned. “Oh-ho! Very funny, Mrs. Jones. Yes,

  I must say, the meals here aren’t very delectable. Still,

  I’m not a fussy eater.”

  Renie was filling the carton’s lid with chicken,

  mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, coleslaw, and baking powder biscuits. “Here, Mr. Mummy, pass this to

  my cousin.”

  “Delighted,” Mr. Mummy replied. “I thought it wise

  to put the chicken delivery box inside something that

  looked as if it belonged to the hospital. It worked out

  just fine.”

  “You’re a genius,” Renie said, offering a white box

  filled with chicken to Mr. Mummy. “Take some.”

  “Indeed, I will.” Mr. Mummy beamed a
t Renie.

  “Sometimes I can hear you two from across the hall. It

  sounds quite lively in here. You’ve had a lot of guests.”

  “Not really,” Judith said, munching on corn. “I

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  mean, only our husbands have been to see us. The others have sort of dropped in.”

  “I see,” Mr. Mummy said. “Yes, even Mrs. Van

  Boeck was in here briefly, am I not right?”

  “Briefly,” Judith said with a nod.

  “Such a spirited woman,” Mr. Mummy remarked,

  biting into a juicy thigh. “Did you find her conversation invigorating?”

  Judith hesitated. “Well . . . I suppose. She didn’t stay

  long.”

  “I hear she may run for mayor,” Mr. Mummy said.

  “Our current mayor has had his problems lately.”

  “Yes,” Judith said. “The step up from the city council would be a natural for Blanche Van Boeck.”

  “I’m surprised she didn’t do a little campaigning

  while she was in here,” Mr. Mummy said with a sly

  look.

  “Not really,” Judith said, remembering Blanche’s menacing attitude.

  “It sounded to me,” Mr. Mummy said with a twinkle, “as if Mrs. Van Boeck and Dr. Garnett had quite an

  argument. I don’t suppose she mentioned it to you.”

  “She told him to buzz off,” Renie said, glancing down

  at the particles of crisp chicken skin that had fallen onto

  her sling and hospital gown. “Or words to that effect. I

  gathered there was bad blood between them. You have to

  wonder how Dr. Garnett and Dr. Van Boeck get along.”

  “Well,” said Mr. Mummy, giving Renie a “May I?”

  glance before taking a biscuit out of a box, “there

  must be a rather intense rivalry there. That is, all doctors have big egos, and I assume Dr. Garnett may

  sometimes resent Dr. Van Boeck’s decision-making.”

  “So Dr. Garnett is ambitious?” Judith asked. “I

  mean, he’d like to run Good Cheer?”

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  Mr. Mummy stretched out his leg with its walking

  cast. “I have no idea. But he could be. I suspect he

  doesn’t like what’s been going on around here lately.”

  “You mean,” Renie said, “the epidemic of death?”

  “Yes.” Mr. Mummy nodded slowly. “It’s very unfortunate.”

  “So you’ve heard all about the previous deaths?” Judith remarked.

  “Oh, yes,” Mr. Mummy said. “We may live in a rural

  area, but we take the city newspapers. Not to mention

  TV. I find health issues very interesting, since they affect almost everyone in this country.”

  “What’s surprised me,” Renie said, buttering her

  second piece of corn, “is how little coverage there has

  been in the media. Considering that Somosa and Joan

  Fremont were very well-known popular figures—and

  now Bob Randall—you’d think the local reporters

  would be all over the stories.”

  Judith clapped a hand to her head. “Oh! We forgot to

  turn on the evening news.”

  Mr. Mummy waved a pink, pudgy hand. “You didn’t

  miss much. I saw the news, and they merely said that

  Mr. Randall had died unexpectedly. They did advise that

  further details would be on the eleven o’clock news.”

  “Ah.” Judith looked relieved.

  “You two seem very aware of what goes on around

  you,” Mr. Mummy said with admiring glances for both

  cousins. “You must pick up on a lot of scuttlebutt.”

  Judith’s expression was modest. “We’re interested in

  people. Besides, it helps pass the time when you’re laid

  up.”

  “I think it’s wonderful,” Mr. Mummy said approvingly. “These days, so many people are completely

  wrapped up in themselves.”

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  “Not us,” Renie said through a mouthful of coleslaw.

  “Fwee lok to kwee abwes.”

  Judith smiled at Mr. Mummy’s understandable perplexity. “My cousin said we like to keep abreast. I’m

  used to her speaking when she’s eating. I can translate.”

  “Amazing,” Mr. Mummy murmured as he stood up

  in an awkward manner. “I should be getting back to my

  room. Thank you for this delicious treat. If you hear

  anything interesting, do let me in on it. I’m a bit bored,

  since my wife and family live so far out in the country

  that it’s hard for them to get into the city.”

  “Any time,” Renie said. “And thanks for playing deliveryman.”

  Judith didn’t speak until Mr. Mummy was out of

  earshot. “He seems quite caught up in what’s happening at Good Cheer, don’t you think?”

  “That’s not so very odd,” Renie said, attacking yet

  another piece of chicken. “Mr. Mummy’s right, you

  get bored lying around in the hospital.”

  “He never did say exactly where he lived, did he?”

  “Mmm . . .” Renie swallowed the big bite of chicken

  and licked her lips. “No. But then I didn’t ask.”

  Judith grew quiet for a few minutes. The only

  sounds in the room were Renie’s chewing, the hum of

  the equipment, and the usual distant voices and footsteps in the hall. Judith leaned far enough forward to

  gaze out the window. It was still snowing, the flakes

  now smaller, and thus more likely to stick.

  “I’m calling Joe,” Judith announced at last. “I’ve got

  a question for him.”

  Renie brushed at the collection of crumbs on her

  front. “About our car?”

  “No,” Judith replied, dialing the number at Hillside

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  Manor. “There’s nothing he can do about that. Nobody

  else can either until the snow stops.” She paused, then

  a smile crossed her face. “Hi, Joe. How’s everything

  going?”

  “Oh, hi.” Joe sounded disconcerted. “How’re you

  doing?”

  “Fine. What’s wrong?”

  “Um . . . Nothing. It’s snowing.”

  “I know. Anything going on that I should know

  about?”

  “No, not a thing,” Joe said rather hastily. “Except

  that before it started to snow so hard, FedEx delivered

  a crate containing a hundred whoopee cushions.

  Where do you want me to store them?”

  “Whoopee cushions?” Judith was perplexed. “I

  didn’t order any. Why would I? It must be a mistake.

  Call them and have them returned when FedEx can get

  back up the hill, okay?”

  “Sure,” Joe said. “I wondered what they were for. I

  thought maybe a guest had ordered them to be sent

  here.”

  “How are the guests? Did they get in all right?”

  “Yes. All the rooms are occupied.”

  “They are?” Judith was surprised. “We only had four

  reservations as of Monday morning.”

  “The airport’s closed,” Joe said. “Some people got

  stranded. Which, if the planes don’t start flying tomorrow, means we’ll be overbooked for Wednesday.”

  “Oh. That is a problem.” Judith thought for a

  minute. “Arlene has the B&B association number.

  She can call them to help out.”

  “Okay.”

  �
�Nothing else to report?”

  Joe hesitated. “Not really.”

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  “You’re a bad liar, Joe.”

  He sighed. “One of the couples who got stuck at the

  airport have a pet snake.”

  Judith gasped. “No! Pets aren’t allowed. You know

  that; Arlene knows that.”

  “Nobody told Arlene about the snake,” Joe replied,

  on the defensive. “I didn’t know anything about it until

  they got here.”

  “What kind of snake?” Judith asked, still upset.

  “A boa constrictor.” Joe paused again. “I think.”

  “You think? ” Judith threw a glance at Renie, whose

  ears had pricked up.

  “I haven’t seen it,” Joe said. “Nobody has. I mean,

  not since the Pettigrews arrived.”

  “You mean the snake is loose? ” Judith asked in horror.

  “I’m afraid so. His name is Ernest,” Joe added.

  “Oh, good grief!” Judith twisted around so far in the

  bed that she felt a sharp pain course through her left

  side. “How are the other guests taking it?” she asked,

  trying to calm down.

  “Not real well,” Joe replied. “Of course they can’t

  go anywhere else because of the snow. You know

  how impassable the hill is in this kind of weather.

  Anyway, the Pettigrews insist he isn’t dangerous.”

  “They better be right,” Judith said through gritted

  teeth. “Why couldn’t the Pettigrews leave Ernest at the

  airport?”

  “They say he has a very nervous disposition,” Joe

  explained. “Ernest suffers from anxiety attacks.

  When he has one, they have to put a paper bag over

  his head. A small paper bag, of course.”

  “Of course.” It was Judith’s turn to heave a big sigh.

  “Okay, I guess I can’t worry about it. But I will. I

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  wanted to ask if you could find out from Woody what

  the police are doing about this situation with the three

  hospital deaths. Could you check in with him

  tomorrow?”

  “I already did,” Joe replied. “They’re not doing anything.”

  “What?” Judith shot Renie an incredulous look.

  “Woody said there’s no official investigation,” Joe

  said. “The county isn’t doing much either, according to

  him.”

  “That’s unbelievable,” Judith declared.

  “I agree,” said Joe.

  “It’s also highly suspicious,” Judith added.

  “Yes.” Joe suddenly became very serious. “I