Suture Self : A Bed-and-breakfast Mystery Page 14
“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