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

  The nurse handed several forms to Joe and Bill.

  “Have your wives fill these out over in the reception

  area. We’ll call their names when the doctors are

  ready.”

  “What are these?” Renie asked, despite the glower

  from Bill.

  “Medical information,” the nurse responded. “Consent forms. Releases.”

  “Release from what?” Renie inquired, resisting

  Bill’s efforts to propel her away from the desk.

  “Consent to the procedure,” the nurse said, looking

  impatient. “Releasing the hospital from responsibility

  in case you expire.”

  “Expire?” Renie blanched. “As in . . . croak?”

  “Let’s go,” Bill muttered, his jaw set.

  Joe had already wheeled Judith into the waiting

  area. “Did Renie say ‘croak’?” she asked her husband.

  “It sounded like ‘croak,’ ” Joe answered in his

  breeziest manner. “Of course, it might have been ‘joke’

  or ‘Coke’ or ‘cloak.’ ”

  Judith looked down at the forms that Joe had put in

  her lap. “She said ‘croak.’ If I croak, it’s not their fault.

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  Mary Daheim

  I wonder how Joaquin Somosa and Joan Fremont feel

  about that? I mean, I wonder how their families feel?”

  “Glum,” Joe replied. “Just fill the damned things out

  and let’s get on with it.”

  “Aren’t you and Bill being a bit callous?” Judith demanded.

  “No,” Joe asserted. “Those were flukes. Didn’t the

  newspaper hint that Joan Fremont had been doing

  some drugs? She was an actress, Somosa was an athlete. I once worked in Vice. I know how that goes. It’s

  all show biz, and a lot of those people get involved in

  drugs, both legal and otherwise.”

  Judith wasn’t reassured, but she stopped arguing.

  Renie had also gone silent, laboriously trying to sign the

  forms with her crippled right arm. The cousins had just

  finished when they were joined by a tall, handsome,

  middle-aged man and a wispy blonde woman about the

  same age. The man looked vaguely familiar to Judith.

  Bill, who had an excellent memory for faces, caught

  her curious glance. “Bob Randall,” he said in a low

  voice. “Former Sea Auk quarterback.”

  “Ramblin’ Randall,” Joe murmured, with an admiring glance for the three-time all-pro. “I’ll be damned.

  Maybe I’ll shake his—”

  “Judith Flynn?” a plump young nurse called out.

  “Here,” Judith responded. “I think.”

  “We’re ready for you.” The nurse smiled, then nodded at Joe. “Is this Mr. Flynn? He can come along, if

  he likes.”

  “He does,” Judith said firmly.

  Joe lingered. “Can I catch up with you in a minute?

  I’d like to introduce myself to—”

  “Joe!” Judith cried as the nurse began wheeling her

  away. “I really need you!”

  SUTURE SELF

  21

  Reluctantly, Joe trudged after his wife. Judith arrived at a large room with several curtained partitions.

  It looked like a busy day at Good Cheer. At least four

  other patients were already being prepared for surgery.

  Directly across the way from Judith’s cubicle, an elderly woman was making her confession to an equally

  elderly priest. Judith’s spirits plunged.

  “I should have had Father Hoyle anoint me or something,” she murmured. “Is it too late?”

  “You mean before that old duffer keels over?” Joe

  responded with a nod in the priest’s direction. “I don’t

  know. He could go at any minute.”

  Judith scowled at Joe. “I’m serious. Go ask him to

  come here when he’s done with that woman’s confession.”

  The nurse began to take Judith’s vital signs. Another

  nurse arrived to draw her blood. A third nurse showed

  up with a hospital gown, a paper hat, and a pair of

  socks with treads on the bottom. The first nurse asked

  Judith if she had voided.

  “Voided?” Judith echoed in alarm. “Voided what?”

  “Have you gone to the bathroom recently?” the

  nurse inquired with a gentle smile.

  “Oh. Yes, just before I left home.”

  Judith tried to relax, but it wasn’t easy with all the

  poking and probing. She had just put on the gown, the

  hat, and the socks when the anesthesiologist arrived.

  “I’m Dr. Bunn,” said the young man, who looked

  too young to be on his own without his mother.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do . . .”

  The curtains had been opened again after Judith

  changed. She could see Joe strolling casually up and

  down the floor, still waiting for the elderly woman to

  finish her confession. Judith wondered if the old girl

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  Mary Daheim

  was recounting every sin since childhood. Finally the

  priest appeared to be giving absolution. Judith sighed

  with relief.

  At that moment, Bob Randall entered, supporting

  the wispy woman with his famous right arm. His wife,

  Judith thought vaguely. The poor woman looked as if

  she were about to meet the Grim Reaper. Maybe she

  was. Judith said a quick prayer for Mrs. Randall.

  Dr. Bunn had finished his explanation, which Judith

  had only half heard. The priest was standing up. Well,

  Judith noted, at least he was trying to stand up. The

  poor man looked very unsteady.

  Judith turned to see if Joe had noticed. He was

  nowhere in sight. Then, on the other side of the curtain,

  she heard her husband’s voice.

  “Bob,” said Joe, sounding unusually hearty, “excuse

  me, but I want to thank you for all the years of pleasure and excitement you gave us when you quarterbacked the . . .”

  The priest was tottering away. Judith heard Bob

  Randall’s booming voice in reply: “Flynn, eh? Great

  to meet you. After fifteen years out of the league, you

  sometimes think nobody remembers . . .”

  Dr. Bunn had stepped aside as one of the nurses

  began an IV in Judith’s left hand. “Doctor,” Judith said

  in a plaintive voice, “could you get my husband from

  the next cubicle?”

  “Hold on there,” Dr. Bunn said in a soothing voice.

  “He’ll be right along. At the moment, he’d be in the

  way.”

  “But I wanted to . . .” Judith began, then heard Joe

  bidding Bob Randall good-bye.

  “Good luck with the knee,” Joe said, and suddenly

  appeared from the other side of the curtain. “Hey,

  SUTURE SELF

  23

  Jude-girl, Bob Randall’s having knee surgery this

  morning. You know how it is with quarterbacks. The

  knees always seem to give out. He’s a really great guy.”

  Judith felt for Joe’s hand. “I thought his wife was the

  one who . . .” Judith felt drowsy. “Joe, can you find

  that . . .”

  Judith felt nothing.

  She awoke nearly seven hours later in the recovery

  room, staring at Renie. “Coz,” Judith said thickly.

  “Hi.”

  “Unh,” Renie replied and blinked twice.

  “We�
��re . . . alive,” Judith said, her voice sounding

  very strange.

  “So far,” Renie replied, also unlike herself.

  Judith’s eyes came into focus. Her gaze traveled to

  the end of the bed. Joe was standing there, along with

  a nurse Judith didn’t recognize.

  “Hi,” Joe said. He sounded different, too, almost

  shy. Judith concentrated harder on his face. He looked

  pale. She looked in Renie’s direction. Bill was by her

  bed, also looking pale. Both Joe and Bill had ruddy

  complexions. Could they actually have been worried

  about their wives?

  “How do you feel, Mrs. Flynn?” the gray-haired

  nurse inquired.

  “Okay,” Judith replied, despite the fact that she was

  too woozy to know. “Hi, Joe.”

  With a quick glance at the nurse, Joe came around to

  the side of the bed, almost bumping into Bill. “You’re

  going to be fine,” he said, taking her hand. “I’ve already seen Dr. Alfonso.”

  “Good,” Judith sighed, wishing she could feel relieved, but not feeling much of anything.

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  Mary Daheim

  Across the aisle, Dr. Ming was hovering over Renie.

  Judith tried to hear what he was saying, but couldn’t. A

  moment later, Renie was being rolled out of the recovery

  room, with Bill trailing an orderly, a nurse, and Dr. Ming.

  “Where’s she gone?” Judith asked in alarm.

  “To her room,” Joe replied. “Renie’s surgery was

  only three and a half hours. Yours was almost six, plus

  it was after nine before they actually started.”

  “Ohmigod!” Judith shut her eyes. “What time is it?”

  “Does it matter?” Joe smiled. “It’s going on four

  o’clock. Here.” He proffered a plastic cup. “Drink some

  water.”

  Judith had trouble getting her lips around the straw.

  “It’s hard,” she moaned.

  Dr. Alfonso, looking as exhausted as Judith, approached the bed. Or was it a gurney? Judith couldn’t

  tell; didn’t care.

  “You’ll be up and dancing soon,” he said with the

  hint of a twinkle in his dark eyes.

  “Hunh,” said Judith.

  “I’ve talked to your husband and given him all the

  details,” Dr. Alfonso went on, pushing a swatch of silver hair under the shower-cap-like hat he still wore.

  His blue scrubs were spattered with blood; Judith involuntarily shuddered when she realized the stains

  probably came from her. “I’m taking a lunch break

  now,” the doctor said, “but I’ll be in to see you before

  I go off duty.” Dr. Alfonso jabbed at the plastic cup.

  “Keep drinking as much as you can. You need plenty

  of fluids to keep from becoming dehydrated.”

  Dr. Alfonso had no sooner padded away than Judith

  began to feel pain. She tried to crane her head to look

  at the IV source, but her head wouldn’t move, her neck

  wouldn’t swivel.

  SUTURE SELF

  25

  “Joe, get a nurse,” Judith said, wincing slightly. “I

  think I’m running out of pain medication.”

  “The anesthesia’s probably wearing off,” Joe said.

  “Hang on, I’ll find the nurse who was here a few minutes ago.”

  The next half hour was taken up with the nurse’s attempts to make Judith more comfortable, with Joe

  pressing fluids upon her, and with Judith thinking that

  maybe she would be better off dead. At last the pain

  began to ease a bit as a result of the increased morphine dosage. Judith felt more aware, but less content.

  “We’re going to move you to your room now,” the

  nurse said smiling. “Once we get you in bed, you’ll

  feel better.”

  “No, I won’t,” Judith muttered. “I feel like bird

  poop.”

  “You can sleep,” the nurse said. “It’ll be quieter

  there.”

  Judith had been vaguely aware of the comings and

  goings in the recovery area. The surgeons must have

  been busy that day, since at least a half-dozen patients

  had been wheeled in or out while she emerged from

  her anesthetic cocoon. The noise hadn’t really bothered her, but she’d be glad for some peace and privacy.

  “I saw Bob Randall after his knee surgery,” Joe said

  as Judith was being trundled down the hall. “He

  seemed in pretty good spirits. But then he always was

  a warrior.”

  “I . . . didn’t . . . know . . . you . . . were . . . such . . .

  a . . . fan,” Judith gasped as every buckle and bump in

  the hallway floor seemed to set her teeth on edge.

  “Randall played fourteen years for the Auks,” Joe

  said, hurrying to keep up. “Those were the years I was

  married to Herself. Watching Randall pass for a first

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  Mary Daheim

  down on third and eight was a lot more fun than watching Vivian pass out over an empty fifth.”

  “Yes.” It was all Judith could manage to say as they

  turned a corner on what felt like two wheels. The lingering odor of food and antiseptic seemed to chase

  her down the hall like a stale wind.

  A sort of shrieking reached Judith’s ears as the gurney slowed. Judith frowned but couldn’t quite manage

  to lift her head. “What’s that?” she asked as the noise

  grew louder.

  The nurse and the orderly didn’t reply but kept moving closer to the source.

  “Joe?” Judith asked as a series of obscenities assailed her ears.

  The gurney was steered through a doorway. The obscenities grew in volume and ferocity. “Joe?” Judith

  repeated.

  They had arrived in a two-bed room on the third

  floor. The curses emanated from the other side of a

  pale blue curtain. Joe didn’t respond. He didn’t have

  to. Judith recognized the voice.

  “Hi, Renie,” he finally said as Judith was flipped and

  flopped onto an ancient hospital bed with a black iron

  bedstead. “How’re you doing?”

  Renie’s answer was unprintable.

  Judith and Renie had requested sharing a room, but

  the staff had made no promises. Good Cheer wasn’t a

  hotel or a summer camp—it was a hospital.

  “May I?” Joe asked in an unusually meek voice as

  he gave the blue curtain a twitch.

  “Why not?” Renie snapped. “You can set fire to the

  whole damned place as far as I’m concerned.”

  Judith moved just enough to see Renie, propped up

  SUTURE SELF

  27

  on pillows with her right arm in a blue sling and her

  shoulder sporting a bloody dressing.

  “Hi, coz,” Renie said in a more normal tone. “How

  are you?” She didn’t wait for an answer, but let out a

  bloodcurdling scream.

  “What’s wrong?” Judith asked in alarm.

  “It’s the only way to get attention around here,”

  Renie said, then screamed again.

  “Stop that!” Judith exclaimed. “It makes my head

  throb!”

  “I throb everywhere,” Renie shot back. “They

  dumped me in here almost an hour ago, and I haven’t

  seen anybody since.” She slapped with her left hand at

  what appeared to be a buzzer button extending from a
>
  thick rubber cord. “I’ve poked this stupid thing so

  often I think I burned the light out over the damned

  door. Now I’m getting hoarse from yelling.”

  “Where’s Bill?” Joe inquired.

  “He left,” Renie replied after taking a deep sip of

  water. “He had to run some errands and then have dinner. He’ll be back this evening.”

  Judith looked at Joe. “You ought to go, too. It’s been

  a long day.”

  Joe seemed torn. “Shouldn’t I wait until Dr. Alfonso

  comes in?”

  Judith gave a faint shake of her head. “You’ve already talked to him. You have to tell Mother I’m okay

  and let Mike know I survived. Frankly, you look beat.

  I’ll be fine, as long as Screaming Mimi over there shuts

  up. I might be able to sleep a bit.”

  “Well . . .” Joe’s green-eyed gaze roamed around the

  room. “I suppose I should head home.”

  “Of course you should,” Judith said, also taking in

  her surroundings. The walls were painted a dreary

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  Mary Daheim

  beige that hadn’t been freshened in years. A crucifix

  hung over each of the beds and the only other furnishings were a pair of visitors’ chairs, a commode, and the

  nightstands. A TV was mounted high on the far wall,

  flanked by a small statue of Jesus revealing the Sacred

  Heart and, on the other side, Mary holding the infant

  Jesus. Two old-fashioned sash windows on Renie’s

  side of the room looked out over one of the city’s residential areas. The roofs were gray, the houses were

  gray, the skies were gray. Even the trees looked gray

  on this late-January afternoon.

  With a reluctant sigh, Joe leaned down to kiss Judith’s forehead. “Okay, I’ll check in at the B&B to

  make sure that Carl and Arlene are getting along all

  right. I’ll see you this evening.”

  Despite her brave words, Judith kept her dark eyes

  on Joe until he was out of the room. Indeed, he was

  practically run over by a disheveled young man carrying a balloon bouquet in one hand and an almost lifesized cutout of a football player in the other.

  “For Bob Randall,” Judith remarked, daring to gaze

  at Renie.

  “The ex-quarterback?” Renie snorted. “I swear, the

  only time I ever watched him play, he always threw an

  interception or got sacked.” She paused, then made a

  futile attempt to snap the fingers of her left hand.

  “That’s it! Ramblin’ Randall is getting all the attention

  while we suffer and starve. I timed myself. I screamed