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

  seemed to be doing quite well.”

  “Why did they rush his body down the hall after he

  died?” Judith queried. “I mean, he was already beyond

  help, wasn’t he?”

  Corinne gave a curt nod. “Yes. He must have been

  an organ donor. The same procedure was followed

  with Mr. Somosa and Ms. Fremont.”

  Judith pressed on before Corinne could put the thermometer in her mouth. “Will they perform an autopsy

  on Mr. Randall?”

  “Yes, it’s required in such cases.” The nurse still

  avoided Judith’s gaze as she began the pulse routine.

  Renie had managed to get herself back under the

  covers. “But how can they do an autopsy if he’s donating his organs? That doesn’t make sense.”

  “They can take the corneas,” Corinne replied. “Eyes

  aren’t part of a routine autopsy.”

  “So they did autopsies on Fremont and Somosa?”

  Renie asked, filling in for her cousin, who now had the

  thermometer in her mouth.

  “Yes.” Corinne kept focused on her watch. “As I said,

  they have to when a patient dies unexpectedly. The

  county automatically assumes jurisdiction in such cases.”

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  “What did they find out with the first two?” Renie

  inquired.

  “I couldn’t say,” Corinne replied, removing the thermometer from Judith’s lips. “There, now let’s take

  your blood pressure.”

  “Couldn’t?” Judith smiled. “Or can’t?”

  “Won’t.” Corinne wound the cuff around Judith’s

  arm. “The hospital has made its public statement.”

  “ ‘Extenuating circumstances’?” Renie quoted from

  what she’d read in the newspaper. “As in, not the hospital’s fault?”

  Corinne shrugged, but said nothing. Judith couldn’t

  resist goading the nurse. “I saw the news last night on

  TV. Good Cheer is being sued, I gathered.” It was only

  an assumption, given the brief news bit the cousins had

  seen, but it seemed a logical conclusion.

  Corinne made no response of any kind, but removed

  the cuff, made some entries on a chart, and started

  working with Renie.

  “Nope,” Renie said, rolling over away from the

  nurse as far as she could. “I’m bored with vital signs.

  You aren’t any fun, Appleby. Why don’t they let Robbie the Robot do this stuff?”

  “Please, Mrs. Jones,” Corinne said severely, “don’t

  act childish.”

  “But I am childish,” Renie replied. “Often immature

  and a downright brat. Come on, lawsuits are a matter

  of public record.”

  Corinne took a deep breath. “I really don’t know.

  There have been some rumors.”

  Renie didn’t budge. “There were other rumors, too,

  about Fremont and Somosa being drug abusers. Is that

  the hospital’s defense?”

  Corinne Appleby made an angry gesture, her face so

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  flushed that the freckles disappeared. “None of that’s

  any of your business. If you won’t let me take your vitals, that’s fine. But I intend to enter your lack of cooperation on the chart.”

  “Be my guest,” Renie shot back as the nurse headed

  for the door. “I’ll file a complaint. I’ll call you a big drip.”

  Corinne was almost out of the room when a deep,

  angry voice could be heard from the hallway.

  “Don’t tell me who I can talk to and who I can’t!”

  the man shouted. “I’m sick of this runaround! Where

  the hell is Dr. Garnett?”

  Startled, Corinne scooted away and closed the door

  behind her.

  “Drat!” Judith exclaimed. “She can’t do that! Coz,

  could you . . . ?”

  “Aargh,” groaned Renie. “I guess.” She struggled to

  get out of bed again. “Who do you suppose that is?”

  “I don’t know,” Judith replied. “I could only hear,

  not see, him.”

  Renie opened the door just in time to see the man,

  who had a dark beard, accost two young people.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” he said, “but I want to help. Let’s go

  somewhere else so we can talk in private.”

  Trying to get a better look at the newcomers, Renie

  stepped farther out into the hall. From the bed, Judith

  could see only Renie’s backside and the IV stand. She

  gave a little jump when her cousin stumbled into the

  room, propelled by the firm hands of Sister Jacqueline.

  “We simply cannot have patients interfering or getting involved with hospital routine this morning, Mrs.

  Jones,” the nun said in an emphatic tone. “Please remain in your room, and we’d prefer you to keep your

  door shut. Remember, it’s for your own sakes as well.

  You need to rest in order to make a quick recovery.”

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  Perhaps it was all those years in parochial school,

  but even Renie could comply with the wishes of a nun.

  “I know that bearded man,” she said, back-pedaling in

  a clumsy manner. “That’s Addison Kirby, the newspaper reporter. He was married to Joan Fremont.”

  Sister Jacqueline merely gave a slight nod. “Please

  get back in bed, Mrs. Jones.”

  “Who are those two young people?” Renie persisted. “Are they the Kirby kids?”

  The nun started to turn away, then paused. “No.

  They’re Mr. Randall’s son and daughter. They came to

  the hospital to be with their mother.”

  “How is Margie Randall doing?” Judith asked with

  genuine sympathy.

  Sister Jacqueline had reached the doorway. “Not

  well, I’m afraid. She’s a very emotional woman. Excuse me, I must go.”

  Judith gazed at Renie. “It cannot be a coincidence

  for three well-known people to die unexpectedly after

  routine surgery in Good Cheer Hospital.”

  Renie looked pained. “I never like encouraging you

  to track down murderers, but I have to admit, this is

  pretty weird.”

  “More than weird,” Judith responded, remembering

  to take another sip of water. “But what’s the connection? One actress. Two sports stars. One active, one retired. From different sports, too. Who could possibly

  want all three of them out of the way?”

  Staring out through the windows with their faded

  muslin curtains, Judith grew thoughtful. It was another

  gray day, with heavy, dark clouds hovering over the

  city. Maybe it would snow. But the weather was the

  least of Judith’s worries.

  “There’s got to be a police investigation that hasn’t

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  been made public,” Judith said after a long pause.

  “Maybe Joe can find out from Woody.”

  Lunch arrived, brought by a small Filipino woman

  with silver streaks in her short, dark hair. Making each

  of the cousins a little bow, she introduced herself as

  Maya. Sitting up in bed, Renie bowed back.

  “Such a morning!” Maya exclaimed in little more

  than a whisper. “Did you hear about Mr. Randall?

  What next, I wonder?”

  Judith had an impulsive urge to hug the little

  woman.
At last, there was somebody on the floor who

  wasn’t tongue-tied. “It’s terrible,” Judith said, putting

  on her most sympathetic face. “It must be so hard for

  the people like you who work here, Maya.”

  Maya set Judith’s tray in place, then put a hand on

  her breast. “It’s terrible,” she said, rolling her dark eyes

  and then crossing herself. “All these deaths. Fine people, too, each one very nice.”

  “You were on duty when all three of them died?” Judith queried, trying to contain her own excitement.

  “Yes.” Maya uttered the word like a victory chant. It

  was obvious to Judith that she reveled in high drama.

  “Can you imagine? Every time, the same thing, the

  same way. They do fine, getting better, then . . .” She

  held up her small hands. “Poof! They go to heaven.”

  “It must be very sad for you,” Judith said, “to see

  these people and their families and then to have them

  die so unexpectedly. I suppose all their loved ones

  were extremely shocked. Did anybody say what might

  have happened?”

  Maya waved a hand in a vexed gesture. “They say

  too little and too much. The doctors, they don’t understand what happens. Not their fault, they say. Can’t explain. Maybe patient have unknown sickness or take

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  bad medicine. The families, they cry, they make

  threats, they blame doctors, nurses, everybody in hospital. Why, right now, Mr. Kirby, the husband of the actress, he’s here again, making the big fuss.” Maya

  shook her head. “What is fame, what is riches, if you

  die too soon? So sad, so very sad.”

  “Mr. Somosa left a wife, but no children, I believe,”

  put in Renie as Maya delivered her tray. “The Kirby

  children are grown, and I guess the Randall kids are,

  too.”

  Maya nodded several times. “Yes. Mrs. Somosa, so

  pretty, so young, she had to be put in the hospital herself, she was so filled with grief. Now she has gone

  back to her homeland, the Dominican Republic, I believe. Mr. Somosa was buried there, with his ancestors.

  The Kirby children I never saw, they live far away, but

  they must have come for the funeral, yes? And now

  Mr. Randall . . . Oh, my! Mrs. Randall, she will be in

  the hospital, too, if she doesn’t stop crying so.”

  “Maybe the children can help,” Judith said. “I understand they’re at the hospital now.”

  Maya’s dark eyes flashed. “That’s so.” She put a finger to her lips. “Know what? They are with Mr. Kirby.

  Why do you think?”

  “I don’t know,” Judith said.

  “I do,” Maya said with an emphatic nod. “They talk

  of a cabal.”

  Judith stared. “A cabal? What sort of cabal?”

  “A plot to kill these poor souls,” Maya declared with

  a swift glance over her shoulder to make sure the door

  was firmly shut. “What else?”

  Judith made an extra effort to look impressed. “Who

  would do such a thing?”

  Maya waved her hand again. “The riffraff. The rab-64

  Mary Daheim

  ble. The kind of people who hate the rich and famous.

  Communists, no doubt. It’s what you call a vendetta.”

  She clenched a fist and made stabbing motions, as if

  she held a dagger.

  The door opened suddenly and Heather Chinn appeared, looking suspicious. “Your lunch cart is outside,

  Maya,” said the nurse. “Is everything all right in here?”

  “Yes, yes,” Maya said, smiling, her compact little figure all but bouncing toward the doorway. “These fine

  ladies, they need what you call the pep talk. You know

  Maya, she can give the good pep talk.”

  Heather stepped aside as Maya made her exit. “I

  hope she wasn’t pestering you,” Heather said to the

  cousins, a faintly wary expression lingering on her

  face. “Maya’s quite a talker.”

  “She’s interesting,” Judith said.

  “Yes,” Heather agreed, turning to leave, “but don’t

  pay much attention to her. She likes to hear herself talk.”

  The nurse departed, closing the door behind her.

  “Well?” Judith said. “How much of Maya’s spiel do

  you believe?”

  “None of it,” Renie replied, lifting lids and looking

  dismayed. “It seems we have bath sponge for lunch.”

  Judith also examined the meal. Everything was a

  pale yellow, including the lettuce leaves in the salad.

  “It might be some kind of creamed chicken on . . .

  something. Toast?” Judith prodded the gelatinous mass

  with her fork. “Hunh. Whatever. We also have pears,

  more apple juice, and a big, fat, unattractive cookie

  with jaundice-yellow frosting. No wonder I don’t have

  much appetite.”

  “That makes two of us.” Renie sighed. “I was

  starved last night, but Art Huey’s food is always terrific. Today, I feel sort of . . . blah.”

  SUTURE SELF

  65

  “That’s not like you,” Judith remarked. Renie’s appetite was usually boundless. “I suppose it’s natural.

  We’ve been through a lot.”

  “True,” Renie said as someone knocked on the door

  but entered before either cousin could respond.

  “Mrs. Flynn and Mrs. Jones?” The man who spoke

  was Addison Kirby, who closed the door behind him

  and immediately introduced himself. He was hatless,

  and wearing a classic trench coat over dark slacks, a

  tweed jacket, and a light-brown flannel shirt. “May I?”

  “You want to see us?” Judith asked in surprise.

  The newspaper reporter gave a curt nod. “It’ll only

  take a minute.”

  “Okay,” Judith said, puzzled. “Have a seat.”

  Addison started to sit down in Judith’s visitor’s

  chair, then hesitated. “Are you sure?” he asked, his

  penetrating hazel eyes darting from cousin to cousin.

  “Positive,” Renie said, draining her apple juice. “I

  recognized you out in the hall. Let me say right off,

  I’m terribly sorry about your loss. Your wife was a

  wonderful actress, and I’ve heard she was a fine person

  as well. She always seemed active in helping raise

  money for charity.”

  Briefly, Addison hung his head. He was going bald,

  but there were only a few strands of gray in his wellkept beard. “She was terrific in every way,” he said,

  looking up. “On top of it, we managed to raise three

  children who are now off and on their own. We have

  two grandchildren, charming little twins. Joan was so

  fond of them. We’d visit when Le Repertoire

  wasn’t . . .” He stopped abruptly and bit his full lower

  lip. “Sorry. I’m not here to talk about that.”

  “That’s okay,” Judith said with sympathy. “Go

  ahead, tell us whatever you want to.”

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  Mary Daheim

  “No, no,” Addison replied, now very businesslike. “I

  have just a couple of questions.” Again, he paused, this

  time to clear his throat. “This morning, before Bob

  Randall died, did either of you see or hear anything unusual?”

  Judith and Renie exchanged quick glances. “No,”

&n
bsp; Judith finally said. “I don’t recall anything.”

  “You’re sure?” Addison Kirby looked disappointed.

  Renie’s expression was uncharacteristically diffident. “I did hear Randall talking on the phone this

  morning while I was in there.” She gestured at the

  darkly stained wooden door to the bathroom. “He was

  talking about somebody named Taylor, or to somebody

  named Taylor. I couldn’t catch much of it, though.”

  Addison looked puzzled. “The only Taylor I know

  was Joan’s eye doctor. But it’s a common name. That’s

  all you heard?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Judith responded with an apologetic

  expression. “Why do you ask?”

  Kirby shook his head. “I’m paranoid,” he said. “Obsessed. Nuts.”

  “Who isn’t?” Renie offered.

  Standing up, Kirby replaced the visitor’s chair and

  jammed his hands into the pockets of his trench coat.

  “I had an appointment this morning to meet with Dr.

  Garnett, the chief of surgery. I’ve got a lot of unanswered questions about Joan’s death. Garnett had been

  stalling me, figuring, I suppose, that anything he said

  would be on page one of the Times’s next edition. But

  he finally gave in, and we’d just gotten started when he

  was summoned to this floor. I could tell it was urgent,

  so I followed him, and learned that Bob Randall had

  died. I didn’t really know Bob, but I’ve seen him

  around town over the years. Anyway, it seemed

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  67

  damned peculiar, with Joan dying so suddenly and

  Joaquin Somosa, the same way.”

  “It’s incredible,” Judith declared.

  “You bet it is,” Addison asserted, the hazel eyes

  sparking. “I was already suspicious, that’s why I

  wanted to see Garnett. If nothing else, I wanted to clear

  Joan’s reputation.”

  “In what way?” Judith asked.

  Addison had turned to the door, but now he faced the

  cousins again. “Because,” he said angrily, “the results

  of the autopsy indicated she’d ingested a large quantity

  of Rohypnol—one of those date-rape drugs—which

  caused her death. That’s bull, Joan never did drugs in

  her life. Even if she had, why in the world would she

  take that one?” His voice dropped and his eyes sent off

  more sparks. “It doesn’t make sense, which is why I

  think my wife was murdered.”

  FIVE

  JUDITH WASN’T SURPRISED by Addison Kirby’s declaration. It only confirmed her suspicions about the