Nutty As a Fruitcake Read online

  “The stores look pretty,” Renie said, somehow managing to reverse out of their parking place without hitting either of the adjacent vehicles. “I like Nordquist’s historical Santa Clauses, especially the Russian one.”

  “The Belle Epoch is so homey,” Judith said. “Every year, they convert the turn-of-the-century Thanksgiving window into Christmas. It’s a wonderful transition.”

  “True,” Renie agreed, as the big blue Chev snaked up the curving exit lane. “But Donner & Blitzen is always the best. All those silver stars and gorgeous angels make you feel like you’re halfway to heaven.”

  Judith smiled. “The store smells good, too. I wonder if they use a special Christmas spray.”

  “We’ll have to figure out when the kids can get together to come down and have their pictures taken with Santa at Donner & Blitzen. I swear, they’ll be forty years old and still have to sit on Santa’s lap for the annual photo session.” So wrapped up in holiday tradition was Renie that she made the wrong turn and found herself exiting in the opposite direction from Heraldsgate Hill. “Damn,” she breathed as they waited for an opening in the steady late afternoon traffic. “Now we’ll have to drive two miles out of our way just to get home.”

  Judith darted Renie a quick look. “We’ll be going right through the hospital district,” she said, hoping to sound innocent.

  “I know,” Renie replied. “That’s the only way we can get on a one-way street that takes us back to Heraldsgate Hill. Do you think I’m stupid as well as reckless?”

  “No-o-o,” said Judith. “But as long as we’re in the vicinity, maybe we should check on George.”

  Renie applied the brake too hard, throwing both cousins forward in their seat belts. “Hold it! Are you trying to finagle yourself into this Goodrich thing? What’s the point? George killed Enid; George tried to kill himself. Open and shut. Get over it.”

  Judith sighed. “I know. You’re right. But I care about George. I’d like to find out if he’s dead or alive. They won’t tell us over the phone, so if we drop in, we might be able to talk to Glenda or Art. And if George has died, we’ll find out right now instead of waiting to hear about it. Come on, coz, Bayview is only four blocks away. Arlene would never forgive me for passing up this opportunity.”

  Renie groaned but turned right instead of left. “I should have known when you tried to pump Gary Meyers. Okay, okay,” she went on, seeing the arguments forming on her cousin’s lips. “It’s not easy to turn your back on a murder. It’s impossible when it happens two doors down from your house. But you could wait until Joe gets home from work. He’ll know, won’t he?”

  “Maybe,” Judith allowed. “It depends on whether he and Woody are all wrapped up in the Shazri case.”

  Parking at Bayview Hospital proved fairly easy, but finding George Goodrich was another matter. The public hospital was an enormous maze with additions, annexes, and employees for whom English was definitely not their native tongue. After twenty minutes, Judith and Renie found themselves outside of the Intensive Care Unit. They also found themselves face-to-face with Sancha Rael.

  “Mr. Goodrich’s condition has stabilized,” Rael informed them in detached tones. “I can’t tell you any more than that, and shouldn’t have given out the information in the first place. But,” she added, smirking at Judith, “you are Joe Flynn’s wife. I’m perfectly willing to grant him…favors.”

  Judith pretended she hadn’t heard Rael’s last remark. “So Mr. Goodrich is going to pull through?” She also tried to pretend that there wasn’t an edge to her own voice.

  Rael nodded in a casual manner that somehow was also elegant. “They got to him in time to get the stuff out of his system. He took sleeping pills. Dalmane.”

  Putting aside her annoyance with Rael, Judith tried to remember what she knew about Dalmane. It was Renie, however, who spoke up first.

  “That’s not real heavy-duty, is it? I think my mother took it after she broke her hip. She had trouble sleeping.”

  Rael seemed indifferent to Renie’s comment. “Whatever. The old guy’s pulled through, so we can charge him.”

  Judith pounced. “You’ve got sufficient evidence?”

  But Rael was too savvy to fall into the trap. “We know how to do our job,” she said with a tight little smile. “You must hear that from pillow talk with your husband.”

  Judith fought off the desire to make a snappy comeback. Renie, however, didn’t show such restraint:

  “Hey, Judith and Joe don’t do pillow talk. They just make mad, passionate love. Constantly.” Renie shook her head. “It’s pathetic, really, at their age. I worry about them.”

  Rael glared at Renie, then abruptly turned and headed back into the ICU. Renie snickered. “Maybe she’s not so nice after all. What’s her point in ragging you?”

  Feeling vaguely disturbed, Judith shrugged and sighed. “Who knows? Maybe she does have a thing for Joe. Or maybe she’s just unpleasant.”

  The cousins gazed around the reception area, where staffers were putting up cheerful Christmas cutouts: Santa waving from his sleigh, a happy snowman with a stovepipe hat and a carrot for a nose, a trio of wide-eyed angel babies floating on a cloud. Judith wondered if the loved ones who waited ever noticed the decor. Certainly the three people who sat in armchairs lined up against the wall didn’t seem very jovial. She was about to suggest leaving when Glenda and Art came through the double doors that led from the outside. They both seemed startled to see Judith and Renie.

  “We just happened to be in the vicinity,” Judith said, wondering why the small fib felt like such a big lie. “We wondered how your father was doing. I hated to go home without having news for the rest of the neighbors. I’m sure they’ve been worrying, too.”

  Glenda didn’t meet Judith’s gaze. “He’s coming along,” she murmured. “It’s such a relief. I guess.”

  Art frowned at the floor. “You got to feel as if he wanted to go, too. I mean, what has Pappy to look forward to now?”

  “Prison?” Renie said, then clapped a hand to her head. “I didn’t mean it like that! He won’t go to prison anyway. But after living with your mother, even prison would seem like a…”

  None too discreetly, Judith nudged Renie. “A rest,” Judith interrupted. “A rest home. My cousin means your father will probably go to a place…like that.”

  “A mental institution,” Glenda said miserably. “You don’t need to spare our feelings. The worst of it is, Pappy isn’t crazy.”

  “But he had to be,” Art put in. “What do they call it? Temporary insanity—that’s it.”

  Glenda was now nodding vigorously. “It might have been like a blackout. Does he really have to be locked up for the rest of his life? It doesn’t seem fair.”

  Art put a hand on his sister’s shoulder. “Don’t get riled up. He doesn’t care what happens. That’s why he tried to kill himself.”

  Glenda seemed near tears. “But what about us? Do we have to spend the rest of our lives visiting him every Sunday in some loony bin? My God, after all these years of waiting on Mama hand and foot!”

  “Now just a minute, sis!” Art gave Glenda a sharp shake. “It wasn’t you who called every morning and went over there almost every day. I’ve done more than my share of looking after them!”

  Anger held Glenda’s tears in check. “That’s because you’re out of work! You don’t have anything better to do! I’ve still got a job!”

  The nurse at the desk was looking alarmed. She rose and called to Glenda. “Ms. Goodrich, you may see your father now.” A smile for Art followed. “You can go in next, Mr. Goodrich.”

  With obvious reluctance, Glenda quit the field. She squared her shoulders before following the nurse into the ICU. Judith and Renie exchanged quick glances as Art paced the floor and muttered to himself.

  “Why don’t we get a cup of coffee?” Judith finally suggested to break the awkward silence.

  Art didn’t respond at first. Judith started to repeat the question, but Art gav
e an impatient shake of his head.

  “Glenda and I just had coffee. In fact, I’ve had so much coffee today, I’ll never sleep tonight. I should take the rest of those sleeping pills home with me.”

  The reference to “home” made Judith think of JoAnne and the boys. “Where’s the rest of the family?” she asked, trying to steer Art to a chair.

  Wearily, Art sat down. The cousins settled in on each side of him. “They were here for a while and then they left. There wasn’t anything they could do. Greg and Dave don’t like hospitals.”

  “And Leigh?” Judith tried to keep her voice casual, hoping to calm Art.

  The attempt failed badly. Art’s pudgy face reddened; his ears actually looked hot. “Leigh! Do you think Glenda’d let her anywhere near this place? For all I know, Leigh’s high-tailed it back to New York!”

  Judith was mystified. “Why? I thought she was staying over until New Year’s.”

  Rubbing at his high forehead, Art shot Judith a look that was half embarrassed, half pitying. “Not after last night, she isn’t.”

  Judith remembered the screams and Jeanne Ericson’s report of a row at the Goodrich house. “What happened last night?”

  But Art shook his head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter now. In fact,” he went on, raising his head and resting it against the wall behind the chair, “it’s small potatoes by comparison. I guess.”

  Judith decided not to press Art about his niece. Instead, she asked who had found his parents. She was almost certain it had been Art, and the sudden drain of color from his face proved the point before he spoke a single word.

  “Every morning, even when I was working”—he paused to glare at the door where his sister had so recently passed—“I call my folks around eight o’clock. They always go to bed by nine-thirty, so they wake up early. If they don’t answer, I’m right over there. Or JoAnne is. But that hasn’t happened more than twice—until this morning.” Again, Art hung his head. “I called first about eight-fifteen. No answer. I called a couple more times, thinking maybe the phone was out of order, like it was before. Around quarter to nine, I decided to check on them. It’s only ten minutes from our house above the railroad yard.”

  Judith knew the neighborhood well. It was on the west slope of Heraldsgate Hill, which commanded a view of the round-house, the train tracks, grain elevators, and a large docking area that was usually filled with new cars awaiting transport. While there were glimpses of the bay and the mountains, the environs’ more commercial nature made the price of real estate considerably less than in other parts of the Hill. Although Art and JoAnne were probably less than two miles from the cul-de-sac on the south slope, the streets that zigzagged to the senior Goodrich house took time to traverse.

  “I stopped at the MasterFaster Mart on top of the Hill to cash in a scratch ticket,” Art continued, briefly looking sheepish. “It was only a dollar, but…” He raised his beefy hands in a helpless gesture. “Anyway, it was a little after nine when I got to the folks’ place. I couldn’t raise them, so I got the key from the phony rock and let myself in.”

  Renie wrinkled her nose in puzzlement. “Phony rock? What do you mean?”

  Again, Art looked sheepish, his gaze fixed on the jovial Santa cutout. “Mama didn’t like us having keys of our own. But we—Glenda and I—insisted we should have some way to open the door in case of an emergency. So Pappy got one of those phony rocks that you put in the garden and hide an extra key inside. I’d never had to use it before.”

  Judith nodded encouragement. “I’ve seen them. Cousin Sue has one she keeps by the goat pen.”

  Art paid no heed to Cousin Sue or her goats. “So I went in and called out and didn’t get any answer. I thought maybe Pappy had had to take Mama to the doctor. I mean, I couldn’t see what could happen to both of them, right?” Art gazed first at Judith, then at Renie, as if the cousins could deny the terrible truth.

  They couldn’t, of course. Art swallowed hard. “I went into the bedroom. And…there…they…were.” He covered his face with his hands. “I thought they were both dead. There was so much blood…I went into the kitchen and called 911. I was so shook up that I let everybody in through the front door. I didn’t realize Pappy was still alive until after the firemen came…” Art broke down and sobbed.

  The three people who were also waiting tried not to stare. Judith and Renie looked at each other across Art’s bowed back. The receptionist and the nurse gazed off into space.

  The Santa cutout was still waving.

  SIX

  AT LAST, JUDITH put a hand on Art’s shoulder. She didn’t say anything, but waited for him to regain control. He finally did, taking out a crumpled blue-and-white handkerchief, and blowing his nose.

  “Sorry. It was just awful.”

  “Of course it was,” Judith said, her voice filled with sympathy. A sudden thought occurred to her. “If your father was unconscious, how do you know he…ah…attacked your mother?”

  Art sat up straight, taking another swipe at his nose. “The medics made him throw up. He came around just long enough to…admit what he’d done.”

  “Oh.” Judith sat back in her chair. “Have you talked to him since?”

  Art nodded. “Just once, about an hour ago, after they said he was going to pull through.”

  “What did he say?” Judith asked, still full of sympathy.

  Art gave a nervous shrug. “Not much. I mean, he was all spaced out.”

  Glenda reappeared. The visit with her father apparently had dissipated her anger. She gave her brother a feeble smile.

  “They’re going to move Pappy to a ward. Will you come?”

  Art stuffed the handkerchief back in his pants pocket. “Sure. How’s he doing?”

  Glenda started to say something, seemingly reconsidered, and shook her head. “He’s muddled.” She laughed lamely, then leaned down to whisper to her brother. “He says he didn’t do it. In fact, he insists he’s never owned a hatchet.”

  Art’s head shot up. “What?”

  “A hatchet?” Judith echoed, unable to suppress the comment. “Was that the weapon?”

  Glenda and Art both regarded her with what Judith interpreted as resentment. “It seems so,” Glenda said, then quickly turned back to her brother. The tenuous smile played again at her pale lips. “I said Pappy’s muddled. The nurse told me that’s natural. The sleeping pills make people a little strange when they come to.”

  “Oh.” Art seemed appeased. “That figures.” He struggled to get out of the chair. “We’d better go. Where are they putting him?”

  It seemed that Art and Glenda had forgotten about the cousins. Brother and sister exited, their heads together in deep conversation. Renie gave Judith a wry look.

  “I take it this is our cue to beat a hasty retreat?”

  But Judith was chewing on her lower lip. “A retreat, yes. Hasty, no. I’m perturbed.”

  Renie swung round in the chair, wagging a finger. “Now wait a minute—have you got one of your harebrained ideas?”

  The onlookers were once again watching surreptitiously. Apparently, they were expecting another family feud.

  Judith and Renie disappointed them. “Not harebrained,” Judith replied reasonably as she got to her feet. “Let’s go.”

  They went, but once in the corridor, Judith studied the hospital directory and floor plan. “We’re here,” she said, pointing to a red dot. “ICU is over there.” She indicated the area behind the reception room. “There’s an elevator marked ‘Service.’” Her finger stopped at a spot in the corridor just off the Intensive Care section. “If George is being hauled to one of the wards, it must be the sixth floor. Everything else is for surgery, cardiac, oncology, pediatrics, and maternity.”

  Renie had to run to keep up with her cousin’s long-legged stride. “Okay, so you’re an expert on reading hospital floor plans. I’m impressed. But when I said ‘harebrained,’ I meant it. What the hell are we doing now?”

  The immediate answer was
obvious. The doors to one of the eight public elevators glided open. Judith got in. So did a vexed Renie. Along with an orderly, a mother, and two fidgety children, they ascended to the sixth floor.

  Judith paused in the corridor to get her bearings. Renie started to carp, but Judith waved her into silence. A moment later, the cousins had slipped inside a swinging door that led down another hallway and around a corner.

  “There,” said Judith in satisfaction, as she pointed to a service elevator. “They’ll bring George up in that. Glenda and Art are probably already in the room. They would have used one of the public elevators like we just did.”

  “What makes you think George isn’t in the room, too?” Renie demanded.

  “Keep it down,” Judith murmured. “Because they had to get him ready. You know, IVs and transfer and all that stuff. You’ve been in the hospital with your stupid kidney stones. You know how long it takes for the staff to do anything.”

  “True,” Renie allowed, remembering to lower her voice. “But I’d like to know why we’re here instead of in my car going home to fix dinner for our loving families. Frankly, I’m starving.”

  “You’re always starving. Humor me,” Judith urged as the doors to the service elevator began to open. “Act confident. Important. Officious.” Judith poised herself, ready for the emergence of George.

  But instead, two staff members pushed heated carts filled with covered trays. They glanced curiously at the cousins but said nothing. Judging from the unpronounceable names on their I.D. tags, Judith and Renie wouldn’t have understood them if they had spoken.

  “That smells good,” Renie mumbled. “I wonder what they’re serving?”

  “Weasel,” Judith retorted. “Didn’t you say hospital meals were inedible?”

  “I didn’t say they were inedible,” Renie responded, still gazing wistfully after the food carts. “I said they weren’t very good. There’s a difference, especially when you’re hungry.”