Suture Self (13 page)

“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
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 wouldn't get mixed up in this if I were you. I mean it.”

Judith drew in a sharp breath. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” Joe said.

“Get mixed up. In this.” Judith winced.

“Something's not right,” Joe said, “but it's not up to you to find out.”

“No,” said Judith.

“Okay?”

“Yes.”

After Judith hung up the phone, she gazed at Renie. “We are in danger.”

“Yes,” said Renie, and took a big bite out of another biscuit. “Ith thapend befwo.”

Judith nodded. She knew it had happened before, but the thought didn't make her feel any better.

“W
HAT ELSE AM
I supposed to do while I'm lying here like a big lump?” Judith demanded. “At least I can speculate.”

“Which, being in a helpless condition, you figure is a harmless pastime,” Renie replied, finally finishing her meal and starting to clean up the mess. “Meanwhile, I get to drag my battered body around doing all the grunt work.”

Judith glared at Renie. “I thought you were encouraging me. What would you expect me to do with people dropping like flies and the police not investigating? Don't you find this whole situation highly suspicious?”

“I do,” Renie admitted, shoving boxes and napkins and garbage into her now-overflowing wastebasket. As ever, Judith envied her cousin's metabolism, though sometimes she wondered—perhaps with a touch of malice—if Renie didn't have a tapeworm. “You know,” Renie said with a scowl, “we're not in very good shape to defend ourselves.”

“If somebody wanted us out of the way,” Judith persisted, “we'd have been dead by now. We're past the deadline for early dismissal from Good Cheer.
Besides, what have we done except show a normal amount of curiosity?”

Renie gave a shake of her head. “Curiosity killed the you-know-what, and I don't mean Sweetums, who appears to be an indestructible force of nature.”

“Do we look dangerous?” Judith shot back. “Here we are, a couple of middle-aged matrons swathed in bandages and looking like the you-know-what dragged us in the you-know-whose small door.”

Renie climbed into bed. “There's no dissuading you, right?” She gave Judith a look of surrender.

“Let's think this through,” Judith said, reaching for her purse and taking out a small notebook and pen. “Joaquin Somosa, Joan Fremont, Bob Randall. Except for being well-known, the only connection is that they all died in this hospital after routine surgery.” She paused to finish writing down the trio of names. “All three died in less than a month.”

“Maybe there
is
another connection,” Renie put in, her umbrage evaporated. “What if they were all involved in some charitable cause or some other activity not directly tied to their professional careers?”

Judith tipped her head to one side, considering. “It's possible. But who goes around bumping off people involved in good works or other civic activities?”

Renie shrugged. “Just a thought.”

“That's fine,” Judith said. “Think all you want. It helps. Anyway, we've got two causes of death allegedly nailed down—Somosa and Fremont, both from illegal drugs. Randall may be the same, though I'm guessing it was something different from the other two, who were different from each other.”

“A different source for drugs?” Renie suggested.

Judith nodded. “We weren't here so we don't know
the circumstances of the first two deaths. But Ecstasy and that—whatever the date-rape drug is called—provide different kinds of reactions. Street drugs are available to anybody who knows where to get them. It's a little trickier to put them in an IV.”

Renie had placed the leftovers—such as they were—into one of the smaller boxes and slipped it into the drawer of her nightstand. “How do we know it was an IV?”

“We don't.” Judith made another note, then glanced at her water carafe. “Everybody who has surgery is instructed to drink plenty of fluids. Not everybody likes water or even juice. Look at your Pepsi stash. What if Bill had slipped a little something into it?”

“He couldn't,” Renie replied. “The cans are foolproof.”

“I mean, more accessible beverages. Besides,” Judith went on with a sly smile, “Bill could doctor your Pepsi after you'd opened it.”

“He wouldn't dare!” Renie cried. “He knows better than to screw with my Pepsi.”

“You know what I mean.” Judith twirled the pen in her fingers. “The problem is, we don't know what the three victims were drinking at the time of their deaths. I wonder if the staff took the possibility of tampered beverages into account.”

“Judging from the state of denial they're in,” Renie said, waving her current can of Pepsi at Judith, “I doubt it. The party line seems to be that each victim was some kind of addict.”

“Which brings us to motive,” Judith said. “Hospital politics. Who benefits from ruining Good Cheer's reputation?”

“Dr. Garnett comes to mind,” Renie said. “He wants to take over from Dr. Van Boeck.”

Judith sighed. “Would a doctor really go to such extremes?”

“He'd know how to do it,” Renie said.

“True. Still…I like Blanche as a suspect. She's such a self-serving pain.”

“Why would she sabotage her own husband's hospital?” asked Renie.

“Maybe she doesn't like her husband,” Judith suggested.

“Maybe Sister Jacqueline doesn't like either of them,” Renie said.

“Are you considering a nun as a suspect?” Judith asked, aghast.

“Well…nuns are human. Maybe it's for the greater good. You know, all those moral theology questions. Is it a sin for a father to steal medicine to save his child's life? Et cetera.”

“Don't go Jesuitical on me,” Judith cautioned. “Okay, I'll admit you have a point. We can't rule anyone out.”

“What about the victims' nearest and dearest?” Renie inquired. “Since when have you not considered them as prime suspects?”

Judith ran a hand through her short salt-and-pepper hair. “Since nonpersonal motives seem more obvious. Hospitals are big-bucks institutions. Not to mention the power involved in running them. Let's face it, we've got at least four high-profile people involved—Dr. Garnett, Dr. Van Boeck, Mrs. Van Boeck, and Sister Jacqueline.”

“Agreed,” said Renie. “But you can't rule out the lesser players.” She rolled over as far as she could on her right side. “Look at it from this point of view—maybe only one of the three victims needed to die. But
in order to throw suspicion off, all three get killed so it looks like a serial kind of thing. What if a rival player on the Seafarers team wanted to get rid of Joaquin Somosa? Better yet, a rival actress at Le Repertoire who felt Joan Fremont was standing in her way? Or something even more basic, such as Margie Randall being sick and tired of Ramblin' Robert?”

Judith reflected for a few moments. “All of them could have some kind of enemies, I suppose. That is, in a personal and professional sense. The trouble is, we don't know much about their private lives.”

“Exactly,” Renie said, lying back on the pillows.

“I'd rule out Addison Kirby, though,” Judith mused. “I can't help but think that the killer was the one who ran him down this afternoon.”

“It could have been an accident,” Renie pointed out.

“Do you really think so?” Judith asked with a frown.

“No. That is, I can't be sure. People drive like such nuts these days.” Renie plucked at her blankets. “Not to mention taking cars that don't belong to them.”

“I figure that Addison's on to something,” Judith said, remembering to drink her water and taking a big swallow. “Maybe not who the killer is, but related to the motive.”

“Why Cammy?” Renie said. “Our Toyota is exactly like thousands of cars out there in the city. It's one of the most popular brands in America. Why not steal a Mercedes or a Cadillac or a Beamer?”

“Addison has been covering city hall,” Judith went on, “which means he's probably got the inside dope on Blanche Van Boeck. But if it's something ruinous, why not kill him instead of his wife? Why kill Somosa and Randall? Or, given Blanche's clout, why not get Addison fired?”

“What,” Renie demanded, “were those morons at the Toyota place thinking of? They're usually so reliable. Why wasn't somebody watching Cammy? Why did they leave the keys in the car?” She stopped and made one of her typical futile attempts to snap her fingers. “Because they'd finished their work and sometimes they tuck the keys under the floor mat on the driver's side.” She hung her head. “Oh, my God, until my shoulder heals, I won't be able to drive Cammy for months! Maybe we won't ever ride in her again! What if she's been driven over a cliff?”

Judith sat up straight and glared at Renie. “Will you
shut up?
”

“Huh?” Renie swerved around to face Judith. “What's wrong?”

“I thought,” Judith said in an irritated voice, “we were trying to sleuth.”

Renie stifled a yawn. “We were. We were trying to figure out what happened to Cammy.”

“No, we weren't,” Judith argued. “We were speculating about methods and motives.”

“
You
were,” Renie shot back. “You can afford to do that, you have two cars, your Subaru and Joe's MG. Bill and I are now demoted to taking
the bus
.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Judith sniffed. “You have insurance, you can rent a car until Cammy turns up. And if she—I mean,
it
—doesn't, you can buy another one.”

“Easy for you to say,” Renie snapped. “Go ahead, feel all smug. See if I care.” She reached out with her good arm and pulled the curtain between them.

Again, the room was silent. Someone was paging a doctor over the intercom. A glimpse of hospital equipment could be seen rolling down the hall. Somewhere,
female voices laughed. Judith sat up in bed, her arms folded across her chest, her lower lip thrust out.

It was she who broke the silence. “Coz. We never fight. What's wrong with us?”

Judith heard Renie sigh. “We're tired, we hurt, we've been through major surgery, and we got a room next to a corpse. My car's been stolen, you're stuck with a major life decision about telling Mike who's who on his family tree. What else could be wrong?”

“You're right,” Judith said. “We're a mess.”

“Justifiably so,” said Renie, pulling the curtain back. “It's going on nine o'clock and we need a nap. I'm shutting off the light.”

“Go for it,” murmured Judith, clicking off her own bedside lamp. “Frankly, I'm exhausted.”

“We should be,” Renie said. “G'night.”

“Mmm,” said Judith.

Five minutes later, the night nurse, whose name was Trudy and who wasn't given to idle chatter, came in to take the cousins' vital signs and replenish their supply of pain medication. Ten minutes later, a workman in overalls arrived to check the thermostat.

“Kinda cold tonight, huh?” he said, fiddling with the dial.

Judith and Renie didn't respond.

“Still snowing,” he said, pounding on the radiator with his fist. “Must be close to six inches out there.”

The cousins remained silent.

“Lots of accidents out there,” the workman said. “Damned fools don't know how to drive in this weather. All those folks who move up here from California.”

Judith buried her head in the pillow; Renie chewed on her blanket and swore under her breath.

“Warm enough now?” the workman asked after yet another bang on the radiator, which wheezed like a dying asthmatic.

“Fine,” Judith bit off.

“Okey-dokey,” he said. “I'll come back to check on it later.”

“Don't,” Renie said, “or I'll have to kill you.”

“Har, har,” said the workman, who finally left.

Seven minutes later, Trudy returned. Judith knew it was exactly seven minutes because she was now wide awake and had been staring at her watch with its glow-in-the-dark dial.

“You need to use the bedpan, Mrs. Flynn,” Trudy announced. “You haven't voided for almost two hours. Are you sure you're drinking enough fluids?”

“Yes. No. I'm trying to sleep,” Judith said, sounding cross.

“Plenty of time for that,” Trudy said. “It's only a little after nine. Come, come, try to lift those hips.”

“Good Lord,” muttered Renie in a mutinous voice.

After the usual painful effort to move on and off the bedpan, Judith mumbled her thanks to Trudy and closed her eyes.

The radiator clanged and clanked, whistled and hissed. After two minutes of what sounded like a one-man band, Renie pressed her buzzer.

“We can't sleep with that damned thing making such a racket,” she complained. “It was fine until Stoopnagle came in to supposedly fix it.”

Almost ten minutes passed before a male nurse peeked in. Judith explained the problem. The nurse said he'd see what he could do about it. The radiator continued its atonal cacophony.

“I'm wide awake,” Renie declared, sitting up and turning her light back on. “Damn.”

“I am, too,” Judith grumbled. “It's no joke about not being able to get any rest in a hospital.”

“I'm hungry again,” Renie said. “I wonder if there's a microwave around here. Don't the nurses usually have one? I think I smelled popcorn earlier in the evening.”

“Why do you need a microwave?” Judith asked.

“To heat the leftover chicken,” Renie responded. “I don't care much for cold chicken, unless it's in a sandwich or a salad.”

“Go ask,” Judith said.

“They won't tell me,” Renie replied, getting out of bed. “I'll take the chicken with me and see what I can find. There's a biscuit left over, too, and one piece of corn. I might as well bring them along.”

“Good luck,” said Judith in a tired voice.

Renie was gone so long that Judith had almost fallen asleep when her cousin returned.

“Pssst!” Renie called from the doorway.

“Huh?” Judith raised her head from the pillow and tried to focus on Renie. “What?”

Renie gestured with her bag of food. “Mr. Mummy. Sister Jacqueline just went in there and closed the door.”

Struggling to sit up, Judith gave herself a shake. “So?”

“Isn't this a little late for a visit from the hospital administrator?” Renie asked, half in and half out of the room.