Suture Self (20 page)

Addison gave a small shrug, which was all his posture permitted. “Why not?”

Judith didn't dare bend down far enough to pick up the cellophane bag with its bright blue and yellow ribbons. “Well…what if they've been…interfered with?”

“My God.” Addison breathed. “So that's how you think Joan and the others died? My money was on the IVs.”

“It's possible,” Judith said, just managing to pick up the chocolate box, which was on top of the books. “Using an IV to administer some kind of deadly dose would be trickier, unless the killer is a medical professional. Which is also possible, of course.”

“If you believe in the poisoned-present theory, why are you taking that candy?” he asked, looking suspicious.

“I don't intend to eat it,” Judith said. “I'm going to have my husband get it analyzed. He's a retired cop, remember?”

“Hunh.” Addison's gaze turned shrewd. “Good idea. Take the jelly beans, too.”

“I can't reach them,” Judith admitted. “I have to be very careful about bending with this hip replacement. If I lean or reach, it could dislocate without warning.” She stopped speaking to examine the cellophane bag. “The jelly beans look okay, they seemed tightly sealed. Maybe you can get them to me later. But if they're one of your favorite things and somebody knows that, I wouldn't take any chances.”

“I won't,” Addison responded, looking grim. “Maybe I
will
offer those to the staff. If anybody turns me down, I might get an inkling of the culprit's identity.”

“You might also poison some innocent people,” Judith warned.

“I might.” Addison's brown eyes were hard. “Frankly, it'd be worth it if I could find out who killed my wife. I'm not in a merciful mood.”

 

“Chocolates!” Renie exclaimed after Judith had related the details of her visit next door. “Yum!”

“Forget it,” Judith said, placing both hands on the gold-foil box. “This little present for Addison Kirby just might prove fatal.” Cautiously wheeling herself to the bedside stand, she slipped the chocolates into the drawer, then explained the situation to Renie.

“What if our night thief comes back and swipes the candy box?” Renie inquired when Judith had finished her account of the visit with Addison and Jim Randall.

“Let's face it,” Judith said, wondering if she could get back in bed by herself, “we don't know if that was a homicidal thief—or just a thief.”

“True.” Renie said. “Hey—you need some help?”

“Could you buzz?” Judith asked. “I don't want to undo anything.”

“You can lean on me,” Renie said, getting out of bed. “Haven't we each done quite a bit of leaning on each other for the past fifty-odd years?”

Judith smiled fondly at her cousin. “Closer than sisters,” she murmured.

Renie stumbled over the commode. “Oops!” she cried, then swore.

“Are you okay, coz?” Judith asked in alarm.

“Yeah, yeah, I didn't really need ten toes. Here, I'll steady the wheelchair with my right hip and you lean on my left side.”

To Judith's surprise, the tactic worked. Judith inched
her way onto the bed, sat on the edge to get her breath, then let Renie help her swing her legs onto the mattress. Lying back on the pillows, Judith closed her eyes and sighed.

“I can't believe how glad I was to get out of bed and go down the hall,” she said with a feeble smile. “Now I can't believe how glad I am to get back into bed. I'm exhausted.”

“I know,” Renie said, heading back to her own bed. “These surgeries take a lot out of us. And, sorry to say, we aren't spring chickens anymore.”

“I forgot to look out at the weather,” Judith said. “What's it doing?”

“Nothing,” Renie replied. “Dr. Ming stopped by while you were gone to tell me I could start PT tomorrow. He said the temperature had dropped down to eighteen degrees by four-thirty, but there was no snow in the forecast for tonight. There's black ice on the streets, and, as usual, our city's snow-removal crew—you know, the two guys with the truck, the buckets, and the shovels—hasn't been able to sand any streets except for the major thoroughfares.”

Judith nodded faintly. “We get snow so seldom, sometimes not at all, that I guess the city doesn't feel it should spend money on something that might not be needed for a couple of years at a time.” She looked at her watch. “I didn't realize how late it is. It's after five. I guess Joe wasn't able to make it to the hospital after all.”

“At least you spoke with him,” Renie said, irked. “I haven't heard a peep out of Bill all day. I know he hates the phone, but it wouldn't kill him to call and check in.”

“Maybe he got involved in trying to find your car,” Judith suggested.

“What's he doing?” Renie retorted. “Conducting a street-by-street search? Or is he too caught up with those damned Chihuahuas?”

Judith tried not to smile as she envisioned Bill teaching the dogs to dance. Or fetch. Or make his lunch.

“The phones might be out of order in some parts of town,” Judith said, trying to soothe Renie. “If there's ice, the lines could be down. In fact, if Blanche Van Boeck wants to do something helpful for the city, she should advocate better weather preparedness. Do you really think she's going to run for mayor?”

Renie had turned listless. “Who knows? Who cares? Where's dinner? What
is
dinner? My Falstaff bag's getting low.”

“Want to watch the news?” Judith asked in her most cheerful voice.

“No. I hate television news. Why can't we get an evening paper?”

“They may not be able to deliver it,” Judith said, clicking on the TV. “Look, there's Mavis Lean-Brodie again.”

“Why do we get only four channels on this stupid set? Why can't we get ESPN or Fox Sports so we could watch basketball?”

“Mavis looks like she's changed her hair color. It's much lighter. I like it.”

“How can I find out who's heading for the NCAA tournament? What about our own drippy pro basketball team? Why don't I like hockey?”

“What's the other anchor's name? Tim Something-or-Other?”

“I like the violence in hockey. I just don't understand the game. And I never learned to ice-skate. I have weak ankles.”

“They don't seem to be showing anything but the weather. Goodness, the city really is paralyzed.”

“Without ESPN and Fox Sports, I can't even keep up with the Hot Stove League. How do I know which baseball players have been traded in the off-season? I might as well be in never-never land.”

“Look at all the event cancellations. Oh, here come the school closures. Goodness, the entire public school district and the private schools are shut down for the duration.”

Dinner arrived, courtesy of the silent orderly. Judith optimistically uncovered her entrée. It looked like some kind of cutlet.

Renie turned her back on the orderly and buried her head in the pillow. “Take it away. I can't eat things that look like high school science experiments.”

The orderly set the tray on the nightstand and wordlessly walked out.

“This isn't bad,” Judith said, tasting her entrée. “It's pork.”

Renie didn't look up until her phone rang. “Now what?” she grumbled, yanking the receiver off the hook. “Bill!” she cried in surprise. “I thought you'd forgotten me. What's going on with Cammy?”

Her sudden pleasure turned to consternation. “Oh? That's rotten luck. But it can't be helped with all the snow, I guess…Yes, I'm sure they'll find the car eventually…I'm doing okay, I'm just sore and hungry…Because it's inedible, that's why. Say, what about those Chihuahuas?”

Judith watched her cousin closely, but Renie's face revealed only perplexity. “Well, you're the psychologist, so I guess you know what you're doing, but it sounds kind of loony to me. Don't you think the dogs'
owners would like them back?…Yes, I know, the weather…” Renie heaved a big sigh. “The weather is putting a crimp in everything, from finding our car to seeing you and the kids…Friday, unless they throw me out, which Blanche Van Boeck has threatened to do…Never mind, it's a long story…You're
what?
” Renie pulled a face, cradled the phone against her shoulder, and made circular “he's nuts” motions with her finger by her ear. “Anne can't sew any better than I can. How could she and Tony make the damned dog a Sea Auks uniform? Forget the dogs, how's everything else going?”

This time, Renie's face fell. She stared at Judith, then turned away. “Really? That's not good.” Her voice sounded unnatural; she grew silent, listening intently. “Yes…Yes…Yes…No. I wouldn't dream of it. Let me know what happens. Love you. Bye.” Renie hung up and disappeared under the covers.

“What was that all about?” Judith asked. “At the end, I mean.”

“Nothing,” Renie said in a muffled voice.

Judith, who had turned down the sound on the TV, now turned off the set. “Is everything all right?”

“It's fine,” Renie replied.

Judith stared at the mound that was her cousin. “Look at me,” she demanded.

“I don't feel good,” Renie said. “Leave me alone.”

“Coz.” Judith's tone was stern, almost imperious. “Get out from under there and talk to me. We don't keep secrets from each other.”

The mound didn't move. Judith set down her fork and folded her arms across her breast. “This cutlet is quite good. I thought you were starving.”

“I'm not hungry,” Renie mumbled.

Judith's sense of apprehension mounted. “Coz, this isn't funny. Talk to me or I'll…” She stopped, aware that there wasn't anything she could do to Renie except get angry or sulk.

At last Renie's head appeared from under the bedclothes. She propped herself up and regarded Judith with a pale, drawn face. “Please don't insist.”

Judith felt something sink in the bottom of her stomach, and it wasn't the pork cutlet. “Out with it. I can't sit here and look at you look at me like that. You know it's impossible.”

Shuddering, Renie faced Judith head-on. “You know Bill—how he has to build up to bad news in his careful, deliberate fashion. Finally, he told me Joe's been stabbed. He's been taken to the hospital, and his chances are fifty-fifty.”

Judith passed out cold.

H
EATHER
C
HINN CAME
running. It wasn't Renie's insistent buzzer or even her horrified shrieks, but the sudden change in status on Judith's monitor at the nurses' station.

“What happened?” Heather asked in alarm, seeing Judith's unconscious figure and ashen face.

“She got some bad news,” Renie replied. “She fainted.”

Heather began chafing Judith's wrists and speaking to her in low, encouraging tones. Sister Jacqueline entered the room, followed by Dr. Garnett and another nurse, who wheeled in some sort of equipment. Renie clung to the edge of her bed, eyes wide, breathless.

“I didn't want to…” she moaned, but was ignored.

Judith's eyelids flickered open. “Ohhh…” She tried to recognize the pretty face with the almond-shaped eyes. It was someone she knew. Wearing white, with a cap. A nurse. She must have fainted during her labor. “The baby,” she gasped. “Is he okay?”

Apparently, doctor, nurse, and nun weren't unfamiliar with Judith's type of reaction.

“Everything is fine, Mrs. Flynn,” Dr. Garnett said in a soft but authoritative voice. “You've had hip surgery, remember?”

“Hip?” Judith was mystified. “What do you mean ‘hip surgery'?”

Dr. Garnett signaled for the nurse to back off with the resuscitation equipment. “You had a hip replacement. What year is it, Mrs. Flynn?”

Judith looked down at the big dressing on her hip. “Then I didn't go into labor?”

“No,” Dr. Garnett replied. “Dr. Alfonso replaced your right hip.”

At last, Judith grasped the present and tried to sit bolt upright. But she fell back at once. “Joe!” she cried in a thin, reedy tone. “What happened to Joe?”

Dr. Garnett, who was wearing surgical scrubs, took in the puzzled looks of his colleagues.

“It's her husband,” Renie said, some of the color returning to her ashen face. “He's had a very bad accident. Mrs. Flynn just found out about it. That's what made her faint.”

All eyes were now on Renie. “If you don't mind, I'd rather not discuss it in front of everybody,” she said firmly.

Sister Jacqueline was not put off, however. “Where is Mr. Flynn? Was he in a car accident?”

Renie was looking mulish, but Judith intervened. “For God's sake, coz, tell me. I don't care who knows what.”

Renie flung out her good hand in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, okay. Joe found out this morning that another homeless man was murdered yesterday. He couldn't start investigating because of the weather, but he managed to get out this afternoon after he chained up your car.”

Though Judith's gaze was riveted on Renie, she sensed that the two nurses and Sister Jacqueline were going into various states of shocked surprise. Renie never took her eyes off Judith, and continued speaking in her most businesslike voice: “Bill didn't know the details, but Joe headed out for a park two or three blocks from here, which was where the homeless people moved when it started snowing so hard. I guess many of them had abandoned that place under the freeway along with some of their other usual haunts. The city had opened up some of the public buildings because of the bad weather. Anyway, he was trying to question witnesses when somebody stabbed him in the back. He was able to stagger out of the park and get the attention of a man who was shoveling his walk. The guy called 911.”

Tears stung Judith's eyes. “I knew he was keeping something from me. I should have guessed…Oh, my God, will he be okay?”

“They notified Bill because both you and Joe have our phone numbers for emergencies,” Renie said. “Bill was told that his chances were even. But that's not bad odds, coz,” she added, her voice suddenly breaking as she got out of bed and put her good arm around her cousin.

Judith fought for control. Despite the tears, she managed to choke out a question. “Where is he?”

It was Dr. Garnett rather than Renie who answered. “Mr. Flynn is here,” he said. “He's in the intensive care unit. I just finished operating on him.”

 

Peter Garnett explained that he had just been on his way up to inform Judith about her husband's stabbing.
He hadn't wanted to alarm her until the surgery was completed. Because of the weather, all the other hospitals were full. Joe had been rushed to Good Cheer, which was closest to the park where he was stabbed.

“What do you really think, Doctor?” Judith inquired, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.

“I think,” Dr. Garnett responded carefully, “that we'll have to wait and see. The blade went very deep, and there was quite a loss of blood before he reached the hospital. The good part is that the weapon missed his vital organs.” He tried to give Judith a smile of comfort, but his attempt seemed forced. “Nurse Chinn will get you a sedative,” he said, nodding at Heather. “I know this has been a terrible shock.”

Sister Jacqueline moved closer to the bed. “I'm very sorry about all this. I didn't realize until just now that Mr. Flynn was your husband. I didn't see him when he was brought in. I do know that Father McConnaught has administered the Sacrament of the Sick. I'm sure that will help in your husband's recovery.”

The Sacrament of the Sick,
Judith thought, and felt sick at heart. It used to be Extreme Unction or the Last Rites, but had been renamed, and in some theological feat that defied her understanding, revamped as an encouragement to heal rather than as a signal of impending death. On the other hand, she had asked to be anointed before her own surgery. Maybe Father McConnaught's efforts wouldn't be wasted on Joe. She mustn't lose hope. That, Judith understood, was what the sacrament was all about.

Moving away from Judith, Renie eyed Dr. Garnett. “I assume they haven't caught whoever stabbed Joe? My husband didn't mention it, and I couldn't quiz him closely because I didn't want to frighten Judith.”

“I don't know any of the details,” Dr. Garnett said. “I'd just come from attending to Dr. Van Boeck and had to scrub up immediately to operate on Mr. Flynn.” The surgeon, who looked so weary that his mustache seemed to droop, started for the door.

As beset as she was with her own troubles, Judith managed to take in the wider world. “How is Dr. Van Boeck?”

“He'll be fine,” Dr. Garnett said without turning around. “Unfortunately.”

“He doesn't like his boss much, does he?” Renie said, directing the remark to Sister Jacqueline after Dr. Garnett had left.

The nun's fine features puckered slightly. “They have differing philosophies on some issues. It's common among medical professionals.”

“You'll keep me posted on Joe?” Judith asked Sister Jacqueline as Heather returned with the sedative.

“Of course.” Sister Jacqueline's smile seemed tense. “Once he's out of intensive care, I'm not sure what floor he'll go to. We're terribly crowded here, too. Maybe tomorrow we can release some of the patients who are ready to go home. Right now, we can't take chances since our patients are all orthopedic post-op. A spill on the ice or an out-of-control vehicle could be disastrous.”

“Blanche Van Boeck wants to throw me out into the snow,” Renie said. “Do you think she's serious?”

Sister Jacqueline cocked her head to one side. “I doubt it. That would be up to Dr. Ming. She'd have to convince him that you're ready to be discharged.”

“She could do it, though,” Renie said. “She has the influence.”

Sister Jacqueline's nod was curt. “That's true. But
she'll be too busy tomorrow to worry about you. Blanche Van Boeck is announcing her candidacy for mayor.”

 

The Valium helped relax Judith, but it didn't erase her fears for Joe. For an hour, she fussed and fretted. She also repeated over and over how she wished she could see him.

Renie was remarkably patient. But as seven o'clock rolled around, she finally called a halt. “You're literally going to make yourself sick,” she told Judith. “If you don't stop stewing, I'll ask somebody to give you another dose of Valium.”

“Okay,” Judith said, “but you know you'd worry like this if it were Bill.”

“I'm already worried about Bill,” Renie responded. “It isn't normal—even for a shrink—to dress up Chihuahuas.”

“That's nothing compared to what happened to Joe,” Judith pointed out.

“It could be if Bill's gone nuts,” Renie argued. “Do you think I look forward to visiting him in some institution where he's wearing a waffle on his head and talking to the begonias?”

“You're just trying to make me stop fussing,” Judith declared. “Okay, so tell me what Bill said about the Chihuahuas. What was that about a Sea Auks uniform?”

“I'm not sure,” Renie admitted. “Between the doggy concept, the car, and his news about Joe, I couldn't figure out what he was talking about. Maybe Bill should analyze himself.”

“I gather you didn't get a chance to ask him about Nancy and Bob Jr.,” Judith said, though her mind was mostly in the ICU with Joe.

“No,” Renie replied. “I could tell from the start that something was wrong. I knew he'd get to it in his own good time, but I didn't want to put any detours in the way.” She glanced out the window, where night had settled in over the snow-covered city. “I still can't believe that obit the Randall family put together. Jim and Margie are both kind of weird, but I didn't think they were stupid.”

Judith didn't respond immediately. “You're right. Maybe they simply wanted to vent. The odd thing is that when we spoke with him right after Bob died, Jim acted as if he was fond of his brother. And, in fact, there was no mention of his relationship to Bob in the write-up. Does that mean Bob and Jim really did get along?”

“I don't know,” Renie said, delving into her Falstaff's bag. “It's a good thing I'm not hungry anymore. All I have left is an apple and a small chunk of Gouda. I'll be a bag of bones by the time I leave this place. We could use some good news around here. Then maybe my appetite will come back.”

Judith eyed Renie curiously. “That's funny, now that you mention it—when Jim Randall left Addison Kirby's room this afternoon, Dr. Garnett met him in the hall. He said he had some good news for Jim. I wonder what he meant?”

“Didn't Jim have some tests done the other day?” Renie responded. “Maybe the results came back.”

Judith snapped her fingers. “That must be it. I'd forgotten.” She gazed at the phone. “I think I'll call ICU.”

“They'll let you know when they have anything to report,” Renie said, munching on her apple.

“I should call Mike,” Judith said. “I should have done that sooner. Why didn't I?” She picked up the phone.

“Because you don't know anything for sure and you don't want to scare the wits out of Mike until you do. Hold off,” Renie urged.

“I can't,” Judith declared. “It wouldn't be fair.” She used her long distance calling card to get an outside line, then waited as the phone rang a dozen times up at the mountain summit. “Nobody's answering,” she said, finally clicking off. “Where could they go in this weather?”

“Maybe the phone lines are down,” Renie suggested. “Or maybe Mike's got his other line tied up. He could be busy.”

“True,” Judith allowed, but redialed in case she'd made a mistake the first time. The result was the same. Nobody picked up the phone.

“Doesn't he have an answering machine?” Renie asked.

“Not on his private phone,” Judith said. “Kristin feels it's bad enough to have the forest service lines ring in the house. She's not much for gadgetry. My daughter-in-law is strictly a no-nonsense person.”

“I know,” Renie acknowledged. “Kristin's a natural phenomenon, like a giant redwood.” Renie did not add, as she might have, that Kristin was damned near as big.

Judith tensed as Sister Jacqueline quietly entered the room. “Mrs. Flynn?”

“Yes?” Judith flinched, her voice hoarse.

“I wanted to thank both you and your husband for being organ donors,” the nun said, approaching Judith's bed. “We're very big proponents of the program, and I'm sure you know what a wonderful thing it is.”

Judith barely heard what Sister Jacqueline was saying. “What about Joe?”

“He's still in the ICU,” Sister Jacqueline replied.
“The last I heard, he was holding his own. He's officially listed as in critical condition.”

“Is that the worst?” Judith asked in an anguished voice.

The nun shook her head. “No. Please don't fuss. We'll let you know as soon as there's any change in your husband's condition. I simply wanted to mention our gratitude for your participation in the organ donor program, and,” she went on, moving over to Renie's bed, “to encourage you to sign up, Mrs. Jones. Your husband might be interested, too.”

“My husband could give you a couple of overdressed Chihuahuas,” Renie replied, “but I'm not sure he wants to surrender his body parts.”

A faint smile touched the nun's mouth. “We don't take them while you're still alive, Mrs. Jones. People say miracles don't occur in the modern age. But they do, in ways that we can understand and that are made possible by people whose generosity saves lives every day. Heart, kidneys, liver, eyes—they make many miracles. What, for instance could be a better gift? For example, Mr. Randall's corneas went to an aspiring artist who had lost his sight in a tragic accident. Now that young man will be able to see again and fulfill his dream.”

“That's sweet,” Renie allowed. “But who'd want my eyes? I'm not exactly a kid anymore.”

“Neither was Mr. Randall,” Sister Jacqueline declared. “Of course, he had excellent vision, which I'm told was one of his greatest assets on the football field. But even slightly impaired eyesight is better than none.”