Suture Self (23 page)

Judith barely heard the rest of her cousin's explana
tion. She dialed the fourth floor again; the line was still engaged.

Corinne Appleby appeared, going through the usual check on the cousins' conditions. Renie asked the nurse if the weather was getting warmer. Corinne didn't know, and seemed unusually glum.

“What's wrong?” Judith inquired, hoping to ingratiate herself so that the nurse might prove useful in the quest for Joe. “Has being stuck over in the residence hall gotten you down?”

“In a way,” Corinne replied without looking up from Judith's chart. “My mother's not feeling at all well, and I can't be home with her.”

“Is she alone?” Judith asked.

Corinne made some notations before responding. “We're lucky to have a neighbor who can look in on her. Stay with her, too, when I'm on duty. But this is the longest time in years that I've been away. It's very hard on Mother.”

“And on you, I imagine,” Judith said with sympathy. “You must worry so. I know I do when I'm away from my mother, though we have wonderful neighbors who help out.”

“You're fortunate,” Corinne replied, fine lines appearing on her forehead. “Is your mother able to get around on her own?”

“She uses a walker,” Judith replied, then glanced at Renie. “My cousin's mother is pretty much confined to a wheelchair, but she has very kind neighbors, too. Of course our mothers are both very elderly.”

Corinne gave a brief nod. “Yes. My mother isn't much older than you are. You're really blessed that you'll be able to come out of this surgery and be independent. So many people don't appreciate the good
health they've been given. I can't help but take offense at that. But of course I see so many patients who complain about the least little infirmity. They don't understand real suffering and helplessness.”

Judith gave Corinne a compassionate smile. “That's true. I feel so helpless now, but I know I'll get over it. I'm grateful for that. Meanwhile, though—are you aware that my husband is on the fourth floor as a result of a severe stab wound?”

Corinne gave a start. “That was your husband? No. I didn't realize…I'm so sorry.”

“They moved him from the ICU to the fourth floor last night,” Judith explained. “I can't get through on the phone this morning. Would it be an imposition to ask you to check on him for me? I'm very worried.”

“I'll try,” Corinne said, though she sounded dubious. “I must finish my rounds first, though.”

“I'd certainly appreciate it,” Judith said. “Of course I'll keep calling up there.”

Breakfast arrived while Corinne was taking Renie's vitals. “Say,” Renie said to the nurse, “you don't happen to have an extra tray this morning, do you? I got cheated on dinner last night, and I'm famished.”

“I'll see what I can do,” Corinne replied, then turned back to Judith. “We're going to try to get you in the shower today. I imagine you're tired of sponge baths.”

Judith made a noncommittal noise. The sponge baths were dreary, but she was frightened by the thought of standing in a shower. Before starting to eat her breakfast, she tried to call the fourth floor again. The line was still busy.

Corinne went off on the rest of her rounds. Judith nibbled on toast and a soft-boiled egg. Renie, mean
while, was devouring oatmeal mush, grapefruit, toast, eggs, and bacon.

“If you don't want all of yours, I'll eat it,” Renie volunteered.

“I'm not hungry,” Judith admitted. “I'm too worried about Joe.”

Renie started to say something, but stopped when she saw Margie Randall enter the room. The recent widow wore her volunteer's blue smock and a surprisingly cheerful expression.

“Nurse Appleby told me you had an errand,” Margie said, smiling at Judith. “I understand it involves your husband.”

“It does,” Judith said, and explained the situation.

Though Margie didn't seem particularly moved by Judith's plight, she shook her head in commiseration. “That's terrible. Those homeless people are dangerous, not only to themselves, but to others. I hope they catch whoever did it. Was Mr. Flynn robbed?”

“No,” Judith replied. “What makes you ask?”

“Well…” Margie blinked several times. “It seems like a motive for such an attack, doesn't it?”

“I suppose,” Judith said. “Did you hear about the other homeless people who were also victims of stabbings?”

Margie shoved her hands in the pockets of her smock and avoided Judith's gaze. “Did I? Yes, I suppose I did. On the news. Or in the paper. I forget exactly.” She back-pedaled out of the room. “I'll go up to the fourth floor right now and see what I can find out about your husband.”

“Weird,” Renie remarked, wiping egg yolk off her chin.

“Yes,” Judith agreed. “Everything about Margie
seems weird. When is the funeral for Bob Randall being held?”

“Saturday, I think,” Renie said, unfolding the morning paper, which had arrived just minutes earlier. “Let's see if there's anything in here about Joe.”

Judith leaned closer, her nerves tingling at the mere thought of hearing the account of her husband's attack in cold black type.

“It's pretty brief,” Renie said. “There's about two inches in the local news roundup in the second section. Shall I read it out loud?”

“Yes,” Judith said, steeling herself for the worst. “Please.”

“‘A Heraldsgate Hill man was stabbed yesterday at Viewpoint Park,'” Renie read. “‘According to police, Joseph Flynn was allegedly attacked by one of the homeless persons who have set up a temporary camp in the park. Flynn, who apparently wandered onto the site without realizing that it was occupied, was taken to Good Cheer Hospital, where he is listed in critical condition. Two days ago, a homeless man was stabbed to death in the same vicinity. No suspects have been found in either attack.'”

Judith shuddered. “How odd. They give Joe's name, but not his previous or current occupation.”

“The police don't want to broadcast Joe's activities,” Renie said.

“Maybe,” Judith allowed, deep in thought.

“Addison Kirby might be able to read between the lines,” Renie suggested as her phone rang. Once again, she smiled broadly as she heard Bill's voice on the other end.

Judith started to listen to her cousin's half of the conversation, but was interrupted by the arrival of Dr.
Alfonso. He was upbeat about her progress, and assured her that she'd be able to manage a shower.

“Just don't stay in there too long singing Broadway hits,” he advised. “We'll see about getting you on a walker tomorrow. It looks as if you'll be able to go home Saturday if you keep improving at this rate.”

Judith started to ask the doctor if he knew anything about Joe, but his beeper went off, and he made a hasty, if apologetic, exit. Renie had just hung up the phone and was looking disconcerted.

“Bill just spoke with Jeff Bauer, the manager at the Toyota dealership,” she said. “It seems that some scruffy-looking guy was hanging around the lot and they figured he must have stolen it. Cammy still hasn't turned up.”

“Why didn't they keep an eye on him?” Judith asked.

“They were really busy,” Renie replied. “Bill wasn't the only customer who'd come in to have work done before the snow started. The salesman who noticed the scruffy guy was with some long-winded customer who wanted to look at a used car on the other side of the lot. Bill figures that Cammy was taken while the salesman and the customer were looking at the other car.”

“Scruffy, huh?” Judith murmured.

“It figures,” Renie said, looking angry. “Who else but some impecunious jerk would steal a car?”

“Good question,” Judith said with an odd expression on her face.

“What are you thinking?” Renie asked, narrowing her eyes at her cousin.

“Well…Nothing much, really, except that…” Judith's voice trailed off as she avoided Renie's gaze.

“Fine,” Renie snapped. “If you're going to keep se
crets, I won't tell you what Bill said about the Randall kids.”

Judith jerked to attention. “What?”

“My husband's mind works in convoluted ways,” Renie said cryptically. “After thirty-five years, more or less, I still have trouble figuring out what lies behind his rationale for doing things. That's one of the many reasons Bill never bores me.”

“Good grief,” Judith cried, “you sound like Bill. Just tell me what he said about the Randall kids. And don't give me your usual parroting of your husband's psychobabble.”

“Okay.” Renie's expression was bland. “Bill broke his confidence because you need a distraction. That's how I figure it, anyway.”

“What?” Judith stared blankly at her cousin.

“Because you're so worried about Joe,” Renie said. “Besides, Margie Randall isn't Bill's patient anymore. Not to mention the fact that Margie's husband has been murdered.”

“Get on with it,” Judith said between clenched teeth.

“According to Margie, Bob had been an extremely stern, demanding father,” Renie said. “The obituary the family put together wasn't too far off the mark. In consequence, the kids rebelled. Nancy has been fighting a drug addiction and Bob Jr., who is gay, was tested for HIV.”

“Good Lord!” Judith cried. “Those poor kids! And poor Margie!”

Renie nodded. “It's awful. But Bill didn't know what the results of the HIV test were because Margie quit seeing him about that time. It seems that Bob Sr. left quite a legacy—and it's not in dollars and cents.”

“Not in common sense, either,” Judith murmured.
“He doesn't seem to have been a very good father. I guess he wasn't much of a husband, either. Of course you can't blame him for everything. That is, children can make choices. But to rebel, they often choose the—” Judith stopped speaking as Margie Randall all but pranced into the room.

“No matter what happens,” she said in a chipper voice, “we don't want to be glum, do we?”

“What?” Judith gasped.

“Life can be hard, so it's not always easy to endure what fate has in store for us,” Margie said, all smiles.

“Just tell me about Joe,” Judith said as apprehension overcame her.

“I will,” Margie replied. “If you think you can take it.”

Judith swallowed hard, and said she could.

“I
FOUND
M
R
. F
LYNN
,” Margie Randall announced with a triumphant expression.

“Oh!” Judith clenched her hands. “How is he?”

Margie simpered a bit. “Doing rather well,” she said in a tone that indicated she was taking some of the credit. “He's expected to recover.”

Judith sagged against the pillows. “I'm so relieved! When can I see him?”

“Well…” Margie frowned, chin on hand, fingers tapping her cheek. “That's a different matter. He's not allowed visitors.”

“But,” Judith protested, “I'm not a visitor, I'm his wife!”

Margie shook her head. “That doesn't matter. Dr. Van Boeck is back at work today, and he makes the rules. I'm sure it's all for your husband's good. He mustn't be disturbed.”

“Can I call his room?” Judith asked.

“No,” Margie replied. “There's no phone. Tomorrow, perhaps. Time is the best healer.” Again, her expression changed, radiating joy. “I must dash. My brother-in-law has just gotten the most amazing news. I must be with him.”

Margie fairly flew out of the room.

“Damn!” Judith breathed. “I know I should be elated that Joe's better, but I wanted so much to see him. I wonder if Margie's right about the no-visitors rule?”

“It makes sense, in a way,” Renie said. “After all, he's just turned the corner and he probably has to stay completely quiet.”

“I guess.” Judith heaved a big sigh, then turned to Renie. “Goodness, I hadn't thought about it until now, but how are Joe and I going to manage when we both get discharged? Neither of us will be in any shape to help the other, let alone take charge of the B&B. I can't expect the Rankerses to keep pitching in.”

“Don't get ahead of yourself,” Renie cautioned. “If things get really desperate, won't the state B&B association help you out?”

“Yes,” Judith answered slowly, “they have backup personnel. But I'd hate to avail myself of it. Besides, I'd go nuts watching somebody else run Hillside Manor.”

“Relax,” Rene urged. “We've got other things to worry about. Like our recovery. And Joe's. Not to mention Bill's mental state.”

“Did he mention the Chihuahuas this morning?” Judith inquired, trying to stop fussing.

“No,” Renie said. “He was too involved with the car disaster and the Randall kids.” She paused, gazing out the window. “Hey—the icicles are dripping. Maybe it's finally beginning to thaw.”

“It's certainly sunny enough,” Judith said, then gave a start as a loud whirring noise could be heard from somewhere. “What's that? I don't recognize it as a routine hospital sound.”

The whirring grew louder, making Renie wince. “I don't know. I think it's coming from outside,” she said,
her voice rising to be heard over the noise as she got out of bed and went to the window. “Good grief!” she cried. “It's a helicopter! It looks as if it's going to land on the roof!”

“An emergency, I'll bet,” Judith shouted. “Someone has been flown in from an outlying site.”

“What?” Renie watched as the copter disappeared from her view. The whirring died down a bit. “Did you say an emergency?”

“What else?” Judith said. “An accident, I suppose.”

The whirring resumed almost at once. Renie gaped as the helicopter reappeared and began ascending over the parking area. “It's leaving. What did they do, throw the patient onto the roof?”

Judith frowned. “I suppose they can make the transfer really fast,” she said. “But that was
really
fast.”

“
Too
fast,” Renie muttered, heading back to bed. She'd just gotten back under the covers when Dr. Ming appeared.

“I hear you've been a very active patient,” the surgeon remarked with an off-center grin. “You aren't wearing yourself out, are you, Mrs. Jones?”

“Me?” Renie gave the doctor a sickly smile. “I don't want to get weak.”

“You won't,” Dr. Ming assured her. “What's making you run all around the hospital?”

“Oh—this and that,” Renie replied vaguely. “For example—what was with that helicopter just now?”

Dr. Ming was examining Renie's shoulder. “That's coming along just fine. Your busy little ways haven't done any visible damage.” He paused, moving Renie's wrist this way and that. “Helicopter? Oh, that was a transplant delivery. We don't usually get them here since we do only orthopedic work. But with the snow,
this week has been different. We've had to take on some exceptional cases.”

“Transplant?” Renie said. “What kind?”

“I'm not sure,” Dr. Ming replied. “Does this hurt?” he inquired, bending Renie's arm toward her body.

“Not much,” she answered. “Heart, maybe?”

“Heart?” Dr. Ming frowned. “Oh—the transplant. I don't think so. We couldn't do that here at all. What I suspect is that the organ was flown in along with the surgeon. None of our doctors could handle a transplant. We aren't trained for that kind of specialty.” He patted Renie's lower arm. “You're coming along just fine. Want to visit the physical therapist and then go home tomorrow?”

“You mean Blanche Van Boeck isn't evicting me today?” Renie asked, faintly surprised.

Dr. Ming laughed as he backed away from the bed. “No, she's too busy.” He glanced at his watch. “In fact, in about twenty minutes, Blanche is going to hold a press conference just down the hall. If you're not doing anything else, Mrs. Jones, you might want to listen in. I'm sure she'll have some words of wisdom for us all.”

Renie sneered, but said nothing until Dr. Ming had left. “Why is Blanche holding her damned press conference out in the hall? Why not the foyer? Or the auditorium? I assume they have one. Teaching hospitals always do.”

“Don't ask me,” Judith responded without enthusiasm. She couldn't take her mind off Joe, though something else was niggling at her brain. Not that it had anything to do with her husband. Or did it? Judith was afraid that the anesthetic had dulled her usually logical mind. “Blanche held that other press conference out in
the hall,” she pointed out. “Maybe she likes the intimacy.”

Renie had gotten out of bed again. The icicles were definitely thawing, in big, heavy drips. “Hey,” Renie said, excited, “there are some workmen out in the parking lot. It looks as if they're clearing off the cars that have been stuck there.”

“Good.” Judith shifted positions, trying to get more comfortable. The sound of happy voices in the hallway distracted her. “Who's out there?” she asked Renie.

“Huh?” Renie turned toward the door. “I can't see…Oh, it's the Randall kids. Jeez, they're practically skipping down the hall.” She moved as quickly as she could to watch their progress, which halted at the elevator. “They're high-fiving,” she said. “What's going on with this family? Whatever happened to proper respect and bereavement?”

Judith's interest perked up. “They're glad he's dead,” she declared. “That's the only possible explanation.”

As the brother and sister disappeared inside the elevator, Renie stared at her cousin. “Do you think they killed Bob Randall?”

Judith shook her head. “No. I can't imagine an entire family plotting to murder another relative. I mean, I
can,
but it seems unlikely.”

“Hold it,” Renie said, sitting down in Judith's visitor's chair. “What are the three guidelines Joe uses when it comes to homicide? Motive, means, and opportunity, right?”

“Right.” Judith was looking dubious. “Okay, so Margie had all three, assuming she really hated Bob. In fact, she indicated that she may have delivered something lethal to each of the victims.”

Renie raised a hand in protest. “Who told you she admitted being the so-called vessel? It was Bob Jr., not Margie. How do we know Margie ever said such a thing?”

“Good point. But either way, it assumes that Margie—or her son—knew what was in Joan's Italian soda, Joaquin's juice, and Bob's booze. Why would Margie admit such a thing to anyone?”

“Because she's a total ditz?” Renie offered.

“I don't think she's as much of a ditz as she pretends,” Judith said. “I think Margie—if she really said it in the first place—was speaking metaphorically. Why would she go to all that trouble to kill Joan and Joaquin before finally getting to Bob? And why kill him here, in the hospital? She could have slipped him a little something at home.”

“What about the others? Bob Jr. and Nancy and even Jim?” Renie asked. “Could one of them have used Margie?”

“As ‘the vessel'?” Judith gave her cousin an ironic smile. “Maybe. But why kill the other two? We haven't seen any connection between Joaquin Somosa and Joan Fremont and Bob Randall Sr.—except that they were all well-known, successful individuals.”

Renie looked thoughtful. “I know that Margie and Jim both evinced a certain amount of sadness at the time of Bob's death. But then they let loose, and the funeral hasn't even taken place yet. What do you think? Denial? Relief? Hysteria?”

Slowly Judith shook her head. “It's impossible to figure out because we don't know them. You have to consider who benefits from any or all of the three deaths. Apparently, not the Randalls. Bob Sr. was worth more to them alive. Stage actresses in repertory
theaters don't earn that much. Of course you have to consider insurance policies, but would Joan or Bob have had huge amounts? That means expensive premiums. Bob was probably insured to the max when in his playing days, but the team, not Margie, probably was the beneficiary. And he didn't really play ball in the era of million-dollar quarterbacks.”

“Somosa might have had a big personal policy, since he did play in the era of million-dollar pitchers,” Renie pointed out. “But Mrs. Somosa was in the Dominican Republic when Joan and Bob died. That bursts that balloon.”

Judith looked startled. “What?”

“I said, that bursts that…”

“Balloons,” Judith broke in. “What about the guy who delivered the balloons and the cardboard cutout to Bob's room after he came back from surgery? Did you get a good look at him?”

“No,” Renie confessed. “He went by too fast. And I was still sort of groggy. The only thing I really remember besides what he was carrying was that his shoes didn't match.”

“Interesting.” Judith paused for a moment. “What if he also delivered the Wild Turkey? They must know at the desk who came in.”

“Probably,” Renie said, then stopped as a chattering stream of people began to filter down the hall, accompanied by TV equipment and snaking cables.

“It must be the newshounds arriving for Blanche's announcement,” Judith said. “Help me get into the wheelchair. I want to hear this.”

It was a bit of a struggle, but the cousins managed it. Judith, who was becoming accustomed to the wheelchair's vagaries, was able to propel herself into the
doorway, where she sat with Renie standing next to her. At least thirty people had filled the corridor. Sister Jacqueline was one of them, and she didn't look happy.

While the reporters and cameramen positioned themselves, Dr. Van Boeck and Dr. Garnett appeared, coming from different directions. Judith noted that Dr. Van Boeck didn't look much the worse for his collapse the previous day, though both physicians seemed grim.

At last, the elevator doors opened and the star of the show made her entrance. Blanche Van Boeck had shed her furs, revealing what Renie whispered was a gray Armani suit. Knee-high boots and a black turban completed the ensemble. “Big bucks,” Renie noted as Blanche passed by on her way to the alcove down the hall.

Judith gestured at the empty doorway across the hall. “No Mr. Mummy,” she murmured. “Where do you suppose he is?”

Renie shrugged as Sister Jacqueline found herself being pushed back in the cousins' direction.

“Excuse me,” the nun apologized, bumping into Judith's wheelchair. “This is quite a mob. I wish Mrs. Van Boeck hadn't chosen this place for her announcement.”

“It does seem like an odd venue,” Judith remarked. “Does she have a reason?”

“Does she need a reason?” Sister Jacqueline retorted, then gave herself a little shake. “Sorry. That was unkind, especially given that Mrs. Van Boeck has always been such a big supporter of Good Cheer. The truth is, the auditorium is being painted. The workers just got started Monday, and then weren't able to come back after it began snowing. And it's too cold and draughty to hold the press conference in the foyer.”

“Not to mention,” Renie put in, “that I suspect Blanche enjoys the cozy atmosphere of a more intimate setting.”

“A more neutral setting as well,” Sister Jacqueline said, then again looked rueful. “The foyer, the auditorium, so many other places in the hospital feature religious symbols. If Mrs. Van Boeck is going to run for mayor, she has to appeal to a broad range of voters, the majority of whom aren't Catholic.”

“So she's going to announce her candidacy today, right?” Renie whispered as, down in the alcove, Blanche raised her hands for silence.

Sister Jacqueline shot Renie a swift, puzzled glance. “I'm not certain. Maybe she'll do that later, downtown.”

Judith gave the nun a puzzled look, but there was no opportunity for further questions. Blanche was beginning to speak, her strong, sharp voice carrying easily without a microphone.

“I'll keep my remarks brief,” Blanche said, her expression somber. “I appreciate your efforts in coming out in this winter weather. I know it wasn't easy getting here.” She paused, her gaze resting on her husband, who stood a little apart from the rest of the crowd. “As of February first of this year, Good Cheer Hospital will be taken over by Restoration Heartware of Cleveland, Ohio.”