Suture Self (6 page)

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
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.”

J
UDITH WASN
'
T SURPRISED
by Addison Kirby's declaration. It only confirmed her suspicions about the three deaths.

“So you think there may be something fishy about Somosa and Randall as well?” she asked.

Addison shrugged. “Maybe. I can't speak for Somosa, because I didn't know him. But I heard through my county sources that the autopsy indicated he'd overdosed on some kind of street drug. Ecstasy, I think. As for Randall—we don't know yet, do we?”

Their visitor paced back and forth in front of Judith's iron bedstead. He seemed to be arguing with himself. “I just spoke with Randall's son, Bob Jr., and his daughter, Nancy. They caught snatches of conversation among the staff that indicated suicide.”

“What?”
Judith couldn't believe her ears.

“That's right,” Addison said, nodding gravely. “I can't get to Mrs. Randall—she's had some kind of emotional collapse.”

“What about his brother, Jim?” Judith asked. “Has he been notified?”

“Jim?” Addison blinked several times. “I didn't realize Bob Randall had a brother. Is he around?”

“He was here last night,” Renie put in. “He was fussing because Bob had too many visitors and so much hubbub going on in his room.”

“Interesting,” Addison remarked. “I'll try to get hold of him.”

“Say,” Renie said, adjusting her sling and leaning forward in the bed, “why haven't you gone public with any of the stuff about your wife and Somosa? I haven't seen a word about it in the
Times
.”

The journalist gave Renie a twisted little smile. “You don't understand the politics of publishing, Mrs…. Jones, right? My superiors don't want me ruffling feathers. Blanche Van Boeck is a powerful figure in this community.”

Renie slapped at her head with her good hand. “Of course! I didn't make the connection with Dr. Jan Van Boeck. That's his wife, right? She's on the city council and just about everywhere on the map in this town. Oh, my.”

Addison's smile became wry. “She certainly is. Rumor has it she may run for mayor. She has powerful friends in powerful places. Of course, she has enemies, too.”

Renie was suddenly wearing what Judith called her “boardroom face,” the no-nonsense sharpening of her features that she presented to corporate clients in her graphic design business.

“Blanche has made some big waves in the past few years,” Renie said. “She's always struck me as putting Blanche at the head of her agenda, rather than the social and political programs she espouses.”

Addison nodded. “That's what many people would say, which is why I have to dance all around her in print. Which also means I have to dance around Good Cheer Hospital, because her husband runs the place.”

“But Good Cheer was on the news last night,” Judith pointed out. “We missed the first part of the story. What was that all about?”

“The Seafarers are calling for an investigation into Somosa's death,” Addison replied. “Apparently, they think something's wrong, too. I intend to meet with Tubby Turnbull, the team's general manager, this afternoon.”

Judith was shaking her head. “So I wasn't wrong,” she said faintly.

At the door, Addison frowned at Judith. “Wrong about what?”

“About these deaths being linked,” Judith said. “Frankly, the deaths of your wife and Somosa struck me as more than a coincidence right from the start. Now, with Randall's passing, the situation seems downright ominous.”

Addison's expression was frankly curious. “Why does it interest you so much, Mrs. Flynn?”

Judith felt the color rise in her cheeks. “Oh…You might say that my hobby is snooping.” She uttered a lame little laugh.

Addison now looked puzzled. “Snooping?” he said.

“It'd be more accurate,” Renie said, “to say that her hobby is murder.”

 

“And to think,” Renie mused after Addison Kirby had departed, “I wondered how we'd pass the time during our hospital stay.”

“I don't think the deaths of those poor people were intended to keep us occupied,” Judith said, feeling glum and staring up at the mottled plaster ceiling.

The uncommunicative orderly of the previous day came in to remove the cousins' luncheon trays. If he
noticed that neither of them had eaten much, he made no comment, but stoically left the room without a word.

“Can he talk?” Renie asked, getting up and heading for the bathroom. “Or does he consider us unworthy?”

“The latter, I suspect,” Judith responded. “Maybe if you didn't trash your bed so much, we'd get more respect. Where did that Falstaff's grocery bag come from?”

“Falstaff's,” Renie replied, turning around at the bathroom door. “It's my back-up food supply. Fruit, cheese, crackers, Pepsi, popcorn. We'll share when I come back to bed. Now I'm hungry.”

“How did you fit that thing into your purse?” Judith asked.

“Easy,” Renie replied. “I have a huge purse.” She went inside the bathroom and shut the door.

The outer door opened almost simultaneously as Heather Chinn entered. “Time to get you on your feet,” she said in a cheerful voice. “How do you feel, Mrs. Flynn?”

“Not like I want to get on my feet,” Judith said. “I thought we'd do this later in the afternoon.”

“It's almost two,” Heather said. “The more you lie there, the weaker you'll become. Here, let me help you swing around to the edge of the bed.”

It took Judith a few moments to sit up straight. Then, slowly and unsteadily, she let Heather help her move her legs. Pain spread out from her hip to envelop her entire body. “I feel dizzy already,” Judith asserted.

“You're doing fine,” Heather soothed. “Now lean on me and try to stand up.”

Judith could both feel and hear the artificial hip move. She was frightened. “Is that…?” she gulped, still dizzy.

“That's fine, keep coming. You've got all your weight on your good leg,” Heather coached. “Now put just a little on the other leg, okay?”

The worn linoleum was rising up toward Judith in tired, wrinkled waves. She felt as if she were falling overboard, into a murky yellow sea. Suddenly her world went dark, except for shooting stars and trailing comets.

“Coz!” Renie had just come out of the bathroom. Moving as quickly as she could, she went to Judith, who had, fortunately, fallen backwards onto the bed. Heather was looking more annoyed than frightened as she took Judith by the hands.

“It's nothing,” the nurse said to Renie. “Maybe she isn't quite ready to stand. Still, if she doesn't try…”

“If she doesn't try, she won't pass out,” Renie cut in tersely. “Let me get somebody to help you put her back to bed.”

Though Heather was stronger than she looked, she didn't turn down the offer. The nurse was a short, slim size four; Judith was a statuesque size fourteen. Another strong body was needed for the task. Renie found the silent orderly just outside the door, stacking trays onto the meal cart.

Judith's eyelids fluttered open as the nurse and the orderly got her back into bed. “Oh…What happened?” she asked, her mouth dry and her eyes unfocused.

“You had a little setback,” Heather said, tucking the covers around Judith. “We'll try that again later.” The nurse began taking vital signs.

Renie was standing by the windows. “Damn,” she breathed, “I think it may snow. I wish Bill and Joe would get here soon, while it's still daylight.”

“Joe said he'd be by around three,” Judith said. “Bill's coming with him, I think.” She took a deep breath before Heather popped the thermometer in her mouth.

“Right, there's no point in taking two cars,” Renie said, looking down at the hospital entrance's graceful landscaping and the adjacent parking lot. “Boy, it looks really cold out there. I can feel the chill through the windows.”

Judith couldn't respond with the thermometer in her mouth. The dizziness had passed, but she felt weak as a newborn lamb. The idea of trying to stand up later in the day sounded impossible.

“I need some water,” she said in a thick voice after Heather had removed the thermometer. “I'm so dry.”

“You mustn't get dehydrated,” Heather warned, proffering the plastic glass. “Remember how we've told you to keep taking in fluids.”

“Hey,” Renie said, “I see Addison Kirby heading for the parking lot. I wonder if he's off to see Tubby Turnbull at the…Look out!” She shuddered as her good arm reached out toward the window in a pleading motion. “Ohmigod!”

“What?” Judith sputtered, choking on the water.

Horror-stricken, Renie staggered around to stare at Judith and Heather. “It's awful,” she gasped, leaning against the window embrasure for support. “A car just came from out of nowhere and ran over Addison Kirby!”

 

Heather Chinn ran off to get help. Renie stood rooted by the window. “The car took off,” she said in a shaky voice. “Poor Addison's lying there in a heap.”

Judith had rolled over onto her side, though she
couldn't get a better view of what was happening beyond the window. “Is he…?” she asked in a fearful voice.

“No, he's moving,” Renie said. “Sort of.”

“Damn!” Feebly, Judith swung a fist in frustration. “I feel so helpless!”

“Here comes a guy in a white coat and another guy in some kind of uniform.” Renie was trying to open the window with her good hand, but it wouldn't budge. “The white coat may be a doctor. Yes, I think it's what's his-name—Garnett, the second in command. The guy in uniform may be security. Here comes somebody else, in civvies. He looks sort of familiar.” She gave up trying to open the window and flexed the muscles of her left arm before rapping loudly on the wavery old glass. “Hey, he's looking up. It's Jim Randall,” Renie said, breathless. “Here come some more people with a gurney.”

“Double damn,” Judith muttered. “I feel like an idiot. Why couldn't I at least be in a wheelchair?”

“You will be,” Renie responded. “Huh. They seem to be paying special attention to Addison's left leg. Maybe it's broken. Poor guy.”

“Where's the car that ran him over?” Judith asked.

“I don't know. It hit Addison and kept going, toward the parking lot.” Renie paused, staring down below. “Dr. Garnett and one of the others are hovering over the gurney. Jim Randall is walking away. The security guy is wandering around, like he's looking for someone or something.”

“The car, I suppose,” Judith said. “You'll have to tell him you saw it. What color and make was it?”

“It was sort of beige,” Renie said, “fairly new, but from up here on three, I couldn't guess what make. All I could see was the roof.”

“Do you remember if there's an outlet from the parking lot?” Judith inquired.

“No, of course not,” Renie answered. “We pulled into the patient admitting area on the opposite side of the entrance.”

“Oh.” Judith rolled over onto her back. “I forgot. That anesthesia has muddled my brain.”

“It does that,” Renie allowed. “They're all going inside now, including the uniform.” She waited a moment, then went back to her bed. “Shall I phone security and tell them I saw it?”

“Sure,” Judith said. “They'll need a witness. Insurance, and all that.”

Renie picked up the phone, dialed zero, and asked to be connected to security. She was informed that security was out. “He's it?” she said after leaving her name and room number.

“Probably not, at least not at night,” Judith replied.

Renie began hauling food out of the Falstaff's bag. “Let's eat something before the nurses come around with all their paraphernalia. I don't want them confiscating my stash.”

“I might nibble on an apple,” Judith said.

“Red Delicious, Golden Delicious, Granny Smith, Gala?” Renie offered.

“Red Delicious,” Judith said, gazing at the sack with its Falstaff logo. “How much stuff have you got in there?”

“Plenty,” Renie replied, using her left hand to toss Judith a shiny red apple. It was a surprisingly accurate throw, considering that Renie was normally right-handed. “Hey,” she said with a grin, “maybe I could've been a southpaw pitcher. Cheese? There's Monterey jack, Havarti, Brie, and a really nice Gouda.” She produced a small knife and held it up.

“The apple's fine,” Judith said with a slight shake of her head. “I don't see how you got all that stuff in your purse, big as it is.”

“That's because I took everything else out and put it in my overnight bag,” Renie said. “Food first; the rest is a distant second.”

The phone rang. Judith thought it must be security, calling Renie back. But Renie gave a brief shake of her head. It wasn't her phone. Judith wrestled with the receiver, and finally managed to say hello.

“Hi, Mom,” Mike said, sounding vaguely apprehensive. “How are you getting along? Joe told me the surgery went fine.”

“It did,” Judith replied with a big smile on her face. “I'm getting along just great.”

“That's a huge relief,” Mike said, and Judith knew he meant it. Her son was a worrier. “Kristin and Mac and I'd like to come into town tonight to see you, but it's snowing like crazy up here at the pass. I think they're going to close the highway pretty soon. It's a regular blizzard.”

In her mind's eye, Judith could picture the U.S. Forest Service cabin that Mike and Kristin called home. It was small but cozy, and with a magnificent view of the surrounding mountains and forest. At least when they could see through the snow.

“Don't even think of coming down until I get home,” Judith said. “I'm not going to be here forever.”

“I know, but I'd still like to pay a visit before the weekend,” Mike said. “Didn't they figure you'd be home about Saturday?”