Mary Daheim - Suture Self - A Bed-and-breakfast Mystery

“That’s what we call our car, dammit,” Renie

barked. “Has Cammy suffered any damage?”

“Not that I can see,” Torchy replied, bemused.

“Come on, let me go check and save you a nasty accident.”

Renie relented. As soon as Torchy had left, she went

to the phone and called Bill. Judith and Mike kept

quiet while Renie spoke with one of her children.

“What do you mean, Anne? Your father went

where? ”

There was a long silence, then Renie shook her

head. “I don’t believe it. He’ll freeze. He’ll wear

himself out. It must be four or five miles from our

house to the hospital.” She paused, apparently for

Anne to reply. “Okay, I’ll try not to have a nervous

breakdown. Thanks, and let me know if you hear

from your father.”

Replacing the receiver, Renie stared at Judith and

Mike. “Bill took off for the hospital about an hour or

more ago. He decided to come in person to try to find

out what was going on with Joe.”

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“He’s walking?” Judith said, incredulous.

Renie nodded. “The buses haven’t started running

again, and you know how Bill likes to walk. But it’s a

long, long trek and it’s cold and the streets are slippery

and . . .” She fell back against the pillows.

“Maybe,” Mike offered, “I could take my vehicle

and try to figure out what route Uncle Bill would follow. Then I could meet him and give him a ride the rest

of the way.”

“That’s sweet, Mike,” Renie said, “but not very

practical. I imagine a lot of the streets are still closed

to traffic. Bill can walk anywhere he wants, but you’d

never get through to collect him.”

Unusual noises in the hallway distracted the trio.

Mike got up to find out what was happening.

“They’re moving somebody into the room across the

hall,” Mike said. “It looks as if whoever it is has just

come from surgery.”

The cousins exchanged puzzled glances. “Mr.

Mummy?” they chorused.

Mike moved farther into the hall. “Is that his real

name?” he called over his shoulder.

“Yes,” Judith replied. “Don’t you see it posted next

to the door?”

Mike disappeared briefly. When he came back into

the room, he shrugged. “There’s nobody named

Mummy—what a goofy name—listed outside the

room. It’s some other person—Randall, James. Does

that sound familiar?”

Judith and Renie were dumbfounded. “What,” Judith asked, “happened to Jim Randall that he required

surgery? I thought we heard somebody tell him he’d

gotten good news. And where is Mr. Mummy?”

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Renie simply shook her head. “This place keeps getting crazier. How the hell did our car end up in the parking lot at Good Cheer?”

Judith shot Renie a sharp look. “That may not be as

crazy as it sounds.”

“What do you mean?” Renie demanded.

“Let me think,” Judith said, frowning. “I wish my

brain wasn’t still addled from that blasted anesthetic. If

I could just put everything in logical order, I might be

able to figure this out.”

“Figure what out, Mom?” Mike asked, looking bewildered. “Say, wasn’t that football player who died

named Randall, too?”

“Oh, Mike.” Judith’s expression was pitying.

“There’s so much you don’t know, that you don’t need

to know . . . Except,” she went on, suddenly looking

panicked, “if Joe’s in real danger. Can you go upstairs

and stay with him?”

Mike was clearly perplexed. “Isn’t that Officer

Boxx’s job?”

“Officer Boxx may have to go to the bathroom, get

some lunch, whatever,” Judith said, still speaking rapidly. “I want you to go up to the fourth floor now and

make sure Joe is okay. Will you do that?”

“Sure.” Mike stood up and gave his mother an offcenter smile. “Why wouldn’t I? After all, he’s—”

Corinne Appleby entered the room, looking harried.

“Sorry about the shower,” she said to Judith, then noticed Mike. “Oh—I didn’t realize you had company.”

“I’m just leaving,” Mike said with a wave for Judith.

“Relax, Mom. I’ve got it under control.”

Corinne’s gaze followed Mike out of the room. “Is

that your son?”

“Yes,” Judith said. “He’s a forest ranger.”

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“He’s a nice-looking young man,” the nurse remarked. “I admire the color of his hair.” Corinne

twirled one of her own red locks. “He must get it from

his father.”

“Yes,” Judith said in a weak voice. “Yes.” She spoke

emphatically the second time. “He gets his red hair

from his father, Joe.” Judith shot a quick, exultant

glance at Renie. “There,” she murmured as Corinne

left the room, “I said it.”

“So you did,” Renie nodded with a smile. “But how

does Corinne know about Joe’s hair?”

Judith sucked in a startled breath. “You’re right—

when did she see Joe? More to the point, why did she

see Joe? There may be a logical explanation, but my

logic seems to have stalled since the surgery.”

“Which means you can’t figure out why Jim Randall

is across the hall,” Renie noted as she got out of bed.

“I’m going to take a peek.”

It was a temptation for Judith to join her cousin, but

she decided it would take too long to get into the

wheelchair by herself. Almost five minutes passed before Renie returned.

“I was getting worried about you,” Judith said.

“What’s up with Jim Randall?”

“That’s what I was finding out,” Renie replied, looking a bit rattled. “That helicopter—it was for Jim,

bringing him new corneas for a transplant.”

“Oh!” Judith was astounded. “But . . . that’s wonderful!”

“For him,” Renie replied, sitting down in the wheelchair. “I guess you don’t have to be stone blind to receive a transplant.”

“What happened to Mr. Mummy?” Judith asked.

“Did they move him to another room?”

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“No,” Renie answered slowly. “Mr. Mummy was officially discharged late last night.”

Judith didn’t say anything for at least a full minute.

“I wish I could figure out what Mr. Mummy was doing

here. I’m convinced he wasn’t a real patient. And why

did Sister Jacqueline have that late-night closed-door

meeting with him?”

“He certainly was snoopy,” Renie remarked.

“Yes.” Judith’s voice held a curious note. “He

seemed driven to find out every little thing that went

on in this hospital. Remember how he interrogated

us—politely—about Blanche stopping by our room

and some of the other seemingly small incidents. He

tried to do the same thing with Addison Kirby. Mr.

Mummy didn’t want to miss a trick. To what end, I

wonder?”

“A spy?” Renie suggested.

Judith frowned. “Maybe. Industrial espionage.”

Renie uttered an ironic laugh. “They call it keeping

abreast. And it wouldn’t be industrial espionage in this

situation. That is, nobody wants to steal trade secrets

from Good Cheer. Hospitals aren’t creative institutions, like chemical or munitions companies.”

“Maybe,” Judith said, “Mr. Mummy was spying for

Restoration Heartware.”

“He might have been spying for Good Cheer,” Renie