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

“Why don’t you smack her, Uncle Bill?” Mike

asked, half serious.

Bill finally caught his breath. “The crowns in heaven

that await me . . . ,” he murmured, coming all the way

into the room and kissing his wife.

Renie appeared contrite. “Are you all right? Are you

cold? Are you tired?”

Bill nodded emphatically at each question, then

slumped into Renie’s visitor’s chair and removed his

snap-brim cap. “I came to find out how Joe was doing,

but the elevator’s broken. I couldn’t make it all the way

to the fourth floor on the stairs. What’s happening?”

“Joe’s much better,” Judith said happily. “Mike’s

seen him, but I haven’t yet. Because of the elevator.”

Bill nodded again. “You two seem to be doing okay.”

“We are,” Renie replied, patting Bill’s arm. “Are you

sure you don’t have frostbite?”

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This time, Bill shook his head. “It’s actually beautiful out there, with the sun shining and all the snow

that’s still left. I didn’t mind the walk at all.”

“Good,” Renie said, then turned serious. “Tell me,

what on earth are you doing with those blasted Chihuahuas? I was beginning to think you’d gone over the

edge.”

“Oh.” Bill chuckled. “This may sound whimsical,

but an occasional nonscientific experiment can prove

interesting, if not entirely valid. This was one I’d had

in mind for a long time. I became curious about animal

versus human behavior several years ago and—”

“Bill,” Renie interrupted, “spare us the background,

okay?”

“What?” Bill frowned at his wife. “Okay, okay. Anyway, you must realize that this wasn’t a controlled situation. But recently I’d read an abstract in one of my

psychology journals by Dr. Friedbert Von Schimmelheimer in Vienna, who had some fascinating ideas on

the subject, though his experiments involved—”

“Bill . . .” Renie broke in.

“What? Oh, all right, never mind. If you understand the

problems with replication, then you’ll appreciate how—”

“Bill!” Renie looked fierce. “Layman’s language,

please .”

Bill glared at his wife. “ Okay, I’ll cut to the chase. I

would have preferred to do it with monkey siblings,

but then we found the dogs. Anyway, you know how

Oscar is about experimenting with apes.”

Renie nodded while Judith gazed at the ceiling and

Mike looked puzzled. Oscar was the Joneses’ stuffed

ape and was treated like a member of the family.

“So how did it turn out?” Renie asked, her patience

restored.

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Mary Daheim

“Fascinating,” Bill replied. “I called them John and

Paul. For the pope. John’s the one wearing Archie’s

tuxedo.” He paused to look at the doll on his wife’s

nightstand. “Hi, Archie. How are you doing? You look

really cheerful.” Judith and Mike exchanged amused

glances. “Anyway,” Bill continued, “Paul has on those

Wisconsin sweats, the ones that Clarence ate most of

the badger symbol off. John got the expensive dog

food, Paul got the cheaper kind. I made a bed for John

in the bottom drawer of my desk. I put Paul in a cardboard box. John drank Evian water; Paul had to make

do with water from the tap. Sure enough, after twentyfour hours, John started to become spoiled, while Paul

sulked. Then, this morning, when I gave John a leftover rib-steak bone, Paul pounced on him. The experiment proved what I thought would be true. Even

nonhuman siblings can suffer resentment and lack of

self-esteem when one of them gets preferred treatment

over the other. They can also exhibit hostility and aggression.”

Judith stared at Renie. “What do you think?”

Renie glanced at Bill. “I think my husband’s right.

As usual.”

Judith turned to Mike. “Go upstairs and get Woody.

The time has come to call in a consulting police detective.”

Sister Jacqueline telephoned a few minutes later.

The nun still sounded dubious about revealing the information Judith had requested, but when she finally

did, another piece of the puzzle fell into place. Feeling

as if she had a solid grip on the solution to the murders,

Judith smiled grimly.

Mike and Woody had their own way of making Ju- SUTURE SELF

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dith smile. When they entered the ward fifteen minutes later, they were pushing a wheelchair. Joe Flynn

offered his wife a feeble, though fond, grin.

“Joe!” Judith cried. In her excitement, she instinctively leaned forward to touch him, then screamed and

doubled over in pain. “Oh, my God!” she cried through

her misery. “I think I’ve dislocated my hip!”

TWENTY

JUDITH LET OUT a terrible cry of anguish. Joe tried to

reach out to help his wife, but weakness overcame

him. It was Mike who rushed to his mother’s side as

she moaned in pain.

“Mom!” He attempted to move her into a sitting

position, but she resisted.

“I can’t move!” she gasped through tears. “Get a

nurse! A doctor!”

Corinne Appleby and Heather Chinn both

showed up almost immediately. Then, in a haze of

agony, Judith saw Pearson, the orderly, arrive with a

gurney. Though the slightest movement was agonizing, she endured being moved onto the gurney,

rushed down the hall and into the elevator, which

obviously had been repaired, and hustled to a room

with bright lights. Staff members she’d never seen

before were at the ready.

Despite a fresh dose of painkillers, the next half

hour was a nightmare. At last, after X rays had been

taken and Dr. Alfonso had arrived, her self-diagnosis

was confirmed: She had indeed dislocated the new hip.

It would take only a couple of minutes to put it back,

but Judith would have to be virtually unconscious during the procedure. She welcomed the oblivion.

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309

An hour later, Judith awoke in her own bed on the

third floor. Through a haze, she saw the same people

who had been there when disaster had struck.

“Joe . . .” she murmured.

“I’m here, Jude-girl,” he said, taking her hand.

“So cunning, so cruel . . .” she mumbled.

Joe looked at Renie, who was sitting in Judith’s visitor’s chair. “Does that mean me? ” he asked with a

worried expression.

Renie, however, shook her head.

“Threes . . .” Judith murmured, squeezing her eyes

shut against the bright, setting sun. “Everything in

threes . . . Three lives saved . . . three patients dead . . .

three homeless men stabbed . . . three inedible salads . . .”

“Salads?” Joe looked at Bill.

Bill shrugged.

“Is she delirious?” Woody whispered.

“Must be,” Joe muttered. “My poor little girl.”

“Planned in advance . . . Surgical instruments

stolen . . . Should have guessed . . . to kill homeless . . .

Poor souls, set up with bribes to provide iron-clad alibis and drive car . . . Bill and Renie’s car . . . stolen because the snow starting, couldn’t get to usual

vehicle . . .”

Renie glanced at Bill. “Poor Cammy,” she sighed.

Joe shot both the Joneses a quizzical look. “Your

Toyota?”

Bill nodded.

“Who’s Cammy?” Woody asked.

“Uncle Bill and Aunt Renie’s car,” Mike said

under his breath.

Woody looked befuddled.