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

“So sad, those homeless men . . .” Judith made a fee- 310

Mary Daheim

ble attempt to squeeze Joe’s hand. He made a feeble attempt to squeeze back. “Had to die, couldn’t be trusted

not to tell . . . Only organ donors need apply . . .”

“What?” Joe leaned closer to his wife. “Jude-girl,

what the hell are you talking about?”

“Definitely delirious,” Woody murmured. “Maybe I

should come back later.”

“No, please . . .” Judith opened her eyes and gazed

compellingly at Woody.

Woody stayed.

“So many odd little things . . .” Judith tried to sit up,

failed, and pointed to the water container on the nightstand. Mike filled a glass and handed it to her.

“Thirsty,” she said with a small smile of thanks. “After

surgery, fluids so important . . . Everybody must drink,

drink, drink . . . Why not put street drugs into IVs?

Simple, if you know how . . . not so simple if you

don’t . . . Everybody must drink, any fluids, all fluids . . . exotic juice, Italian sodas, booze . . . Just keep

pouring it down . . .” She paused to take another sip of

water. “The Chihuahuas, one in a tuxedo, one in a

sweatsuit . . . They clinched it.”

“I’m afraid,” Joe said, a note of alarm in his voice,

“that whatever they gave her when they put her hip

back in has fried her brain. Do you think we should

send for a psychologist?”

“I am a psychologist,” Bill reminded Joe. “She’s not

crazy. I think I know what she’s trying to say.”

Joe glanced at Archie, cheerfully smiling on Renie’s

nightstand, then gave both the Joneses a look that indicated he wasn’t convinced of their sanity, either. “O-oo-kay,” he said under his breath.

“All those years of being the opposite,” Judith said,

her eyes wide open and almost in focus, “of feeling in- SUTURE SELF

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ferior, of being a mirror twin, of suffering near blindness . . . That’s why Jim Randall killed his brother, and

several innocent victims along the way.”

The golden light from the fading winter sun bathed

the room in a tattered antique splendor. With the dark

wood, the wavery window glass, and the religious statues, Judith could almost believe she was in a nineteenthcentury hospital, where only gaslights and candles

provided illumination. The Demerol was working, and

so was her brain. A wondrous calm came over her as

she saw some of the people she loved most standing or

sitting around her bed. Then her gaze traveled from Joe

to Mike, and a surge of panic filled her. But she had

made her resolution to tell the truth. Not quite yet, but

later, maybe when she was home again.

“Jim Randall!” Woody exclaimed, his usual quiet

demeanor shattered. “You mean Bob’s brother?”

“His mirror twin,” Judith replied after drinking more

water. “They faced each other in the womb, they’re exactly opposite. Bob once saved Jim’s life, and I’m not

entirely sure Jim was grateful. Even as a child, he must

have sensed his physical inferiority. Then, when Jim

started to lose his sight—or maybe he never had full

vision—he brooded. Finally he got on a list for cornea

recipients. Even there, he knew that he probably

wasn’t high on the list, and in some twisted, deranged

way, decided to speed up the process. He found out—

probably from Margie, his sister-in-law—where he

stood on that list and which patients were organ donors

at Good Cheer. Obsessed with the concept of finally

being able to see clearly, he began to eliminate patients. Not just any patients, but successful ones, the

type of person he could never be. Yes, those victims

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were all organ donors, though he didn’t necessarily expect to get their corneas.”

Judith paused to pick up the notes she’d taken down

from Sister Jacqueline. “On each of the dates that Somosa and Fremont died, Jim had scheduled medical

tests, right up to Tuesday when Bob Randall had his

surgery. Jim didn’t strike me as a healthy person,

though he may also have been a hypochondriac. I suspect he faked that faint to allay suspicion. Anyway, he

talked his doctors into a CAT scan, an ultrasound, and

an MRI. But he never took those tests, he had a homeless person do it for him. Renie told me after she had

her MRI for her shoulder that all she had to do when

she went to the place where they did the test was hand

them some information in a folder she’d gotten from

the reception desk.”

“Judith’s right,” Renie chimed in. “I thought it was

odd at the time, and even asked the people giving the

test how they knew it was really me. They said they

didn’t, I could be anybody as long as I was female and

of a certain age.”

“This deception not only gave Jim an alibi,” Judith

went on, “but allowed him to get the homeless men to

drop off the special treats for his victims. Jim couldn’t

risk doing it himself, and he certainly never could have

put the drugs into the IVs. He couldn’t see well enough.”

“Hold on,” Woody interrupted. “How could Jim

know what special drinks Joaquin Somosa and Joan

Fremont wanted?”

“Margie,” Judith said simply. “She’d hardly be suspicious of such an innocent question. Even though she

may have delivered the drinks—though not her husband’s booze—it wouldn’t dawn on her that Jim had

purchased the stuff.”

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“Still,” Renie put in, “it must have occurred to

Margie that the lethal drugs were in those drinks.

That’s why she referred to herself as ‘the vessel.’ ”

Joe was still looking skeptical. “How,” he asked,

“could Jim ensure that he’d actually get corneas if he

wasn’t at the top of the list?”

“He couldn’t,” Judith said. “First of all, he may not

have been down as far as you’d think. Even if the

medical tests showed that something was wrong, it

wasn’t really him undergoing the tests. If one of the

homeless men turned up with a problem, Jim could

simply ask to retake the test and claim a medical mistake. But another key was the weather. Organs are

flown in from all over the country. When we first met

Jim, he mentioned that he knew there was a big storm

coming in. That usually means the airport is closed—

and it was—so that if a local donor died, the corneas

could only be delivered by helicopter. And, having

maneuvered himself to the top of the city’s list, he

knew he’d be here to receive them. Even if he wasn’t

number one, he was at the hospital. Another recipient

might not have been able to reach a hospital in this

weather.”

“Taylor,” Renie murmured. “I overheard Bob Randall talking to someone named Taylor. Addison Kirby

said that was the name of his wife’s eye doctor. Maybe

he was Jim’s doctor, too, and Bob was thanking him

for good news, like Jim being near the top of the recipient list.”

“That would make sense,” Judith said.

Joe sucked in his breath, an effort that obviously cost

him pain. “So a cold-blooded killer with new eyes is

lying across the hall from us?”

Judith nodded. “I’m afraid he is.”

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Woody shook his head. “I’ve never heard of such a