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

before he went into surgery. I’m told that with transplants, everything happens very fast. Anyway, the medical examiner should be able to match the wounds to the

kind of weapon that killed those poor men.”

Woody winced. “He already has. At least he indicated that surgical instruments might have caused the

deaths. And of course he examined Joe.”

Judith swung around to stare at her husband. “He did?”

Joe shrugged.

“That’s why,” Woody explained, “there was such secrecy surrounding Joe’s hospitalization. In fact,

Blanche hired Joe in the first place because she had an

inkling that there might be some oddball connection

between the hospital slayings and the homeless murders. It didn’t seem like a coincidence that in each instance, the first two pairs of Good Cheer homicides,

and the first two killings in the homeless camp, had occurred within twenty-four hours of each other. Say

what you will about Blanche Van Boeck, she is one

very sharp woman.”

Judith looked at Joe. “Did you know Blanche

thought there was a connection?”

Joe shook his head. “She never mentioned it. All she

told me was that FOPP was concerned about the homeless homicides.”

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“So,” Woody continued, “the ME was here last night

in the ICU before Joe was moved upstairs. We’d begun

to put together some theories of our own.”

“ That’s who I saw in the ICU?” Judith cried. “The

ME?”

“Probably,” Joe said. “He couldn’t get here until

late, and I had to stay down there until he showed up.

Bringing him to a ward would have raised a lot of

questions. Or so Sister Jacqueline felt.”

“Is that why some of Joe’s medical records were

shredded?” Judith asked. “For security reasons?”

Woody nodded. “Apparently Mrs. Van Boeck felt it

was necessary to keep Joe’s real condition a secret.

Maybe—and I’m guessing—she had a hunch the murderer was on the premises, or at least in the immediate

area. If Joe’s life was already in jeopardy, Jim Randall—or whoever—might not bother to finish him off.

Remember, Jim had undoubtedly seen Joe around the

hospital. Jim may have learned he was a former detective and now a private investigator. Apparently, Jim

never did figure out that Harold Abernethy—Mr.

Mummy—was also on the case, but from a different

angle.”

“Wait a minute,” Judith said, narrowing her eyes at

Joe. “Are you trying to tell me you weren’t at death’s

door?”

“Well . . .” Joe began, but avoided his wife’s incensed gaze. “I wanted to tell that redheaded nurse I

saw in the elevator because she was getting off on your

floor . . .”

“Corinne,” Judith breathed, and glanced at Renie.

“That’s where she saw Joe. Couldn’t she tell me he

wasn’t in extremis?”

“He wasn’t in good shape,” Woody put in. “Really.”

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“But not fifty-fifty?” Judith demanded. “Not critical?”

“More like seventy-thirty,” Joe said, grinning

weakly. “And ‘critical’ covers a broad range these

days.”

“Joe.” Judith folded her arms across her breast. “You

can’t imagine how upset I was.”

“It couldn’t be helped,” Joe said, wincing a bit.

“Honest.”

“I don’t care,” Judith asserted. “I’m mad at you.”

She turned to Woody. “Well? Are you going to check

Jim Randall’s clothes or sit here and watch me ream

your ex-partner?”

Woody appeared more than willing to do Judith’s

bidding. “I really should be going. Great to see you all

again. Get well, ladies, Joe. Nice work with the dogs,

Bill. Take care of your mother, Mike. Bye.”

“Maybe,” Bill said, more to himself than to the others, “I should try more random, unscientific experiments. Those Chihuahuas seem to have done . . .

something or other.”

“You’re brilliant,” Renie declared, with a loving

look for her husband. “Haven’t I always said that?”

“Well—” Bill began.

But Renie cut him off. “Are you sure you didn’t

bring me some snacks?”

The lethal surgical instruments had indeed been

found in Jim Randall’s clothing. The arrest was made

shortly after five o’clock. Woody reported that Jim had

laughed in his face. He didn’t care if he went to prison,

he didn’t even care if he got the death penalty. He

could see, and that was all that mattered. The case was

closed.

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321

Addison Kirby was impressed, as were members of

the hospital staff. Now that the murders were solved,

Addison had a big exclusive for the newspaper. He

vowed to write it up in such a way that he’d be a shoein for a Pulitzer Prize. That would scarcely make up

for losing his wife, though Addison said he’d dedicate

the award to Joan’s memory.

His candy gifts had been tested, though not scientifically. The night nurses had managed to swipe the jelly

beans from Addison’s room as well as the chocolates

that Judith had claimed earlier. They had been devoured; no one died. Addison discovered that they had

been sent by his fellow journalists. He also vowed to

describe the night staff as pigs in his Pulitzer

Prize–winning story.

Mike returned to his mountain cabin early that

evening. Renie went home Friday, as scheduled. Joe

was released the next day. But Judith, having dislocated the artificial hip, was told by Dr. Alfonso that

she’d have to remain in the hospital until Monday. She

protested mightily, but in vain. Meanwhile, she was

treated like a queen by the staff. Even Blanche Van

Boeck sent her four dozen roses, in magnificent red,

white, yellow, and pink hues.

The roses, which had arrived Friday, were still fresh

when Judith was ready to leave. She was checking

through her belongings to make sure she hadn’t left

anything behind when Father McConnaught came to

see her.

“Now would you be that glad to be going home?”

the priest asked with a smile.

“Oh, yes, Father,” she replied with an answering

smile, “that I would. I mean, I would . That is . . .”

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Father McConnaught nodded sagely. “Bless you, my

child, for your great help in seeking justice. Poor Mr.

Jim, I’m afraid he must be daft.”

“I’m sure he is,” Judith replied, growing solemn.

“We’ll pray for the poor man,” the priest said. “I’ll

pray for you, too. Is there anything I can do before you

leave us?”

“Yes,” Judith said. “I’d like you to hear my confession. I couldn’t go before Christmas because I was laid

up with my hip. Would you mind?”

“I’d be delighted,” the priest replied, reaching into

his pocket and taking out the purple stole he wore for

the Sacrament of Penance.

Judith bowed her head and blessed herself, then recited a brief list of venial sins before she got to the crux

of the matter. As briefly as she could, she told Father

McConnaught about Joe and Dan and the deception

surrounding Mike’s paternity. She had resolved to end

the web of lies. But was it fair to Dan’s memory and

his conscientiousness as a father to Mike? This was the

sticking point, and had been since Dan died.

“Well now,” Father McConnaught said, “you take