Suture Self (12 page)

“Dr. Van Boeck or Queen Blanche?” Renie retorted.

“Dr. Van Boeck, of course,” Heather said stiffly. “He's in charge here.”

“That's not the impression I got this afternoon,” Renie said. “Now let me think—Good Cheer is kind of conservative, old-fashioned. Which is good. I'm still here, and in any other hospital in the city, I'd have been sent home this morning, right? Keeping me longer may not suit the bottom line. So maybe the Van Boecks aren't merely fighting to keep Good Cheer's reputation spotless, but for the hospital's very survival. How am I doing, Nurse Chinn?”

Heather yanked the blood pressure cuff off Judith's arm with more force than was necessary. “All hospitals are fighting to stay alive,” the nurse said grimly. “Over the years, the Sisters of Good Cheer have wisely managed this institution. They've refused to remodel for the sake of appearances, the plant budget is always used for necessities and equipment, and we rely on a heavy corps of volunteers.”

Robbie the Robot could be heard beeping along the hallway. “Hi, I'm Robbie…” He moved on.

“Nonpaid personnel like him?” Renie said, pointing toward the door.

“In a way, yes,” Heather replied. “He delivers things. He's programmed to take charts and other paperwork to various departments. Robbie can even use the elevators.”

“Good,” said Renie. “I'd hate to see him clank down a flight of stairs. You'd probably have to put his parts in a dustpan.”

Somewhat warily, Heather moved over to Renie's bed, holding the thermometer as if it were a weapon. “So what are the problems Good Cheer is facing?” Judith asked.

“The same as every hospital,” Heather replied, showing some enthusiasm for shoving the thermome
ter in Renie's mouth. “The merger of medical specialties helped everyone. Hospitals spent far too much money on duplicating equipment. It wasn't necessary or feasible, especially in a city like this, where so many of the hospitals are within a five-mile radius.”

“The decline in religious orders must have hurt,” Judith noted. “It certainly made a difference in the schools when they had to hire lay teachers instead of nuns.”

“That's true,” Heather said, then paused to take Renie's pulse. “We only have five nuns on staff at Good Cheer. There used to be dozens.”

“So salaries have gone up dramatically,” Judith mused. “Malpractice insurance, too, I suppose.”

Heather nodded. “It's terrible for the doctors. But you can't practice medicine without it. Look at what's happened…” She stopped abruptly and bit her lower lip.

“Yes,” Judith said kindly. “Have the suits been filed yet in the instances of the Somosa and Fremont deaths?”

“I can't say,” Heather replied doggedly as she read the thermometer.

“Yes, you can,” Renie retorted. “It's a matter of public record.”

But Heather refused to cooperate. “Whatever comes next, it's not Good Cheer's fault,” she insisted.

“Meaning?” Judith coaxed.

“We did nothing wrong,” Heather said, her manner heated. “Not the nurses, not the doctors, not anybody employed by Good Cheer.”

“You sound very certain,” Judith remarked.

“Hey,” Renie yipped, “aren't you putting that blood pressure cuff on awfully tight?”

Judith grew silent, staring up at the cracks in the aging plaster, as if the wiggly lines provided some sort of map to The Truth. Except for a desultory word of farewell to Heather, she remained quiet for several moments after the nurse continued on her rounds.

“Maya got fired,” Judith finally announced.

“I agree,” said Renie. “She talked too much, at least to us. I hope we didn't get her into trouble.”

“So do I,” Judith said. “But Maya is the kind who can't stop talking. And what did Heather mean by that solemn statement about nobody at the hospital being at fault?”

“It would suggest,” Renie said slowly, “that she knows more than she's telling. That is, she's aware that there were no medical mistakes.”

“In other words,” Judith said, hauling herself up on the pillows, “all three victims were murdered, possibly by outsiders.”

Renie was skeptical. “
Three
outsiders?”

“It's unlikely,” Judith said, “but you can't completely discount the notion. Of course the modus operandi is similar, as far as we can tell. Unless they're copy-cat killings.”

“And just what
is
the MO?” Renie asked.

“It has to be something—the drugs that the victims supposedly ingested on their own—that was put into their IVs.”

“We still haven't heard what Bob Randall's drug of choice was,” Renie pointed out.

“No,” Judith agreed. “But I'll bet it's something like the other two. A street drug, I'd guess.”

“Not self-ingested?” said Renie.

“No.” Judith grimaced as she tried to make herself more comfortable. “I don't know why I haven't asked Joe if the police are investigating. I think I'll call him.”

Before she could pick up the phone, Mr. Mummy appeared in the doorway with a carton marked “Sutures.” “Cluck, cluck,” he said with a merry smile. “May I?”

“Of course,” Judith said, and introduced herself. “Why don't you join us, Mr. Mummy? There's plenty for three.”

“How kind,” Mr. Mummy said as he helped Renie unload the carton. “The delivery wouldn't fit in my carryall so I found this box, which makes quite clever camouflage, don't you think?” He paused as Renie rewarded him with a big smile. “Maybe just a small piece,” he said, sniffing the air that was now redolent with fried chicken. “I'm not terribly hungry. I did manage to eat my hospital tray.”

“Was it better than the food?” Renie asked.

“What?” Mr. Mummy looked puzzled, then comprehension dawned. “Oh-ho! Very funny, Mrs. Jones. Yes, I must say, the meals here aren't very delectable. Still, I'm not a fussy eater.”

Renie was filling the carton's lid with chicken, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, coleslaw, and baking powder biscuits. “Here, Mr. Mummy, pass this to my cousin.”

“Delighted,” Mr. Mummy replied. “I thought it wise to put the chicken delivery box inside something that looked as if it belonged to the hospital. It worked out just fine.”

“You're a genius,” Renie said, offering a white box filled with chicken to Mr. Mummy. “Take some.”

“Indeed, I will.” Mr. Mummy beamed at Renie. “Sometimes I can hear you two from across the hall. It sounds quite lively in here. You've had a lot of guests.”

“Not really,” Judith said, munching on corn. “I
mean, only our husbands have been to see us. The others have sort of dropped in.”

“I see,” Mr. Mummy said. “Yes, even Mrs. Van Boeck was in here briefly, am I not right?”

“Briefly,” Judith said with a nod.

“Such a spirited woman,” Mr. Mummy remarked, biting into a juicy thigh. “Did you find her conversation invigorating?”

Judith hesitated. “Well…I suppose. She didn't stay long.”

“I hear she may run for mayor,” Mr. Mummy said. “Our current mayor has had his problems lately.”

“Yes,” Judith said. “The step up from the city council would be a natural for Blanche Van Boeck.”

“I'm surprised she didn't do a little campaigning while she was in here,” Mr. Mummy said with a sly look.

“Not really,” Judith said, remembering Blanche's menacing attitude.

“It sounded to me,” Mr. Mummy said with a twinkle, “as if Mrs. Van Boeck and Dr. Garnett had quite an argument. I don't suppose she mentioned it to you.”

“She told him to buzz off,” Renie said, glancing down at the particles of crisp chicken skin that had fallen onto her sling and hospital gown. “Or words to that effect. I gathered there was bad blood between them. You have to wonder how Dr. Garnett and Dr. Van Boeck get along.”

“Well,” said Mr. Mummy, giving Renie a “May I?” glance before taking a biscuit out of a box, “there must be a rather intense rivalry there. That is, all doctors have big egos, and I assume Dr. Garnett may sometimes resent Dr. Van Boeck's decision-making.”

“So Dr. Garnett is ambitious?” Judith asked. “I mean, he'd like to run Good Cheer?”

Mr. Mummy stretched out his leg with its walking cast. “I have no idea. But he could be. I suspect he doesn't like what's been going on around here lately.”

“You mean,” Renie said, “the epidemic of death?”

“Yes.” Mr. Mummy nodded slowly. “It's very unfortunate.”

“So you've heard all about the previous deaths?” Judith remarked.

“Oh, yes,” Mr. Mummy said. “We may live in a rural area, but we take the city newspapers. Not to mention TV. I find health issues very interesting, since they affect almost everyone in this country.”

“What's surprised me,” Renie said, buttering her second piece of corn, “is how little coverage there has been in the media. Considering that Somosa and Joan Fremont were very well-known popular figures—and now Bob Randall—you'd think the local reporters would be all over the stories.”

Judith clapped a hand to her head. “Oh! We forgot to turn on the evening news.”

Mr. Mummy waved a pink, pudgy hand. “You didn't miss much. I saw the news, and they merely said that Mr. Randall had died unexpectedly. They did advise that further details would be on the eleven o'clock news.”

“Ah.” Judith looked relieved.

“You two seem very aware of what goes on around you,” Mr. Mummy said with admiring glances for both cousins. “You must pick up on a lot of scuttlebutt.”

Judith's expression was modest. “We're interested in people. Besides, it helps pass the time when you're laid up.”

“I think it's wonderful,” Mr. Mummy said approvingly. “These days, so many people are completely wrapped up in themselves.”

“Not us,” Renie said through a mouthful of coleslaw. “Fwee lok to kwee abwes.”

Judith smiled at Mr. Mummy's understandable perplexity. “My cousin said we like to keep abreast. I'm used to her speaking when she's eating. I can translate.”

“Amazing,” Mr. Mummy murmured as he stood up in an awkward manner. “I should be getting back to my room. Thank you for this delicious treat. If you hear anything interesting, do let me in on it. I'm a bit bored, since my wife and family live so far out in the country that it's hard for them to get into the city.”

“Any time,” Renie said. “And thanks for playing deliveryman.”

Judith didn't speak until Mr. Mummy was out of earshot. “He seems quite caught up in what's happening at Good Cheer, don't you think?”

“That's not so very odd,” Renie said, attacking yet another piece of chicken. “Mr. Mummy's right, you get bored lying around in the hospital.”

“He never did say exactly where he lived, did he?”

“Mmm…” Renie swallowed the big bite of chicken and licked her lips. “No. But then I didn't ask.”

Judith grew quiet for a few minutes. The only sounds in the room were Renie's chewing, the hum of the equipment, and the usual distant voices and footsteps in the hall. Judith leaned far enough forward to gaze out the window. It was still snowing, the flakes now smaller, and thus more likely to stick.

“I'm calling Joe,” Judith announced at last. “I've got a question for him.”

Renie brushed at the collection of crumbs on her front. “About our car?”

“No,” Judith replied, dialing the number at Hillside
Manor. “There's nothing he can do about that. Nobody else can either until the snow stops.” She paused, then a smile crossed her face. “Hi, Joe. How's everything going?”

“Oh, hi.” Joe sounded disconcerted. “How're you doing?”

“Fine. What's wrong?”

“Um…Nothing. It's snowing.”

“I know. Anything going on that I should know about?”

“No, not a thing,” Joe said rather hastily. “Except that before it started to snow so hard, FedEx delivered a crate containing a hundred whoopee cushions. Where do you want me to store them?”

“Whoopee cushions?” Judith was perplexed. “I didn't order any. Why would I? It must be a mistake. Call them and have them returned when FedEx can get back up the hill, okay?”

“Sure,” Joe said. “I wondered what they were for. I thought maybe a guest had ordered them to be sent here.”

“How
are
the guests? Did they get in all right?”

“Yes. All the rooms are occupied.”

“They are?” Judith was surprised. “We only had four reservations as of Monday morning.”

“The airport's closed,” Joe said. “Some people got stranded. Which, if the planes don't start flying tomorrow, means we'll be overbooked for Wednesday.”

“Oh. That
is
a problem.” Judith thought for a minute. “Arlene has the B&B association number. She can call them to help out.”

“Okay.”

“Nothing else to report?”

Joe hesitated. “Not really.”

“You're a bad liar, Joe.”

He sighed. “One of the couples who got stuck at the airport have a pet snake.”

Judith gasped. “No! Pets aren't allowed. You know that; Arlene knows that.”

“Nobody told Arlene about the snake,” Joe replied, on the defensive. “I didn't know anything about it until they got here.”

“What kind of snake?” Judith asked, still upset.

“A boa constrictor.” Joe paused again. “I think.”

“You
think?
” Judith threw a glance at Renie, whose ears had pricked up.

“I haven't seen it,” Joe said. “Nobody has. I mean, not since the Pettigrews arrived.”

“You mean
the snake is loose?
” Judith asked in horror.

“I'm afraid so. His name is Ernest,” Joe added.