Suture Self (17 page)

“What a shock,” Judith murmured. “Mr. Kirby must have been overcome.”

“The truth is,” Heather said, “Mrs. Kirby wasn't one of my patients. I heard all this secondhand from Dr. Garnett.”

“Oh,” Judith said, remembering what Heather had told her earlier. “But you were on duty when Mr. Somosa died, right?”

“Yes.” Heather nodded solemnly. “I was the one who found him. That is, I saw his monitor flat-line, and immediately started the emergency procedures.”

Judith wore her most wistful expression. “I hope he got to have his favorite thing, like Joan Fremont—Mrs. Kirby—had with her Italian sodas.”

A spot of color showed on each of Heather's flawless cheeks. “He did, actually, even though I tried to dissuade him. Somebody had brought him a special juice drink, the kind he always drank before he pitched. I saw Mrs. Randall bring it in to him, and she said it smelled delicious.”

“So someone brought it to the front desk?” Judith asked.

“I suppose,” Heather said, then frowned at Judith. “You're interrogating me, aren't you? Why?”

Judith's smile was, she hoped, guileless. “Curiosity. What else is there to do but lie here and try to work out a puzzle? Surely you see that the three deaths—I'm including Bob Randall's—were peculiar?”

“It happens,” Heather said, looking away. “It's part of nursing, to have patients, seemingly healthy, who don't recover from even a minor surgery. I must say, I've never gotten used to it, but it's part of the job.”

“I suppose,” Judith said, without conviction. “Still, I'd think you or the other nurses wouldn't have allowed Mr. Randall to drink Wild Turkey so soon after his operation.”

Heather appeared flustered. “Wild Turkey? Isn't that some kind of whiskey?”

“Very strong whiskey,” Judith said. “Did you know he had a bottle in bed with him?”

“No,” Heather replied in a worried voice. “I wasn't on duty Tuesday morning. Corinne Appleby had her usual morning shift. That's odd—she didn't mention finding a whiskey bottle in Mr. Randall's room. It's the kind of thing you usually mention, especially after a…death.”

“Did the night nurse notice, I wonder?” Judith said.

“Not that I heard,” Heather replied, still looking concerned. “It would have been Emily Dore. You may not know her. I believe you have Avery Almquist and Trudy Womack on the night shift.”

“Yes,” Judith said, recalling the young male nurse who made his rounds silently and efficiently. “I really haven't had much chance to talk to him. I'm always half asleep when he comes in.”

“He's very professional,” Heather said, moving toward the door. “Are you certain about that whiskey?”

“Yes,” Judith said. “You can check with your repairman, Curly. He's the one who told me.”

“I will,” Heather said. “I'll check with Emily and Trudy, too, when they come on for the night shift.”

“Hey,” Renie called out as Heather started into the hall, “what about me? I'm famished.”

“That's too bad,” Heather said. She looked apologetic, but kept on moving into the hall and out of sight.

“Great,” Renie said in disgust. “I can't believe they don't have a lousy ham sandwich.”

“You have about ten pounds of food over there,” Judith said. “You won't starve.”

“I wanted some meat,” Renie said. “I don't have any meat.”

“You'll live,” Judith said, “which is more than I can say for some of the other patients. At least we found out that Margie Randall brought that juice to Joaquin Somosa. The next question is, who brought it to the hospital?”

Renie scowled at Judith. “I thought the next question would be, what was in the juice?”

Judith stared at her cousin. “You're right. That should be the next question. Why weren't those vessels, as Margie might call them, tested for drugs? Joan Fremont's Italian sodas, Joaquin Somosa's juice, Bob Randall's Wild Turkey—why weren't the residues checked?”

Renie shrugged. “How do you know they weren't?”

Judith stared even harder. “You're right. We don't. Maybe they were, maybe that's how those reports about illicit drugs came about.” Briefly, she chewed on her lower lip. “Then again, maybe the residues weren't there to test.”

“You're not making sense,” Renie remarked.

Judith gave her cousin an ironic look. “Nothing about this case makes sense.”

Renie nodded faintly. “I know. That's what scares me.”

Judith said nothing. But of course she agreed.

U
NFORTUNATELY
,
BOTH
J
UDITH
and Renie began to suffer considerable pain as the afternoon wore on. Renie pressed the buzzer again, summoning Heather, who explained to the cousins that they were both hurting more because their anesthetic had almost worn off.

“It stays in your system for twelve to thirty-six hours,” Heather said. “I'll get some pain medication to make you more comfortable.”

“Thanks,” Judith said as she tried to move around in the bed to find a less bothersome position. “My back aches more than my hip.”

Heather nodded and left the ward. Judith's phone rang a moment later. It was Joe, and he sounded brusque.

“I'm going to try to get out this afternoon,” he said, “so maybe I can stop by the hospital later on.”

“You're going out?” Judith said in surprise. “How come?”

“Just business,” he said. “I put the chains on your Subaru. I don't like to chain up the MG.”

“Where are you going on business?” Judith asked, concern surfacing.

“Just routine,” Joe replied.

Judith knew when to quit pushing her husband for answers. Instead, she switched to a different sort of question. “How's Phyliss?”

“Fine.” Joe's tone lightened a bit. “The medics hung around for a while to make sure she was all right. I think she converted one of them.”

“What about Ernest?”

“Ernest? Oh—the snake.”

“Yes?”

“I'm sure Ernest is fine.”

“
Where
is Ernest?” Judith asked in a stern voice.

“Somewhere,” Joe answered, far too breezily. “Got to run or I'll be late for my appointment.”

Judith stared into the receiver as Joe rang off. “He's keeping something from me,” she declared.

“Like what?” Renie inquired, her face a mask of misery. “A cache of opium?”

“I don't know,” Judith said. “But whatever it is, it's important enough to get him to chain up the Subaru and go out in this snow.”

Wincing, Renie looked out the window, which was partly frosted over. “It's not snowing now, hasn't been all morning. Joe's like Bill. They know how to drive in it.”

“True,” Judith conceded as Heather returned with their pain medication.

“No ham sandwich?” Renie asked hopefully. “It'd make a nice chaser for the painkiller.”

But Heather had only Demerol, which provided some relief. But not much. Half an hour later, Renie buzzed again for the nurse.

“This stuff's not as good as Excedrin,” Renie complained. “Or are you giving it to us with an eyedropper?”

“Well…” Heather studied the charts. “I could boost it slightly.”

“Boost away,” Renie ordered.

Judith waved a hand. “I could use some more, too. Really, I'm not a baby. I've had plenty of pain these last few weeks while I was waiting for my surgery.”

Heather complied. As she was leaving, the cousins heard a loud voice out in the hall.

“…and your sports reporters stink, too! They always have and they always will.” Jan Van Boeck strode past the door, still red in the face.

“What was that all about?” Judith asked of Renie.

“Van Boeck must have been talking to Addison Kirby,” she replied. “The good doctor seems to be in a really foul mood today.”

At that moment, Mr. Mummy showed up at the door. “Knock-knock,” he said in his cheerful voice, “may I come in?”

“Sure,” Renie replied. “Where've you been? We haven't seen you all day.”

“Physical therapy,” Mr. Mummy said, moving awkwardly with his walking cast. “I had to wait there for some time and then it was quite a long session. How are my favorite lady patients doing today?”

“Stinko,” Renie said. “They're certainly cheap about giving pain medication. It must be priced like caviar, so much per ounce. In fact, it probably is—those pharmaceutical companies are greedy.”

“Medical professionals don't want patients to get addicted,” Mr. Mummy said, angling himself into Judith's visitor's chair. “You know what kind of problems that can cause.”

“Of course,” Renie responded, eyeing the IV bag with displeasure. “But isn't pain medication supposed
to relieve pain? And so these medical morons really believe that middle-aged women such as my cousin and me are going to succumb to a sudden addiction? That's ridiculous. And it's not good medicine.”

“Dear me,” said Mr. Mummy, pushing his glasses farther up on his nose. “You're quite upset, Mrs. Jones. Have you expressed your feelings to your doctor?”

“I haven't seen Dr. Ming since he came by this morning, before I started to hurt this much,” Renie said, becoming crabbier by the minute. “I think I'll start screaming soon if this pain doesn't ease up. How about you, coz?”

“Not so hot,” Judith replied, lifting her head to look at their visitor. “How do you feel, Mr. Mummy? Is pain a problem for you?”

“Ah…Not too much,” he said, looking down at his cast. “It wasn't a terribly bad break.”

“I thought it was fractured in several places,” Renie said.

“Well…yes, it was,” Mr. Mummy agreed, giving the cousins a diffident smile. “But they weren't
severe
fractures. Tell me, did you speak with Mr. Randall's children this morning?”

Judith noted the swift change of subject, but let it go. “Yes, Nancy and Bob Jr. stopped by. Have you met them?”

“Not exactly,” Mr. Mummy answered. “I'd like to, to convey my condolences. Their mother seems a trifle…ineffective. I hope the young people are more able to cope.”

“Dubious,” said Renie.

Mr. Mummy nodded slowly. “Yes. I suppose they're like the children of many successful parents—spoiled, lacking incentive or ambition of their own.”

“Something like that,” said Renie. “Okay, I'm going to scream now.”

She did, loud, piercing shrieks that alarmed Mr. Mummy and annoyed Judith. At the same time, Renie banged the buzzer against the bed to make the light outside in the hall flash on and off.

“Dear me,” said Mr. Mummy, leaning closer to Judith so he could be heard, “is she really in that much pain?”

“Maybe,” Judith allowed. “I know I feel pretty rotten. It's impossible to get comfortable.”

Heather arrived looking disconcerted. Jan Van Boeck was right behind her, frowning deeply.

“What's this?” he demanded, his bass voice bouncing off the walls.

Renie stopped screaming. “It's suffering. Recognize it?”

Dr. Van Boeck's face reddened with anger. “You're exaggerating. No one in real pain could make such a noise.”

“Wrong.” Renie glared at the chief of staff. “I can. I'll do it again, to prove the point.” She let out a mighty yelp.

“Close that door!” Dr. Van Boeck commanded Heather. “See here, Mrs….” He faltered, and Renie stopped yelling.

“Jones, Serena Jones,” Renie retorted. “And don't you forget it, buster.”

Judith thought Dr. Van Boeck looked as if he might explode. It was all she could do to not cower under the blankets and pretend she'd never seen Renie before in her life. Instead, she summoned up her courage, and, as usual, attempted to act as peacemaker.

“Dr. Van Boeck,” she said in a not-quite-steady
voice, “please excuse my cousin. She really does feel awful, and I don't feel much better myself. The staff here seems very chary with the pain medicine.”

Dr. Van Boeck scowled at Judith. “Are you questioning our medical expertise?” he asked in a gruff tone.

“She's questioning your common sense,” Renie broke in, “of which you people seem to have very little. What the hell is the point of allowing patients to feel miserable? How can we sleep? How can we assume the proper attitude toward recovery? If you want to keep up your little charade about your concern for patients, why don't you just shoot us after we come out of surgery and be done with it? Or,” Renie went on, her eyes narrowing, “is that more or less what happened with Somosa, Fremont, and Randall?”

Dr. Van Boeck's face had turned purple. Apparently, the commotion had attracted the attention of other staff members. The silent orderly, a nurse Judith didn't recognize, and Peter Garnett crowded in the doorway.

“You miserable creature!” Dr. Van Boeck shouted at Renie, and then choked. He grabbed his throat and staggered, bumping into Mr. Mummy in the visitor's chair.

“What is this?” Dr. Garnett demanded, rushing into the room. “Jan, what's wrong?”

Dr. Van Boeck turned to look at Garnett, tried to speak, clutched his right arm, and crashed to the floor.

“Good lord!” Garnett cried, and kneeled beside his colleague. “Quick, get help! I think he's had a stroke!”

Heather and the other nurse ran off. Mr. Mummy, looking pale, put a hand to his chest. The silent orderly stood like a statue, watching the little scene on the floor.

“Oh, dear,” said Renie in dismay.

“Are you okay?” Judith whispered to Mr. Mummy.

He nodded. “Yes. Yes, but this is…terrible.” Clumsily, he got out of the chair. “I'd better leave.” He bustled out of the room.

Despite all the confusion, Judith noticed that Mr. Mummy wasn't limping.

 

Five minutes later, Jan Van Boeck had been removed from the room. Judith hadn't been able to tell exactly what kind of emergency measures the frantic staff members had applied, but another doctor, Father McConnaught, and Sister Jacqueline had also shown up. Few words were exchanged, except for terse directions from Dr. Garnett. Then everyone was gone and the cousins were left staring at each other.

“I feel awful,” Renie said, shrinking back into the pillows.

“Well…” Judith was at a loss for words. “I guess you should. Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Renie brightened a bit.

“I really doubt if your little horror show caused Dr. Van Boeck's collapse,” Judith said carefully. “A perfectly ordinary man wouldn't have gotten that upset. He'd have just blown you off or walked out. But he must have been on the edge in the first place. You can't be the first patient who ever had a tantrum at Good Cheer. Just think of all the genuinely crazy people who must have been in and out of this hospital over the years.”

Renie looked perturbed. “Are you saying I'm not genuine?”

Judith grinned at her cousin. “You know what I mean. But you definitely hit a nerve with Van Boeck.
Remember, he was yelling at somebody out in the hall, probably Addison Kirby, and he certainly didn't look very happy when he came out of the staff lounge a while ago. I still think he had a row with Dr. Garnett.”

“They don't seem to get along,” Renie noted. “It's a wonder Garnett tried to save Van Boeck.”

“He has to,” Judith said, wishing the effort to converse didn't exacerbate the pain. “The Hippocratic Oath.”

“Uh-huh,” Renie said in a thoughtful voice. “So maybe I just sort of gave him a little nudge. I still feel terrible about it. Besides, we never got our pain medication. I don't hurt any less just because Van Boeck had a fit.”

“True enough,” Judith sighed. “Neither do I. In fact, I feel worse. By the way, did you notice that Mr. Mummy wasn't limping when he left?”

“I couldn't see him with all those people blocking my view.” Renie gave Judith a curious look. “No limp, huh? Interesting. I wonder what he's doing here.”

“So do I,” Judith said as Heather came into the room.

“I've brought your pain medication,” she said in a voice that was chilly with disapproval. “Maybe it will settle you down.” She gave Renie a hard look.

“Thanks,” Renie said meekly. “How's Dr. Van Boeck?”

“I don't know,” Heather replied, her mouth in a straight line. “He's in the OR.”

“Goodness.” Renie lay very still.

“His wife has been sent for,” Heather added. Her tone seemed to indicate that Renie should feel even guiltier for alarming the illustrious Blanche Van Boeck.

Renie, however, remained silent. Heather moved on to Judith's IV. “You're certain you need more Demerol?” the nurse asked.

“I am,” Judith said. “If anything, I hurt worse right now than I did an hour ago.”

Heather gave a little sniff, but added another dose. “That ought to do it for both of you,” she said, sounding stern.

“I'll bet,” Renie said after the nurse had left, “that the little twit has never had more than a headache. I don't get it. Medical practitioners don't seem to give a hoot for the patient's comfort. Do they really prefer to listen to us gripe?”

“I suspect a lot of people don't gripe,” Judith said. “They suffer in silence, they're too shy to ask, they're intimidated by the staff, especially the doctors.”

“Phooey,” said Renie, digging into her grocery bag. “Snack?”

“No, thanks.” Judith looked askance at her cousin, who apparently didn't feel sufficient guilt to have lost her appetite.

For a few minutes, Judith lay back against the pillows, hoping the Demerol would start to work. Little by little, the worst of the pain seemed to ebb. At last she picked up the family tree and sighed.

“I think I'll call Mother,” she said.

“You're procrastinating,” Renie accused, smearing Brie on a water wafer.

“No, I'm not. I mean, I can't do much about Kristin's family because I don't know all their names.” Judith shot Renie a self-righteous look and dialed Gertrude's number.

For once, the old lady answered on the third ring. “Who
is
this?” she growled. “You selling something?”

“It's me, Mother,” Judith said wearily. “How are you?”

“‘Mother'?
I don't have any kids,” Gertrude snapped. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“Please,” Judith begged, “don't tease me. I'm not feeling real good right now.”