unit. I just finished operating on him.”
Peter Garnett explained that he had just been on his
way up to inform Judith about her husband’s stabbing.
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He hadn’t wanted to alarm her until the surgery was
completed. Because of the weather, all the other hospitals were full. Joe had been rushed to Good Cheer,
which was closest to the park where he was stabbed.
“What do you really think, Doctor?” Judith inquired, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.
“I think,” Dr. Garnett responded carefully, “that
we’ll have to wait and see. The blade went very deep,
and there was quite a loss of blood before he reached
the hospital. The good part is that the weapon missed
his vital organs.” He tried to give Judith a smile of
comfort, but his attempt seemed forced. “Nurse Chinn
will get you a sedative,” he said, nodding at Heather. “I
know this has been a terrible shock.”
Sister Jacqueline moved closer to the bed. “I’m very
sorry about all this. I didn’t realize until just now that
Mr. Flynn was your husband. I didn’t see him when he
was brought in. I do know that Father McConnaught
has administered the Sacrament of the Sick. I’m sure
that will help in your husband’s recovery.”
The Sacrament of the Sick, Judith thought, and felt
sick at heart. It used to be Extreme Unction or the Last
Rites, but had been renamed, and in some theological
feat that defied her understanding, revamped as an encouragement to heal rather than as a signal of impending death. On the other hand, she had asked to be
anointed before her own surgery. Maybe Father McConnaught’s efforts wouldn’t be wasted on Joe. She
mustn’t lose hope. That, Judith understood, was what
the sacrament was all about.
Moving away from Judith, Renie eyed Dr. Garnett.
“I assume they haven’t caught whoever stabbed Joe?
My husband didn’t mention it, and I couldn’t quiz him
closely because I didn’t want to frighten Judith.”
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“I don’t know any of the details,” Dr. Garnett said.
“I’d just come from attending to Dr. Van Boeck and
had to scrub up immediately to operate on Mr. Flynn.”
The surgeon, who looked so weary that his mustache
seemed to droop, started for the door.
As beset as she was with her own troubles, Judith
managed to take in the wider world. “How is Dr. Van
Boeck?”
“He’ll be fine,” Dr. Garnett said without turning
around. “Unfortunately.”
“He doesn’t like his boss much, does he?” Renie
said, directing the remark to Sister Jacqueline after Dr.
Garnett had left.
The nun’s fine features puckered slightly. “They
have differing philosophies on some issues. It’s common among medical professionals.”
“You’ll keep me posted on Joe?” Judith asked Sister
Jacqueline as Heather returned with the sedative.
“Of course.” Sister Jacqueline’s smile seemed
tense. “Once he’s out of intensive care, I’m not sure
what floor he’ll go to. We’re terribly crowded here,
too. Maybe tomorrow we can release some of the patients who are ready to go home. Right now, we can’t
take chances since our patients are all orthopedic
post-op. A spill on the ice or an out-of-control vehicle could be disastrous.”
“Blanche Van Boeck wants to throw me out into the
snow,” Renie said. “Do you think she’s serious?”
Sister Jacqueline cocked her head to one side. “I
doubt it. That would be up to Dr. Ming. She’d have to
convince him that you’re ready to be discharged.”
“She could do it, though,” Renie said. “She has the
influence.”
Sister Jacqueline’s nod was curt. “That’s true. But
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she’ll be too busy tomorrow to worry about you.
Blanche Van Boeck is announcing her candidacy for
mayor.”
The Valium helped relax Judith, but it didn’t erase
her fears for Joe. For an hour, she fussed and fretted.
She also repeated over and over how she wished she
Renie was remarkably patient. But as seven
o’clock rolled around, she finally called a halt.
“You’re literally going to make yourself sick,” she
told Judith. “If you don’t stop stewing, I’ll ask somebody to give you another dose of Valium.”
“Okay,” Judith said, “but you know you’d worry like
this if it were Bill.”
“I’m already worried about Bill,” Renie responded.
“It isn’t normal—even for a shrink—to dress up Chihuahuas.”
“That’s nothing compared to what happened to Joe,”
Judith pointed out.
“It could be if Bill’s gone nuts,” Renie argued. “Do
you think I look forward to visiting him in some institution where he’s wearing a waffle on his head and
talking to the begonias?”
“You’re just trying to make me stop fussing,” Judith
declared. “Okay, so tell me what Bill said about the Chihuahuas. What was that about a Sea Auks uniform?”
“I’m not sure,” Renie admitted. “Between the doggy
concept, the car, and his news about Joe, I couldn’t figure out what he was talking about. Maybe Bill should
analyze himself.”
“I gather you didn’t get a chance to ask him about
Nancy and Bob Jr.,” Judith said, though her mind was
mostly in the ICU with Joe.
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“No,” Renie replied. “I could tell from the start
that something was wrong. I knew he’d get to it in
his own good time, but I didn’t want to put any detours in the way.” She glanced out the window,
where night had settled in over the snow-covered
city. “I still can’t believe that obit the Randall family
put together. Jim and Margie are both kind of weird,
but I didn’t think they were stupid.”
Judith didn’t respond immediately. “You’re right.
Maybe they simply wanted to vent. The odd thing is
that when we spoke with him right after Bob died,
Jim acted as if he was fond of his brother. And, in
fact, there was no mention of his relationship to Bob
in the write-up. Does that mean Bob and Jim really
did get along?”
“I don’t know,” Renie said, delving into her Falstaff ’s bag. “It’s a good thing I’m not hungry anymore.
All I have left is an apple and a small chunk of Gouda.
I’ll be a bag of bones by the time I leave this place. We
could use some good news around here. Then maybe
my appetite will come back.”
Judith eyed Renie curiously. “That’s funny, now that
you mention it—when Jim Randall left Addison
Kirby’s room this afternoon, Dr. Garnett met him in
the hall. He said he had some good news for Jim. I
wonder what he meant?”
“Didn’t Jim have some tests done the other day?”
Renie responded. “Maybe the results came back.”
Judith snapped her fingers. �
�That must be it. I’d forgotten.” She gazed at the phone. “I think I’ll call ICU.”
“They’ll let you know when they have anything to
report,” Renie said, munching on her apple.
“I should call Mike,” Judith said. “I should have done
that sooner. Why didn’t I?” She picked up the phone.
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“Because you don’t know anything for sure and you
don’t want to scare the wits out of Mike until you do.
Hold off,” Renie urged.
“I can’t,” Judith declared. “It wouldn’t be fair.” She
used her long distance calling card to get an outside
line, then waited as the phone rang a dozen times up at
the mountain summit. “Nobody’s answering,” she said,
finally clicking off. “Where could they go in this
weather?”
“Maybe the phone lines are down,” Renie suggested.
“Or maybe Mike’s got his other line tied up. He could
be busy.”
“True,” Judith allowed, but redialed in case she’d
made a mistake the first time. The result was the same.
Nobody picked up the phone.
“Doesn’t he have an answering machine?” Renie
asked.
“Not on his private phone,” Judith said. “Kristin
feels it’s bad enough to have the forest service lines
ring in the house. She’s not much for gadgetry. My
daughter-in-law is strictly a no-nonsense person.”
“I know,” Renie acknowledged. “Kristin’s a natural
phenomenon, like a giant redwood.” Renie did not add,
as she might have, that Kristin was damned near as big.
Judith tensed as Sister Jacqueline quietly entered the
room. “Mrs. Flynn?”
“Yes?” Judith flinched, her voice hoarse.
“I wanted to thank both you and your husband for
being organ donors,” the nun said, approaching Judith’s bed. “We’re very big proponents of the program,
and I’m sure you know what a wonderful thing it is.”
Judith barely heard what Sister Jacqueline was saying. “What about Joe?”
“He’s still in the ICU,” Sister Jacqueline replied.
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“The last I heard, he was holding his own. He’s officially listed as in critical condition.”
“Is that the worst?” Judith asked in an anguished
voice.
The nun shook her head. “No. Please don’t fuss.
We’ll let you know as soon as there’s any change in
your husband’s condition. I simply wanted to mention
our gratitude for your participation in the organ donor
program, and,” she went on, moving over to Renie’s
bed, “to encourage you to sign up, Mrs. Jones. Your
husband might be interested, too.”
“My husband could give you a couple of overdressed Chihuahuas,” Renie replied, “but I’m not sure
he wants to surrender his body parts.”
A faint smile touched the nun’s mouth. “We don’t
take them while you’re still alive, Mrs. Jones. People
say miracles don’t occur in the modern age. But they
do, in ways that we can understand and that are made
possible by people whose generosity saves lives every
day. Heart, kidneys, liver, eyes—they make many miracles. What, for instance could be a better gift? For example, Mr. Randall’s corneas went to an aspiring artist
who had lost his sight in a tragic accident. Now that
young man will be able to see again and fulfill his
dream.”
“That’s sweet,” Renie allowed. “But who’d want my
eyes? I’m not exactly a kid anymore.”
“Neither was Mr. Randall,” Sister Jacqueline declared. “Of course, he had excellent vision, which I’m
told was one of his greatest assets on the football field.
But even slightly impaired eyesight is better than none.”
Renie gave a slight nod. “Yes, I realize that. Bill and
I’ll talk it over when he gets out of the doghouse. So to
speak.”
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Sister Jacqueline looked pleased, if vaguely puzzled.
“That’s wonderful. I’ll pray that you make the right decision.”
A voice erupted sharply from the hallway. “Sister!
Come at once! We need your help!” Blanche Van
Boeck stepped inside the door, beckoning with an imperious finger.
“What is it?” Sister Jacqueline inquired.
“We have decisions to make,” Blanche declared.
“With Jan not feeling well, you’re going to have to
help with this crisis. After all, you are the hospital administrator.”
“Crisis?” The nun quickly crossed herself. “Of
course.” She nodded vaguely at the cousins. “Good
night, God bless.”
“Wait!” Judith cried. “Does this have anything to do
with my husband, Joe Flynn?”
Blanche scowled at Judith. “Not unless he’s the
CEO of Restoration Heartware,” she snapped.
As the two women left the room, Judith sighed with
relief. “That scared me. I thought something had happened to Joe.”
“If it had,” Renie said dryly, “they wouldn’t have
called in Blanche and the hospital administrator. There
must be some new word out of Cleveland about a possible takeover.”
“At this time of night?” Judith asked. “It must be
going on eleven o’clock back there.”
“Big business never stops working,” Renie said. “In
fact, I think the late-night sessions are strategic. They
wait to make decisions until everybody’s so exhausted
that they give in just so they can go home.”
Judith didn’t comment immediately, and when she
finally spoke, it was of a different, if related, matter.
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“Who benefits from unexpected deaths in a hospital? I
mean, in a business sense? I assume that the mortality
rate is important when it comes to rating a hospital.”
“Of course,” Renie replied. “Reputation is vital.
Admit it, weren’t we nervous about coming here after
Joaquin Somosa and Joan Fremont died?”
“Yes,” Judith said. “I certainly was. If Bob Randall
had died before I was admitted, I might have changed
my mind. Or at least postponed the surgery. But what
would be the point of indiscriminately killing off patients?”
Renie thought for a moment. “I understand they all
had different doctors, so it can’t be that somebody’s
out to get just one surgeon. Still, the ultimate responsibility rests with Dr. Garnett as head of surgery, and of
course with Dr. Van Boeck as chief of staff. So I suppose it’s possible that someone may be after one of
them. But I can’t imagine who’d benefit.”
“Garnett, wanting Van Boeck’s job?” Judith suggested.
“That’s a possibility,” Renie allowed. “Or Van
Boeck trying to ruin Garnett to eliminate a potential
rival.”
“That doesn’t wash,” Judith countered, “not as long
as Blanche Van Boeck wields so much clout. Anyway,
what’s the point of any of it if the hospital’s about to be
absorbed by some big company from the East? Aren’t
they like
ly to put in their own people?”
“That depends,” Renie said. “Sometimes corporations like to leave the locals in charge. It’s good public
relations, and it’s good business if the people in place
are already doing a satisfactory job for a particular
company. Then there’s the tactic where the headquarters’ chieftains move slowly, not wanting to upset the
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apple cart. Changes are made, but the powers that be
take their time doing it.”
Judith grew thoughtful. “I don’t see how dead patients can be to anyone’s advantage. Unless,” she
added slowly, “it’s someone trying to scare off
Restoration Heartware from making the merger.”
“That,” Renie said, “would be the current owners,
who happen to be a religious order. Can you picture Sister Jacqueline cold-bloodedly killing helpless people?”
“No,” Judith admitted, “but as you said earlier,
nuns are human, too. Hasn’t this order been around
the Pacific Northwest for well over a hundred and
fifty years? Weren’t they the first women in the territory? Pride is a sin, but they have a right to be proud
of their heritage. They were pioneers, especially in
medicine. All those years that the sisters dedicated
themselves to their hospital work is down the drain in
this city if they lose control of Good Cheer.”
Renie shivered. “I hate to even consider such an idea.”
“Me, too,” Judith agreed as Mr. Mummy appeared in
the doorway.
“Just dropped by to wish you a restful night,” he said
in his cheerful voice. “By the way, I assume that the
man who was stabbed is no relation to you, Mrs.
Flynn.”
“He’s my husband,” Judith said tersely.
“Oh!” Mr. Mummy slapped at his bald head. “I’m so
sorry! I thought the name was just a coincidence.
Whatever happened?”
“Someone attacked him,” Judith said. “The assailant
hasn’t been caught, as far as I know.”
“My, my!” Mr. Mummy was agog. “Do you know
what provoked the attack?”
“No,” Judith said, unwilling to elaborate.
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Mary Daheim
Mr. Mummy appealed to Renie. “Mrs. Jones, surely
you have some ideas on the matter? A clever guess,
perhaps.”
Renie shrugged. “Not a clue. There are plenty of
loonies out there. Most of them don’t need any provocation to harm an innocent person.”
“That’s so,” Mr. Mummy remarked, looking puzzled. “Still . . . Have you spoken with the police?”