Judith shuddered. “How odd. They give Joe’s name,
but not his previous or current occupation.”
“The police don’t want to broadcast Joe’s activities,”
Renie said.
“Maybe,” Judith allowed, deep in thought.
“Addison Kirby might be able to read between the
lines,” Renie suggested as her phone rang. Once again,
she smiled broadly as she heard Bill’s voice on the
other end.
Judith started to listen to her cousin’s half of the
conversation, but was interrupted by the arrival of Dr.
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Alfonso. He was upbeat about her progress, and assured her that she’d be able to manage a shower.
“Just don’t stay in there too long singing Broadway
hits,” he advised. “We’ll see about getting you on a
walker tomorrow. It looks as if you’ll be able to go
home Saturday if you keep improving at this rate.”
Judith started to ask the doctor if he knew anything
about Joe, but his beeper went off, and he made a
hasty, if apologetic, exit. Renie had just hung up the
phone and was looking disconcerted.
“Bill just spoke with Jeff Bauer, the manager at the
Toyota dealership,” she said. “It seems that some
scruffy-looking guy was hanging around the lot and
they figured he must have stolen it. Cammy still hasn’t
turned up.”
“Why didn’t they keep an eye on him?” Judith
asked.
“They were really busy,” Renie replied. “Bill wasn’t
the only customer who’d come in to have work done
before the snow started. The salesman who noticed the
scruffy guy was with some long-winded customer who
wanted to look at a used car on the other side of the lot.
Bill figures that Cammy was taken while the salesman
and the customer were looking at the other car.”
“Scruffy, huh?” Judith murmured.
“It figures,” Renie said, looking angry. “Who else
but some impecunious jerk would steal a car?”
“Good question,” Judith said with an odd expression
on her face.
“What are you thinking?” Renie asked, narrowing
her eyes at her cousin.
“Well . . . Nothing much, really, except that . . .” Judith’s voice trailed off as she avoided Renie’s gaze.
“Fine,” Renie snapped. “If you’re going to keep se-SUTURE SELF
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crets, I won’t tell you what Bill said about the Randall
kids.”
Judith jerked to attention. “What?”
“My husband’s mind works in convoluted ways,”
Renie said cryptically. “After thirty-five years, more or
less, I still have trouble figuring out what lies behind
his rationale for doing things. That’s one of the many
reasons Bill never bores me.”
“Good grief,” Judith cried, “you sound like Bill. Just
tell me what he said about the Randall kids. And don’t
give me your usual parroting of your husband’s psychobabble.”
“Okay.” Renie’s expression was bland. “Bill broke
his confidence because you need a distraction. That’s
how I figure it, anyway.”
“What?” Judith stared blankly at her cousin.
“Because you’re so worried about Joe,” Renie said.
“Besides, Margie Randall isn’t Bill’s patient anymore.
Not to mention the fact that Margie’s husband has been
murdered.”
“Get on with it,” Judith said between clenched teeth.
“According to Margie, Bob had been an extremely
stern, demanding father,” Renie said. “The obituary the
family put together wasn’t too far off the mark. In consequence, the kids rebelled. Nancy has been fighting a
drug addiction and Bob Jr., who is gay, was tested for
HIV.”
“Good Lord!” Judith cried. “Those poor kids! And
poor Margie!”
Renie nodded. “It’s awful. But Bill didn’t know
what the results of the HIV test were because Margie
quit seeing him about that time. It seems that Bob Sr.
left quite a legacy—and it’s not in dollars and cents.”
“Not in common sense, either,” Judith murmured.
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“He doesn’t seem to have been a very good father. I
guess he wasn’t much of a husband, either. Of course
you can’t blame him for everything. That is, children
can make choices. But to rebel, they often choose
the—” Judith stopped speaking as Margie Randall all
but pranced into the room.
“No matter what happens,” she said in a chipper
voice, “we don’t want to be glum, do we?”
“What?” Judith gasped.
“Life can be hard, so it’s not always easy to endure
what fate has in store for us,” Margie said, all smiles.
“Just tell me about Joe,” Judith said as apprehension
overcame her.
“I will,” Margie replied. “If you think you can take
it.”
Judith swallowed hard, and said she could.
SEVENTEEN
“I FOUND MR. FLYNN,” Margie Randall announced
with a triumphant expression.
“Oh!” Judith clenched her hands. “How is he?”
Margie simpered a bit. “Doing rather well,” she said
in a tone that indicated she was taking some of the
credit. “He’s expected to recover.”
Judith sagged against the pillows. “I’m so relieved! When can I see him?”
“Well . . .” Margie frowned, chin on hand, fingers
tapping her cheek. “That’s a different matter. He’s
not allowed visitors.”
“But,” Judith protested, “I’m not a visitor, I’m his
wife!”
Margie shook her head. “That doesn’t matter. Dr.
Van Boeck is back at work today, and he makes the
rules. I’m sure it’s all for your husband’s good. He
mustn’t be disturbed.”
“Can I call his room?” Judith asked.
“No,” Margie replied. “There’s no phone. Tomorrow, perhaps. Time is the best healer.” Again, her expression changed, radiating joy. “I must dash. My
brother-in-law has just gotten the most amazing
news. I must be with him.”
Margie fairly flew out of the room.
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“Damn!” Judith breathed. “I know I should be elated
that Joe’s better, but I wanted so much to see him. I
wonder if Margie’s right about the no-visitors rule?”
“It makes sense, in a way,” Renie said. “After all,
he’s just turned the corner and he probably has to stay
completely quiet.”
“I guess.” Judith heaved a big sigh, then turned to
Renie. “Goodness, I hadn’t thought about it until now,
but how are Joe and I going to manage when we both
get discharged? Neither of us will be in any shape to
help the other, let alone take charge of the B&B. I can’t
expect the Rankerses to keep pitching in.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Renie cautioned. “If
things get really desperate, won’t the state B&B association help you out?”
“Yes,
” Judith answered slowly, “they have backup
personnel. But I’d hate to avail myself of it. Besides,
I’d go nuts watching somebody else run Hillside
Manor.”
“Relax,” Rene urged. “We’ve got other things to
worry about. Like our recovery. And Joe’s. Not to
mention Bill’s mental state.”
“Did he mention the Chihuahuas this morning?” Judith inquired, trying to stop fussing.
“No,” Renie said. “He was too involved with the car
disaster and the Randall kids.” She paused, gazing out
the window. “Hey—the icicles are dripping. Maybe
it’s finally beginning to thaw.”
“It’s certainly sunny enough,” Judith said, then gave
a start as a loud whirring noise could be heard from
somewhere. “What’s that? I don’t recognize it as a routine hospital sound.”
The whirring grew louder, making Renie wince. “I
don’t know. I think it’s coming from outside,” she said,
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her voice rising to be heard over the noise as she got
out of bed and went to the window. “Good grief!” she
cried. “It’s a helicopter! It looks as if it’s going to land
on the roof!”
“An emergency, I’ll bet,” Judith shouted. “Someone
has been flown in from an outlying site.”
“What?” Renie watched as the copter disappeared
from her view. The whirring died down a bit. “Did you
say an emergency?”
“What else?” Judith said. “An accident, I suppose.”
The whirring resumed almost at once. Renie gaped
as the helicopter reappeared and began ascending over
the parking area. “It’s leaving. What did they do, throw
the patient onto the roof?”
Judith frowned. “I suppose they can make the transfer really fast,” she said. “But that was really fast.”
“Too fast,” Renie muttered, heading back to bed.
She’d just gotten back under the covers when Dr. Ming
appeared.
“I hear you’ve been a very active patient,” the surgeon remarked with an off-center grin. “You aren’t
wearing yourself out, are you, Mrs. Jones?”
“Me?” Renie gave the doctor a sickly smile. “I don’t
want to get weak.”
“You won’t,” Dr. Ming assured her. “What’s making
you run all around the hospital?”
“Oh—this and that,” Renie replied vaguely. “For example—what was with that helicopter just now?”
Dr. Ming was examining Renie’s shoulder. “That’s
coming along just fine. Your busy little ways haven’t
done any visible damage.” He paused, moving Renie’s
wrist this way and that. “Helicopter? Oh, that was a
transplant delivery. We don’t usually get them here
since we do only orthopedic work. But with the snow,
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this week has been different. We’ve had to take on
some exceptional cases.”
“Transplant?” Renie said. “What kind?”
“I’m not sure,” Dr. Ming replied. “Does this hurt?”
he inquired, bending Renie’s arm toward her body.
“Not much,” she answered. “Heart, maybe?”
“Heart?” Dr. Ming frowned. “Oh—the transplant. I
don’t think so. We couldn’t do that here at all. What I
suspect is that the organ was flown in along with the
surgeon. None of our doctors could handle a transplant. We aren’t trained for that kind of specialty.” He
patted Renie’s lower arm. “You’re coming along just
fine. Want to visit the physical therapist and then go
home tomorrow?”
“You mean Blanche Van Boeck isn’t evicting me
today?” Renie asked, faintly surprised.
Dr. Ming laughed as he backed away from the bed.
“No, she’s too busy.” He glanced at his watch. “In
fact, in about twenty minutes, Blanche is going to
hold a press conference just down the hall. If you’re
not doing anything else, Mrs. Jones, you might want
to listen in. I’m sure she’ll have some words of wisdom for us all.”
Renie sneered, but said nothing until Dr. Ming had
left. “Why is Blanche holding her damned press conference out in the hall? Why not the foyer? Or the auditorium? I assume they have one. Teaching hospitals
always do.”
“Don’t ask me,” Judith responded without enthusiasm. She couldn’t take her mind off Joe, though something else was niggling at her brain. Not that it had
anything to do with her husband. Or did it? Judith was
afraid that the anesthetic had dulled her usually logical
mind. “Blanche held that other press conference out in
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the hall,” she pointed out. “Maybe she likes the intimacy.”
Renie had gotten out of bed again. The icicles were
definitely thawing, in big, heavy drips. “Hey,” Renie
said, excited, “there are some workmen out in the
parking lot. It looks as if they’re clearing off the cars
that have been stuck there.”
“Good.” Judith shifted positions, trying to get more
comfortable. The sound of happy voices in the hallway
distracted her. “Who’s out there?” she asked Renie.
“Huh?” Renie turned toward the door. “I can’t
see . . . Oh, it’s the Randall kids. Jeez, they’re practically skipping down the hall.” She moved as quickly as
she could to watch their progress, which halted at the
elevator. “They’re high-fiving,” she said. “What’s
proper respect and bereavement?”
Judith’s interest perked up. “They’re glad he’s
dead,” she declared. “That’s the only possible explanation.”
As the brother and sister disappeared inside the elevator, Renie stared at her cousin. “Do you think they
killed Bob Randall?”
Judith shook her head. “No. I can’t imagine an entire family plotting to murder another relative. I mean,
I can, but it seems unlikely.”
“Hold it,” Renie said, sitting down in Judith’s visitor’s chair. “What are the three guidelines Joe uses
when it comes to homicide? Motive, means, and opportunity, right?”
“Right.” Judith was looking dubious. “Okay, so
Margie had all three, assuming she really hated Bob. In
fact, she indicated that she may have delivered something lethal to each of the victims.”
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Renie raised a hand in protest. “Who told you she
admitted being the so-called vessel? It was Bob Jr., not
Margie. How do we know Margie ever said such a
thing?”
“Good point. But either way, it assumes that
Margie—or her son—knew what was in Joan’s Italian
soda, Joaquin’s juice, and Bob’s booze. Why would
Margie admit such a thing to anyone?”
“Because she’s a total ditz?” Renie offered.
“I don’t think she’s as much of a ditz as she pretends,” Judith said. “I think Margie—if she really said
it in the first place—was speaking metaphorically.
Why would she go to all that trouble to kill Joan and
Joaquin before finally getting to Bob? And
why kill
him here, in the hospital? She could have slipped him
a little something at home.”
“What about the others? Bob Jr. and Nancy and even
Jim?” Renie asked. “Could one of them have used
Margie?”
“As ‘the vessel’?” Judith gave her cousin an ironic
smile. “Maybe. But why kill the other two? We haven’t
seen any connection between Joaquin Somosa and
Joan Fremont and Bob Randall Sr.—except that they
were all well-known, successful individuals.”
Renie looked thoughtful. “I know that Margie and
Jim both evinced a certain amount of sadness at the
time of Bob’s death. But then they let loose, and the funeral hasn’t even taken place yet. What do you think?
Denial? Relief? Hysteria?”
Slowly Judith shook her head. “It’s impossible to
figure out because we don’t know them. You have to
consider who benefits from any or all of the three
deaths. Apparently, not the Randalls. Bob Sr. was
worth more to them alive. Stage actresses in repertory
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theaters don’t earn that much. Of course you have to
consider insurance policies, but would Joan or Bob
have had huge amounts? That means expensive premiums. Bob was probably insured to the max when in his
playing days, but the team, not Margie, probably was
the beneficiary. And he didn’t really play ball in the era
of million-dollar quarterbacks.”
“Somosa might have had a big personal policy, since
he did play in the era of million-dollar pitchers,” Renie
pointed out. “But Mrs. Somosa was in the Dominican
Republic when Joan and Bob died. That bursts that
balloon.”
Judith looked startled. “What?”
“I said, that bursts that . . .”
“Balloons,” Judith broke in. “What about the guy
who delivered the balloons and the cardboard cutout to
Bob’s room after he came back from surgery? Did you
get a good look at him?”
“No,” Renie confessed. “He went by too fast. And I
was still sort of groggy. The only thing I really remember besides what he was carrying was that his
shoes didn’t match.”
“Interesting.” Judith paused for a moment. “What
if he also delivered the Wild Turkey? They must
know at the desk who came in.”
“Probably,” Renie said, then stopped as a chattering
stream of people began to filter down the hall, accompanied by TV equipment and snaking cables.
“It must be the newshounds arriving for Blanche’s