can be very hard to live with.”
“What,” Joe inquired, “about Addison Kirby getting
run down? Was that an accident or something Jim
cooked up?”
“I’m not sure,” Judith admitted. “I’m not even certain who was driving. It might have been Jim after he
got the homeless man to steal the Camry from the dealership. He might have told the guy to run over Addison, or at that point Jim himself may have been
driving. If so, he may not even have seen Addison
Kirby. We’ll know when Woody checks for hairs and
fibers.”
“Good Lord!” Renie cried. “Jim may have driven
our car? It’s a wonder we didn’t find it in pieces!”
“He wouldn’t have driven it far,” Judith said dryly.
“Jim had used the homeless to help him get around, no
doubt stealing cars and returning them, perhaps before
the owners knew they were gone. This time, he had to
leave Bill and Renie’s Camry because of the bad
weather. Plus, the last homeless victim was staying
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closer to the hospital because the camp had been
moved from under the freeway. The snowstorm
worked both for and against Jim Randall. And of
course he couldn’t take a chance of being seen with his
stooge.”
“Say,” Renie put in, “was Jim Randall the one who
got into my suitcase? And who was it you glimpsed in
the ICU?”
“I still don’t know who was in the ICU,” Judith
replied, “but I’m sure it wasn’t Jim. It was dark, he
couldn’t see well, and I can’t think of any reason why
he’d be interested in us.” She gave Woody a shrewd
look. “Why don’t you tell us who the intruder in our
room was? Could it be the same person I saw in the
ICU?”
“Ah . . .” Woody looked embarrassed. “I’m not supposed to say . . .”
“Come on, Woody,” Judith coaxed. “Tell us.”
Woody glanced at Joe. “She exerts a certain irresistible power, doesn’t she?”
“In more ways than one,” Joe murmured, the gold
flecks flashing in his green eyes.
“I guess it’s all right to reveal the truth,” Woody said,
though he cast a wary gaze on the closed door. “The intruder in your room was Harold Abernethy.”
“Who?” Judith and Renie chorused.
Woody bestowed his engaging grin on the cousins.
“I knew you wouldn’t know who he was. Well,” he
amended with a quick glance at Judith, “I sort of
thought you might have found out his real name.”
“Mr. Mummy!” Judith exclaimed. “His name wasn’t
really Mumford Needles?”
“No,” Woody replied, looking faintly amused. “That
was his working alias. Blanche Van Boeck hired him to
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try to solve the murders before Restoration Heartware
changed its mind and decided to withdraw its takeover
attempt.”
“But,” Renie put in, “I thought Blanche actually
sounded sincere when she expressed regret about the
takeover.”
“She probably was,” Woody responded. “But it was
the only way Good Cheer could survive. It was either
that, or turn the place into condominiums. Dr. Garnett
blamed Dr. Van Boeck for the hospital’s problems. That
was probably professional jealousy. Sister Jacqueline
and Van Boeck were fighting an uphill battle, like so
many other chiefs of staff and administrators.”
“So,” Renie murmured, “that’s why Mr. Mummy—
I mean, Harold Abernethy—checked out last night.
The takeover had happened, his job was ended. No
wonder he was so snoopy. But why was he interested
in us?”
“Harold was interested in everybody,” Woody said.
“He probably went through your things to make sure
you were what you appeared to be. Of course we knew
about his investigation, which was why we agreed,
along with county law enforcement, to keep the lid on
everything, including the media. Blanche, Dr. Van
that it was the best way to handle the situation. Given
that Good Cheer is the only orthopedic hospital inside
the city, they felt that publicity should be kept to a
minimum. The main fear, aside from the damage to
Good Cheer’s reputation, was that people who really
needed surgery would be put off and possibly cause
themselves serious harm.”
“But,” Judith asked, “did Harold ever learn the
killer’s identity?”
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317
Woody shook his head. “No. He felt like a big failure. He’s been a private detective for over thirty years,
and he insisted that he’d never come across such a baffling crime.”
Joe shot Judith a rueful look. “The cunning killer
never dreamed he’d come across my dear wife.”
“Now, Joe . . .” Judith began, then turned to Woody.
“What are you going to do about Jim Randall? I know
he’s probably not in any condition to be arrested right
now, but later when he . . .”
Woody was looking remorseful. “Judith, I’m sorry.
The truth is, we have no evidence. Even what’s been
collected before now doesn’t prove Jim Randall was
the killer.”
“What was collected?” Renie asked.
“The containers,” Woody said. “Sister Jacqueline
saved all the containers, including the whiskey bottle.
The fingerprints were smudged, but Sister had the
dregs analyzed. You’re right, the drugs were in the
juice and the soda and the liquor. But what did that
prove? It was impossible to pin down who had delivered them to the hospital, and in the first two instances,
Margie Randall had brought the items to Joaquin Somosa and Joan Fremont. No one paid any special attention to the homeless men being at Good Cheer
because the nuns offer them free medical care.”
“But,” Renie argued, “now you can have the technicians who gave those medical tests testify that they
didn’t give them to Jim Randall.”
“That’s possible,” Woody allowed.
“You can do better than that,” Judith declared.
Woody seemed skeptical. “How?”
Judith turned to Joe. “Could you ID the suspiciouslooking man you saw in the park?”
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Joe grimaced. “Maybe. It was pretty dark.”
Judith nodded. “I’ll bet you can when you see Jim
Randall. But there’s another way.” She looked at
Woody. “If you check Jim’s clothes, I’ll bet you’ll find a
surgical instrument or two among his belongings. He
hasn’t been able to go home because of the snow, and he
wouldn’t risk throwing them away. He couldn’t be sure
that there might not be some residual evidence implicating him. Nor would he have had time to get rid of them
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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319
“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 decept
ion
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
Good Cheer and the blessed sisters who’ve run it all
these long years. Soon this place will be taken from
them, and they’ll be left with only memories. But no
one can take away what they did, how they served,
how much love they offered in the name of our
blessed Lord. Can we say less for your late husband,
rest his soul? No matter what his faults or failures,
he lived, he loved, he made his mark. Glory be to
God, eh?”
Through glistening tears, Judith smiled at Father McConnaught. “You’re right. Thank you so much. I feel
better. It’s just that it’ll be so hard to finally tell Mike.”
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323
“God will guide you,” the priest said, and gave Judith absolution.
Robbie the Robot, apparently swerving to avoid
someone in the hall, briefly faced into the room.
“Beep-beep,” he said.
Still smiling, Judith beeped right back.
Shortly before eleven, Joe and Mike showed up in
her hospital room. Judith was sitting with the release
form, checking off the detailed information and list of
instructions for posthospital care. Joe was wearing a
big bandage under his jacket, but definitely seemed on
the mend.
“Kristin and Little Mac are at the house,” Mike said.
“They rode down with me this morning. Mac wants to
see Ga-ga.”
Judith flinched as she always did when she heard
Mac’s name for her. She sometimes wondered if he
couldn’t pronounce “grandma” or if he was describing
her. Maybe he really was a Little Einstein.
“Everything’s fine at the B&B,” Joe assured Judith,
taking her reaction as concern about Hillside Manor.
“All the odious guests are gone, and the Rankerses can
go home because Mike and Kristin are staying through
the week.”
“Oh, Mike!” Judith beamed at her son as Joe went
off to the nurse’s station to check Judith out. “You
don’t have to . . .”
“It’s cool,” Mike asserted. “We want to. Kristin
thinks it’ll be fun. She’s even got some ideas about
how you could run the place more efficiently.”
“Oh. Good.” Judith swallowed hard. “Mike, I have