yuk, the wonton soup, the . . .” Renie listed another
half-dozen items, then gave some special instructions:
“Tell the people at the front desk you’re visiting Mrs.
Jones. Put the stuff in a plain cardboard box and throw
one of those plastic geraniums on top. There’s a big tip
in it for you if the food arrives hot.”
“If the food arrives at all,” Judith remarked as Renie
hung up. “Do you think whoever brings it can get past
the desk?”
“Yes,” Renie declared, clicking on the old-fashioned
gooseneck lamp next to the bed. “Now dump that crap
off your tray and settle back. I should have ordered a
couple of drinks while I was at it.”
“We can’t drink,” Judith said, taking yet another sip
from her plastic water glass, “except for stuff like this.
We’re on pain medication.”
40
Mary Daheim
“We are?” Renie harrumphed. “You couldn’t prove
it by me.”
The food did indeed arrive, along with Joe, Bill, and
the delivery boy. Renie had already managed to get out
her checkbook, though it was a struggle to write with
her left hand.
“Let me,” Bill sighed, tearing up the check. “This
looks as if you’d written it with your lips.”
“I should try that,” Renie murmured, struggling to
open the cartons. “Here, pass some of this to my roommate.”
Joe and Bill had come to the hospital together. The
guests were settled in, Carl and Arlene had things well
in hand, and Gertrude was spending the evening inside
Hillside Manor playing three-handed pinochle with Judith’s stand-ins.
“They’re so good to her,” Judith said, referring to the
Rankerses. “I try to ignore Arlene’s threats to move. I
couldn’t bear it if they weren’t next door.”
Taking a bite of Judith’s marinated steak, Joe
agreed. “By the way, I’ve accepted a new case.”
“You have?” Judith was surprised. “But you’re already overloaded.”
“I’m okay, I got most of the loose ends tied up before your surgery,” Joe said, sampling a sweet-andsour prawn. “But this is one I don’t feel I can refuse.
There was a call from FOPP waiting for me when I got
home from the hospital this afternoon.”
Judith’s forehead wrinkled. “FOPP? What’s that?”
“Friends of Powerless People, advocates for the
homeless,” Joe replied, eyeing another of Judith’s
prawns. “It seems that a couple of street residents have
been killed in the last month. Not that it’s unusual in itself, but these weren’t the typical murders. You know,
SUTURE SELF
41
a couple of the poor devils get into it, one brains the
other with an empty bottle of Old Horsecollar. Or
smart-ass kids hassle the homeless until it gets out of
hand. According to Steve Moeller at FOPP, the two
most recent killings appeared to be deliberate and were
committed out of sight. Both stabbings, maybe by the
same knife. I’ll get more details tomorrow.”
“What about the police?” Judith inquired. “Aren’t
they trying to find the killers?”
Joe gave a slight shrug. “Sure, but you know how it
is. Even when I was still on the job, if Woody and I got
a case that was more high-profile, then our homeless
homicide got put at the bottom of the pile. That’s why
FOPP has decided to hire a private investigator.”
Judith frowned. She’d always had a sense of security
during the years that Woodrow Wilson Price had been
Joe’s partner. A solid man of African-American descent with a walrus mustache and deceptively soulful
eyes that could wring a confession out of the most
hardened criminals, Woody had never let Joe down.
And vice versa. But that was then and this was now. “It
sounds dangerous. Furthermore, you don’t have
Woody for a partner anymore.”
Joe shook his head and grinned. “I’ll manage. The
worst of it is trying to make sense of what the witnesses will say. If I can find any witnesses.”
“Take someone with you,” Judith urged. “Bill, for
instance. He can tell who’s crazy and who isn’t.”
Joe made a face at Judith. “Bill has plenty to do, too.
He still sees some of his private patients and consults
at the university. Besides, on these investigations, I like
to work solo.”
Judith started to argue, but she was too worn out and
knew she’d lose. At the other bedside, the Joneses were
42
Mary Daheim
arguing, something about the assignments of their
three children while Renie was in the hospital.
“Why,” Renie was demanding, “should Tom wash
the windows in January? He needs time to work on his
Ph.D. thesis.”
“That doesn’t mean the windows aren’t dirty,” Bill
pointed out. “Besides, he’s been in graduate school for
eight years. I don’t see that he’s in any rush.”
“He has deadlines,” Renie countered. “You know
that, you’ve been through it.”
“Not in Babylonian history,” Bill pointed out, his
voice growing more heated. “What’s he going to do
with that degree when he gets it? How many recruiters
are out there looking for an expert on the Mushkenu
social class?”
“He can teach,” Renie retorted.
“He doesn’t want to teach,” Bill asserted. “He wants
to stay in graduate school, live in our house, eat our
food, and wait until we’re carried out feetfirst, just like
his brother and his sister are doing.”
Joe, who had been fidgeting, stood up. “Hey, Bill,
maybe we should head on out. It may snow tonight.”
Bill all but flew out of his visitor’s chair. “Good
idea. Heraldsgate Hill has some pretty mean streets in
bad weather.”
Joe and Bill kissed their wives and fled.
“Do you really think they have girls lined up?” Judith asked.
“No,” Renie answered. “They have basketball
games, though. Pro and college. Besides, we’re boring.”
“Joe ate half my dinner,” Judith said in dismay.
“Bill didn’t try to touch any of mine,” Renie said. “He
knows better.”
SUTURE SELF
43
Judith checked her watch, which was lying on the
bedside stand. “It’s almost eight. I could use some
more painkillers.”
“Me, too,” said Renie. “You buzz. They hate me.”
Judith pushed the button. “I have to admit, they
aren’t exactly killing us with kindness. Excuse the
phrase.”
But Heather Chinn appeared almost immediately.
“Sorry,” she apologized. “It’s been so busy on this
floor tonight. I’m behind in taking vitals.”
“How about victuals?” Renie said, indicating the
empty white boxes on her tray. “Could you get rid of
these for us?”
Heather hadn’t noticed the small cartons. “Oh, dear!
Did you two . . . ? Really, that’s not allowed. Lately,
our patients seem to think they can consume just about
anything they like. That’s not so. You have to keep to a
hospital diet while you’re with us. If we hadn’t been so
caught up with other patients, we’d never have permitted this.”
“Those aren’t ours,” Renie said, feigning shock.
“Our husbands brought their own dinner. We’ll both
speak severely to them about doing it again.”