muslin curtains, Judith grew thoughtful. It was another
gray day, with heavy, dark clouds hovering over the
city. Maybe it would snow. But the weather was the
least of Judith’s worries.
“There’s got to be a police investigation that hasn’t
62
Mary Daheim
been made public,” Judith said after a long pause.
“Maybe Joe can find out from Woody.”
Lunch arrived, brought by a small Filipino woman
with silver streaks in her short, dark hair. Making each
of the cousins a little bow, she introduced herself as
Maya. Sitting up in bed, Renie bowed back.
“Such a morning!” Maya exclaimed in little more
than a whisper. “Did you hear about Mr. Randall?
What next, I wonder?”
Judith had an impulsive urge to hug the little
woman. At last, there was somebody on the floor who
wasn’t tongue-tied. “It’s terrible,” Judith said, putting
on her most sympathetic face. “It must be so hard for
the people like you who work here, Maya.”
Maya set Judith’s tray in place, then put a hand on
her breast. “It’s terrible,” she said, rolling her dark eyes
and then crossing herself. “All these deaths. Fine people, too, each one very nice.”
“You were on duty when all three of them died?” Judith queried, trying to contain her own excitement.
“Yes.” Maya uttered the word like a victory chant. It
was obvious to Judith that she reveled in high drama.
“Can you imagine? Every time, the same thing, the
same way. They do fine, getting better, then . . .” She
held up her small hands. “Poof! They go to heaven.”
“It must be very sad for you,” Judith said, “to see
these people and their families and then to have them
die so unexpectedly. I suppose all their loved ones
were extremely shocked. Did anybody say what might
have happened?”
Maya waved a hand in a vexed gesture. “They say
too little and too much. The doctors, they don’t understand what happens. Not their fault, they say. Can’t explain. Maybe patient have unknown sickness or take
SUTURE SELF
63
bad medicine. The families, they cry, they make
threats, they blame doctors, nurses, everybody in hospital. Why, right now, Mr. Kirby, the husband of the actress, he’s here again, making the big fuss.” Maya
shook her head. “What is fame, what is riches, if you
die too soon? So sad, so very sad.”
“Mr. Somosa left a wife, but no children, I believe,”
put in Renie as Maya delivered her tray. “The Kirby
children are grown, and I guess the Randall kids are,
too.”
Maya nodded several times. “Yes. Mrs. Somosa, so
pretty, so young, she had to be put in the hospital herself, she was so filled with grief. Now she has gone
back to her homeland, the Dominican Republic, I believe. Mr. Somosa was buried there, with his ancestors.
The Kirby children I never saw, they live far away, but
they must have come for the funeral, yes? And now
Mr. Randall . . . Oh, my! Mrs. Randall, she will be in
the hospital, too, if she doesn’t stop crying so.”
“Maybe the children can help,” Judith said. “I understand they’re at the hospital now.”
Maya’s dark eyes flashed. “That’s so.” She put a finger to her lips. “Know what? They are with Mr. Kirby.
Why do you think?”
“I don’t know,” Judith said.
“I do,” Maya said with an emphatic nod. “They talk
of a cabal.”
Judith stared. “A cabal? What sort of cabal?”
“A plot to kill these poor souls,” Maya declared with
a swift glance over her shoulder to make sure the door
was firmly shut. “What else?”
Judith made an extra effort to look impressed. “Who
would do such a thing?”
Maya waved her hand again. “The riffraff. The rab-64
Mary Daheim
ble. The kind of people who hate the rich and famous.
Communists, no doubt. It’s what you call a vendetta.”
She clenched a fist and made stabbing motions, as if
she held a dagger.
The door opened suddenly and Heather Chinn appeared, looking suspicious. “Your lunch cart is outside,
Maya,” said the nurse. “Is everything all right in here?”
“Yes, yes,” Maya said, smiling, her compact little figure all but bouncing toward the doorway. “These fine
ladies, they need what you call the pep talk. You know
Maya, she can give the good pep talk.”
Heather stepped aside as Maya made her exit. “I
hope she wasn’t pestering you,” Heather said to the
cousins, a faintly wary expression lingering on her
face. “Maya’s quite a talker.”
“She’s interesting,” Judith said.
“Yes,” Heather agreed, turning to leave, “but don’t
pay much attention to her. She likes to hear herself talk.”
The nurse departed, closing the door behind her.
“Well?” Judith said. “How much of Maya’s spiel do
you believe?”
“None of it,” Renie replied, lifting lids and looking
dismayed. “It seems we have bath sponge for lunch.”
Judith also examined the meal. Everything was a
pale yellow, including the lettuce leaves in the salad.
“It might be some kind of creamed chicken on . . .
something. Toast?” Judith prodded the gelatinous mass
with her fork. “Hunh. Whatever. We also have pears,
more apple juice, and a big, fat, unattractive cookie
with jaundice-yellow frosting. No wonder I don’t have
much appetite.”
“That makes two of us.” Renie sighed. “I was
starved last night, but Art Huey’s food is always terrific. Today, I feel sort of . . . blah.”
SUTURE SELF
65
“That’s not like you,” Judith remarked. Renie’s appetite was usually boundless. “I suppose it’s natural.
We’ve been through a lot.”
“True,” Renie said as someone knocked on the door
but entered before either cousin could respond.
“Mrs. Flynn and Mrs. Jones?” The man who spoke
was Addison Kirby, who closed the door behind him
and immediately introduced himself. He was hatless,
and wearing a classic trench coat over dark slacks, a
tweed jacket, and a light-brown flannel shirt. “May I?”
“You want to see us?” Judith asked in surprise.
The newspaper reporter gave a curt nod. “It’ll only
take a minute.”
“Okay,” Judith said, puzzled. “Have a seat.”
Addison started to sit down in Judith’s visitor’s
chair, then hesitated. “Are you sure?” he asked, his
penetrating hazel eyes darting from cousin to cousin.
“Positive,” Renie said, draining her apple juice. “I
recognized you out in the hall. Let me say right off,
I’m terribly sorry about your loss. Your wife was a
wonderful actress, and I’ve heard she was a fine person
as well. She always seemed active in helping raise
money for charity.”
Briefly, Addison hung his head. He was going bald,
but there were only a few strands of gray in his wellkept beard. “She was terrific in every way,” he said,
looking up. “On top of it, we managed to raise three
children who are now off and on their own. We have
two grandchildren, charming little twins. Joan was so
fond of them. We’d visit when Le Repertoire
wasn’t . . .” He stopped abruptly and bit his full lower
lip. “Sorry. I’m not here to talk about that.”
“That’s okay,” Judith said with sympathy. “Go