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“Tell us about the car,” Officer Boxx inquired. “It

was a beige medium-sized sedan. Any idea how old or

what make?”

“Very clean,” Renie answered, “so I thought it was

fairly new. It was shaped like so many cars these days,

especially the Japanese imports. Bill and I have a Toyota,

about the same color as the car I saw. In fact, our car

looks like every other car these days. Sometimes I get

mixed up in a parking lot and try to get into the wrong

one. My husband and I call our Toyota Cammy. Except

Bill says Cammy is a boy. I don’t agree. Cammy’s a girl.”

“Can’t you tell by looking underneath?” Torchy

laughed aloud at his joke.

“I never thought of that,” Renie said with a straight

face and a flashing eye.

“License plate,” Boxx put in. “Did you get any kind

of look?”

“Ah . . .” Renie bit her lip. “I didn’t notice.”

The young policeman frowned. “Do you remember

if it had in-state plates?”

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Mary Daheim

Her eyes half closed, Renie seemed to be concentrating. “Yes, I think so. I can see it from the rear as it

headed toward the parking lot. I’m a very visual person.”

“Huh?” said Torchy.

“I’m a designer, an artist by trade,” Renie explained.

“I see more than most people do, but sometimes I don’t

realize it until later.”

“But you didn’t see any letters or numbers,” the policeman prompted.

“No.” Renie looked chagrined.

“So this car went where after hitting Mr. Kirby?”

Torchy inquired.

“Toward the parking lot,” Renie replied. “You can’t

see much of the lot because of those evergreen trees

and shrubs. Anyway, I was riveted on Mr. Kirby.”

“How is he?” Judith broke in.

“Kirby?” Torchy turned around. “Broken leg,

bruises and so forth. Kid stuff.” The security guard

touched his head, presumably where he’d been shot.

“He’ll live.”

“That’s more than his wife did,” Renie declared.

“She never got out of this place alive.”

“Now, now,” Torchy said in a soothing tone. “That

was a different matter.”

“How different?” Judith asked.

“Well,” Torchy began, then paused and scratched his

bald spot, “she had an operation. And then . . . well,

maybe she was taking some stuff on the side. You

know.” He winked again.

“Actually,” Renie said, “we don’t know. Mr. Kirby

doesn’t think his wife was taking ‘stuff on the side.’

Have you talked to him, Security Officer Magee?”

Torchy gave a little jump. “Me? Why, sure. That’s

SUTURE SELF

85

my job. But what do husbands know about what wives

do when they’re not with the old man?” He winked a

third time. “Or the other way around, for that matter.

Besides, she was an actress. You know what those theater people are like.”

Renie held up a hand. “If you wink again, I’ll

have to kill you. Yes, I know something about theater people. But the real question is, what do you

know about the untimely deaths of three well-known

local residents in this very hospital? Isn’t that your

business?”

Johnny Boxx had strolled to the door, maybe, Judith

thought, in an effort to disassociate himself from

Torchy Magee. “If you think of anything else,” Boxx

said to Renie in a courteous voice, “let us know.” It was

clear he meant the police, not security.

“I will,” Renie promised.

Torchy lingered after Officer Boxx went out into the

hall. “Let me know first,” he said to Renie, his jocular

manner evaporating.

“Sure,” Renie said, her brown eyes wide with innocence.

Judith pushed herself up on the pillows. “Drugs,

huh?” she said in a conspiratorial tone. “Fremont and

Somosa both, I heard. And Bob Randall committed

suicide. How horrible.”

Torchy’s close-set gray eyes narrowed. “Where’d

you hear all that?”

Judith shrugged. “Hospital scuttlebutt. You know

how people like to gossip.”

The security man, who had been midway to the

door, stopped at the foot of Judith’s bed. “Don’t pay attention to what you hear. Of course,” he went on,

lightly caressing the iron bedstead rail, “sometimes

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Mary Daheim

truth has a way of getting out.” Once again, Torchy

winked.

“That’s so,” Judith said, smirking a bit and ignoring

Renie, who was making threatening gestures at Torchy

with her cheese knife. “It’s hard to imagine why Bob

Randall would kill himself. It’s even harder to imagine

how he did it.” She gave a little shudder, which wasn’t

entirely feigned.

Torchy frowned. “I’m not sure I know yet. That is, I

couldn’t say if I did, of course. That’d be telling tales

out of school.” Torchy gave the bedstead a quick slap.

“Gotta go. No rest for the wicked.”

The security man left. The cousins stared at each

other.

“What do you think?” Renie inquired.

“I think,” Judith said slowly as her eyelids began to

droop, “that no matter how Bob Randall died, it wasn’t

suicide. I’m willing to bet that it was . . .”

She fell asleep before she could finish the sentence.

SIX

JOE AND BILL arrived shortly after three o’clock.

Both had already heard about Bob Randall’s sudden

death. Joe was wild; Bill was thoughtful.

“I don’t get it,” Joe raged, pacing up and down the

small room. “There’s nowhere you can go in this entire world and not run into a dead body. If I shot myself right now with my trusty thirty-eight, and you

entered a cloistered nunnery tomorrow, the first

thing you’d find is the Mother Superior’s corpse,

carved up like a damned chicken!”

“Joe,” Judith pleaded, “you know I was apprehensive even before . . .”

“Post-op anxiety, depression, fear—it could play

out that way,” Bill was saying quietly to Renie, “but

I doubt it. On the other hand . . .”

“I’ll have you moved,” Joe said, suddenly stopping between the cousins’ beds. “To some rehab

place; I think there’s one connected to our

HMO . . .”

“. . . Bob Randall may have been overcome with

family difficulties,” Bill continued. “Maybe, when

he signed that release before surgery, he envisioned

his own mortality and . . .”

“No, what am I thinking of?” Joe said, catching

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himself. “There’d still be a damned body somewhere.

It’s hopeless, it’s beyond comprehension, it’s . . .”

“. . . given his other problems, Randall felt his life

was unbearable.” Bill turned his palms up in a helpless

gesture.

Judith turned toward Bill. “What did you say? About

Bob Randall’s family problems?”

Bill gave Judith a vaguely apologetic look. “Sorry. I

shouldn’t have mentioned it. You see, I’ve been treating Margie Randall for some time.”

“What?” Both cousins shrieked at Bill.

“Good God almighty!” Joe exclaimed under his

breath and fell into Judith’s visitor’s chair.

“You never mentioned Bob Randall’s wife as a patient,” Renie said in an accusing tone.

“Of course not,” Bill replied calmly. “I don’t disclose my patients’ identities to you unless it’s someone