you’ve never heard of and the name is meaningless. In
fact, I often make up the names.”
“Patient confidentiality,” Renie scoffed. “How come
you didn’t speak to Margie Randall in the waiting
room yesterday morning?”
“Because it would have frightened and embarrassed
her,” Bill said. “Besides, I don’t think she saw me.
Which is understandable. Part of her problem is that
she’s completely locked into herself.”
“So what awful problems—other than Margie—did
Bob Randall have with his family?” Judith asked, trying to ignore Joe’s angry glare.
Bill sighed. “Honestly, I shouldn’t say. But we may
be involved in a homicide here, and eventually, the
media will get hold of all the details. Besides, Margie
canceled her last two appointments and may not still
consider me her psychologist; I can allow that the two
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Randall children are deeply troubled. In fact, they’re a
big, fat mess.”
“That’s clinical enough,” Renie said, her annoyance
fading. “How so?”
As was his wont, Bill took his time to answer.
“Really, I can’t betray a patient’s trust. Nancy, the
daughter, and Bob Jr., the son, both have what you
might consider life-threatening problems. Let’s leave it
at that.”
“You’re no fun,” Renie said. “I want a divorce.”
“You can’t have one,” Bill responded. “But I can assure you that life on the home front wasn’t all highlight
reels. Bob might have had good reasons to do himself
in.”
“No such luck,” Joe said glumly with a dirty look at
his wife. “I’ll bet my old classic MG that he got himself killed. I should be so lucky to have my charming
bride run into a plain old suicide.”
Judith felt too tired to carry the fight any further.
“Knock it off, Joe, please.” She gave him her most
winsome look. “Be reasonable. I had to have this surgery, Good Cheer is the only hospital in town that does
it, I’m incapacitated, and it’s not—and never has
been—my fault that I keep running into dead people.
I’m just an ordinary wife, mother, and innkeeper.”
“You’d run into fewer dead people if you were a
coroner,” Joe muttered. “Okay, okay, your usual logic
has made a slight impression. For now. Here,” he said,
reaching down to the shopping bag he’d placed on the
floor. “I got you some books and magazines.”
Bill, meanwhile, had given Renie another Falstaff ’s
grocery bag. A veteran of his wife’s foraging, he
stepped back as wrappers ripped, paper flew, and liquid spilled from an unknown source. Renie removed
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sandwiches, peeled carrots, sliced cantaloupe, potato
chips, two packages of cookies, a box of graham
crackers, and more Pepsi, the beverage she claimed inspired her graphic designs.
“Great,” Renie enthused, opening one of the sandwiches, which was on a small baguette. “Lunch was
inedible.” She leaned toward Judith. “Ham or
chicken?”
“I’m not that hungry,” Judith admitted.
Joe was concerned, so Judith reluctantly related her
experience in trying to stand up. “I’ve got to do it again
this afternoon. I don’t suppose you could stick around
until they make me try it?”
Joe grimaced. “I can’t, Jude-girl. I’m really sorry. I
have to get back on this homeless homicide investigation. I finished the background this morning. Now I’m
going to check out the sites where the bodies were
found. Both of the murders occurred in the same area,
not far from here, under the freeway.”
Judith knew the area that Joe was talking about.
Many homeless people tucked their whole world beneath the city’s major north-south arteries. It wasn’t as
aesthetic as the local parks, but citizens and police
alike were less apt to hassle them. Still, their ragtag little neighborhoods were occasionally sent packing, a
caravan of bundles, bags, and grocery carts. And people. The thought made Judith sad.
But she wasn’t naïve. “Be careful, Joe. I don’t like
this assignment any more than you like me encountering murder.” She paused, a fond expression on her
face. “Joe, we have to talk.” Judith paused and swallowed hard. “About Mike. He wants a family tree made
up for little Mac’s preschool.”
“Oh?” Joe’s face was blank.
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91
Judith nodded. “He called just a while ago. I told
him I’d do it.”
“Preschool?” The word seemed to strike Joe as an
afterthought. “Good God, the kid’s only a baby. He’s
still wetting his pants.”
“They teach them to stop in preschool,” Judith responded with a glance for Renie and Bill, who suddenly, discreetly, seemed to be absorbed in their own
conversation. “Mac’s not going to enter until the fall.
He’ll be two this summer. Anyway, that’s not the point.
Don’t you want Mike to know the truth? The last time
we discussed this seriously, you seemed crushed because I wasn’t ready to tell him.”
Joe sighed and scratched at his thinning red hair. “It
almost seems like it’s too late.”
“What do you mean, too late?” Judith was taken
aback. “Mike’s over thirty, he’s matured, he ought to
know because you and he have never had that fatherson intimacy. You’ve been buddies, period.”
“That’s what I mean,” Joe said, ducking his head.
“He’s a grown man. He doesn’t need a father.”
“Oh, Joe!” Judith put her hands over her mouth
and stared wide-eyed at her husband. “I was still in
my teens when my dad died, and I miss him every
day. Your father lived much longer, until you were—
what?—almost forty. How can you say such a
thing?”
“Because,” Joe said slowly, “I wasn’t there for Mike
when he needed a real father. When Dan died, Mike
was about the same age as you were when your dad
passed away. I missed out on all those years. And I still
marvel at how well Mike turned out. Maybe I owe Dan
something, too.”
Judith bit her lip. “You can’t do this to me. Not after
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all the agony I’ve been through and the guilt and
the—”
Joe cut Judith off with a wave of his hand. “Stop.
This isn’t the time for a family crisis. You need to concentrate on getting well. Let me think it over.” He
stood up. “I don’t know why the hell a preschooler
needs a family tree. He’d be better off if I built him a
tree house.”
“Do it,” Judith said, forcing a small smile. “That’s
what grandpas do. If you weren’t around for Mike,
you’re here for Mac.”
“Right.” Joe’s shoulders slumped. “Got to go. Hey,
Bill—let’s hit the pavement.”
Bill, who had been plucking food particles from
Renie’s sling and other parts of her person, stood up.
“Okay.” He turned back to Renie. “Joe picked me up at
the Toyota place downtown. I left Cammy there to
have new windshield wipers put on, just in case it
snows.” Bill bent down to kiss his wife on the one spot
on her face that wasn’t covered with mayonnaise, butter, or bread crumbs.
The husbands, who seemed to exit at a rather brisk
pace, hadn’t been gone for more than five minutes
when Judith glimpsed a patient being rolled down the