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“Yes, I must,” Renie declared. “Now shut up.”
The nurse gave Renie a helpless look as the wrangling between Blanche Van Boeck and her unseen
male opponent continued.
“. . . that you’re on TV?” Blanche said in her strident
voice. “Don’t be a fool, Peter. You’re not irreplaceable.”
“Garnett?” Judith mouthed at Heather.
The nurse gave a brief, single nod. The sound of a
struggle followed next, then what sounded like something breaking. Renie let go of Heather and hurried as
fast as she could to the door. She was nearly there
when Blanche Van Boeck stumbled backwards into the
cousins’ room, almost colliding with Renie.
“You’ll regret this, Peter,” she shouted as she caught
herself on Judith’s visitor’s chair and her turban fell off
onto the commode. Blanche whirled on Renie. “You
clumsy idiot, you almost killed me!”
“Gee,” Renie said, eyes wide, “I must be a real failure by Good Cheer standards. Usually, you come to
this place, you end up dead.”
“How dare you!” Blanche slammed the door behind
her, narrowly missing Dr. Garnett, who was standing
on the threshold. “See here, you little twerp, you have
no right to cast aspersions on this fine institution.
Nurse, put this creature back to bed.”
Heather placed a tentative hand on Renie’s left arm.
“Mrs. Jones, would you . . . ?”
“No, I wouldn’t,” Renie snapped, shaking off
Heather’s hand. “Listen, Mrs. Big Shot, are you trying
to tell me that I can’t criticize a hospital where perfectly healthy people die within twenty-four hours
after surgery? Or some poor guy gets run down before
my very eyes?”
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“You saw that?” Blanche was taken aback. “Well,
he’s still alive, isn’t he?” She snatched the turban from
the commode and jammed it back on her platinum hair.
“Addison Kirby may still be alive,” Renie shot back,
“but his wife, Joan, isn’t.”
“That was tragic,” Blanche allowed, regaining her
composure. “Drugs are a terrible curse.” She spun
around toward the door. “As for Mr. Kirby, it’s too bad
his wife died instead of him. Nobody likes snoopy reporters. Or snoopy patients, either.” With a hand on the
doorknob, she threw one last warning glance at Renie
and Judith. “I suggest you two keep your so-called suspicions to yourselves.”
Blanche stormed out of the room as Renie glanced
at Judith. “Was that a threat?” Renie asked.
Judith winced. “Yes. All things considered, maybe
we should take Blanche seriously.”
“I would,” Heather said quietly.
The statement carried more weight than a loaded
gun.
SEVEN
TEN MINUTES LATER, Dr. Garnett surprised the
cousins with a professional visit. “Dr. Ming and Dr.
Alfonso are in surgery this afternoon. They asked
me to look in on you two.”
Peter Garnett wasn’t a true double for Ronald
Colman, but he did have the film actor’s distinguished air, along with silver hair, a neat mustache,
and a debonair manner.
“I think,” Judith said in her pleasantest voice, “we
could get more rest if it wasn’t so noisy around here.
It’s been a very hectic day.”
Dr. Garnett was checking Judith’s dressing.
“Yes . . . that looks just fine. Can you stand up?”
“Not very well,” Judith said.
“Let’s try,” Dr. Garnett said, smiling with encouragement. “Here, sit up and swing around to the edge
of the bed, then take hold of me.”
Painfully, Judith obeyed. The doctor eased her
slowly into a sitting position. “Now just take some
breaths,” he said, still smiling. “Good. Here we go.
Easy does it.”
Awkwardly, agonizingly, and unsteadily, Judith
found herself rising from the bed. At last, with Dr.
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Mary Daheim
Garnett’s firm grasp to support her, she managed to get
on her feet. Briefly.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, swaying a bit before sitting
down again. “I did it!”
“Of course.” The doctor patted her arm. “You’re
very weak, you’ve lost a great deal of blood. Tomorrow
we’ll see if you can take a few steps.”
“About that noise,” Renie said as Dr. Garnett moved
to her bedside, “what was that last to-do about with
the KLIP-TV people?”
Dr. Garnett’s smile evaporated. “Didn’t I see you out
in the hall earlier?”
“Probably,” Renie said. “I’m the designated observer. What gives with the TV crew?”
The doctor frowned. “Such nonsense. A hospital
ward is no place for the media. It should have been
handled in the lobby. Unfortunately, Mrs. Van Boeck
decided to act coy, so our patients and staff ended up
in the middle of a disruptive situation.”
“Isn’t it strange,” Judith queried, “for Mrs. Van
Boeck to be speaking on the hospital’s behalf?”
“Perhaps,” Dr. Garnett responded as he studied
Renie’s incision. “However, I must admit that she was
instrumental in getting the local hospitals to merge
their specialty fields. Still, since her husband’s in
charge here at Good Cheer, it would have been better
to let him do the interview.”
“Oink, oink. Blanche Van Boeck is a publicity
hog,” Renie declared.
Dr. Garnett didn’t respond to the comment. Instead,
he reaffixed Renie’s bandage and smiled rather grimly.
“You’re coming along, Mrs. Jones. You lost a lot of
blood, too. You shouldn’t be on your feet so much. I
SUTURE SELF
101
understand you’ll start physical therapy Friday morning, before you’re discharged.”
“Oh?” Renie looked surprised. “I didn’t know when
they planned to release me.”
Gently, Dr. Garnett flexed the fingers on Renie’s
right hand. “That’s what Dr. Ming told me. This is
Tuesday, you’ve only got two more full days to go.”
“What about me?” Judith asked from her place on
the pillows where she’d finally stopped quivering from
exertion.
“You’re another matter, Mrs. Flynn,” Dr. Garnett
said, his smile more genuine. “Saturday at the earliest,
Monday if we think you need some extra time.”
“Oh, dear.” Judith made a face, then tried to smile.
“Of course our house has a lot of stairs, so maybe it’s
just as well.”
The doctor patted Judith’s feet where they poked up
under the covers. “We don’t want to rush things. Besides, it’s starting to snow.”
Both Judith and Renie looked out the window. Big,
fluffy flakes were sifting past in the gathering twilight.
“You girls behave yourselves,” Dr. Garnett said, moving toward the door. “By the way, what did Mrs. Van
Boeck say when she was in your room a while ago?”
Judith grimaced. “She was rather rude.”
“She was a jerk,” Renie put in. “She threatened us.”
“Really?” Dr. Garnett’s expression was ambiguous.
“That’s terrible. Mrs. Van Boeck has no right to intimidate patients. I must speak to Dr. Van Boeck and Sister Jacqueline about her behavior. You’re certain it was
a threat?”
Judith nodded. “She also said that it was too bad that
Joan Fremont died instead of her husband, Addison
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Kirby. Mrs. Van Boeck remarked that nobody liked