comments to Renie. The Pakistani shook her finger;
the Southeast Asian stamped her foot. Renie looked
dazed.
“Hey, girlfriends,” she finally said, raising her voice
to be heard, “knock it off. You’re giving me a relapse.”
The women didn’t stop. In fact, the Southeast Asian
pointed to the wastebasket and glared at Renie in a warning manner. The Pakistani waved her arms at all the clutter on the nightstand, narrowing her eyes at Archie the
doll, who grinned back in his eternally cheerful manner.
“Touch Archie and prepare to be the next patient in
the OR with a broken arm,” Renie warned.
The cleaning women looked at Renie, again at
Archie, and then at each other. They shook their heads.
Then they shook their fingers at Renie.
“That’s it,” Renie said. “I’m dead.” She closed her
eyes and disappeared under the covers.
The cleaning women simply stared at the mound in
the bed and shook their heads. Then they resumed their
work and began chattering to each other, though it was
clear to Judith that neither of them understood what the
other was saying. A few minutes later, they left, and
Renie came up for air.
“Finally,” she gasped. “I feel like I’ve been smothered.”
“You can’t really blame the cleaning women,” Judith chided. “You do make a terrible mess.”
“Nonsense,” Renie scoffed, tearing open a pack of
gum and tossing the wrapper on the floor. “You know
I’m a decent housekeeper.”
“In your own house,” Judith noted, then gave her
cousin a coy smile. “I wonder if Addison Kirby would
like a visitor this morning.”
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Mary Daheim
“Meaning me,” Renie grumbled. “I’ll be glad when
I can dump you in a wheelchair and send you off on
your own.”
“So will I,” Judith retorted. “Do you think I like
lying around like a bump on a log?”
Renie was getting out of bed. “I’m going to go wash
my hair and take a shower,” she said, unhooking the IV
bag and carrying it in her good hand. “I’ll visit Mr.
Kirby on the way back when I’m clean and beautiful.”
After watching her cousin traipse off to the shower
area, Judith returned to the family tree with an air of
resignation. Joe’s mother was already dead by the time
Judith had met the family. His father, known as Jack,
but named John, had been a bombastic man with a barrel chest and a booming voice. He drank too much, he
worked only when he felt like it, and after his wife
died, he’d let their four sons fend for themselves. That
all of them had achieved a certain measure of success
in life was due, Judith felt, to their own ambition and
determination, along with a debt they felt they owed
their mother, who had put up with a great deal before
dying of cancer two days before her fortieth birthday.
Mary Margaret Flynn had been a redhead, like Joe.
Like Effie McMonigle, too. Judith considered Effie. If
she found out that Dan wasn’t Mike’s father, that she
wasn’t his grandmother or Little Mac’s greatgrandmother—the pen dropped from Judith’s hand. It
was too cruel. Effie was a selfish woman, but not without reason. Her husband, Dan’s father, had left her for
another woman. She had become bitter and very protective of herself and her only child. Judith had always
felt sorry for her mother-in-law. Maybe Effie would
never find out the truth. Judith looked up at the statue
of the Madonna and child again, and said a little prayer
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161
for her mother-in-law. Then she looked at the statue of
the Sacred Heart and said a prayer for herself. Having
created a monstrous deception, there seemed to be no
way out of it without the risk of hurting someone. Judith wished she weren’t such a convincing liar.
A pale blonde head edged around the doorway.
“Ma’am?” said a pitiful voice.
Judith turned away from the statues. “Yes?” she responded, then saw Nancy Randall hesitate before moving into the room.
“Excuse me,” Nancy said. “Did my mother leave her
worry beads in here?”
“Her worry beads?” Judith responded, then added
without thinking: “Does she really need them?”
“I beg your pardon?” Nancy’s china blue eyes were
wide. “Yes, they’re a great comfort to her. She used to
say the rosary, but she got too depressed when she recited the five Sorrowful Mysteries.”
“She should have concentrated on the Joyous and
Glorious Mysteries,” Judith said before guilt tripped
up her tongue. “I’m sorry, that was flippant. Do come
in and look around. If your mother dropped her beads,
I didn’t see them. But lying here in bed, I’m at a disadvantage.”
“Yes,” Nancy said slowly, bending down to search
the floor. “I don’t see them, either. Mother is at a disadvantage, too. She can’t plan my father’s funeral
without those worry beads.”
“Surely you and your brother can help her,” Judith
said in a kindly voice. “What about your uncle Jim? Is
he here, too?”
“Not today,” Nancy replied, kneeling by Renie’s
bed. “He’s very upset. And he’s not well, either.”
“What’s wrong?” Judith inquired.
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Mary Daheim
Nancy, looking frustrated, stood up. “They aren’t
sure. He’s had all sorts of tests. A CAT scan, an MRI,
ultrasounds. Uncle Jim has never been in good health.
He’s just the opposite of my father. They were mirror
twins, you see.”
“Yes,” Judith said. “Your uncle mentioned that. I’d
never heard of it before.”
“It’s fairly unusual,” Nancy said, her eyes drifting
around the room. “Bobby—my brother—and I are
twins, too, but not identical.”
“Yes,” Judith replied, “I can see that.”
“Thank you,” Nancy said, and wandered out of the
room.
“Vague,” Judith thought, “very vague.”
She returned to the family tree, reluctantly omitting
Effie McMonigle. The phone rang as she was trying to
remember Kristin’s mother’s first name.
“Jude-girl,” said Joe, sounding chipper. “We found
Ernest.”
“Ernest?” Judith frowned into the receiver. “Oh! The
snake. Good. Dare I ask where he was?”
“Well . . . Ha-ha!” Joe’s laugh was unnatural. “How
about around your mother’s neck?”
“That’s not funny, Joe,” Judith said in a warning
voice. “Where was this horrible boa constrictor who
should never have been permitted inside the B&B in
the first place?”
Joe’s tone grew serious, if not remorseful. “He was
in the garbage can under the kitchen sink.”
“Oh, dear. Who found him?”
“Arlene,” Joe replied. “This morning, while she was
making French toast for the guests.”
“What . . . did . . . Arlene . . . do?” Judith asked with
trepidation.
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163
“She grabbed the snake and turned the clothes basket upside down on him,” Joe explained. “Then she
went back to fixing French toast.”
Judith had a feeling that the story wasn’t over.
“What about Ernest’s owners, the Pettigrews?”
“Well . . . They were worried, of course.” Joe
paused. “But they were waiting for breakfast and I
guess Arlene sort of forgot to tell them about Ernest.