who don’t recover from even a minor surgery. I must
say, I’ve never gotten used to it, but it’s part of the
job.”
“I suppose,” Judith said, without conviction. “Still,
I’d think you or the other nurses wouldn’t have allowed Mr. Randall to drink Wild Turkey so soon after
his operation.”
Heather appeared flustered. “Wild Turkey? Isn’t that
some kind of whiskey?”
“Very strong whiskey,” Judith said. “Did you know
he had a bottle in bed with him?”
“No,” Heather replied in a worried voice. “I wasn’t
on duty Tuesday morning. Corinne Appleby had her
usual morning shift. That’s odd—she didn’t mention
finding a whiskey bottle in Mr. Randall’s room. It’s the
kind of thing you usually mention, especially after
a . . . death.”
“Did the night nurse notice, I wonder?” Judith said.
“Not that I heard,” Heather replied, still looking
concerned. “It would have been Emily Dore. You may
not know her. I believe you have Avery Almquist and
Trudy Womack on the night shift.”
“Yes,” Judith said, recalling the young male nurse
who made his rounds silently and efficiently. “I really
haven’t had much chance to talk to him. I’m always
half asleep when he comes in.”
“He’s very professional,” Heather said, moving
toward the door. “Are you certain about that whiskey?”
“Yes,” Judith said. “You can check with your repairman, Curly. He’s the one who told me.”
“I will,” Heather said. “I’ll check with Emily and
Trudy, too, when they come on for the night shift.”
186
Mary Daheim
“Hey,” Renie called out as Heather started into the
hall, “what about me? I’m famished.”
“That’s too bad,” Heather said. She looked apologetic, but kept on moving into the hall and out of sight.
“Great,” Renie said in disgust. “I can’t believe they
don’t have a lousy ham sandwich.”
“You have about ten pounds of food over there,” Judith said. “You won’t starve.”
“I wanted some meat,” Renie said. “I don’t have any
meat.”
“You’ll live,” Judith said, “which is more than I can say
for some of the other patients. At least we found out that
Margie Randall brought that juice to Joaquin Somosa.
The next question is, who brought it to the hospital?”
Renie scowled at Judith. “I thought the next question would be, what was in the juice?”
Judith stared at her cousin. “You’re right. That should
be the next question. Why weren’t those vessels, as
Margie might call them, tested for drugs? Joan Fremont’s Italian sodas, Joaquin Somosa’s juice, Bob Randall’s Wild Turkey—why weren’t the residues checked?”
Renie shrugged. “How do you know they weren’t?”
Judith stared even harder. “You’re right. We don’t.
Maybe they were, maybe that’s how those reports
about illicit drugs came about.” Briefly, she chewed on
her lower lip. “Then again, maybe the residues weren’t
there to test.”
“You’re not making sense,” Renie remarked.
Judith gave her cousin an ironic look. “Nothing
about this case makes sense.”
Renie nodded faintly. “I know. That’s what scares me.”
Judith said nothing. But of course she agreed.
TWELVE
UNFORTUNATELY, BOTH JUDITH and Renie began to
suffer considerable pain as the afternoon wore on.
Renie pressed the buzzer again, summoning Heather,
who explained to the cousins that they were both hurting more because their anesthetic had almost worn
off.
“It stays in your system for twelve to thirty-six
hours,” Heather said. “I’ll get some pain medication
to make you more comfortable.”
“Thanks,” Judith said as she tried to move around
in the bed to find a less bothersome position. “My
back aches more than my hip.”
Heather nodded and left the ward. Judith’s phone
rang a moment later. It was Joe, and he sounded
brusque.
“I’m going to try to get out this afternoon,” he
said, “so maybe I can stop by the hospital later on.”
“You’re going out?” Judith said in surprise. “How
come?”
“Just business,” he said. “I put the chains on your
Subaru. I don’t like to chain up the MG.”
“Where are you going on business?” Judith
asked, concern surfacing.
“Just routine,” Joe replied.
188
Mary Daheim
Judith knew when to quit pushing her husband for
answers. Instead, she switched to a different sort of
question. “How’s Phyliss?”
“Fine.” Joe’s tone lightened a bit. “The medics hung
around for a while to make sure she was all right. I
think she converted one of them.”
“What about Ernest?”
“Ernest? Oh—the snake.”
“Yes?”
“I’m sure Ernest is fine.”
“Where is Ernest?” Judith asked in a stern voice.
“Somewhere,” Joe answered, far too breezily. “Got
to run or I’ll be late for my appointment.”
Judith stared into the receiver as Joe rang off. “He’s
keeping something from me,” she declared.
“Like what?” Renie inquired, her face a mask of
misery. “A cache of opium?”
“I don’t know,” Judith said. “But whatever it is, it’s
important enough to get him to chain up the Subaru
and go out in this snow.”
Wincing, Renie looked out the window, which was
partly frosted over. “It’s not snowing now, hasn’t been
all morning. Joe’s like Bill. They know how to drive in
it.”
“True,” Judith conceded as Heather returned with
their pain medication.
“No ham sandwich?” Renie asked hopefully. “It’d
make a nice chaser for the painkiller.”
But Heather had only Demerol, which provided
some relief. But not much. Half an hour later, Renie
buzzed again for the nurse.
“This stuff ’s not as good as Excedrin,” Renie
complained. “Or are you giving it to us with an eyedropper?”
SUTURE SELF
189
“Well . . .” Heather studied the charts. “I could boost
it slightly.”
“Boost away,” Renie ordered.
Judith waved a hand. “I could use some more, too.
Really, I’m not a baby. I’ve had plenty of pain these
last few weeks while I was waiting for my surgery.”
Heather complied. As she was leaving, the cousins
heard a loud voice out in the hall.
“. . . and your sports reporters stink, too! They always have and they always will.” Jan Van Boeck strode
past the door, still red in the face.
“What was that all about?” Judith asked of Renie.
“Van Boeck must have been talking to Addison
Kirby,” she replied. “The good doctor seems to be in a
really foul mood today.”
At that moment, Mr. Mummy showed up at the
door. “Knock-knock,” he said in his cheerful voice,
“may I come in?”
“Sure,” Renie replied. “Where’ve you been? We
haven’t seen you all day.”
“Physical therapy,” Mr. Mummy said, moving awkwardly with his walking cast. “I had to wait there for
some time and then it was quite a long session. How
are my favorite lady patients doing today?”
“Stinko,” Renie said. “They’re certainly cheap about
giving pain medication. It must be priced like caviar,
so much per ounce. In fact, it probably is—those pharmaceutical companies are greedy.”