His eyes lingered briefly over the holy statues, but finally they came to rest on Archie the doll. “See that little fellow? He’s happy. He has nothing but that big
smile.”
“He has a suitcase,” Renie said, pointing to the small
brown box on the nightstand.
Father McConnaught’s face evinced curiosity. “And
what might be in that little case?”
Renie smiled at the priest. “It’s empty.”
“Ah. Of course.” Father McConnaught turned
around, his gnarled fingers twisting behind his back.
“They won’t listen, these sad, empty souls. That’s why
Dr. Van Boeck made himself ill.”
“Oh?” Judith sat up straighter. The Demerol seemed
to be working. Or maybe it was Father McConnaught’s
presence.
The priest nodded. “He can’t let go. None of them
can. Not even Sister Jacqueline.”
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“Let go?” Judith echoed. “Of what?”
Father McConnaught spread his hands. “Of this. The
hospital. Their life’s work. A hundred years of the
order’s dedication. The sisters think it’s wasted. But
it’s not, and even so, nothing is forever in this life. We
own nothing, we belong nowhere. Except to God.”
“Then Good Cheer is . . . doomed?” Judith wrinkled
her nose at the melodramatic word.
“Not precisely,” Father McConnaught replied. “That
is, it won’t be torn down or turned into a hotel.” He
smiled again at the cousins, but his blue eyes had lost
their twinkle. “I don’t understand it, I don’t wish to,
don’t you see. But it’s all very upsetting for those who
work here, and it should not be so. It’s all transitory,
isn’t it?”
As if to prove his point, Father McConnaught shuffled off into the hall.
“Goodness,” Judith said. “That sounds bad. If the
old guy knows what he’s talking about.”
“I think he does,” Renie said slowly. “Most of the
time. Restoration Heartware, remember?”
“A takeover?” Judith sighed. “That’s really a shame.
For all of Father’s spiritual advice—not that he’s
wrong—it’s still hard for the people involved. Even a
stuffed shirt like Jan Van Boeck. I wonder if he’s going
to be okay?”
The question was answered in a surprising way. Five
minutes later, Blanche Van Boeck stormed into the
cousins’ room. “You!” she shouted, pointing at Renie.
“You almost killed my husband!”
“Oh, boy,” Renie muttered. “Almost? As in, he’s not
really dead?”
Blanche, who was swathed in fox and wearing a silver turban, advanced on Renie. “Listen, you little pest,
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Mary Daheim
I can have you thrown out of this hospital, right into a
snowbank. What do you think of that?”
“I think you wouldn’t dare,” Renie shot back, looking pugnacious. “There’s a reporter in the next room
who’d plaster that all over page one of the next edition.”
“He wouldn’t dare!” Blanche shouted, waving a kidglove-encased fist. “He’s incommunicado.”
“What do you mean?” Renie demanded. “I saw him
on the phone this morning.”
A nasty smile played at Blanche’s crimson lips. “He
was trying to talk on the phone,” she said, “but his
line’s been shut off. Do you think we’d allow a viper in
our midst?”
“I thought Mr. Kirby was a patient,” Judith remarked
in an unassuming voice.
Standing next to Renie’s bed, Blanche ignored Judith.
“I should sue you for almost killing my husband. He’s
not out of the woods yet.”
“The woods?” Renie was round-eyed. “Is that where
they take patients around here? No wonder so many of
them croak.”
Trying to signal Renie to keep her mouth shut, Judith was fighting a losing battle. Blanche’s large form
and even larger fur coat blocked Renie’s view of her
cousin.
“You haven’t heard the last of this,” Blanche
warned, her arm pumping up and down. “I’m personally seeing to it that you’re discharged as soon as possible. Then expect to hear from my attorneys.” She
turned on her high-heeled boots and started to leave the
room.
“Wait,” Judith said plaintively. “Please.”
“What?” Blanche snapped.
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201
“What did happen with Dr. Van Boeck? Was it a
stroke?” Judith asked, hoping she exhibited sympathy.
“Not precisely,” Blanche replied, finally lowering her
voice. “He was . . . overcome. They took him to the OR
merely as a precaution. My husband suffers from high
blood pressure. His medication needs adjusting. But,”
she went on, whirling around to look at Renie again, “it
was a very near thing. That doesn’t let you off the hook.”
Blanche Van Boeck stalked out.
“Dammit,” Renie cried, “that woman will sue me.
She’s just that ornery.”
“She won’t win,” Judith said. “She admitted that Dr.
Van Boeck has a preexisting condition.”
“Bill and I don’t need the aggravation,” Renie declared, then frowned. “I can’t stop thinking about Bill
and those Chihuahuas. What do you think he’s doing?”
“Call him, ask,” Judith suggested.
Renie shook her head. “You know how Bill hates to
talk on the phone. He doesn’t answer it most of the
time. I’ll wait until he calls me.”
“He’s probably just amusing himself,” Judith said.
“He’s housebound, you’re not around, the kids may be
getting on his nerves.”
“Maybe.” Renie, however, was still frowning.
“When I went to see Addison Kirby this morning, he
didn’t mention that he couldn’t use his phone.”
“He may have just thought the system was fouled
up,” Judith said. “You know, the weather and all.”
“Yes,” Renie said absently as Mr. Mummy again
poked his head in the door.
“I thought I’d see if you two were all right,” he said,
looking worried. “You’ve had a lot of commotion in
the last hour. I saw Mrs. Van Boeck. Did she say how
her husband was doing?”
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Mary Daheim
“Tolerably,” Renie replied as Mr. Mummy limped
into the room on his cast. “As near as I can tell, he blew
a gasket.”
Mr. Mummy seemed mystified, but smiled. “Mrs.
Van Boeck appeared quite disturbed. Was she upset
about her husband?”
“She was upset with me,” Renie said. “She’s going
to sue me for causing her husband to have a fit. But it
really wasn’t my fault.”
“Of course not,” Mr. Mummy soothed, approaching
the foot of Renie’s bed. “I’m sure Dr. Van Boeck is
under a great deal of stress. Why, just running such a
large institution would take its toll on anyone.”
“Or being married to Blanche Van Boeck,” Renie
muttered. “I wonder how he stands her.”
“An interesting question,” Mr. Mummy said, tipping his head to one side. “Yes, she must sometimes
be a trial. Now which would you think would be
worse? A rather overbearing woman such as Blanche
Van Boeck or a helpless, dispirited creature like
Margie Randall?”
“Goodness,” Judith said, “that is a conundrum.”
“Mere observation,” Mr. Mummy responded. “I’ve
seen them both, and I wonder which is more difficult