“Here,” she said, handing the sheets of paper back to
Addison. “I agree. That’s not printable.”
“Then don’t give that crap to me,” Addison cried,
batting at Judith’s hand. “It belongs to Jim—or in the
trash.”
“But it’s all true,” Jim declared, sounding offended.
“How could we lie about my brother? He was a
wretched man.”
“I thought,” Judith said, frowning, “that you mentioned how Margie and the kids couldn’t get along
without him.”
“They can’t,” Jim replied with a helpless shrug as he
took the obituary from Judith. “Bob made good money
as a football consultant. Now all they’ll have is what he
left in the bank.”
“Which,” Addison sneered, “is considerable, I’d
bet.”
Jim shrugged again. “It’s fairly substantial. But
Bob didn’t play in the era of million-dollar contracts.
And he tended to spend much of what he made. On
himself, of course. He had it all, in more ways than
one. As if,” Jim added, tearing the obituary into
small pieces that fluttered to the floor, “he didn’t
have enough to begin with. All that talent and a fine
physique and good looks besides.” Defiantly, he
flung the final pieces of paper onto the floor.
“Frankly,” Judith asserted, “he sounds like a pitiful
sort of person. I can’t imagine he was truly happy.”
“Oh, he was very happy,” Jim said bitterly. “I never
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213
knew a man who was as happy as he was. As long as
he got his way, which he usually did.”
“Look,” Addison said, his aggravation spent, “I’m
sorry I can’t send on that obit. Why don’t you write another draft with just the facts? Plenty of people don’t
tack on personal notes. Remember, on the obituary
page you’re paying for it by the word.”
“I am? I mean, we are?” Jim fingered his chin. “I’ll
tell Margie. I don’t think she knows that.” He started
for the door.
“Say,” Judith called after him, “may I ask you a
question?”
Jim looked apprehensive. “Yes?”
“Your nephew, Bob Jr., mentioned that his mother—
Margie—felt like ‘the vessel’ in terms of bringing on
the deaths of your brother, Mr. Kirby’s wife, and
Joaquin Somosa. Do you have any idea what Bob Jr.
was talking about?”
Jim blinked several times and his hands twitched.
“No. No idea. Whatsoever. Margie—as usual—is
being hard on herself. Poor Margie.” He sketched a little bow and dashed out of the room, narrowly missing
a collision with Dr. Garnett.
“I have some good news for you,” the doctor said to
Jim as both men proceeded down the hall and out of
hearing range.
Judith turned to Addison. “I’m sorry I had to bring
that up about Margie being a vessel. Did you know that
your wife had two Italian sodas the morning that she
passed away?”
“No.” Addison’s voice was hushed. “Are you sure?
They were her favorites, but no one told me about it.”
“No one tells anyone about anything around here,
right?”
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Mary Daheim
“Right.” Addison looked sour. “How did she get
them?”
“I have no idea,” Judith admitted, “other than that
apparently Margie Randall took them to her. I just happened to hear a chance remark from one of the nurses.”
Addison nodded. “Otherwise, a wall of silence. Do
you know what happened today? Dr. Van Boeck informed the front desk I wasn’t to have any visitors.
That’s because they must be afraid one of my colleagues in the media will try to see me. I can’t call out
on my phone, either. That’s why I couldn’t call in the
obit myself.” He gestured toward the floor on the
other side of the bed. “You probably can’t see it from
your wheelchair, but at least four people have tried to
visit me today, including my editor. All they could do
was leave me their get-well gifts and go home. Imagine, after going to the trouble of coming out in this
snow.”
Judith made an extra effort to steer the wheelchair
around the end of Addison’s bed without bumping him.
His position in traction temporarily made her stop feeling sorry for herself.
“Oh,” she said, making the final maneuver without
mishap, “I see. That’s all very nice. Lovely chocolates,
a crossword puzzle magazine, a couple of other books
I can’t make out, and a bag of black jelly beans.”
“I love black jelly beans,” Addison declared. “I
won’t eat any of the other kinds. Do you think you
could reach them? I’m not much of a chocolate fan,
though. I’d give that box to the nurses, but the whole
damned staff makes me angry. Do you want them?”
Judith tried to edge closer to the stack of presents.
“I’ll take the chocolates, but are you sure you want to
eat those jelly beans?”
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215
Addison gave a small shrug, which was all his posture permitted. “Why not?”
Judith didn’t dare bend down far enough to pick up
the cellophane bag with its bright blue and yellow ribbons. “Well . . . what if they’ve been . . . interfered
with?”
“My God.” Addison breathed. “So that’s how you
think Joan and the others died? My money was on the
IVs.”
“It’s possible,” Judith said, just managing to pick up
the chocolate box, which was on top of the books.
“Using an IV to administer some kind of deadly dose
would be trickier, unless the killer is a medical professional. Which is also possible, of course.”
“If you believe in the poisoned-present theory, why
are you taking that candy?” he asked, looking suspicious.
“I don’t intend to eat it,” Judith said. “I’m going to
have my husband get it analyzed. He’s a retired cop,
remember?”
“Hunh.” Addison’s gaze turned shrewd. “Good idea.
Take the jelly beans, too.”
“I can’t reach them,” Judith admitted. “I have to be
very careful about bending with this hip replacement.
If I lean or reach, it could dislocate without warning.”
She stopped speaking to examine the cellophane bag.
“The jelly beans look okay, they seemed tightly sealed.
Maybe you can get them to me later. But if they’re one
of your favorite things and somebody knows that, I
wouldn’t take any chances.”
“I won’t,” Addison responded, looking grim.
“Maybe I will offer those to the staff. If anybody
turns me down, I might get an inkling of the culprit’s
identity.”
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Mary Daheim
“You might also poison some innocent people,” Judith warned.
“I might.” Addison’s brown eyes were hard.
“Frankly, it’d be worth it if I could find out who killed
my wife. I’m not in a merciful mood.”
“Chocolates!” Renie exclaimed after Judith had related the details of her visit next door. “Yum!”
“Forget it,” Judith said, placing both hands on the
gold-foil box. “This little present for Addison Kirby
just might prove fatal.” Cautiously wheeling herself to
the bedside stand, she slipped the chocolates into the
drawer, then explained the situation to Renie.
“What if our night thief comes back and swipes the
candy box?” Renie inquired when Judith had finished