“The last I heard, he was holding his own. He’s officially listed as in critical condition.”
“Is that the worst?” Judith asked in an anguished
voice.
The nun shook her head. “No. Please don’t fuss.
We’ll let you know as soon as there’s any change in
your husband’s condition. I simply wanted to mention
our gratitude for your participation in the organ donor
program, and,” she went on, moving over to Renie’s
bed, “to encourage you to sign up, Mrs. Jones. Your
husband might be interested, too.”
“My husband could give you a couple of overdressed Chihuahuas,” Renie replied, “but I’m not sure
he wants to surrender his body parts.”
A faint smile touched the nun’s mouth. “We don’t
take them while you’re still alive, Mrs. Jones. People
say miracles don’t occur in the modern age. But they
do, in ways that we can understand and that are made
possible by people whose generosity saves lives every
day. Heart, kidneys, liver, eyes—they make many miracles. What, for instance could be a better gift? For example, Mr. Randall’s corneas went to an aspiring artist
who had lost his sight in a tragic accident. Now that
young man will be able to see again and fulfill his
dream.”
“That’s sweet,” Renie allowed. “But who’d want my
eyes? I’m not exactly a kid anymore.”
“Neither was Mr. Randall,” Sister Jacqueline declared. “Of course, he had excellent vision, which I’m
told was one of his greatest assets on the football field.
But even slightly impaired eyesight is better than none.”
Renie gave a slight nod. “Yes, I realize that. Bill and
I’ll talk it over when he gets out of the doghouse. So to
speak.”
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231
Sister Jacqueline looked pleased, if vaguely puzzled.
“That’s wonderful. I’ll pray that you make the right decision.”
A voice erupted sharply from the hallway. “Sister!
Come at once! We need your help!” Blanche Van
Boeck stepped inside the door, beckoning with an imperious finger.
“What is it?” Sister Jacqueline inquired.
“We have decisions to make,” Blanche declared.
“With Jan not feeling well, you’re going to have to
help with this crisis. After all, you are the hospital administrator.”
“Crisis?” The nun quickly crossed herself. “Of
course.” She nodded vaguely at the cousins. “Good
night, God bless.”
“Wait!” Judith cried. “Does this have anything to do
with my husband, Joe Flynn?”
Blanche scowled at Judith. “Not unless he’s the
CEO of Restoration Heartware,” she snapped.
As the two women left the room, Judith sighed with
relief. “That scared me. I thought something had happened to Joe.”
“If it had,” Renie said dryly, “they wouldn’t have
called in Blanche and the hospital administrator. There
must be some new word out of Cleveland about a possible takeover.”
“At this time of night?” Judith asked. “It must be
going on eleven o’clock back there.”
“Big business never stops working,” Renie said. “In
fact, I think the late-night sessions are strategic. They
wait to make decisions until everybody’s so exhausted
that they give in just so they can go home.”
Judith didn’t comment immediately, and when she
finally spoke, it was of a different, if related, matter.
232
Mary Daheim
“Who benefits from unexpected deaths in a hospital? I
mean, in a business sense? I assume that the mortality
rate is important when it comes to rating a hospital.”
“Of course,” Renie replied. “Reputation is vital.
Admit it, weren’t we nervous about coming here after
Joaquin Somosa and Joan Fremont died?”
“Yes,” Judith said. “I certainly was. If Bob Randall
had died before I was admitted, I might have changed
my mind. Or at least postponed the surgery. But what
would be the point of indiscriminately killing off patients?”
Renie thought for a moment. “I understand they all
had different doctors, so it can’t be that somebody’s
out to get just one surgeon. Still, the ultimate responsibility rests with Dr. Garnett as head of surgery, and of
course with Dr. Van Boeck as chief of staff. So I suppose it’s possible that someone may be after one of
them. But I can’t imagine who’d benefit.”
“Garnett, wanting Van Boeck’s job?” Judith suggested.
“That’s a possibility,” Renie allowed. “Or Van
Boeck trying to ruin Garnett to eliminate a potential
rival.”
“That doesn’t wash,” Judith countered, “not as long
as Blanche Van Boeck wields so much clout. Anyway,
what’s the point of any of it if the hospital’s about to be
absorbed by some big company from the East? Aren’t
they likely to put in their own people?”
“That depends,” Renie said. “Sometimes corporations like to leave the locals in charge. It’s good public
relations, and it’s good business if the people in place
are already doing a satisfactory job for a particular
company. Then there’s the tactic where the headquarters’ chieftains move slowly, not wanting to upset the
SUTURE SELF
233
apple cart. Changes are made, but the powers that be
take their time doing it.”
Judith grew thoughtful. “I don’t see how dead patients can be to anyone’s advantage. Unless,” she
added slowly, “it’s someone trying to scare off
Restoration Heartware from making the merger.”
“That,” Renie said, “would be the current owners,
who happen to be a religious order. Can you picture Sister Jacqueline cold-bloodedly killing helpless people?”
“No,” Judith admitted, “but as you said earlier,
nuns are human, too. Hasn’t this order been around
the Pacific Northwest for well over a hundred and
fifty years? Weren’t they the first women in the territory? Pride is a sin, but they have a right to be proud
of their heritage. They were pioneers, especially in
medicine. All those years that the sisters dedicated
themselves to their hospital work is down the drain in
this city if they lose control of Good Cheer.”
Renie shivered. “I hate to even consider such an idea.”
“Me, too,” Judith agreed as Mr. Mummy appeared in
the doorway.
“Just dropped by to wish you a restful night,” he said
in his cheerful voice. “By the way, I assume that the
man who was stabbed is no relation to you, Mrs.
Flynn.”
“He’s my husband,” Judith said tersely.
“Oh!” Mr. Mummy slapped at his bald head. “I’m so
sorry! I thought the name was just a coincidence.
Whatever happened?”
“Someone attacked him,” Judith said. “The assailant
hasn’t been caught, as far as I know.”
“My, my!” Mr. Mummy was agog. “Do you know
what provoked the attack?”
“No,” Judith said, unwilling to elaborate.
234
Mary Daheim
Mr. Mummy appealed to Renie. “Mrs. Jones, surely
you have some ideas on the matter? A clever guess,
perhaps.”
Renie shrugged. “Not a clue. There are plenty of
loonies out there. Most of them don’t need any provocation to harm an innocent person.”
“That’s so,” Mr. Mummy remarked, looking puzzled. “Still . . . Have you spoken with the police?”