Judith gave Corinne a compassionate smile. “That’s
true. I feel so helpless now, but I know I’ll get over it.
I’m grateful for that. Meanwhile, though—are you
aware that my husband is on the fourth floor as a result
of a severe stab wound?”
Corinne gave a start. “That was your husband? No.
I didn’t realize . . . I’m so sorry.”
“They moved him from the ICU to the fourth floor
last night,” Judith explained. “I can’t get through on
the phone this morning. Would it be an imposition to
ask you to check on him for me? I’m very worried.”
“I’ll try,” Corinne said, though she sounded dubious.
“I must finish my rounds first, though.”
“I’d certainly appreciate it,” Judith said. “Of course
I’ll keep calling up there.”
Breakfast arrived while Corinne was taking Renie’s
vitals. “Say,” Renie said to the nurse, “you don’t happen to have an extra tray this morning, do you? I got
cheated on dinner last night, and I’m famished.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Corinne replied, then
turned back to Judith. “We’re going to try to get you
in the shower today. I imagine you’re tired of sponge
baths.”
Judith made a noncommittal noise. The sponge
baths were dreary, but she was frightened by the
thought of standing in a shower. Before starting to eat
her breakfast, she tried to call the fourth floor again.
The line was still busy.
Corinne went off on the rest of her rounds. Judith
nibbled on toast and a soft-boiled egg. Renie, mean-262
Mary Daheim
while, was devouring oatmeal mush, grapefruit, toast,
eggs, and bacon.
“If you don’t want all of yours, I’ll eat it,” Renie volunteered.
“I’m not hungry,” Judith admitted. “I’m too worried about Joe.”
Renie started to say something, but stopped when
she saw Margie Randall enter the room. The recent
widow wore her volunteer’s blue smock and a surprisingly cheerful expression.
“Nurse Appleby told me you had an errand,” Margie
said, smiling at Judith. “I understand it involves your
husband.”
“It does,” Judith said, and explained the situation.
Though Margie didn’t seem particularly moved by
Judith’s plight, she shook her head in commiseration.
“That’s terrible. Those homeless people are dangerous,
not only to themselves, but to others. I hope they catch
whoever did it. Was Mr. Flynn robbed?”
“No,” Judith replied. “What makes you ask?”
“Well . . .” Margie blinked several times. “It seems
like a motive for such an attack, doesn’t it?”
“I suppose,” Judith said. “Did you hear about the
other homeless people who were also victims of stabbings?”
Margie shoved her hands in the pockets of her
smock and avoided Judith’s gaze. “Did I? Yes, I suppose I did. On the news. Or in the paper. I forget exactly.” She back-pedaled out of the room. “I’ll go up to
the fourth floor right now and see what I can find out
about your husband.”
“Weird,” Renie remarked, wiping egg yolk off her
chin.
“Yes,” Judith agreed. “Everything about Margie
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263
seems weird. When is the funeral for Bob Randall
being held?”
“Saturday, I think,” Renie said, unfolding the morning paper, which had arrived just minutes earlier.
“Let’s see if there’s anything in here about Joe.”
Judith leaned closer, her nerves tingling at the mere
thought of hearing the account of her husband’s attack
in cold black type.
“It’s pretty brief,” Renie said. “There’s about two
inches in the local news roundup in the second section.
Shall I read it out loud?”
“Yes,” Judith said, steeling herself for the worst.
“Please.”
“ ‘A Heraldsgate Hill man was stabbed yesterday at
Viewpoint Park,’ ” Renie read. “ ‘According to police,
Joseph Flynn was allegedly attacked by one of the
homeless persons who have set up a temporary camp
in the park. Flynn, who apparently wandered onto the
site without realizing that it was occupied, was taken to
Good Cheer Hospital, where he is listed in critical condition. Two days ago, a homeless man was stabbed to
death in the same vicinity. No suspects have been
found in either attack.’ ”
Judith shuddered. “How odd. They give Joe’s name,
but not his previous or current occupation.”
“The police don’t want to broadcast Joe’s activities,”
Renie said.
“Maybe,” Judith allowed, deep in thought.
“Addison Kirby might be able to read between the
lines,” Renie suggested as her phone rang. Once again,
she smiled broadly as she heard Bill’s voice on the
other end.
Judith started to listen to her cousin’s half of the
conversation, but was interrupted by the arrival of Dr.
264
Mary Daheim
Alfonso. He was upbeat about her progress, and assured her that she’d be able to manage a shower.
“Just don’t stay in there too long singing Broadway
hits,” he advised. “We’ll see about getting you on a
walker tomorrow. It looks as if you’ll be able to go
home Saturday if you keep improving at this rate.”
Judith started to ask the doctor if he knew anything
about Joe, but his beeper went off, and he made a
hasty, if apologetic, exit. Renie had just hung up the
phone and was looking disconcerted.
“Bill just spoke with Jeff Bauer, the manager at the
Toyota dealership,” she said. “It seems that some
scruffy-looking guy was hanging around the lot and
they figured he must have stolen it. Cammy still hasn’t
turned up.”
“Why didn’t they keep an eye on him?” Judith
asked.
“They were really busy,” Renie replied. “Bill wasn’t
the only customer who’d come in to have work done
before the snow started. The salesman who noticed the
scruffy guy was with some long-winded customer who
wanted to look at a used car on the other side of the lot.
Bill figures that Cammy was taken while the salesman
and the customer were looking at the other car.”
“Scruffy, huh?” Judith murmured.
“It figures,” Renie said, looking angry. “Who else
but some impecunious jerk would steal a car?”
“Good question,” Judith said with an odd expression
on her face.
“What are you thinking?” Renie asked, narrowing
her eyes at her cousin.
“Well . . . Nothing much, really, except that . . .” Judith’s voice trailed off as she avoided Renie’s gaze.
“Fine,” Renie snapped. “If you’re going to keep se-SUTURE SELF
265
crets, I won’t tell you what Bill said about the Randall
kids.”
Judith jerked to attention. “What?”
“My husband’s mind works in convoluted ways,”
Renie said cryptically. “After thirty-five years, more or
less, I still have trouble figuring out what lies behind
his rationale for doing things. That’s one of the many
reasons Bill never bores me.”
“Good grief,” Judith cried, “you sound like Bill. Just
tell me what he said about the Randall kids. And don’t
give me your usual parroting of your husband’s psychobabble.”
“Okay.” Renie’s expression was bland. “Bill broke