and stay with him?”
Mike was clearly perplexed. “Isn’t that Officer
Boxx’s job?”
“Officer Boxx may have to go to the bathroom, get
some lunch, whatever,” Judith said, still speaking rapidly. “I want you to go up to the fourth floor now and
make sure Joe is okay. Will you do that?”
“Sure.” Mike stood up and gave his mother an offcenter smile. “Why wouldn’t I? After all, he’s—”
Corinne Appleby entered the room, looking harried.
“Sorry about the shower,” she said to Judith, then noticed Mike. “Oh—I didn’t realize you had company.”
“I’m just leaving,” Mike said with a wave for Judith.
“Relax, Mom. I’ve got it under control.”
Corinne’s gaze followed Mike out of the room. “Is
that your son?”
“Yes,” Judith said. “He’s a forest ranger.”
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“He’s a nice-looking young man,” the nurse remarked. “I admire the color of his hair.” Corinne
twirled one of her own red locks. “He must get it from
his father.”
“Yes,” Judith said in a weak voice. “Yes.” She spoke
emphatically the second time. “He gets his red hair
from his father, Joe.” Judith shot a quick, exultant
glance at Renie. “There,” she murmured as Corinne
left the room, “I said it.”
“So you did,” Renie nodded with a smile. “But how
does Corinne know about Joe’s hair?”
Judith sucked in a startled breath. “You’re right—
when did she see Joe? More to the point, why did she
see Joe? There may be a logical explanation, but my
logic seems to have stalled since the surgery.”
“Which means you can’t figure out why Jim Randall
is across the hall,” Renie noted as she got out of bed.
“I’m going to take a peek.”
It was a temptation for Judith to join her cousin, but
she decided it would take too long to get into the
wheelchair by herself. Almost five minutes passed before Renie returned.
“I was getting worried about you,” Judith said.
“What’s up with Jim Randall?”
“That’s what I was finding out,” Renie replied, looking a bit rattled. “That helicopter—it was for Jim,
bringing him new corneas for a transplant.”
“Oh!” Judith was astounded. “But . . . that’s wonderful!”
“For him,” Renie replied, sitting down in the wheelchair. “I guess you don’t have to be stone blind to receive a transplant.”
“What happened to Mr. Mummy?” Judith asked.
“Did they move him to another room?”
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“No,” Renie answered slowly. “Mr. Mummy was officially discharged late last night.”
Judith didn’t say anything for at least a full minute.
“I wish I could figure out what Mr. Mummy was doing
here. I’m convinced he wasn’t a real patient. And why
did Sister Jacqueline have that late-night closed-door
meeting with him?”
“He certainly was snoopy,” Renie remarked.
“Yes.” Judith’s voice held a curious note. “He
seemed driven to find out every little thing that went
on in this hospital. Remember how he interrogated
us—politely—about Blanche stopping by our room
and some of the other seemingly small incidents. He
tried to do the same thing with Addison Kirby. Mr.
Mummy didn’t want to miss a trick. To what end, I
wonder?”
“A spy?” Renie suggested.
Judith frowned. “Maybe. Industrial espionage.”
Renie uttered an ironic laugh. “They call it keeping
abreast. And it wouldn’t be industrial espionage in this
situation. That is, nobody wants to steal trade secrets
from Good Cheer. Hospitals aren’t creative institutions, like chemical or munitions companies.”
“Maybe,” Judith said, “Mr. Mummy was spying for
Restoration Heartware.”
“He might have been spying for Good Cheer,” Renie
offered. “He had to have the approval of the hospital
administration. How else could he get himself in here
with a fake injury?”
Judith was pondering the question when the phone
rang. It was Arlene, and she was highly agitated. “I
hope there’s room for me in that hospital when I have
a nervous breakdown in the next ten minutes,” she an-SUTURE SELF
291
nounced in a voice that shook. “Do you have any idea
how worried I’ve been about Joe?”
Judith hung her head. “I’m so sorry. But I didn’t
know myself if he was going to . . . It’s only in the last
few minutes that I got good news from Mike.”
“He’ll live?” Arlene asked in a breathless voice.
“Yes,” Judith replied. “He’s improved enought to
complain. How’s everything at your end?”
“Fine,” Arlene replied, the tremor no longer in her
voice. “By the way, I got another call from FedEx this
morning. I canceled the pigs, but now they have a fiftypound case of Granny Goodness chocolates awaiting
delivery. They wanted to let us know that if the snow
melts enough, they may be able to bring it to the B&B
by late afternoon.”
Judith was astounded. “I never ordered any . . .” The
light dawned. “Mother,” she said under her breath,
glancing again at Renie.
“You ordered them for your mother,” Arlene broke
in. “That’s lovely, Judith. So thoughtful of you to give
her a little treat while you’re not able to be with her.
Let’s hope that the streets are passable in a few hours.
Oops!” she cried. “I must run. There goes Ernest. Now
how did he manage to get up there? He could fall in
my minestrone soup!”
Arlene hung up.
“Is there no end to my troubles?” Judith wailed,
holding her head. “I finally get some encouraging
news about Joe, but now I realize that Mother has been
using my credit card to order all those weird items.
Only she would put me in debt for fifty pounds of
Granny Goodness chocolates.”
“Oh, dear,” Renie said, obviously trying not to
laugh. “That’s awful.”
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Mary Daheim
“And Ernest is still on the loose,” Judith lamented.
“Damn this weather—I want those Pettigrew people to
leave my B&B and take their stupid snake with them.”
“Maybe they will today,” Renie said. “The airport
closing must have screwed up their travel plans.”
“I don’t care,” Judith groaned. “They never should
have brought the snake into Hillside Manor.”
“If they’d delivered the pigs, they might have eaten
Ernest,” Renie said brightly.
Judith gave Renie a dirty look. “It’s not funny. And
how am I supposed to make a speedy recovery if I’m
beset with all these horrible problems? My health is
probably beginning a downhill descent into my early
demise.”
“Speaking of which,” Renie said, “I’m curious. I
thought only really healthy people could get cornea
transplants.”
As the silent orderly came in with the cousins’
lunches, Judith gave Renie a puzzled look. “What are
you talking about?”
Renie withheld her answer until the orderly had
gone. “Jim Randall,” she said, scrutinizing the food on
her tray. “I may be wrong, and of course I have no idea
what the demand is for cornea transplants, but if he’s