“But not fifty-fifty?” Judith demanded. “Not critical?”
“More like seventy-thirty,” Joe said, grinning
weakly. “And ‘critical’ covers a broad range these
days.”
“Joe.” Judith folded her arms across her breast. “You
can’t imagine how upset I was.”
“It couldn’t be helped,” Joe said, wincing a bit.
“Honest.”
“I don’t care,” Judith asserted. “I’m mad at you.”
She turned to Woody. “Well? Are you going to check
Jim Randall’s clothes or sit here and watch me ream
your ex-partner?”
Woody appeared more than willing to do Judith’s
bidding. “I really should be going. Great to see you all
again. Get well, ladies, Joe. Nice work with the dogs,
Bill. Take care of your mother, Mike. Bye.”
“Maybe,” Bill said, more to himself than to the others, “I should try more random, unscientific experiments. Those Chihuahuas seem to have done . . .
something or other.”
“You’re brilliant,” Renie declared, with a loving
look for her husband. “Haven’t I always said that?”
“Well—” Bill began.
But Renie cut him off. “Are you sure you didn’t
bring me some snacks?”
The lethal surgical instruments had indeed been
found in Jim Randall’s clothing. The arrest was made
shortly after five o’clock. Woody reported that Jim had
laughed in his face. He didn’t care if he went to prison,
he didn’t even care if he got the death penalty. He
could see, and that was all that mattered. The case was
closed.
SUTURE SELF
321
Addison Kirby was impressed, as were members of
the hospital staff. Now that the murders were solved,
Addison had a big exclusive for the newspaper. He
vowed to write it up in such a way that he’d be a shoein for a Pulitzer Prize. That would scarcely make up
for losing his wife, though Addison said he’d dedicate
the award to Joan’s memory.
His candy gifts had been tested, though not scientifically. The night nurses had managed to swipe the jelly
beans from Addison’s room as well as the chocolates
that Judith had claimed earlier. They had been devoured; no one died. Addison discovered that they had
been sent by his fellow journalists. He also vowed to
describe the night staff as pigs in his Pulitzer
Prize–winning story.
Mike returned to his mountain cabin early that
evening. Renie went home Friday, as scheduled. Joe
was released the next day. But Judith, having dislocated the artificial hip, was told by Dr. Alfonso that
she’d have to remain in the hospital until Monday. She
protested mightily, but in vain. Meanwhile, she was
treated like a queen by the staff. Even Blanche Van
Boeck sent her four dozen roses, in magnificent red,
white, yellow, and pink hues.
The roses, which had arrived Friday, were still fresh
when Judith was ready to leave. She was checking
through her belongings to make sure she hadn’t left
anything behind when Father McConnaught came to
see her.
“Now would you be that glad to be going home?”
the priest asked with a smile.
“Oh, yes, Father,” she replied with an answering
smile, “that I would. I mean, I would. That is . . .”
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Father McConnaught nodded sagely. “Bless you, my
child, for your great help in seeking justice. Poor Mr.
Jim, I’m afraid he must be daft.”
“I’m sure he is,” Judith replied, growing solemn.
“We’ll pray for the poor man,” the priest said. “I’ll
pray for you, too. Is there anything I can do before you
leave us?”
“Yes,” Judith said. “I’d like you to hear my confession. I couldn’t go before Christmas because I was laid
up with my hip. Would you mind?”
“I’d be delighted,” the priest replied, reaching into
his pocket and taking out the purple stole he wore for
the Sacrament of Penance.
Judith bowed her head and blessed herself, then recited a brief list of venial sins before she got to the crux
of the matter. As briefly as she could, she told Father
McConnaught about Joe and Dan and the deception
surrounding Mike’s paternity. She had resolved to end
the web of lies. But was it fair to Dan’s memory and
his conscientiousness as a father to Mike? This was the
sticking point, and had been since Dan died.
“Well now,” Father McConnaught said, “you take
Good Cheer and the blessed sisters who’ve run it all
these long years. Soon this place will be taken from
them, and they’ll be left with only memories. But no
one can take away what they did, how they served,
how much love they offered in the name of our
blessed Lord. Can we say less for your late husband,
rest his soul? No matter what his faults or failures,
he lived, he loved, he made his mark. Glory be to
God, eh?”
Through glistening tears, Judith smiled at Father McConnaught. “You’re right. Thank you so much. I feel
better. It’s just that it’ll be so hard to finally tell Mike.”
SUTURE SELF
323
“God will guide you,” the priest said, and gave Judith absolution.
Robbie the Robot, apparently swerving to avoid
someone in the hall, briefly faced into the room.
“Beep-beep,” he said.
Still smiling, Judith beeped right back.
Shortly before eleven, Joe and Mike showed up in
her hospital room. Judith was sitting with the release
form, checking off the detailed information and list of
instructions for posthospital care. Joe was wearing a
big bandage under his jacket, but definitely seemed on
the mend.
“Kristin and Little Mac are at the house,” Mike said.
“They rode down with me this morning. Mac wants to
see Ga-ga.”
Judith flinched as she always did when she heard
Mac’s name for her. She sometimes wondered if he
couldn’t pronounce “grandma” or if he was describing
her. Maybe he really was a Little Einstein.
“Everything’s fine at the B&B,” Joe assured Judith,
taking her reaction as concern about Hillside Manor.
“All the odious guests are gone, and the Rankerses can
go home because Mike and Kristin are staying through
the week.”
“Oh, Mike!” Judith beamed at her son as Joe went
off to the nurse’s station to check Judith out. “You
don’t have to . . .”
“It’s cool,” Mike asserted. “We want to. Kristin
thinks it’ll be fun. She’s even got some ideas about
how you could run the place more efficiently.”
“Oh. Good.” Judith swallowed hard. “Mike, I have
something to tell you—”
“Hey,” Mike said, holding up a hand. “Kristin won’t
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Mary Daheim
get in your face. She just wants to help. If you don’t
like some of her ideas, tell her.”
“No, it’s not that,” Judith insisted. “It’s about Joe.
When you came down here to see him in all that bad
weather, I felt then that I should have spoken to you
about what a risk you took and that—”
Mike put his hand up again. “No problem. Why
wouldn’t I do that?” Suddenly Mike’s expression grew
uncharacteristically sober. “After all, he’s my father.”
Judith’s jaw dropped. “You know? ”
Mike’s eyes were level with Judith’s as he took her