that lousy script he’d taken from Crappy Pappy
Carp’s book.”
“Don’t be so disrespectful!” Winifred exclaimed in
dismay. “You’re callous, Dirk. Everybody knows how
self-centered you are, even more so than most actors. I
suppose you intend to leave Angela lying in the hospital while you head back to Los Angeles.”
“It’s her own damned fault she’s there in the first
place,” Dirk retorted. “I begged her to go into rehab.
Besides, I’m not a doctor. What good can I do her
hanging around the hospital?”
Judith was so caught up in the heated drama just a
few inches away that she never heard the approaching
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footsteps. It was the tap on her shoulder that made her
jump and let out a stifled cry.
I’m done for, she thought. They’ll throw me out in
the street. They might arrest me. They might ban me
from Capri’s forever. They might put my picture up by
the desk with a slash through it. “No Judith McMonigle
Flynn.” With considerable trepidation, she turned
around to confront the enemy.
“Learn anything?” whispered Renie.
“Coz!” A sudden silence had descended over the
dining room. Judith was certain that the contentious
crew had heard a suspicious noise. She gently shut the
door. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for the busing station,” Renie replied, spying her goal behind Judith. “We need more napkins.
You know how our kids eat. The tablecloth looks like
an army field hospital.”
“You’re no slouch yourself,” Judith retorted.
“How’s the dinner going?”
Renie made a doleful face. “Could these people be
less fun? The parents are like mannequins. Thank God
our kids have some animation. They’re never afraid to
speak out.”
“Coz,” Judith said, keeping an eye on the service
door, “your family isn’t merely outspoken, you’re all
very loud. Even Bill can bellow when aroused. The future in-laws are probably cowed.”
Renie shot her a disdainful glance. “Okay, so we’ve
got pep. But these people hardly eat a thing. The fiancé
and fiancées are a little livelier. Heather is very
smart—she’s Tom’s girl—and Cathleen—Tony’s
beloved—seems genuinely kind. As for Odo, he laughs
at everything Bill says, which is good.”
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“Odo?” Judith responded. “His name is really
Odo?”
“Yes,” Renie replied, looking very serious. “You
know the original Odo. Bishop Odo became pope just
in time to launch the First Crusade.”
Judith shook her head. “Funny, the kid didn’t look
militant. Or religious.”
“He’s not,” Renie said. “At least as far as I can tell.
I just wish the parents had more zip. They never
flinched when our kids got into a shouting match. They
didn’t bat an eye when Tom threw one of Tony’s socks
in the consommé. And you know how Bill belches
sometimes when he eats—well, the rest of them sat
like statues when he practically blew up after taking a
bite of jalapeño pepper by mistake.” Renie shook herself. “I babble. What are you doing here? Or should I
guess?” She nodded in the direction of the door behind
Judith.
“It’s been interesting,” Judith said, edging around
the corner to the hallway, “but I’m pushing my luck.
I’ve been eavesdropping for over five minutes, and the
waiters are bound to reappear.”
“Care to join us?” Renie asked.
Judith grimaced. “I think I should go home. Mother
must be famished. I’ll call a cab.”
“You don’t have to,” Renie said, piling linen napkins over her arm. “Bill drove your Subaru to Capri’s.
Just get the keys from the valet.”
“Do I need the parking ticket?” Judith asked.
Renie shook her head as they approached the top
of the winding staircase. “Tell them you’re Mrs.
Jones. And by the way,” she said with a quizzical expression, “is there anything I should know about what
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261
you discovered while you were lurking outside that
door?”
“Not now,” Judith said, “but I’ve got quite a bit of
information to sort out. Maybe I’ll have made some
sense of it by the time I talk to you later this evening.”
“Sounds good,” Renie said, heading for the private
dining room. “Time to rejoin the stuffed animals.”
Judith smiled at her cousin. But she was thinking
less about the stuffed animals at the Joneses’ table than
about the wild ones at the Smiths’.
She got as far as a block away from Capri’s when
she had another, possibly impractical idea. Instead of
going up Heraldsgate Hill, she took a left and swung
back onto the main thoroughfare through the city. Just
before reaching downtown, Judith took another left
and pointed the Subaru toward the hospital district. In
less than ten minutes, she was in the parking garage of
Norway General.
Angela La Belle would no doubt be listed under an
assumed name. Judith knew she’d have to think of a
really good fib to tell the person behind the reception
desk. Her role as Angela’s innkeeper probably
wouldn’t cut any ice with the staff.
Inside the main doors, she checked the directory.
Not ICU, Judith figured. Angela had been taken to the
hospital several hours ago and was reportedly on the
mend. She’d be in a private ward, of course. But under
what medical heading? Not yet ready to show her
hand, Judith approached the main desk and asked
where emergency patients were taken after they were
out of danger.
Specialty medicine sounded promising. Judith took
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an elevator to the seventh floor, then followed the arrows to the nurses’ station in the middle of the corridor.
A woman wearing a blue hospital smock over a print
dress looked up from a patient chart. She wore half
glasses on a silver chain and her white hair was in a severe pageboy that accented a hooked nose and prominent chin.
“May I help you?” she asked in a tone that indicated
she’d rather stuff her visitor into the recycling bin that
sat next to the desk.
Judith froze. The fib she’d been trying to conjure up
still hadn’t materialized. Briefly, she closed her eyes.
Angela’s pale face and tall, voluptuous figure floated
before her. The well-defined features, the wide shoulders, the above-average height, the dark eyes, the
blond hair that was undoubtedly colored by an expensive Beverly Hills stylist . . .
Inspiration struck. There was a physical resemblance as long as no one looked too closely. “I’m here
to see my daughter.” Judith leaned forward, striking a
conspiratorial pose. “I don’t know what name she’s
using, but to her adoring fans, she’s . . . Dare I say it?”
“Say what?” the woman snapped.
Judith glanced at the name tag on the blue smock.
“Perhaps you aren’t aware of her real identity, Wanda.