how Joaquin and Mrs. Kirby and Ramblin’ Randall
died so all of a sudden. But I told him—Addison—that
it seems like a real coincidence to me.”
“It does?” Judith said, trying not to sound incredulous.
“Well . . . sure,” Tubby replied, holding out his
chunky hands in a helpless gesture. “What else? I
mean, I know it wasn’t drugs with Joaquin. He never
did drugs. He believed his body was like a . . . temple.
Or something. And I suppose I have to believe what
Addison said about his wife not taking drugs, either.
He ought to know. But I can’t say about Bob Randall.
I hardly knew him, except to see him at sports banquets and such. I figure this drug talk is a smoke
screen. The doctors just plain screwed up. It happens.”
“Occasionally,” Judith allowed, wondering if it was
worthwhile to continue the conversation with Tubby
Turnbull.
Renie apparently thought not. She put a hand on
Tubby’s elbow and steered him toward the door. “Thanks
for coming by, Mr. Turnbull. You’ve given us a real . . .
thrill. Good luck when spring training rolls around.”
“What?” Tubby looked startled. “Oh—spring training. Yes, it’s coming. At the end of winter, right? Bye
now.” He trundled off into the hallway, where he
stopped, apparently undecided about which way to go.
“You didn’t ask him to meet the dinner wagon,” Judith remarked. “How come?”
“Because Tubby couldn’t handle it,” Renie said.
“It’ll take him half an hour to find the exit, and then
he’ll have to figure out if he’s going in or going out.
SUTURE SELF
125
I’ve got a better idea. Hey,” Renie called from the
doorway, “Maya?”
Judith heard a far-off voice tell Renie that Maya
wasn’t on duty. Renie leaned back into the room. “No
Maya tonight. But I’m not without resources. Are you
in there, Mr. Mummy?”
With great effort, Judith scooted farther down in the
bed. She was just able to make out Mr. Mummy, who
apparently had come out of his room and crossed the
hall to Renie.
“How,” Renie murmured, “do you feel about fried
chicken, Mr. Mummy?”
Mr. Mummy’s feelings about fried chicken, especially Bubba’s, were extremely positive. He was in a
walking cast, and could get down to the main entrance
with no trouble.
“Can I fit the Bubba’s box into my plastic carryall?”
he inquired, his cheeks pink with excitement.
“Yes, you can,” Renie said, handing over the check
she’d already written. “Just be sure no one sees you
make the transfer.”
Mr. Mummy beamed at Renie. “It’s like a spy story,
isn’t it? You know, where one man sits on the park
bench and the other one comes along with a folded
newspaper and he leaves it on the seat and the first
man—”
“My, yes,” Renie interrupted. “You’d better go, Mr.
Mummy. The delivery may be arriving any minute.”
Judith saw Mr. Mummy scoot off down the hall, the
leg in the walking cast at an angle, and his sacklike
hospital gown waving behind him like a rag tied to a
large load on a pickup truck.
“He’s sweet,” Judith said as Renie headed back to
bed. “I’ll bet he has a crush on you.”
126
Mary Daheim
“Probably,” Renie said, a trifle glum. “Why couldn’t
Sean Connery have fallen off a ladder instead of Mr.
Mummy?”
Heather Chinn appeared, taking more vital signs.
“When will Maya be back?” Judith asked.
Heather concentrated on Judith’s pulse. “Maya’s not
with us anymore.”
Judith lurched forward, disrupting Heather’s pulse
count. “Literally? Figuratively?”
“Both, I suppose,” Heather replied, slightly irritated.
“Yesterday was her last day working for Good Cheer.”
“Oh.” The thermometer cut off further comment
from Judith.
“Seeking new opportunities, huh?” Renie remarked.
“Yes,” Heather said, still intent upon her tasks.
“What was in the autopsy report on Bob Randall?”
Renie inquired.
“I don’t know,” Heather replied.
“Surely not suicide,” Renie said.
“I don’t know,” Heather repeated, her pretty face set
in stone.
“Yes, you do,” Renie asserted. “Bob Randall was
one of your patients. You would be informed if he’d
taken his own life. Don’t you think it would be prudent
for you to tell other patients on this floor what really
happened? Cover-ups never work, and then you’re left
with serious egg on your face.”
Heather removed the thermometer from Judith’s
mouth and glared at Renie. “We’ve been told not to
discuss Mr. Randall’s death. The orders have come
down from on high.”
“Dr. Van Boeck or Queen Blanche?” Renie retorted.
“Dr. Van Boeck, of course,” Heather said stiffly.
“He’s in charge here.”
SUTURE SELF
127
“That’s not the impression I got this afternoon,”
Renie said. “Now let me think—Good Cheer is kind
of conservative, old-fashioned. Which is good. I’m
still here, and in any other hospital in the city, I’d have
been sent home this morning, right? Keeping me
longer may not suit the bottom line. So maybe the Van
Boecks aren’t merely fighting to keep Good Cheer’s
reputation spotless, but for the hospital’s very survival. How am I doing, Nurse Chinn?”
Heather yanked the blood pressure cuff off Judith’s
arm with more force than was necessary. “All hospitals
are fighting to stay alive,” the nurse said grimly. “Over
the years, the Sisters of Good Cheer have wisely managed this institution. They’ve refused to remodel for
the sake of appearances, the plant budget is always
used for necessities and equipment, and we rely on a
heavy corps of volunteers.”
Robbie the Robot could be heard beeping along the
hallway. “Hi, I’m Robbie . . .” He moved on.
“Nonpaid personnel like him?” Renie said, pointing
toward the door.
“In a way, yes,” Heather replied. “He delivers
things. He’s programmed to take charts and other paperwork to various departments. Robbie can even use
the elevators.”
“Good,” said Renie. “I’d hate to see him clank down
a flight of stairs. You’d probably have to put his parts
in a dustpan.”
Somewhat warily, Heather moved over to Renie’s
bed, holding the thermometer as if it were a weapon.
“So what are the problems Good Cheer is facing?” Judith asked.
“The same as every hospital,” Heather replied,
showing some enthusiasm for shoving the thermome-128
Mary Daheim
ter in Renie’s mouth. “The merger of medical specialties helped everyone. Hospitals spent far too much
money on duplicating equipment. It wasn’t necessary
or feasible, especially in a city like this, where so many
of the hospitals are within a five-mile radius.”
“The decline in religious orders must have hurt,” Judith noted. “It certainly made a difference in the
schools when they had to hire lay teachers instead of
nuns.”
“That’s true,” Heather said, then paused to take
Renie’s pulse. “We only have five nuns on staff at
Good Cheer. There used to be dozens.”
“So salaries have gone up dramatically,” Judith