doing all the grunt work.”
Judith glared at Renie. “I thought you were encouraging me. What would you expect me to do
with people dropping like flies and the police not investigating? Don’t you find this whole situation
highly suspicious?”
“I do,” Renie admitted, shoving boxes and napkins and garbage into her now-overflowing wastebasket. As ever, Judith envied her cousin’s
metabolism, though sometimes she wondered—
perhaps with a touch of malice—if Renie didn’t
have a tapeworm. “You know,” Renie said with a
scowl, “we’re not in very good shape to defend
ourselves.”
“If somebody wanted us out of the way,” Judith
persisted, “we’d have been dead by now. We’re past
the deadline for early dismissal from Good Cheer.
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Mary Daheim
Besides, what have we done except show a normal
amount of curiosity?”
Renie gave a shake of her head. “Curiosity killed the
you-know-what, and I don’t mean Sweetums, who appears to be an indestructible force of nature.”
“Do we look dangerous?” Judith shot back. “Here
we are, a couple of middle-aged matrons swathed in
bandages and looking like the you-know-what dragged
us in the you-know-whose small door.”
Renie climbed into bed. “There’s no dissuading you,
right?” She gave Judith a look of surrender.
“Let’s think this through,” Judith said, reaching for
her purse and taking out a small notebook and pen.
“Joaquin Somosa, Joan Fremont, Bob Randall. Except
for being well-known, the only connection is that they
all died in this hospital after routine surgery.” She
paused to finish writing down the trio of names. “All
three died in less than a month.”
“Maybe there is another connection,” Renie put in,
her umbrage evaporated. “What if they were all involved in some charitable cause or some other activity
not directly tied to their professional careers?”
Judith tipped her head to one side, considering. “It’s
possible. But who goes around bumping off people involved in good works or other civic activities?”
Renie shrugged. “Just a thought.”
“That’s fine,” Judith said. “Think all you want. It
helps. Anyway, we’ve got two causes of death allegedly nailed down—Somosa and Fremont, both from
illegal drugs. Randall may be the same, though I’m
guessing it was something different from the other
two, who were different from each other.”
“A different source for drugs?” Renie suggested.
Judith nodded. “We weren’t here so we don’t know
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the circumstances of the first two deaths. But Ecstasy
and that—whatever the date-rape drug is called—provide different kinds of reactions. Street drugs are available to anybody who knows where to get them. It’s a
little trickier to put them in an IV.”
Renie had placed the leftovers—such as they
were—into one of the smaller boxes and slipped it into
the drawer of her nightstand. “How do we know it was
an IV?”
“We don’t.” Judith made another note, then glanced
at her water carafe. “Everybody who has surgery is instructed to drink plenty of fluids. Not everybody likes
water or even juice. Look at your Pepsi stash. What if
Bill had slipped a little something into it?”
“He couldn’t,” Renie replied. “The cans are foolproof.”
“I mean, more accessible beverages. Besides,” Judith
went on with a sly smile, “Bill could doctor your Pepsi
after you’d opened it.”
“He wouldn’t dare!” Renie cried. “He knows better
than to screw with my Pepsi.”
“You know what I mean.” Judith twirled the pen in
her fingers. “The problem is, we don’t know what the
three victims were drinking at the time of their deaths.
I wonder if the staff took the possibility of tampered
beverages into account.”
“Judging from the state of denial they’re in,” Renie
said, waving her current can of Pepsi at Judith, “I
doubt it. The party line seems to be that each victim
was some kind of addict.”
“Which brings us to motive,” Judith said. “Hospital
politics. Who benefits from ruining Good Cheer’s reputation?”
“Dr. Garnett comes to mind,” Renie said. “He wants
to take over from Dr. Van Boeck.”
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Mary Daheim
Judith sighed. “Would a doctor really go to such extremes?”
“He’d know how to do it,” Renie said.
“True. Still . . . I like Blanche as a suspect. She’s
such a self-serving pain.”
“Why would she sabotage her own husband’s hospital?” asked Renie.
“Maybe she doesn’t like her husband,” Judith suggested.
“Maybe Sister Jacqueline doesn’t like either of
them,” Renie said.
“Are you considering a nun as a suspect?” Judith
asked, aghast.
“Well . . . nuns are human. Maybe it’s for the greater
good. You know, all those moral theology questions. Is
it a sin for a father to steal medicine to save his child’s
life? Et cetera.”
“Don’t go Jesuitical on me,” Judith cautioned.
“Okay, I’ll admit you have a point. We can’t rule anyone out.”
“What about the victims’ nearest and dearest?”
Renie inquired. “Since when have you not considered
them as prime suspects?”
Judith ran a hand through her short salt-and-pepper
hair. “Since nonpersonal motives seem more obvious.
Hospitals are big-bucks institutions. Not to mention
the power involved in running them. Let’s face it,
we’ve got at least four high-profile people involved—
Dr. Garnett, Dr. Van Boeck, Mrs. Van Boeck, and Sister Jacqueline.”
“Agreed,” said Renie. “But you can’t rule out the
lesser players.” She rolled over as far as she could on
her right side. “Look at it from this point of view—
maybe only one of the three victims needed to die. But
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141
in order to throw suspicion off, all three get killed so it
looks like a serial kind of thing. What if a rival player
on the Seafarers team wanted to get rid of Joaquin Somosa? Better yet, a rival actress at Le Repertoire who
felt Joan Fremont was standing in her way? Or something even more basic, such as Margie Randall being
sick and tired of Ramblin’ Robert?”
Judith reflected for a few moments. “All of them
could have some kind of enemies, I suppose. That is,
in a personal and professional sense. The trouble is, we
don’t know much about their private lives.”
“Exactly,” Renie said, lying back on the pillows.
“I’d rule out Addison Kirby, though,” Judith mused.
“I can’t help but think that the killer was the one who
ran him down this afternoon.”
“It could have been an accident,” Renie pointed out.
“Do you really think so?” Judith asked with a frown.
“No. That is, I can’t be sure. People drive like such
nuts these days.” Renie plucked at her blankets. “Not
to mention taking cars that don’t belong to them.”
“I figure that Addison’s on to something,” Judith
said, remembering to drink her water and taking a big
swallow. “Maybe not who the killer is, but related to
the motive.”
“Why Cammy?” Renie said. “Our Toyota is exactly
like thousands of cars out there in the city. It’s one of