corner just in time to see Sister Jacqueline outside Mr.
Mummy’s room, looking very furtive. I ducked back
where she couldn’t see me, and when I peeked around
the corner again, she slipped inside.”
“Hunh. That is odd,” Judith conceded, finally wide
awake.
Renie sat down on the end of Judith’s bed, where
she could keep an eye on the hall. “I think there’s
something peculiar about Mr. Mummy.”
“I agree,” Judith said. “He’s very vague about his
family and where he lives. I can’t think of any reason
why, with a broken leg, his doctor would send him all
the way into the city to recuperate. It seems downright
fishy.”
After offering the leftovers to Judith, who insisted
she was still full, Renie was gnawing on a chicken
wing when the workman returned.
“So Clarabelle’s acting up tonight, is she?” The
workman chuckled. “Temperamental, that’s our Clarabelle. But then so’s Jo-Jo and Winnie and Dino.”
“Those would be radiators?” Renie asked. “You
name them?”
“Yep.” The workman, who Judith had noticed bore
the name of Curly embroidered on his overalls, chuckled some more. “After almost twenty years, you get to
know these things pretty well. Every radiator has its
own personality. Come on, Clarabelle, settle down.”
Curly whacked the radiator with a wrench. “Take RinTin-Tin next door. Last night, Rinty acted up something terrible. That football player, Bob Randall,
thought it was funny. He said it sounded like his old
Sea Auks coach on a bad Sunday. Too bad he passed
SUTURE SELF
147
on this morning.” Using the wrench, Curly turned
something on Clarabelle that let out a big stream of
vapor.
“Mr. Randall seemed all right last night, I take it,”
Judith said.
“What? Oh—yep, he seemed real chipper.” Curly
gave the radiator another whack. “That oughtta do it.”
He grinned at the cousins. “ ’Course, I’d be chipper,
too, if I had a pint of Wild Turkey under the covers.”
“He had booze stashed away?” Renie said in mild
surprise.
“Sure,” Curly replied, adjusting the radiator one last
time. “You’d be surprised what people smuggle in
here.” Renie’s overflowing wastebasket with its telltale
Bubba’s chicken boxes caught his eye. “Then again,
maybe you wouldn’t.”
“Do the patients bring these illicit items in,” Judith
inquired, “or do other people sneak them past the front
door?”
“Both,” Curly answered, moving toward the door.
“A couple of months ago, one guy brought in his barbecue grill. Damned near set the place on fire. Smoke
everywhere, all the alarms went off, everybody in a
panic. A shame, really, he burned up some mighty finelooking T-bones.”
“Terrible,” Judith remarked. “I don’t suppose Mr.
Randall mentioned who brought him the liquor.”
“That was the funny part,” Curly said, swinging his
wrench like a baton. “He swore he didn’t know where it
came from. A Good Samaritan, he insisted. I should
know such good guys. Wild Turkey’s the best. I feel real
bad about him dying. He was a swell guy, and not just
as a ballplayer. He even offered me a swig out of his
bottle.”
148
Mary Daheim
Judith’s eyes narrowed. “Did you accept?”
Curly shook his head, which, in fact, was adorned
with a crown of gray curls. “Nope. I was on duty. The
good sisters here, they got rules.”
“I can see why you want to abide by them,” Judith
said with a smile. “Your job must be a challenge.
Everything in this hospital is so old, and I understand
that they’d rather fix it than replace it. Besides, you get
to meet some fascinating patients. Did you happen to
get acquainted with Joan Fremont or Joaquin Somosa
before they . . . ah . . . departed?”
Curly scratched his neck. “That actress? No, can’t say
that I did. No problems with her room. But Somosa’s TV
got unplugged somehow, so I went in there to get it going
for him. Nice guy, great arm. But his English wasn’t all
that hot. He seemed kind of agitated and kept saying
something about a bear. I guess he’d seen it on TV before
the set got unplugged. Anyway, I tried the nature channels, but no bears. Poor fella—I heard he died not more
than twenty minutes after I fixed the set and left.”
“Goodness,” Judith murmured. “That’s terrible.”
Curly shrugged. “It happens in hospitals. You get
kinda used to it. But it’s a damned—excuse my language—shame when people go before their time. The
Seafarers will miss him in the rotation this season.”
“The team will have to trade for a new ace,” Renie
said. “Not that I have much faith in Tubby Turnbull.
He’ll end up giving two hot minor league prospects
away for a first aid kit and a case of wienies.”
“Har, har,” laughed Curly. “Ain’t that the truth? You
gotta wonder why the Seafarers don’t fire his ass—excuse my language. But maybe he’s got pictures. If you
know what I mean.” Curly winked, waved the wrench,
and left the room.
SUTURE SELF
149
“A bear?” said Judith.
“The drugs,” Renie responded. “They were probably taking effect. Poor Joaquin must have been hallucinating.”
“It’s really awful,” Judith said, taking another sip of
water. “Here these three people were, helpless and
trusting.”
“Like us,” Renie noted. “Helpless, anyway,” she
amended.
Judith looked askance. “Yes. It’s something to ponder.”
“Let’s not,” Renie said. “Let’s go to sleep.”
Judith agreed that that was a good idea.
But she fretted for some time, wondering if, in fact,
they hadn’t put themselves in danger by asking too
many questions. The killer was faceless, unidentifiable. Anyone they talked to—Curly, Heather, Torchy,
the doctors, the rest of the nurses, even the orderlies—
could be hiding behind a deadly mask.
Judith slept, but not deeply or securely. Indeed, she
had never felt quite so helpless. Her dreams were not
filled with homicidal maniacs, however, but with family. Dan. Mike. Joe. Gertrude. Effie. Kristin. Little
Mac. The faces floated through her unconscious, but
only one spoke: It was Mike, and he kept saying, “Who
am I?”
Judith tried to answer, but the words wouldn’t come
out. She felt as if she had no breath, and awoke to find
that she’d been crying.
TEN
ON WEDNESDAY MORNING, breakfast was again
palatable. Dr. Ming and Dr. Alfonso made early
rounds, assuring both patients that they were making progress. Judith would take a few steps later in
the day, said Dr. Alfonso. Renie could try flexing
her right wrist a few times, according to Dr. Ming.
“You need to keep from getting too weak,” Dr. Alfonso said to Judith.
“You don’t want to tighten up,” Dr. Ming said to
Renie.
After their surgeons had left and Corinne Appleby had taken their vitals and added more pain
medication to the IVs, the cousins looked at each
other.
“Are we atrophying?” Renie asked.
“Probably,” Judith responded, glancing at the
morning paper, which had been delivered along
with breakfast. “Guess what, we didn’t stay up late