enough last night to see the news.”
“You’re right,” Renie said, making an attempt to
brush her short chestnut hair, which went off in several uncharted directions. “Do you see anything in
the paper about Addison’s accident or Blanche’s impromptu press conference?”
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Judith studied the front page, which was full of national and international news, all of it bad. “No, I don’t
even see a story about Bob Randall’s death. I’ll check
the local news.”
“Toss me the sports and the business sections,”
Renie requested, reaching out with her good arm.
Judith complied. “Here,” she said, “on page one of
the second section—‘Former Star Quarterback Dies
Following Knee Surgery.’ There’s not more than two
inches of copy, along with a small picture of Bob that
was taken in his playing days.”
“What?” Renie gaped at Judith. “That’s it?”
“The article only says that the surgery was pronounced successful, his death was unexpected, and he
had been in good health otherwise. There’s a brief
recap of his career, lifetime stats, and how he once
saved two children from a house fire and received an
official commendation from the governor.”
“What about Blanche?” Renie asked.
“I’m looking. I . . .” Judith’s head swiveled away
from the paper as Margie Randall, wearing her blue
volunteer’s jacket, tapped tentatively on the door
frame.
“Hello. May I come in?” Margie inquired in an uncertain voice. Her pale blonde pageboy was limp, and
her delicate features seemed to have sharpened with
grief.
“Of course,” Judith responded. “Mrs. Randall?
We’re very sorry for your loss.”
Margie slid her hands up her sleeves and hugged
herself. “Oh, so am I! How will I manage without darling Bob?”
“I was widowed when I was about your age,” Judith
said kindly. My grief was only for the waste that had
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been Dan’s life, not for me. “Somehow I managed.”
Much better, after he was gone. “I had to learn to stand
on my own two feet.” Instead of letting Dan’s four
hundred plus pounds lean on me until I was about to
collapse from worry and exhaustion.
“Easy to say.” Margie sighed, taking small, unsteady
steps into the room. “I feel as if my whole world has
fallen apart.”
“You’re working today?” Renie asked, her tone
slightly incredulous.
Slowly, Margie turned to look at Renie, who hadn’t
quite managed to tame her wayward hair. Several
strands were standing up, out, and every which way.
She looked like a doll that had been in a cedar chest too
long.
“Yes,” Margie replied softly. “We couldn’t make the
funeral arrangements until this afternoon because of
the autopsy, so I felt obligated to come in today. I can’t
let my patients and their families down. So many need
cheering. How are you feeling? I wasn’t able to visit
with you yesterday because of . . .” She burst into tears
and struggled to find a Kleenex in her jacket pockets.
“We’re okay,” Renie said in a chipper voice.
“Is there anything we can do for you?” Judith inquired with concern.
Margie shook her head. “N-n-no. I’ll be fine.” She
dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose. “Please tell me
if you’re comfortable, if there’s anything you need.”
She gazed at Judith with red-rimmed eyes. “Hip replacement surgery, I believe? Oh, dear, that can be so
dangerous! I can’t tell you how many patients dislocate
within a short time of being sent home. It’s terribly
painful, worse than childbirth.”
“Really?” Judith’s dark eyes were wide.
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Margie turned back to Renie. “Shoulder?” She nodded several times. “You never really recover from rotator cuff surgery. Oh, they tell you, ninety, even
ninety-five percent, but it’s nowhere near that high, especially if you’re past a Certain Age. You’ll be fortunate if you can ever raise your arm past your waist.”
“Gee, thanks,” said Renie in a bleak voice. “I feel so
much better since you came to see us.”
“Good,” Margie said, dabbing again at her eyes.
“Anything I can do to cheer you, just let me—” She
stopped and turned as two young people stood at the
door. “Oh! My children! How sad!”
Mother, daughter, and son embraced in a three-way
wallowing of hugs. Margie’s tears ran afresh. “Let me
introduce you,” she blubbered to the cousins. “This is
Nancy, and this is Bob Jr., my poor semiorphans!”
Nancy Randall was a pale, gaunt younger version of
her mother except that her hair hung below her shoulders. Bob Jr. was thin, with rimless glasses, scanty
blond hair, and sunken cheeks. They both waved listlessly at Judith and Renie, who waved back. Neither of
the Randall offspring spoke.
“They’re numb with grief,” Margie lamented, a hand
on each of her children’s arms. “Come, darlings, let me
get you some nice Moonbeam’s coffee from the staff
room. Then we can talk about the funeral. We’ll make
some wonderful plans.” With a surprisingly energetic
wave, Margie Randall left the cousins in peace.
“Jeez,” Renie shuddered, “she’s a real crepe pants,
as my mother would say.”
“Those poor kids,” Judith said. “They look awful. It
can’t be just grief—they look like they’ve been drawn
through a knothole—as my mother would say.”
Renie nodded. “Bill was right. Something’s wrong
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with them. I mean, really wrong.” She got out of bed
and gazed through the window. “It’s stopped snowing. I’ll bet we got at least a foot. It’s beautiful out
there.”
“Maybe I can walk far enough to look outside later
today,” Judith said, digging into her purse. “Maybe I
won’t pass out if I try.”
“What’re you doing?” Renie asked as Judith began
dumping items onto the bed.
“I’m looking for something bigger than my little
notebook to start putting together the family tree. I
don’t suppose—you being an artist and all—you’d
have any drawing paper with you?”
“I do, actually,” Renie replied, going to the coat
closet. “I’ve got a pad tucked away in the side of my
suitcase. Hang on.”
A moment later, Renie produced the drawing pad,
but wore a puzzled expression. “That’s odd. I could
have sworn I closed this suitcase. I mean, I know I did,
or the lid would have opened and everything would’ve
fallen out.”
“Has somebody been snooping?” Judith asked in apprehension.
Renie was going through the small suitcase. “I guess
so. My makeup bag’s unzipped. I always close it when
I’m finished.” She turned around to stare at Judith.
“Who? When? Why?”
Judith gave a faint shake of her head. “While we
were asleep, I suppose. That’s when. But who and why
are blanks I can’t fill in.”
“Nothing’s been taken,” Renie said, going through
the few belongings she’d brought along. “Of course
there’s always the problem of thievery in a hospital.