“Not at all,” Judith replied. “Do you feel ill?”
“Sometimes.” Bob Jr. sat down with a heavy sigh. “I
think Mom called on Mr. Kirby before she came to see
you and that other lady. I’ll check in there as soon as I
catch my breath. He’s close by, right?”
Judith nodded. “Next door.”
Bob Jr. also nodded, but didn’t speak.
“Have you been hurrying?” Judith asked, still feeling a need to make up for her previous curt manner.
Bob Jr. shook his head. “No. It’s my condition.”
“Oh?” Judith put on her most sympathetic expression. “Would it be rude to ask what that might be?”
“Yes.” The young man took a deep breath, then got
to his feet.
“I’m sorry,” Judith apologized. “I won’t pry anymore.” She paused, hoping that Bob Jr. might give her
a hint. But he just stood there, looking desolate. “How
is your mother doing with the funeral plans? It must be
very hard for her.”
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“It is,” Bob Jr. said, very solemn. “Sometimes she
feels like she’s responsible for all these deaths.”
“Why is that?” Judith inquired.
“Because,” Bob Jr. said, “she thinks she was the vessel.” Anxiously, he looked over his shoulder, toward
the hallway. “I’ll check with Mr. Kirby now. I should
have done that first before coming in here. I know how
anxious my mother was to see him.”
Bob Randall Jr. made his exit, leaving Judith puzzled. And very curious.
ELEVEN
BOB JR. HAD scarcely been gone more than a few
seconds when Renie returned. “In the nick of time,”
she said. “I just met Bob Jr. going into Addison
Kirby’s room as I was leaving.” Renie stopped at the
end of Judith’s bed and peered at her cousin.
“What’s wrong? You look miffed.”
“I am miffed,” Judith declared. “My replacements
are running amok.”
Renie tipped her head and gazed at Judith’s left
hip. “I thought you only had one.”
“I don’t mean that,” Judith said with a wave of
her arm. “I mean, my replacements at the B&B. It’s
that damned snake they let in.”
“Enough with the snakes!” Renie cried, yanking
the blanket from Judith’s bed and putting it over her
head. “You know I hate snakes. I don’t want to hear
another word about that creepy thing.”
Judith, however, prevailed, her attitude conveying
just how sorry she felt for herself and how little
sympathy she had for Renie. As for Hillside
Manor’s reputation, Judith was certain that it was
hopelessly tarnished.
When Judith had finished her tale of woe, Renie
peeked out from under the blanket. “Phyliss,” she
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declared, “is not having a heart attack or whatever she
claims. She’s merely trying to get attention.”
“That’s the least of my worries. Marooned guests,
reptiles on the loose, whoopee cushions, emergency
vehicles in the cul-de-sac—why can’t I be allowed an
unencumbered recovery?” Judith reached for her water
glass, took a big swallow, and choked.
Renie replaced the blanket, doing her best to tuck in
the corners. “Are you okay?”
Between splutters, Judith nodded. “Yes,” she
gasped. “I’m just frustrated. For about a hundred reasons. Tell me about Addison Kirby and I’ll tell you
about the younger Randall twins.”
“Twins?” Renie looked intrigued.
“Yes, but not identical,” Judith deadpanned.
“No, I guess not.” Renie shifted around on the bed,
trying to make herself more comfortable while not disturbing Judith’s leg and hip. “Addison’s in pretty good
shape this morning. Or, as he put it, he’s still alive,
which I gather sort of surprised him.”
“I can imagine,” Judith said. “He may have thought
he’d end up like his wife, Joan.”
“Right. Anyway, he was reluctant to talk at first, not
that I blame him. He doesn’t know me, I could be a
maniacal killer.” Renie stopped as her phone rang.
“Drat. Let’s hope it’s not my mother.” She managed to
grab the receiver on the fourth ring. “Hi!” she said with
a big smile, propping the phone between her chin and
shoulder. “Yes, I’m feeling better . . . Don’t feel bad
about not being able to come see me, Tom . . . No, I realize you can’t go to work. Oh? . . . Then ask your
dad . . . He’s what? ” Renie’s jaw had dropped and she
was staring at Judith.
“To what purpose?” Renie said into the phone as
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her good hand clawed at her hair. “Why? Where?
Don’t you dare let them near Clarence! . . . What?
How much smaller? What are they, rats or dogs? Oh,
good night!”
There was a long pause as her son apparently offered some sort of explanation. At last Renie spoke
again. “If you find out, let me know. Or call for the
men with the white coats and the butterfly net. Meanwhile, I don’t know why you need money—you can’t
go anywhere . . . Oh, good grief! If you can ski down
Heraldsgate Hill, you could get to work. Really, you’re
thirty-one years old and it’s about time you got a serious job instead of making tacos at Miguel’s
Muncheria. Good-bye, my son. I’m having a relapse.”
With a weary expression, Renie replaced the receiver.
“Bill found two Chihuahuas, lost in the snow up at the
park by our house. He’s taken them in and has dressed
one in a tuxedo and the other in University of Wisconsin sweats.”
It was Judith’s turn to stare. “What?”
“I don’t know why,” Renie responded, holding her
head. “My husband’s a psychologist. Therefore, he
can’t possibly be crazy. Can he?”
“Dare I ask where he got a tuxedo that would fit a
Chihuahua?”
Renie glanced at Archie the doll. “It’s Archie’s formal wear. The dogs are very small, not as big as
Clarence,” she added, referring to the Joneses’ lopeared rabbit. “In fact, the sweats belong to Clarence,
but he never wears them. The last time we dressed him
in them, he ate the Badger logo off the front.” She
paused, holding her head. “I should never leave Bill
alone for too long, especially now that he’s retired.”
Judith didn’t feel up to making sense out of her
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cousin’s report. Renie and Bill had a strange
menagerie of creatures, both living and stuffed. Sometimes it was best not to ask too many questions. “Could
we go back to Addison Kirby?” Judith pleaded. “You’d
begun to get something useful out of him.”
“I had?” Renie pulled the covers up to her neck.
“Brrr . . . it’s cold in here. I don’t think Clarabelle is
working full-time, either.” She glanced at the radiator,
which was emitting asthmatic hissing sounds. “Yes,
Addison definitely thinks that his wife, Somosa, and
Randal
l were murdered. However, he has absolutely no
idea who did it.”
Judith frowned. “Was he going to write up his suspicions for the paper?”
“He can’t,” Renie said. “He has to have facts, evidence, just like a cop. That’s what he was trying to
gather when he got hit by the car. He’d talked to the
Randall kids, but they weren’t much help. He’d interviewed Somosa’s widow in the Dominican Republic
via long distance a couple of days ago, before Bob
Randall died. Addison said she wasn’t much help. Her
English is almost nonexistent and she seemed inclined
to blame her husband’s death on God’s will. Addison
doesn’t agree, and neither do I. It’d be more likely that
the teams in the rest of our division did Somosa in. But
that’s not realistic, either.”
“What about Tubby Turnbull?” Judith asked. “Did
Addison find him helpful?”
Renie gave Judith a sardonic look. “Has Tubby ever
been helpful to anyone? After hemming and hawing
and trying to figure out if he’d put his pants on backwards, Tubby insisted he couldn’t think of anyone connected to the team who’d want Joaquin out of the way.
He was popular with the other players, the press liked
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him, management considered him a huge part of the
franchise, and even his agent is a good guy—as sports
agents go. Anyway, the agent works out of New York.
He hasn’t been out this way since the end of last season.”
Judith gave a faint nod. “Nothing there, as far as we
can tell.” She pondered the matter of Joaquin Somosa
for a few moments. “The bear,” she said suddenly.
“What did he mean by saying ‘a bear’ and pointing to
the TV?”
Renie frowned at Judith. “I told you, he must have
been hallucinating. Why else would he keep saying ‘a
bear, a bear, a bear’?” Renie’s scowl faded as she
clapped her hand to her head. “A bear—in Spanish,
that would be aver, to see. Maybe he couldn’t see—the
TV or anything else. The drugs might have been taking
effect. Doesn’t Ecstasy blind you?”
“I’m not sure,” Judith said, “but it would fit. All I
really know is that it does terrible things, including
making you crazy. Joaquin must have ingested it just
before the repairman, Curly, got to his room. I wonder
who’d been there ahead of him?”
“We don’t know,” Renie responded with a helpless
look.
“That’s the trouble,” Judith said. “We weren’t
around when these other deaths occurred and it’s almost impossible to get any concrete information out of
the staff. I sure wish Maya was still here.” She sighed
and rearranged herself on the pillows. “What about
Joan Fremont? Did she and Addison sound like a
happy couple?”
“Yes,” Renie responded, delving into her goodies
stash and hauling out some cheese and crackers. “Want
some?”
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Mary Daheim
“No, thanks.”
“Addison didn’t make a big deal of it,” Renie continued, “which indicated to me that the marriage must
have been solid. You know, if he’d gone on and on
about how devoted they were and all that junk, I’d have
figured him for a phony.”
“What about their kids?” inquired Judith.
Renie shrugged and chewed on her crackers. “They
haven’t been in town since Thanksgiving, which, alas,
was the last time they saw their mother alive. I mean,
they came for the funeral. But I got the impression they
were a close family, emotionally, if not geographically.”
“What about Joan’s colleagues at Le Repertoire?”
Renie shrugged again. “By and large, she got along
with most of them. Addison indicated that she wasn’t
happy with the direction the theater was going—too
much emphasis on social issues, rather than good
drama. But he didn’t know of any big rift. As for socalled rivals, he said that there were always some of
those. The theater is full of big egos. But Joan knew
how to handle them. She was a veteran, a real pro.”
“Gosh,” Judith said in a bleak voice, “it sounds as if
the community has lost more than just talent. Both
Joan and Joaquin sound like decent, upstanding human
beings. Did Addison say anything about Bob Randall?
We know he was brave both on and off the field. Bob
saved some lives, as well as games.”
“Addison hadn’t had time to do more than speak
with Nancy and Bob Jr.,” Renie responded after she’d
devoured two crackers and another chunk of cheese.
“As you might guess from the looks of them, they
weren’t a lot of help. Like their mother, they seem ineffectual and unable to cope with the rest of the world.
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I sure wish Bill would open the vault on his blasted patient confidentiality and let us know what’s going on.”
“Tell me,” Judith said, making yet another attempt
to get comfortable in the bed, “does Addison know
why there isn’t a full-fledged homicide investigation
going on around here?”
Renie shook her head. “That’s where he sort of
clammed up. I suspect he knows more about that than
he’s saying.”
Judith persisted.
“He told me he’d gotten nowhere going to his usual
sources at city hall, including the police department.”
Renie shot Judith a cryptic glance. “Think about it—
Addison Kirby has been covering city hall for ten, fifteen years. He must have cultivated all sorts of people
who can help him. But not this time. Why? Could it be
Blanche Van Boeck on the city council? She who
would be mayor?”
“Drat,” said Judith. “That woman has clout.”
Judith had opened her mouth to tell Renie about the
Randall twins’ visits when Corinne Appleby entered
the room, looking determined and pushing a wheelchair. “You’re getting up today, Mrs. Flynn. We’re
going to put you in this swift little number.”
“That’s good—I think,” Judith responded.
But she was not without trepidation, especially
when Corinne didn’t request any help with the lifting
process.
“Just take your time,” Corinne said, exuding more
confidence than Judith felt. “I’m used to doing this.
My mother is very crippled with arthritis and can’t
stand without assistance.”
“My mother also has arthritis,” Judith said, sitting
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Mary Daheim
up and struggling to swing her legs over the side of the
bed. “Unfortunately, it’s often just part of old age.”
“My mother’s not quite sixty,” Corinne said, her
freckled face clouding over. “She developed arthritis in
her early twenties. It was terrible. She’d planned to become a concert pianist.”
“Oh, that is awful!” Renie exclaimed. “We had a
dear family friend, we called her Aun
tie May, who
played beautifully, but she had arthritis, too, and all her
professional dreams were dashed at a very young age.
Can your mother play at all?”
Corinne shook her head as she put her arms under
Judith’s. “No. She hasn’t played in almost thirty years.
We sold the piano when I was still a child. Mummy
couldn’t bear to have it in the house.”
“That’s very sad,” Judith said, gritting her teeth.
“Oooh . . . I don’t know if I . . .”
“You’re doing fine,” Corinne said. “Just keep coming up. Be thankful that eventually you’ll be mobile
again. Not everyone is so lucky. There. You’re on your
feet. Don’t move for a few seconds. Steady . . .”
Judith wasn’t steady. In fact, she was swaying. But
after focusing her eyes on the bathroom doorknob, she
began to get her bearings.
“Good,” Corinne said, slowly letting go of Judith.
“Now try to take a step toward me. Don’t worry—if
you fall, I’ll catch you.”
Judith inched her way forward on her good leg,
though most of her weight was against the bed. Then,
closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she tried to
move her left leg. It hurt, but not as much as she’d
feared. Corinne gave her a nod of encouragement. Judith gently tested putting weight on the hip replacement. She felt unsure of herself and gritted her teeth.
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“Go ahead,” urged Corinne. “It’ll hold you up.”
To Judith’s amazement, it did.
“Hooray for modern medicine!” Renie cried, grinning at her cousin. “Go, girl, go.”
Judith didn’t go very far, but she did manage another
step before she felt on the verge of collapsing.
“Hold it right there,” Corinne said, angling the
wheelchair so that Judith could sit down. “That was
very good. Now you can visit the rest of the world.”
Uttering a feeble laugh, Judith gratefully eased
herself into the chair. The nurse pushed her to the
doorway. Judith, who had thought that Corinne’s remark about the “rest of the world” was merely an attempt at hospital humor, realized that for two days
she hadn’t seen anything outside the four walls of
her room. The hallway, with its ebb and flow of
staff, the nurses’ station, the doors leading to other
patient rooms, the flowers on desks, and even Robbie the Robot, who was heading her way, were indeed a brave new world. Until now, Judith had relied