What else is there to do but lie here and try to work out
a puzzle? Surely you see that the three deaths—I’m including Bob Randall’s—were peculiar?”
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185
“It happens,” Heather said, looking away. “It’s
part of nursing, to have patients, seemingly healthy,
who don’t recover from even a minor surgery. I must
say, I’ve never gotten used to it, but it’s part of the
job.”
“I suppose,” Judith said, without conviction. “Still,
I’d think you or the other nurses wouldn’t have allowed Mr. Randall to drink Wild Turkey so soon after
his operation.”
Heather appeared flustered. “Wild Turkey? Isn’t that
some kind of whiskey?”
“Very strong whiskey,” Judith said. “Did you know
he had a bottle in bed with him?”
“No,” Heather replied in a worried voice. “I wasn’t
on duty Tuesday morning. Corinne Appleby had her
usual morning shift. That’s odd—she didn’t mention
finding a whiskey bottle in Mr. Randall’s room. It’s the
kind of thing you usually mention, especially after
a . . . death.”
“Did the night nurse notice, I wonder?” Judith said.
“Not that I heard,” Heather replied, still looking
concerned. “It would have been Emily Dore. You may
not know her. I believe you have Avery Almquist and
Trudy Womack on the night shift.”
“Yes,” Judith said, recalling the young male nurse
who made his rounds silently and efficiently. “I really
haven’t had much chance to talk to him. I’m always
half asleep when he comes in.”
“He’s very professional,” Heather said, moving
toward the door. “Are you certain about that whiskey?”
“Yes,” Judith said. “You can check with your repairman, Curly. He’s the one who told me.”
“I will,” Heather said. “I’ll check with Emily and
Trudy, too, when they come on for the night shift.”
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“Hey,” Renie called out as Heather started into the
hall, “what about me? I’m famished.”
“That’s too bad,” Heather said. She looked apologetic, but kept on moving into the hall and out of sight.
“Great,” Renie said in disgust. “I can’t believe they
don’t have a lousy ham sandwich.”
“You have about ten pounds of food over there,” Judith said. “You won’t starve.”
“I wanted some meat,” Renie said. “I don’t have any
meat.”
“You’ll live,” Judith said, “which is more than I can say
for some of the other patients. At least we found out that
Margie Randall brought that juice to Joaquin Somosa.
The next question is, who brought it to the hospital?”
Renie scowled at Judith. “I thought the next question would be, what was in the juice?”
Judith stared at her cousin. “You’re right. That should
be the next question. Why weren’t those vessels, as
Margie might call them, tested for drugs? Joan Fremont’s Italian sodas, Joaquin Somosa’s juice, Bob Randall’s Wild Turkey—why weren’t the residues checked?”
Renie shrugged. “How do you know they weren’t?”
Judith stared even harder. “You’re right. We don’t.
Maybe they were, maybe that’s how those reports
about illicit drugs came about.” Briefly, she chewed on
her lower lip. “Then again, maybe the residues weren’t
there to test.”
“You’re not making sense,” Renie remarked.
Judith gave her cousin an ironic look. “Nothing
about this case makes sense.”
Renie nodded faintly. “I know. That’s what scares me.”
Judith said nothing. But of course she agreed.
TWELVE
UNFORTUNATELY, BOTH JUDITH and Renie began to
suffer considerable pain as the afternoon wore on.
Renie pressed the buzzer again, summoning Heather,
who explained to the cousins that they were both hurting more because their anesthetic had almost worn
off.
“It stays in your system for twelve to thirty-six
hours,” Heather said. “I’ll get some pain medication
to make you more comfortable.”
“Thanks,” Judith said as she tried to move around
in the bed to find a less bothersome position. “My
back aches more than my hip.”
Heather nodded and left the ward. Judith’s phone
rang a moment later. It was Joe, and he sounded
“I’m going to try to get out this afternoon,” he
said, “so maybe I can stop by the hospital later on.”
“You’re going out?” Judith said in surprise. “How
come?”
“Just business,” he said. “I put the chains on your
Subaru. I don’t like to chain up the MG.”
“Where are you going on business?” Judith
asked, concern surfacing.
“Just routine,” Joe replied.
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Mary Daheim
Judith knew when to quit pushing her husband for
answers. Instead, she switched to a different sort of
question. “How’s Phyliss?”
“Fine.” Joe’s tone lightened a bit. “The medics hung
around for a while to make sure she was all right. I
think she converted one of them.”
“What about Ernest?”
“Ernest? Oh—the snake.”
“Yes?”
“I’m sure Ernest is fine.”
“Where is Ernest?” Judith asked in a stern voice.
“Somewhere,” Joe answered, far too breezily. “Got
to run or I’ll be late for my appointment.”
Judith stared into the receiver as Joe rang off. “He’s
keeping something from me,” she declared.
“Like what?” Renie inquired, her face a mask of
misery. “A cache of opium?”
“I don’t know,” Judith said. “But whatever it is, it’s
important enough to get him to chain up the Subaru
and go out in this snow.”
Wincing, Renie looked out the window, which was
partly frosted over. “It’s not snowing now, hasn’t been
all morning. Joe’s like Bill. They know how to drive in
it.”
“True,” Judith conceded as Heather returned with
their pain medication.
“No ham sandwich?” Renie asked hopefully. “It’d
make a nice chaser for the painkiller.”
But Heather had only Demerol, which provided
some relief. But not much. Half an hour later, Renie
buzzed again for the nurse.
“This stuff ’s not as good as Excedrin,” Renie
complained. “Or are you giving it to us with an eyedropper?”
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189
“Well . . .” Heather studied the charts. “I could boost
it slightly.”
“Boost away,” Renie ordered.
Judith waved a hand. “I could use some more, too.
Really, I’m not a baby. I’ve had plenty of pain these
last few weeks while I was waiting for my surgery.”
Heather complied. As she was leaving, the cousins
heard a loud voice out in the hall.
“. . . and your sports reporters stink, too! They alwa
ys have and they always will.” Jan Van Boeck strode
past the door, still red in the face.
“What was that all about?” Judith asked of Renie.
“Van Boeck must have been talking to Addison
Kirby,” she replied. “The good doctor seems to be in a
really foul mood today.”
At that moment, Mr. Mummy showed up at the
door. “Knock-knock,” he said in his cheerful voice,
“may I come in?”
“Sure,” Renie replied. “Where’ve you been? We
haven’t seen you all day.”
“Physical therapy,” Mr. Mummy said, moving awkwardly with his walking cast. “I had to wait there for
some time and then it was quite a long session. How
are my favorite lady patients doing today?”
“Stinko,” Renie said. “They’re certainly cheap about
giving pain medication. It must be priced like caviar,
so much per ounce. In fact, it probably is—those pharmaceutical companies are greedy.”
“Medical professionals don’t want patients to get
addicted,” Mr. Mummy said, angling himself into Judith’s visitor’s chair. “You know what kind of problems that can cause.”
“Of course,” Renie responded, eyeing the IV bag
with displeasure. “But isn’t pain medication supposed
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Mary Daheim
to relieve pain? And so these medical morons really
believe that middle-aged women such as my cousin
and me are going to succumb to a sudden addiction?
That’s ridiculous. And it’s not good medicine.”
“Dear me,” said Mr. Mummy, pushing his glasses
farther up on his nose. “You’re quite upset, Mrs. Jones.
Have you expressed your feelings to your doctor?”
“I haven’t seen Dr. Ming since he came by this
morning, before I started to hurt this much,” Renie
said, becoming crabbier by the minute. “I think I’ll
start screaming soon if this pain doesn’t ease up. How
about you, coz?”
“Not so hot,” Judith replied, lifting her head to look
at their visitor. “How do you feel, Mr. Mummy? Is pain
a problem for you?”
“Ah . . . Not too much,” he said, looking down at his
cast. “It wasn’t a terribly bad break.”
“I thought it was fractured in several places,” Renie
said.
“Well . . . yes, it was,” Mr. Mummy agreed, giving
the cousins a diffident smile. “But they weren’t severe
fractures. Tell me, did you speak with Mr. Randall’s
children this morning?”
Judith noted the swift change of subject, but let it
go. “Yes, Nancy and Bob Jr. stopped by. Have you met
them?”
“Not exactly,” Mr. Mummy answered. “I’d like to, to
convey my condolences. Their mother seems a trifle . . . ineffective. I hope the young people are more
able to cope.”
“Dubious,” said Renie.
Mr. Mummy nodded slowly. “Yes. I suppose they’re
like the children of many successful parents—spoiled,
lacking incentive or ambition of their own.”
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191
“Something like that,” said Renie. “Okay, I’m going
to scream now.”
She did, loud, piercing shrieks that alarmed Mr.
Mummy and annoyed Judith. At the same time, Renie
banged the buzzer against the bed to make the light
outside in the hall flash on and off.
“Dear me,” said Mr. Mummy, leaning closer to Judith so he could be heard, “is she really in that much
pain?”
“Maybe,” Judith allowed. “I know I feel pretty rotten. It’s impossible to get comfortable.”
Heather arrived looking disconcerted. Jan Van
Boeck was right behind her, frowning deeply.
“What’s this?” he demanded, his bass voice bouncing off the walls.
Renie stopped screaming. “It’s suffering. Recognize
it?”
Dr. Van Boeck’s face reddened with anger. “You’re
exaggerating. No one in real pain could make such a
noise.”
“Wrong.” Renie glared at the chief of staff. “I can.
I’ll do it again, to prove the point.” She let out a mighty
yelp.
“Close that door!” Dr. Van Boeck commanded
Heather. “See here, Mrs. . . .” He faltered, and Renie
stopped yelling.
“Jones, Serena Jones,” Renie retorted. “And don’t
you forget it, buster.”
Judith thought Dr. Van Boeck looked as if he might
explode. It was all she could do to not cower under the
blankets and pretend she’d never seen Renie before in
her life. Instead, she summoned up her courage, and,
as usual, attempted to act as peacemaker.
“Dr. Van Boeck,” she said in a not-quite-steady
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Mary Daheim
voice, “please excuse my cousin. She really does feel
awful, and I don’t feel much better myself. The staff
here seems very chary with the pain medicine.”
Dr. Van Boeck scowled at Judith. “Are you questioning our medical expertise?” he asked in a gruff
tone.
“She’s questioning your common sense,” Renie
broke in, “of which you people seem to have very little. What the hell is the point of allowing patients to
feel miserable? How can we sleep? How can we assume the proper attitude toward recovery? If you want
to keep up your little charade about your concern for
patients, why don’t you just shoot us after we come out
of surgery and be done with it? Or,” Renie went on, her
eyes narrowing, “is that more or less what happened
with Somosa, Fremont, and Randall?”
Dr. Van Boeck’s face had turned purple. Apparently,
the commotion had attracted the attention of other staff
members. The silent orderly, a nurse Judith didn’t recognize, and Peter Garnett crowded in the doorway.
“You miserable creature!” Dr. Van Boeck shouted at
Renie, and then choked. He grabbed his throat and
staggered, bumping into Mr. Mummy in the visitor’s
chair.
“What is this?” Dr. Garnett demanded, rushing into
the room. “Jan, what’s wrong?”
Dr. Van Boeck turned to look at Garnett, tried to
speak, clutched his right arm, and crashed to the floor.
“Good lord!” Garnett cried, and kneeled beside his
colleague. “Quick, get help! I think he’s had a stroke!”
Heather and the other nurse ran off. Mr. Mummy,
looking pale, put a hand to his chest. The silent orderly
stood like a statue, watching the little scene on the
floor.
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193
“Oh, dear,” said Renie in dismay.
“Are you okay?” Judith whispered to Mr. Mummy.
He nodded. “Yes. Yes, but this is . . . terrible.” Clumsily, he got out of the chair. “I’d better leave.” He bustled out of the room.
Despite all the confusion, Judith noticed that Mr.
Mummy wasn’t limping.
Five minutes later, Jan Van Boeck had been removed
from the room. Judith hadn’t been able to tell exactly
what kind of emergency measures the frantic staff
members had applied, but another doctor, Father McConnaught, a
nd Sister Jacqueline had also shown up.
Few words were exchanged, except for terse directions
from Dr. Garnett. Then everyone was gone and the
cousins were left staring at each other.
“I feel awful,” Renie said, shrinking back into the
pillows.
“Well . . .” Judith was at a loss for words. “I guess
you should. Maybe.”
“Maybe?” Renie brightened a bit.
“I really doubt if your little horror show caused Dr.
Van Boeck’s collapse,” Judith said carefully. “A perfectly ordinary man wouldn’t have gotten that upset.
He’d have just blown you off or walked out. But he
must have been on the edge in the first place. You can’t
be the first patient who ever had a tantrum at Good
Cheer. Just think of all the genuinely crazy people who
must have been in and out of this hospital over the
years.”
Renie looked perturbed. “Are you saying I’m not
genuine?”
Judith grinned at her cousin. “You know what I
mean. But you definitely hit a nerve with Van Boeck.
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Remember, he was yelling at somebody out in the hall,
probably Addison Kirby, and he certainly didn’t look
very happy when he came out of the staff lounge a
while ago. I still think he had a row with Dr. Garnett.”
“They don’t seem to get along,” Renie noted. “It’s a
wonder Garnett tried to save Van Boeck.”
“He has to,” Judith said, wishing the effort to converse didn’t exacerbate the pain. “The Hippocratic
Oath.”
“Uh-huh,” Renie said in a thoughtful voice. “So
maybe I just sort of gave him a little nudge. I still feel
terrible about it. Besides, we never got our pain medication. I don’t hurt any less just because Van Boeck
had a fit.”
“True enough,” Judith sighed. “Neither do I. In fact,
I feel worse. By the way, did you notice that Mr.
Mummy wasn’t limping when he left?”
“I couldn’t see him with all those people blocking
my view.” Renie gave Judith a curious look. “No limp,
huh? Interesting. I wonder what he’s doing here.”
“So do I,” Judith said as Heather came into the
room.
“I’ve brought your pain medication,” she said in a
voice that was chilly with disapproval. “Maybe it will
settle you down.” She gave Renie a hard look.
“Thanks,” Renie said meekly. “How’s Dr. Van
Boeck?”
“I don’t know,” Heather replied, her mouth in a