Free Suture Self by Mary Daheim

of bed again. “Who do you suppose that is?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Judith replied. “I could only hear, not see, him.”
    Renie opened the door just in time to see the man, who had a dark beard, accost two young people. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said, “but I want to help. Let’s go somewhere else so we can talk in private.”
    Trying to get a better look at the newcomers, Renie stepped farther out into the hall. From the bed, Judith could see only Renie’s backside and the IV stand. She gave a little jump when her cousin stumbled into the room, propelled by the firm hands of Sister Jacqueline.
    â€œWe simply cannot have patients interfering or getting involved with hospital routine this morning, Mrs. Jones,” the nun said in an emphatic tone. “Please remain in your room, and we’d prefer you to keep your door shut. Remember, it’s for your own sakes as well. You need to rest in order to make a quick recovery.”
    Perhaps it was all those years in parochial school, but even Renie could comply with the wishes of a nun. “I know that bearded man,” she said, back-pedaling in a clumsy manner. “That’s Addison Kirby, the newspaper reporter. He was married to Joan Fremont.”
    Sister Jacqueline merely gave a slight nod. “Please get back in bed, Mrs. Jones.”
    â€œWho are those two young people?” Renie persisted. “Are they the Kirby kids?”
    The nun started to turn away, then paused. “No. They’re Mr. Randall’s son and daughter. They came to the hospital to be with their mother.”
    â€œHow is Margie Randall doing?” Judith asked with genuine sympathy.
    Sister Jacqueline had reached the doorway. “Not well, I’m afraid. She’s a very emotional woman. Excuse me, I must go.”
    Judith gazed at Renie. “It cannot be a coincidence for three well-known people to die unexpectedly after routine surgery in Good Cheer Hospital.”
    Renie looked pained. “I never like encouraging you to track down murderers, but I have to admit, this is pretty weird.”
    â€œMore than weird,” Judith responded, remembering to take another sip of water. “But what’s the connection? One actress. Two sports stars. One active, one retired. From different sports, too. Who could possibly want all three of them out of the way?”
    Staring out through the windows with their faded muslin curtains, Judith grew thoughtful. It was another gray day, with heavy, dark clouds hovering over the city. Maybe it would snow. But the weather was the least of Judith’s worries.
    â€œThere’s got to be a police investigation that hasn’tbeen made public,” Judith said after a long pause. “Maybe Joe can find out from Woody.”
    Lunch arrived, brought by a small Filipino woman with silver streaks in her short, dark hair. Making each of the cousins a little bow, she introduced herself as Maya. Sitting up in bed, Renie bowed back.
    â€œSuch a morning!” Maya exclaimed in little more than a whisper. “Did you hear about Mr. Randall? What next, I wonder?”
    Judith had an impulsive urge to hug the little woman. At last, there was somebody on the floor who wasn’t tongue-tied. “It’s terrible,” Judith said, putting on her most sympathetic face. “It must be so hard for the people like you who work here, Maya.”
    Maya set Judith’s tray in place, then put a hand on her breast. “It’s terrible,” she said, rolling her dark eyes and then crossing herself. “All these deaths. Fine people, too, each one very nice.”
    â€œYou were on duty when all three of them died?” Judith queried, trying to contain her own excitement.
    â€œYes.” Maya uttered the word like a victory chant. It was obvious to Judith that she reveled in high drama. “Can you imagine? Every time, the same thing, the same way. They do fine,