Free Suture Self by Mary Daheim Page B

appetite.”
    â€œThat makes two of us.” Renie sighed. “I was starved last night, but Art Huey’s food is always terrific. Today, I feel sort of…blah.”
    â€œThat’s not like you,” Judith remarked. Renie’s appetite was usually boundless. “I suppose it’s natural. We’ve been through a lot.”
    â€œTrue,” Renie said as someone knocked on the door but entered before either cousin could respond.
    â€œMrs. Flynn and Mrs. Jones?” The man who spoke was Addison Kirby, who closed the door behind him and immediately introduced himself. He was hatless, and wearing a classic trench coat over dark slacks, a tweed jacket, and a light-brown flannel shirt. “May I?”
    â€œYou want to see us?” Judith asked in surprise.
    The newspaper reporter gave a curt nod. “It’ll only take a minute.”
    â€œOkay,” Judith said, puzzled. “Have a seat.”
    Addison started to sit down in Judith’s visitor’s chair, then hesitated. “Are you sure?” he asked, his penetrating hazel eyes darting from cousin to cousin.
    â€œPositive,” Renie said, draining her apple juice. “I recognized you out in the hall. Let me say right off, I’m terribly sorry about your loss. Your wife was a wonderful actress, and I’ve heard she was a fine person as well. She always seemed active in helping raise money for charity.”
    Briefly, Addison hung his head. He was going bald, but there were only a few strands of gray in his well-kept beard. “She was terrific in every way,” he said, looking up. “On top of it, we managed to raise three children who are now off and on their own. We have two grandchildren, charming little twins. Joan was so fond of them. We’d visit when Le Repertoire wasn’t…” He stopped abruptly and bit his full lower lip. “Sorry. I’m not here to talk about that.”
    â€œThat’s okay,” Judith said with sympathy. “Go ahead, tell us whatever you want to.”
    â€œNo, no,” Addison replied, now very businesslike. “I have just a couple of questions.” Again, he paused, this time to clear his throat. “This morning, before Bob Randall died, did either of you see or hear anything unusual?”
    Judith and Renie exchanged quick glances. “No,” Judith finally said. “I don’t recall anything.”
    â€œYou’re sure?” Addison Kirby looked disappointed.
    Renie’s expression was uncharacteristically diffident. “I did hear Randall talking on the phone this morning while I was in there.” She gestured at the darkly stained wooden door to the bathroom. “He was talking about somebody named Taylor, or to somebody named Taylor. I couldn’t catch much of it, though.”
    Addison looked puzzled. “The only Taylor I know was Joan’s eye doctor. But it’s a common name. That’s all you heard?”
    â€œI’m afraid so,” Judith responded with an apologetic expression. “Why do you ask?”
    Kirby shook his head. “I’m paranoid,” he said. “Obsessed. Nuts.”
    â€œWho isn’t?” Renie offered.
    Standing up, Kirby replaced the visitor’s chair and jammed his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. “I had an appointment this morning to meet with Dr. Garnett, the chief of surgery. I’ve got a lot of unanswered questions about Joan’s death. Garnett had been stalling me, figuring, I suppose, that anything he said would be on page one of the Times ’s next edition. But he finally gave in, and we’d just gotten started when he was summoned to this floor. I could tell it was urgent, so I followed him, and learned that Bob Randall had died. I didn’t really know Bob, but I’ve seen him around town over the years. Anyway, it seemeddamned peculiar, with Joan dying so suddenly and Joaquin Somosa, the same