wheelchair, and rolled into the kitchen.
“I’m not sure it’s safe to go into the hospital,” she
said to her husband, Joe Flynn. “Look at this.”
Joe, who had just come in through the back door,
hung his all-weather jacket on a peg in the hallway
and stared at the big, bold front-page headline.
ACTRESS DIES FOLLOWING ROUTINE SURGERY
John Fremont Succumbs After Minor Foot Operation
“Who’s John Fremont?” Joe asked after kissing
his wife on the cheek. “The explorer? No wonder he
wrecked his feet, going over all those mountains.
Huh. I thought he was already dead.”
“He’s been dead for over a hundred years,” Judith
replied. “It’s a—”
“A shame the local newspaper doesn’t jump on
those stories faster,” Joe interrupted. “What’s
Queen Victoria up to this week?”
Judith made a face at Joe. “It’s a typo,” she said
in a testy voice. “It’s supposed to be Joan Fremont.
See, there it is in the lead. You know who she is—
2
Mary Daheim
we’ve seen her in several local stage productions. She
is—was—a wonderful actress.”
Joe frowned as he read deeper into the story. “Jeez,
don’t these people proofread anymore?”
“That’s not my point,” Judith asserted. “That’s the
second well-known person in three weeks to peg out at
Good Cheer Hospital. I’m getting scared to go in next
Monday for my hip replacement.”
Joe opened the cupboard and got out a bottle of
Scotch. “You mean Somosa, the pitcher? That’s no
mystery. He was probably full of amphetamines.” With
an air of apology, Joe gestured with the bottle. “Sorry,
I hate to drink in front of you, but I spent ten hours sitting on my butt for that damned insurance stakeout.”
“Never mind.” Judith sighed with a martyred air that
would have made her Aunt Deb proud. “I’m used to
sacrifice and self-denial. After a month in this stupid
wheelchair and taking all those pain pills, I suppose I
should be looking forward to surgery and getting back
to a normal life. How’d the stakeout go?”
“It didn’t,” Joe replied, dumping ice cubes into a
glass. “The guy didn’t budge from his sofa except to go
to the can. Then he used a walker. Maybe he’s legit.
The insurance company expected him to play a set of
tennis or jump over high hurdles or do the rumba. I
hate these alleged insurance-fraud assignments.”
“They pay well,” Judith pointed out, giving the
amber liquid in Joe’s glass a longing look.
