on that crutch anymore.
“And when she couldn’t get the pharmacist to give her the new key—again at my order—she knew where she could find a bottle. Everyone who knew me well was aware that I needed it for this postnasal-drip problem. If she hadn’t taken the poisoned bottle, I might have. Or John might have retrieved it. Poor Sister: in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“Well, God writes straight with crooked lines. I guess it was time for me to move on.”
“And St. Vincent’s?”
“Yes, I suppose. Even time for St. Vincent’s to . . .” There was a catch in Eileen’s voice. “. . . to close its doors for good.”
“One thing, Sister.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t ever play poker.”
* * *
“I can’t say this hasn’t been fun, big fella. But don’t you think we ought to get outta bed?”
“Why?” George Snell was deeply depressed.
“Why?” Helen Brown echoed. “Because call lights will be going on and the nurse is gonna wonder why she’s runnin’ her ass off when there’s an aide someplace on the floor.”
“That’s just it,” Snell observed, “you ain’t exactly been ‘on the floor’ for quite a spell now. You been off the floor, as it were.”
“I know, big fella, and that’s why I gotta get back on duty. All somebody’s gotta do is look in this room and our collective ass’ll be in a sling.”
“What difference does it make?”
“What difference! The difference between gettin’ a paycheck and standin’ in line waitin’ for charity. If it trickles down this far.”
“It don’t make much difference. This place is gonna close down anyhow.”
“This hospital?”
“What else?”
“How do you know that?”
“Small place. Rumors travel fast.”
“Rumor! That’s all it is.”
“No. It’s gonna close.”
“Is that what’s gettin’ you down? Just ’cause this place closes don’t mean there won’t be any more jobs anywhere.”
“Yeah? Like where?”
“Like lots of places. You keep forgettin’: You’re a hero!”
“That’s right, ain’t it?”
Happily for George Snell, he had not been compelled to testify in the case of Bruce Whitaker. So the knowledge that his “heroics” were no more than a series of accidents did not go beyond the police and Father Koesler.
“But wait a minute!” Snell sat upright. “You know I ain’t no hero. You were with me both times I was suppose to’ve saved somebody. You know! ”
“Yeah, I know, big fella. But I ain’t likely to tell. Far as I can see, if this place closes, we’ll just move along. They always need aides—that’s me. And they always need heroes—that’s you. By and large, we oughta be able to spend a good part of our lives in the sack.”
“Worse luck for you.” Snell lay back in the narrow bed. Instinctively, he wrapped one long arm around Helen Brown, absently caressing her bottom.
“What do you mean, worse luck for me? You’re a lot of fun, big fella. Oh, yes, a lot of fun. You have given me some of the very best lays I have ever had in my whole life. And that includes tonight. And this is an unsolicited testimonial.”
“Yeah.” Snell grinned, then quickly grew serious. “But there’s more. At least there should be.”
“More! You’re kidd—oh, yeah, that’s right. Both times you became a ‘hero’ you were about to do something ‘more.’ But you never got around to it. Now what in hell you could do more beats me.”
“Well, it looks like you’re gonna have to take it on faith. But there was somethin’ more. It was one of a kind. And now,” he choked back what sounded like a sob, “it’s gone. Gone. Gone.”
“When did it leave? Oh, what the hell we talkin’ about, anyway?”
“It left after I saw somethin’ on TV I’ll never forget the rest of my life. And we’re talkin’ about a . . . oh . . . somethin’ like a maneuver.”
“That maneuver again! Look, man, I still don’t know exactly what you’re talkin’ about. But I know you certainly know how to satisfy a person. I truly don’t think I could stand any more from you than what you already done. Besides, big fella, two can play at that.” Helen Brown shifted so that she was roughly one-quarter of the way on top of Snell.
“What? What you gettin’at?”
“Just this, big fella, You’re not the only one who’s got some fancy maneuvers.”
“Wait a minute!” Helen Brown was doing things that made George Snell grin broadly. “Wait a minute! I’m kind of tired.”
“That’s okay, big fella. You know what the helpful cow said to the tired farmer.”
“No! Hoo! Ha!”
“She said, ‘You just hang on; I’ll jump up and down.’”
“Oh, God!” Snell shouted in spite of the danger. “To hell with the Snell Maneuver!”
* * *
“How does it feel to be home?” Inspector Koznicki sipped his Frangelico, the after-dinner liqueur supplied from the extremely limited stores of St. Anselm’s rectory.
“Great. It always feels good to get home. But the time spent at St. Vincent’s was good. I learned a lot,” Father Koesler said.
Koznicki licked his lips. The liqueur had a pleasant nutty taste. “That is important to you, is it not, Father? That you are always learning.”
Koesler smiled. “Don’t mention something like that to the few professors of mine who are still living. As a matter of fact, don’t mention it to any of my peers. Both groups would laugh you to scorn.
“But, yes, as one born out of due time I have become intrigued with learning as much as I can about nearly everything. And in that context, St. Vincent’s Hospital—soon to be of happy memory—was a genuine learning experience.”
“You are referring to the health-care facility itself or to that most unfortunate episode?”
“Both. Interesting people. Interesting experience. With a very sad ending, no matter how you look at it.”
“We have not seen much of each other since the death of Sister Rosamunda and then the trial.”
“I guess we’ve just been busy. I had so much to catch up on here in the parish. It’s always a bit of a surprise to be confronted with all that accumulates over just a few weeks. Not the mail; I stayed pretty much up on that. No, it’s the decisions that everyone was kind enough to leave to me. Then, of course, you’ve been occupied. You’re always busy.”
“Life goes on.”
“And so does death, and murder. And that’s why you’re so busy.”
Koznicki smiled and sipped at the liqueur.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you, Inspector: Whatever happened to Bruce Whitaker? He seems to have just dropped out of sight.”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Whitaker. He has moved to California . . . the Los Angeles area. He is married now, you know . . . that nurse’s aide who also was one of your suspects.”
“Ethel Laidlaw. That’s great. But don’t remind me of ‘my’ suspects. That was when I thought there was a plot afoot to murder Sister Eileen. As it turned out, harming Eileen was almost an afterthought.’’
“Sometimes one gets a feeling.”
“That’s what it was, Inspector, a feeling. There was indeed a good bit of animosity in the atmosphere. There
