under a great deal of stress. Why, just running such a
large institution would take its toll on anyone.”
“Or being married to Blanche Van Boeck,” Renie
muttered. “I wonder how he stands her.”
“An interesting question,” Mr. Mummy said, tipping his head to one side. “Yes, she must sometimes
be a trial. Now which would you think would be
worse? A rather overbearing woman such as Blanche
Van Boeck or a helpless, dispirited creature like
Margie Randall?”
“Goodness,” Judith said, “that
“Mere observation,” Mr. Mummy responded. “I’ve
seen them both, and I wonder which is more difficult
for the husband. Of course, in Mr. Randall’s situation,
he’s beyond all that. Then again, perhaps Mrs. Van
Boeck spoke kindly of her spouse when she was here
a few minutes ago?”
“Kindly?” Renie made a face. “She was mostly mad
at me, for—allegedly—making him foam at the mouth
or whatever.”
“At you, eh?” Mr. Mummy beamed at Renie. “Dear
Mrs. Jones, I don’t see how you could ever annoy anyone.” Apparently, Mr. Mummy didn’t notice Judith
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203
choking on her water, for he continued. “Are you certain she didn’t blame . . . someone else?”
“Quite certain,” Renie replied firmly. “I’m the villain.”
“Oh.” Mr. Mummy looked vaguely disappointed,
perhaps in Mrs. Van Boeck’s judgment. He made a little bow. “I should be going on my way. You’ve had a tiring afternoon. Perhaps I’ll call on Mr. Kirby. The days
here are so long when you can’t be particularly active.”
Their visitor began his laborious exit, but before he
could get out the door, Judith had a question:
“What do you do for a living when you’re not laid
up, Mr. Mummy?”
He turned slightly, though his gaze didn’t quite meet
Judith’s. “I’m a beekeeper,” he said, then chuckled.
“Buzz, buzz.”
“A beekeeper, huh?” Renie said after Mr. Mummy
had disappeared. “Do you believe that?”
“It’s so unusual that maybe I do,” Judith said. “He
would definitely have to live out in the country to raise
bees.”
Renie’s phone rang, and this time it was her mother.
Judith was trying to tune out the conversation when a
hulking physical therapist named Henry arrived and
announced that he was going to teach her to walk.
“I thought Heather was going to let me sit in the
wheelchair again,” Judith protested. “I really don’t
think—”
On the phone, Renie was trying to get a word in
edgewise. “There really isn’t a draft through the windows, Mom. I couldn’t put a coat on over my sling if I
