crime-solving.”
“That’s true,” Judith said, “but it was an accident.
They were all accidents. I mean,” she went on, getting
flustered, “I don’t seek out homicide cases. I just sort
of stumble into them. I guess it has something to do
with my work. I meet so many people, and some of
them aren’t very nice.”
The understatement didn’t seem to convince Addison.
“The buzz around city hall was that you had an uncanny
knack for fingering killers. I’ve read about detectives,
both real and fictitious, who could pick out a murderer
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Mary Daheim
just from the way they looked. How do you do it? Shape
of the head? Look in the eyes? Manner of speaking?”
“Nothing like that,” Judith said modestly. “I’m interested in people. They talk to me. I listen. And often,
they make some tiny slip that gives them away.” She
shrugged. “It’s not a talent. It’s just . . . paying attention.”
Again, Addison seemed to regard Judith with skepticism. “Your husband’s a cop, isn’t he? Joe Flynn,
very sharp. I remember him from my beat at city hall.
Hasn’t he retired?”
“Yes,” Judith answered. “He’s a private investigator
now.”
Addison merely smiled. Judith decided to change
the subject. “Why were you so angry with Mr.
Mummy just now? He seems like a harmless little
guy.”
“Does he?” Addison shifted his shoulders, apparently trying to get more comfortable. “You don’t find
him . . . suspicious?”
“Ah . . .” Judith wondered how candid she could be
with Addison Kirby. “I have to admit, I’ve wondered
why he was transferred into Good Cheer. His fractures
don’t seem very severe.”
“Exactly.” Addison suddenly seemed to grow distant. Perhaps he had doubts of his own about confiding
in Judith. “He’s a real snoop.”
“Curiosity,” Judith said. “He’s bored, too. Did he tell
you he’s a beekeeper by trade?”
“No.” Addison stroked his beard. “Interesting.”
“Different,” Judith allowed.
“Yes,” Addison said quickly, “that’s what I meant.”
Judith gave Addison a questioning look, but he
didn’t amplify his comment. “You’ve had a rather rig-SUTURE SELF
209
orous day so far,” she finally said. “I happened to hear
Dr. Van Boeck shouting by your door. I hope he didn’t
upset you.”
“He didn’t.” Addison looked pleased with himself.
“He’s one of those professional types who hates the
media. Most doctors don’t like criticism—the godlike
ego and all that tripe. Doctors and lawyers are the
