Mike. “Bill took off for the hospital about an hour or
more ago. He decided to come in person to try to find
out what was going on with Joe.”
SUTURE SELF
287
“He’s walking?” Judith said, incredulous.
Renie nodded. “The buses haven’t started running
again, and you know how Bill likes to walk. But it’s a
long, long trek and it’s cold and the streets are slippery
and . . .” She fell back against the pillows.
“Maybe,” Mike offered, “I could take my vehicle
and try to figure out what route Uncle Bill would follow. Then I could meet him and give him a ride the rest
of the way.”
“That’s sweet, Mike,” Renie said, “but not very
practical. I imagine a lot of the streets are still closed
to traffic. Bill can walk anywhere he wants, but you’d
never get through to collect him.”
Unusual noises in the hallway distracted the trio.
Mike got up to find out what was happening.
“They’re moving somebody into the room across the
hall,” Mike said. “It looks as if whoever it is has just
come from surgery.”
The cousins exchanged puzzled glances. “Mr.
Mummy?” they chorused.
Mike moved farther into the hall. “Is that his real
name?” he called over his shoulder.
“Yes,” Judith replied. “Don’t you see it posted next
to the door?”
Mike disappeared briefly. When he came back into
the room, he shrugged. “There’s nobody named
Mummy—what a goofy name—listed outside the
room. It’s some other person—Randall, James. Does
that sound familiar?”
Judith and Renie were dumbfounded. “What,” Judith asked, “happened to Jim Randall that he required
surgery? I thought we heard somebody tell him he’d
gotten good news. And where is Mr. Mummy?”
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Mary Daheim
Renie simply shook her head. “This place keeps getting crazier. How the hell did our car end up in the parking lot at Good Cheer?”
Judith shot Renie a sharp look. “That may not be as
crazy as it sounds.”
“What do you mean?” Renie demanded.
“Let me think,” Judith said, frowning. “I wish my
brain wasn’t still addled from that blasted anesthetic. If
I could just put everything in logical order, I might be
able to figure this out.”
“Figure what out, Mom?” Mike asked, looking bewildered. “Say, wasn’t that football player who died
named Randall, too?”
“Oh, Mike.” Judith’s expression was pitying.
