Suture Self : A Bed-and-breakfast Mystery

Mary Daheim

“No,” Renie answered slowly. “Mr. Mummy was officially discharged late last night.”

Judith didn’t say anything for at least a full minute.

“I wish I could figure out what Mr. Mummy was doing

here. I’m convinced he wasn’t a real patient. And why

did Sister Jacqueline have that late-night closed-door

meeting with him?”

“He certainly was snoopy,” Renie remarked.

“Yes.” Judith’s voice held a curious note. “He

seemed driven to find out every little thing that went

on in this hospital. Remember how he interrogated

us—politely—about Blanche stopping by our room

and some of the other seemingly small incidents. He

tried to do the same thing with Addison Kirby. Mr.

Mummy didn’t want to miss a trick. To what end, I

wonder?”

“A spy?” Renie suggested.

Judith frowned. “Maybe. Industrial espionage.”

Renie uttered an ironic laugh. “They call it keeping

abreast. And it wouldn’t be industrial espionage in this

situation. That is, nobody wants to steal trade secrets

from Good Cheer. Hospitals aren’t creative institutions, like chemical or munitions companies.”

“Maybe,” Judith said, “Mr. Mummy was spying for

Restoration Heartware.”

“He might have been spying for Good Cheer,” Renie

offered. “He had to have the approval of the hospital

administration. How else could he get himself in here

with a fake injury?”

Judith was pondering the question when the phone

rang. It was Arlene, and she was highly agitated. “I

hope there’s room for me in that hospital when I have

a nervous breakdown in the next ten minutes,” she an-SUTURE SELF

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nounced in a voice that shook. “Do you have any idea

how worried I’ve been about Joe?”

Judith hung her head. “I’m so sorry. But I didn’t

know myself if he was going to . . . It’s only in the last

few minutes that I got good news from Mike.”

“He’ll live?” Arlene asked in a breathless voice.

“Yes,” Judith replied. “He’s improved enought to

complain. How’s everything at your end?”

“Fine,” Arlene replied, the tremor no longer in her

voice. “By the way, I got another call from FedEx this

morning. I canceled the pigs, but now they have a fiftypound case of Granny Goodness chocolates awaiting

delivery. They wanted to let us know that if the snow

melts enough, they may be able to bring it to the B&B

by late afternoon.”

Judith was astounded. “I never ordered any . . .” The

light dawned. “Mother,” she said under her breath,