Suture Self : A Bed-and-breakfast Mystery

very sure about this.”

“January sixth,” Addison replied promptly. “How

could I forget? We had the funeral last Saturday.”

Exuding sympathy, Judith nodded. “Do you remember exactly when Joaquin Somosa died?”

Addison gave Judith a crooked little smile. “Actually, I do. It was on my late father’s birthday, December nineteenth.”

“Good,” Judith said. “I mean, it’s good that you remember.”

Addison was eyeing her curiously. “You’re on to

something, aren’t you, Mrs. Flynn? Or should I call

you Miss Marple?”

Judith assumed a modest expression. “I don’t want

to elaborate because my theory is so far out that, along

with my hip, Dr. Alfonso may have replaced my brain

with a battery—a faulty one at that. And unlike Miss

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Mary Daheim

Marple with her St. Mary Mead village eccentrics, I

don’t know anyone on Heraldsgate Hill who reminds

me of the possible suspect.”

Addison looked disappointed. “So I can’t ask who

it is?”

“Don’t feel bad,” Renie put in. “Sometimes, when

she really gets whacked out, she won’t even tell me

who she suspects.”

Addison grinned. “You aren’t going to tell me who

I should be wary of? Remember, I almost got killed out

there in front of the hospital.”

Coincidentally, Torchy Magee poked his head in the

door. “Mrs. Jones? That’s your Camry, all right. At

least it is if you live at this address I copied down.” He

recited the house and street number from a slip of

paper. “That yours?”

“It sure is,” Renie said with a big smile. “Thanks.

I’m relieved that the car is safe.”

Suddenly angry, Addison was staring at Renie.

“Your car was the one that hit me?”

“I’m afraid so,” Renie said. “Our Toyota Camry was

stolen from the dealership. I didn’t recognize it when I

saw it hit you because it looks like every other midsized sedan these days. Besides, I’m not used to looking down on it unless I’m on a ferry boat’s upper deck.”

Addison was frowning. “I don’t get it—somebody

stole your car and then hit me. Was it deliberate?”

Renie glanced at her cousin, who shrugged.

“Who?” Addison asked, still frowning.

“I’m not sure what his name is,” Judith replied, “but

he may be dead.”

As Judith rolled out of the room with Renie behind

her, Addison made a request.

SUTURE SELF

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