“Come, please, Doctor,” the nurse urged in an anxious voice. “Something’s happened to Mr. Randall.”
“Randall?” Dr. Alfonso echoed, following the nurse
out into the hall. “Dr. Garnett’s patient?”
Judith’s jaw dropped. Surely not another local
celebrity had succumbed at Good Cheer Hospital. She
pricked up her ears, trying to catch the nurse’s fading
reply.
“Not Bob Randall,” she said. “It’s his brother, Jim.
He suddenly collapsed and is unconscious.”
Renie made an airy gesture of dismissal with her left
hand. “Maybe he’s dead. Can anybody around here tell
the difference?”
Judith stared incredulously at her cousin. “That’s
not funny.”
Renie’s face fell as she realized the enormity of
what she had just said. “No,” she agreed, a hand to her
head. “It’s not.”
THREE
IT WAS ALMOST a quarter of an hour before the
cousins learned what had happened to Jim Randall.
A simple faint, it seemed, according to the Asian
nurse, whose name tag identified her as “Chinn,
Heather, R.N.”
“He’s so different from his brother, the football
player,” Heather Chinn said as she adjusted Renie’s
IV. “They look alike, sort of, but they don’t act like
brothers, let alone twins.”
“Twins?” Judith said, comparing the gaunt, pale
Jim Randall with the robust, suntanned Bob. “As in
identical?”
Heather shrugged and smiled. She had matching
dimples in a perfect heart-shaped face. “I don’t
know about that. Their mannerisms are really at opposite ends, too. Mr. Jim is so shy and doesn’t seem
to have much self-esteem. Mr. Bob is full of life and
confidence. He’ll be out of here in no time.”
“What made Mr. Jim pass out?” Judith inquired
as the nurse added more painkiller to her IV.
Heather shrugged again. “Stress, maybe. Worrying about his brother. Though I don’t think Mr. Jim
is very well. He’s had several tests to determine
what’s wrong, but . . .” She finished with the IV and
34
Mary Daheim
grimaced. “I shouldn’t gossip like that. It’s unprofessional, and I’m merely speculating.”
The pain was beginning to ebb. Judith moved in the
bed, her gaze following Heather Chinn as she tried to
make Renie more comfortable.
“You’d have more room,” Heather said in a pleasant,
reasonable voice, “if you’d put some of these . . . items
in the drawers of your nightstand.” Her slim fingers
