Bob—because somebody said he’d played professional football.”
“Hunh,” snorted Renie, and fell back against the pillows.
Heather had refilled the cousins’ water carafes, re-36
Mary Daheim
placing them on the old wooden bedside stands that
matched the room’s much-varnished door and window
frames. “Remember to keep drinking fluids. Dinner
will be along shortly,” she added as she exited the
room.
“It better be,” Renie muttered after taking a big sip
of fresh water. “Really, coz, I doubt that Somosa did
drugs. Or Joan Fremont, either. They didn’t call her the
First Lady of the local theater for nothing. She was a
lady, in every way.”
“Good Cheer is undoubtedly dodging a couple of
huge malpractice suits,” Judith said, clicking on the
TV. “Can you imagine? Not only the survivors, but
maybe Le Repertoire Theatre and the Seafarers’ ownership.”
Renie was silent for a moment as KINE-TV’s anchorpersons radiated their own type of good cheer by
rehashing humankind’s latest tragedies. “At least turn
down the sound,” she said crossly. “It’s Mavis LeanBrodie doing the news and she’s never liked me.”
Years ago, Mavis had been involved in a homicide
that had occurred in Judith’s dining room. Since then,
Judith had encountered her a few times, including a recent run-in during a murder investigation at an apartment house on Heraldsgate Hill. Mavis had featured
Judith in a well-intentioned TV interview that had
come off as awkward and inaccurate. Still, Judith held
no grudge.
“Mavis is okay,” Judith allowed, hitting the mute
button as the screen switched to a close-up of the governor in front of the state capitol. “She’s just aggressive. It comes with the job description.”
Dinner was brought in by a solemn young orderly.
Wordlessly, he set up Judith’s tray first. There were
SUTURE SELF
37
two covered dishes, a plastic container, a plastic cup,
packets of salt and pepper, silverware, and a napkin. A
whole-wheat roll wrapped in plastic rested on a plate
with a butter pat.
The orderly moved to Renie’s bed. “What the hell is
this crap?” she yelled, removing the metal cover from
the larger of the two dishes. “It looks like cat spit!”
The orderly, who sported a mustache, a shaved head,
and a gold stud in one ear, didn’t respond. Without
speaking, he left the room.
“I think,” Judith said warily, “it’s mutton.”
Renie’s brown eyes widened in horror. “No Grover
since our grandfather has ever eaten mutton, and he
only did it because he was English. I think I’m going
to be sick.”
