Suture Self : A Bed-and-breakfast Mystery

39

“You think so?” Judith remarked, then realized that

Renie had hung up the phone without speaking to Bill.

“Hey, what about your Chinese order?”

Renie let out an exasperated little sigh. “The anesthesia must have affected my brain. I’m told it can, especially your memory. I forgot that Bill never answers

the phone, especially around the dinner hour. Why

don’t you call Joe?”

Judith hesitated. Joe had plenty of responsibilities

on his shoulders now that Judith was completely incapacitated. “I kind of hate to. We don’t live as close to

Art Huey’s as you and Bill do.”

“Okay.” Renie picked up the phone again. “Art Huey’s

Restaurant,” she said. “Yes, you can dial it for me.”

“You’re going to have them deliver our dinner?” Judith asked, taken aback. “Is that allowed?”

“Who knows? Who cares? I’m paying for it. Yes,

this is Mrs. Jones, and I’d like to order the prawn chow

yuk, the wonton soup, the . . .” Renie listed another

half-dozen items, then gave some special instructions:

“Tell the people at the front desk you’re visiting Mrs.

Jones. Put the stuff in a plain cardboard box and throw

one of those plastic geraniums on top. There’s a big tip

in it for you if the food arrives hot.”

“If the food arrives at all,” Judith remarked as Renie

hung up. “Do you think whoever brings it can get past

the desk?”

“Yes,” Renie declared, clicking on the old-fashioned

gooseneck lamp next to the bed. “Now dump that crap

off your tray and settle back. I should have ordered a

couple of drinks while I was at it.”

“We can’t drink,” Judith said, taking yet another sip

from her plastic water glass, “except for stuff like this.

We’re on pain medication.”

40

Mary Daheim

“We are?” Renie harrumphed. “You couldn’t prove

it by me.”

The food did indeed arrive, along with Joe, Bill, and

the delivery boy. Renie had already managed to get out

her checkbook, though it was a struggle to write with

her left hand.

“Let me,” Bill sighed, tearing up the check. “This

looks as if you’d written it with your lips.”

“I should try that,” Renie murmured, struggling to

open the cartons. “Here, pass some of this to my roommate.”

Joe and Bill had come to the hospital together. The

guests were settled in, Carl and Arlene had things well

in hand, and Gertrude was spending the evening inside

Hillside Manor playing three-handed pinochle with Judith’s stand-ins.

“They’re so good to her,” Judith said, referring to the

Rankerses. “I try to ignore Arlene’s threats to move. I