“Yes.” Maya uttered the word like a victory chant. It
was obvious to Judith that she reveled in high drama.
“Can you imagine? Every time, the same thing, the
same way. They do fine, getting better, then . . .” She
held up her small hands. “Poof! They go to heaven.”
“It must be very sad for you,” Judith said, “to see
these people and their families and then to have them
die so unexpectedly. I suppose all their loved ones
were extremely shocked. Did anybody say what might
have happened?”
Maya waved a hand in a vexed gesture. “They say
too little and too much. The doctors, they don’t understand what happens. Not their fault, they say. Can’t explain. Maybe patient have unknown sickness or take
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63
bad medicine. The families, they cry, they make
threats, they blame doctors, nurses, everybody in hospital. Why, right now, Mr. Kirby, the husband of the actress, he’s here again, making the big fuss.” Maya
shook her head. “What is fame, what is riches, if you
die too soon? So sad, so very sad.”
“Mr. Somosa left a wife, but no children, I believe,”
put in Renie as Maya delivered her tray. “The Kirby
children are grown, and I guess the Randall kids are,
too.”
Maya nodded several times. “Yes. Mrs. Somosa, so
pretty, so young, she had to be put in the hospital herself, she was so filled with grief. Now she has gone
back to her homeland, the Dominican Republic, I believe. Mr. Somosa was buried there, with his ancestors.
The Kirby children I never saw, they live far away, but
they must have come for the funeral, yes? And now
Mr. Randall . . . Oh, my! Mrs. Randall, she will be in
the hospital, too, if she doesn’t stop crying so.”
“Maybe the children can help,” Judith said. “I understand they’re at the hospital now.”
Maya’s dark eyes flashed. “That’s so.” She put a finger to her lips. “Know what? They are with Mr. Kirby.
Why do you think?”
“I don’t know,” Judith said.
“I do,” Maya said with an emphatic nod. “They talk
of a cabal.”
Judith stared. “A cabal? What sort of cabal?”
“A plot to kill these poor souls,” Maya declared with
a swift glance over her shoulder to make sure the door
was firmly shut. “What else?”
Judith made an extra effort to look impressed. “Who
would do such a thing?”
Maya waved her hand again. “The riffraff. The rab-64
Mary Daheim
ble. The kind of people who hate the rich and famous.
Communists, no doubt. It’s what you call a vendetta.”
She clenched a fist and made stabbing motions, as if
she held a dagger.
The door opened suddenly and Heather Chinn appeared, looking suspicious. “Your lunch cart is outside,
