coroner,” Joe muttered. “Okay, okay, your usual logic
has made a slight impression. For now. Here,” he said,
reaching down to the shopping bag he’d placed on the
floor. “I got you some books and magazines.”
Bill, meanwhile, had given Renie another Falstaff ’s
grocery bag. A veteran of his wife’s foraging, he
stepped back as wrappers ripped, paper flew, and liquid spilled from an unknown source. Renie removed
90
Mary Daheim
sandwiches, peeled carrots, sliced cantaloupe, potato
chips, two packages of cookies, a box of graham
crackers, and more Pepsi, the beverage she claimed inspired her graphic designs.
“Great,” Renie enthused, opening one of the sandwiches, which was on a small baguette. “Lunch was
inedible.” She leaned toward Judith. “Ham or
chicken?”
“I’m not that hungry,” Judith admitted.
Joe was concerned, so Judith reluctantly related her
experience in trying to stand up. “I’ve got to do it again
this afternoon. I don’t suppose you could stick around
until they make me try it?”
Joe grimaced. “I can’t, Jude-girl. I’m really sorry. I
have to get back on this homeless homicide investigation. I finished the background this morning. Now I’m
going to check out the sites where the bodies were
found. Both of the murders occurred in the same area,
not far from here, under the freeway.”
Judith knew the area that Joe was talking about.
Many homeless people tucked their whole world beneath the city’s major north-south arteries. It wasn’t as
aesthetic as the local parks, but citizens and police
alike were less apt to hassle them. Still, their ragtag little neighborhoods were occasionally sent packing, a
caravan of bundles, bags, and grocery carts. And people. The thought made Judith sad.
But she wasn’t naive. “Be careful, Joe. I don’t like
this assignment any more than you like me encountering murder.” She paused, a fond expression on her
face. “Joe, we have to talk.” Judith paused and swallowed hard. “About Mike. He wants a family tree made
up for little Mac’s preschool.”
“Oh?” Joe’s face was blank.
SUTURE SELF
91
Judith nodded. “He called just a while ago. I told
him I’d do it.”
“Preschool?” The word seemed to strike Joe as an
afterthought. “Good God, the kid’s only a baby. He’s
still wetting his pants.”
“They teach them to stop in preschool,” Judith responded with a glance for Renie and Bill, who suddenly, discreetly, seemed to be absorbed in their own
conversation. “Mac’s not going to enter until the fall.
He’ll be two this summer. Anyway, that’s not the point.
Don’t you want Mike to know the truth? The last time
we discussed this seriously, you seemed crushed because I wasn’t ready to tell him.”
