“You, too?”
“At least I love my mother,” Renie said in a wan
voice, “but having seen you break out into a cold sweat
indicated you were talking to Effie McMonigle.”
“That’s right,” Judith said. “She wonders why I
didn’t have an autopsy done on Dan.”
“Before he died? It might have been a smart idea.
Maybe you could have figured out what made him
tick.”
“Sheesh.” Judith rubbed her neck, trying to undo the
kinks that had accumulated. “To think I was putting off
calling Mother.”
The door, which had been left ajar, was slowly
pushed open. Jim Randall, dusted with snow and carrying a slightly incongruous spring bouquet, stepped
into the room and stopped abruptly.
“Oh! Sorry.” He pushed his thick glasses up higher
on his nose. “Wrong room.” He left.
106
Mary Daheim
“What was that all about?” Renie asked.
“I don’t know,” Judith replied, sitting up a bit.
But Jim reappeared a moment later, looking flustered. “There’s someone in there,” he said, gesturing at
the room that had been occupied by his late brother.
“How can that be?”
“It’s Mr. Kirby,” Judith said. “The hospital is very
crowded. I guess they had to use your . . . the empty
room.”
“Oh.” Jim looked in every direction, cradling the
bouquet against his chest. Then, in a jerky motion, he
thrust the flowers in Judith’s direction. “Would you
like these? I don’t know what to do with them. I was
going to put them on Bob’s bed. You know, in remembrance.”
“Ah . . .” Judith stared at the yellow tulips, the red
carnations, the purple freesia, and the baby’s breath.
“They’re very pretty. Wouldn’t Mrs. Randall—
Margie—like them?”
“Margie?” Jim’s eyes looked enormous behind the
thick lenses. “Yes, maybe that’s a good idea. Where is
she?” He peered around the room, as if the cousins
might be hiding his sister-in-law in some darkened corner.
“We heard she’d collapsed,” Judith replied. “They
must have taken her home by now. The children, that
is. They were here earlier.”
Jim’s face suddenly became almost stern. “How
early?”
“Well . . . It was an hour or so after your brother . . .
passed away,” Judith said. “Noon, maybe? I really
don’t remember.”
Jim’s expression grew troubled. “Were they here before Bob was taken?”
SUTURE SELF
