Jim dropped his head and shuffled his feet. “Sorry. I
spoke out of turn. I’d better get going.”
110
Mary Daheim
“Say,” Judith said, not quite ready to relinquish their
visitor, “you were outside this afternoon when Addison
Kirby got hit by that car. Did you happen to see who
was driving it?”
“That was Addison Kirby?” Jim had risen to his feet.
“Gee, I didn’t realize it was him. His wife died recently, didn’t she?”
Judith nodded. “Yes, here in this same hospital.”
“Gosh.” Jim shook his head several times, then
frowned. “What was he doing here?”
“He’d been talking to your weird niece and nephew,”
Renie put in. “I suspect he was trying to figure out if
they felt their father had been murdered.”
“Oh!” Jim dropped the flowers again. “No! That’s
worse than suicide!”
“Same result,” Renie noted.
Judith was trying to shut her cousin up, but the
glares and the gestures weren’t working. “Now, Mr.
Randall, I’m sure that Mrs. Jones doesn’t mean . . .”
Tears were coursing down Jim Randall’s gaunt
cheeks. He snuffled several times, removed his glasses,
and swiped at his eyes. “My brother didn’t have an
enemy in the world. He was one of the most beloved
sports figures in America. And here, in this city, he was
a god.”
“Mr. Fumbles,” Renie muttered. “I remember one
headline after a big loss that read, ‘Can Randall Get a
Handle on the Ball?’ Between interceptions and fumbles, he turned the ball over six times that day, leading
to a total of twenty-four points for the other guys. His
so-called eagle eye couldn’t seem to tell who was
wearing which uniform.”
“He’d eaten bad beef!” Jim cried. “He was very ill,
he was playing on courage alone.”
SUTURE SELF
111
“He should have played on the field,” Renie retorted.
“He should have sat down and let his backup take over.
I don’t know what the coach was thinking of, except
that Randall was a big star and the second-stringer was
a third-year man who was out of football by the next
season.”
“I can’t stand it!” Jim bent down to pick up the bouquet and stormed out of the room.
“Coz . . .” Judith was exasperated.
“I’m sorry,” Renie said, exhibiting absolutely no
sense of remorse. “Bill and I were at that game, and it
made me mad. Granted, it was probably the worst performance of Bob Randall’s career, but we paid out over
