Suture Self : A Bed-and-breakfast Mystery

to fall back on.”

“But I wanted something hot,” Renie said, her tone

faintly querulous. “I need serious protein. Now that I

think about it, a steak sounds good.”

“Try one of your other sources, some place closer to

the hospital,” Judith suggested.

“I don’t know this neighborhood,” Renie complained. “What’s close?”

“Bubba’s Fried Chicken,” Judith said. “Their flagship restaurant isn’t too far from here.”

Bubba’s was legendary. Renie turned away from the

window and licked her lips. “Um-um, good idea.”

She’d just picked up the phone when Judith heard

voices in the hall. The speechless orderly had left the

door halfway open.

“Hold on,” Judith said, cocking an ear. “Listen.”

A hefty, mild-voiced man in a cashmere overcoat

was speaking to a woman Judith couldn’t see. But after

a few words the woman’s voice was recognizable as

belonging to Sister Jacqueline.

“. . . just as long as you don’t upset Mr. Kirby,” the

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nun said. “He hasn’t been out of the recovery room for

very long.”

“We had an appointment,” the man said, still

sounding mild, almost indolent. “Addison said it was

urgent, though I can’t think why. I mean, he’s not a

sports reporter.”

“Tubby Turnbull,” Renie said in a whisper.

“Ah.” Judith tried to lean farther away from her pillow.

“Ten minutes,” Sister Jacqueline said. “While you’re

with him, please keep reminding him to drink plenty of

fluids. He hasn’t been taking in as much liquid as he

should, and he’ll become dehydrated.”

“Will do,” Tubby replied, and disappeared from Judith’s range of vision.

Judith looked at Renie. “Addison is going to blow

this story all over the Times,” Judith said. “He’s certain

that his wife, Somosa, and Randall were murdered. I

don’t think that his catastrophe out in front of the hospital was an accident.”

Renie had picked up the phone again. “I don’t either.

Obviously, Addison wanted to meet with Tubby Turnbull to see how he and the rest of the Seafarers’ front

office felt about Joaquin Somosa’s death.”

“Comparing notes,” Judith said as Renie asked the

operator to put her through to Bubba’s Fried Chicken.

“Do you suppose the person who ran Addison down is

the killer?”

Renie, however, gave a quick shake of her head, then

spoke into the phone. “Are you delivering? . . . Within

a one-mile radius? I think we qualify. Now here’s what

I’d like . . .”