sounds in the room were Renie’s chewing, the hum of
the equipment, and the usual distant voices and footsteps in the hall. Judith leaned far enough forward to
gaze out the window. It was still snowing, the flakes
now smaller, and thus more likely to stick.
“I’m calling Joe,” Judith announced at last. “I’ve got
a question for him.”
Renie brushed at the collection of crumbs on her
front. “About our car?”
“No,” Judith replied, dialing the number at Hillside
134
Mary Daheim
Manor. “There’s nothing he can do about that. Nobody
else can either until the snow stops.” She paused, then
a smile crossed her face. “Hi, Joe. How’s everything
going?”
“Oh, hi.” Joe sounded disconcerted. “How’re you
doing?”
“Fine. What’s wrong?”
“Um . . . Nothing. It’s snowing.”
“I know. Anything going on that I should know
about?”
“No, not a thing,” Joe said rather hastily. “Except
that before it started to snow so hard, FedEx delivered
a crate containing a hundred whoopee cushions.
Where do you want me to store them?”
“Whoopee cushions?” Judith was perplexed. “I
didn’t order any. Why would I? It must be a mistake.
Call them and have them returned when FedEx can get
back up the hill, okay?”
“Sure,” Joe said. “I wondered what they were for. I
thought maybe a guest had ordered them to be sent
here.”
“How
“Yes. All the rooms are occupied.”
“They are?” Judith was surprised. “We only had four
reservations as of Monday morning.”
“The airport’s closed,” Joe said. “Some people got
stranded. Which, if the planes don’t start flying tomorrow, means we’ll be overbooked for Wednesday.”
“Oh. That
minute. “Arlene has the B&B association number.
She can call them to help out.”
“Okay.”
“Nothing else to report?”
Joe hesitated. “Not really.”
SUTURE SELF
135
“You’re a bad liar, Joe.”
He sighed. “One of the couples who got stuck at the
airport have a pet snake.”
