Suture Self by Mary Daheim

way.”
    â€œIt’s incredible,” Judith declared.
    â€œYou bet it is,” Addison asserted, the hazel eyes sparking. “I was already suspicious, that’s why I wanted to see Garnett. If nothing else, I wanted to clear Joan’s reputation.”
    â€œIn what way?” Judith asked.
    Addison had turned to the door, but now he faced the cousins again. “Because,” he said angrily, “the results of the autopsy indicated she’d ingested a large quantity of Rohypnol—one of those date-rape drugs—which caused her death. That’s bull, Joan never did drugs in her life. Even if she had, why in the world would she take that one?” His voice dropped and his eyes sent off more sparks. “It doesn’t make sense, which is why I think my wife was murdered.”

FIVE
    J UDITH WASN ’ T SURPRISED by Addison Kirby’s declaration. It only confirmed her suspicions about the three deaths.
    â€œSo you think there may be something fishy about Somosa and Randall as well?” she asked.
    Addison shrugged. “Maybe. I can’t speak for Somosa, because I didn’t know him. But I heard through my county sources that the autopsy indicated he’d overdosed on some kind of street drug. Ecstasy, I think. As for Randall—we don’t know yet, do we?”
    Their visitor paced back and forth in front of Judith’s iron bedstead. He seemed to be arguing with himself. “I just spoke with Randall’s son, Bob Jr., and his daughter, Nancy. They caught snatches of conversation among the staff that indicated suicide.”
    â€œWhat?” Judith couldn’t believe her ears.
    â€œThat’s right,” Addison said, nodding gravely. “I can’t get to Mrs. Randall—she’s had some kind of emotional collapse.”
    â€œWhat about his brother, Jim?” Judith asked. “Has he been notified?”
    â€œJim?” Addison blinked several times. “I didn’t realize Bob Randall had a brother. Is he around?”
    â€œHe was here last night,” Renie put in. “He was fussing because Bob had too many visitors and so much hubbub going on in his room.”
    â€œInteresting,” Addison remarked. “I’ll try to get hold of him.”
    â€œSay,” Renie said, adjusting her sling and leaning forward in the bed, “why haven’t you gone public with any of the stuff about your wife and Somosa? I haven’t seen a word about it in the Times .”
    The journalist gave Renie a twisted little smile. “You don’t understand the politics of publishing, Mrs…. Jones, right? My superiors don’t want me ruffling feathers. Blanche Van Boeck is a powerful figure in this community.”
    Renie slapped at her head with her good hand. “Of course! I didn’t make the connection with Dr. Jan Van Boeck. That’s his wife, right? She’s on the city council and just about everywhere on the map in this town. Oh, my.”
    Addison’s smile became wry. “She certainly is. Rumor has it she may run for mayor. She has powerful friends in powerful places. Of course, she has enemies, too.”
    Renie was suddenly wearing what Judith called her “boardroom face,” the no-nonsense sharpening of her features that she presented to corporate clients in her graphic design business.
    â€œBlanche has made some big waves in the past few years,” Renie said. “She’s always struck me as putting Blanche at the head of her agenda, rather than the social and political programs she espouses.”
    Addison nodded. “That’s what many people would say, which is why I have to dance all around her in print. Which also means I have to dance around Good Cheer Hospital, because her husband runs the place.”
    â€œBut Good Cheer was on the news last night,” Judith pointed out. “We missed the first part of the story. What was that all