Dune to Death Read Online Free Page B

she could wash down the clams. But something wasn’t quite right. Judith paused, frowning. The carton marked “Fragile” was gone. Mrs. Hoke must have taken it with her, Judith told herself. And why not? It was her house.
    Inside, she looked for a box of cornmeal to shake into the clam bucket to help get rid of the sand. Sure enough, the wax paper, Drano, and a huge pink kite sat on the butcher-block kitchen table. Judith smiled. Maybe she’d try her hand at flying the kite later. Everybody else in Buccaneer Beach seemed to think it was a wonderful pastime. But for now, she was off to visit Joe.
    The drive to the hospital took only five minutes. The sprawling structure apparently had started out as a clinic shortly after World War II, and, like the rest of Buccaneer Beach, had grown helter-skelter. Judith found Joe awake, but not exactly alert.
    â€œGuess what?” she blurted, startled by the big cast, large sling, and complicated pulleys, “we’ve got Drano.”
    â€œRun him on a third party ticket,” murmured Joe, making an attempt to get comfortable. Judging from his grimace, the effort was not a success. “Maybe he can beat Nixon.”
    Judith gingerly sat in the visitor’s chair which was heaped with fresh linen. “Uh…Joe, it’s the nineties. We’re in Buccaneer Beach.”
    For an instant, the green eyes came into focus. “What for?”
    Judith sighed. “Never mind. How do you feel?”
    He was still squirming, though the sling hampered him severely. “Rotten. Where’s my wife?”
    Judith froze, staring at Joe. “ I’m your wife, you knot-head!” she bristled. “We’re married , Joe. We’re on our honeymoon .” Her voice had risen, eliciting a rustling sound from behind the curtain in the room’s only other bed. Flushing, Judith tried to compose herself and put a hand on Joe’s upper arm. “Joe, it’s me—Jude-girl.” She had never cared for the nickname he had given her so long ago, but now she clung to it, hoping to jog his memory. “You’re…ah…fuddled.”
    His eyes were closed and he’d stopped wiggling. For the first time, Judith noticed a bruise on his left forearm and a couple of scratches on his neck. She could hardly believe that except for the headache and stiff back, she’d escaped unscathed. Judith took in Joe’s misery and felt contrite.
    â€œYou go to sleep,” she whispered, patting his shoulder. “I’ll come back after dinner.”
    His eyes opened. “Okay.” He managed a feeble smile. “See if you can get the nurse to come in here.”
    Judith smiled back. “Sure.” She started for the door.
    â€œAnd,” Joe called after her, his voice surprisingly strong, “keep away from the bottle! I’m tired of having to stick your head under the shower to sober you up!”
    The sound of more rustling could be heard from the other bed. Judith fled into the corridor, almost colliding with a young doctor. Glancing at his name tag, she noted that the flaxen hair, fresh face, and hazel eyes belonged to Rolf Lundgren, MD. He didn’t look a day over twenty-two; Judith guessed he was an intern.
    â€œExcuse me,” she apologized, automatically brushing him off as if he’d been Mike, “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
    Dr. Lundgren’s smile was wry as he glanced into the room Judith had just vacated. “A lot of women run out of D-204. We’re getting used to it since Mr. Beezle was admitted. Maybe we need a stop sign for the staff.”
    â€œMr. Beezle? Is he the one in the other bed? I’m Mrs. Flynn,” Judith added in explanation.
    Dr. Lundgren acknowledged Judith’s introduction with a casual nod. “Oh. That’s quite a fracture your husband suffered. I’ve never seen one like it. The orthopedic surgeon, Dr. Scott, says it’s a