The Unkindest Cut (10 page)

As I took a step backward, I noted something odd. I halted.

Clutched in Trowbridge’s hand, which rested on his right leg, was a playing card. Then for the first time I saw the table to the left of the chair where the corpse sat. Cards lay on the table as if a bridge game had been in progress.

My eyes skittered back to the card in Trowbridge’s hand. The face of it was turned toward me, and I noted dimly that it was the queen of diamonds.

I was startled by hearing a voice behind me.

‘‘Good grief, Avery, what is that awful smell?’’

I turned, having recognized Paula Trowbridge’s voice. She stood blinking at me, clutching a large purse in her right hand.

‘‘Emma, what are you doing here? Are you supposed to be having a lesson with Avery?’’ Her nose wrinkled in disgust. ‘‘What
is
that smell?’’

I realized that I was blocking her view of her husband’s corpse, and with that realization I went into action. I stepped forward quickly, trying to shield her from the dead body. I wanted to hustle her out of the room before she had time to see anything.

Grabbing her by the shoulders, I succeeded in turning her in the direction of the door before she realized what I was doing. I put my hands back in place on her shoulders and urged her forward. Her handbag banged against my legs.

‘‘What are you doing?’’ She tried to stop and turn around, but I guess my adrenaline was pumping so hard that I was much stronger than she was. I muscled her out of the suite and into the hall.

She stumbled to a halt, and I let go of her. She whirled around, her face red and her chest heaving. ‘‘Just what the hell is going on here? And what was that god-awful smell? What have you and Avery been up to?’’ She brushed past me, and again she banged her purse into me. ‘‘I’m going back in there.’’

‘‘No, you’re not.’’ I grabbed her arm and held on, pulling her toward me forcefully. I caught her in mid-stride, and she lost her balance slightly. She stumbled against me, and I wrapped my arms around her.

‘‘Listen to me, Paula,’’ I said in the tone I used to take with my misbehaving students. ‘‘You cannot go in there. You’ve got to come with me.’’ Still holding on to her, I started marching her next door to my suite.

‘‘There’s something wrong with Avery, isn’t there?’’ Paula stopped resisting me for a moment, and I managed to move her a few feet closer to my door.

‘‘Yes, there is,’’ I said, ‘‘Right now there’s nothing we can do for him. We need to call the police.’’

‘‘Police?’’ Paula nearly shrieked the word. ‘‘What happened? Why do we need the police?’’

‘‘Just come with me, and I’ll explain,’’ I said, trying to use a calming tone. I didn’t want any other residents of this floor to overhear us and come out to see what was going on.

Finally docile, Paula came with me to my door, and I fumbled in my pocket for the key. I glanced at her, and her face was pale.

‘‘Don’t faint on me,’’ I said as I stuck the key into the lock.

‘‘I won’t,’’ Paula said. She clutched her purse to her chest.

I gave her a slight push to get her into the room, and once she was inside, she made a beeline for the couch and almost threw herself on it, dropping her handbag on the floor. She started sobbing.

Marylou stepped into the room, pulling a dressing gown around her and tying the sash. ‘‘What on earth is the matter?’’ She glanced from me to Paula.

‘‘Can you look after her?’’ I said, nodding my head toward Paula. ‘‘Something has happened next door. Avery Trowbridge is dead, and I need to let the hotel know.’’

Startled, Marylou stared at me for a few seconds, but then, without a word, she advanced on Paula.

I went to the desk near the window and picked up the phone. My hand was steady as I punched the zero. I felt cold all over, but, for the moment at least, completely in control of myself.

‘‘Good morning,’’ a female voice said into my ear. ‘‘How may I help you?’’

Relieved that the voice didn’t belong to Veronica Hinkelmeier, I quickly identified myself. ‘‘I’ve just discovered a dead body in the next suite. It’s Avery Trowbridge, and he’s been murdered.’’

For a moment there was no reply. When it came, the voice was obviously shaken. ‘‘Good Lord. This isn’t some kind of prank, is it?’’

‘‘No, I assure you it is not,’’ I said, once again using my teacher voice. ‘‘You need to call the police right away.’’

‘‘Sheriff’s department,’’ the woman said, obviously still a bit dazed by my news. ‘‘We’re outside the city limits.’’

‘‘Well, whoever, then,’’ I replied, beginning to lose patience. ‘‘Just do it. They need to get here as quickly as possible.’’ I dropped the receiver into its cradle.

‘‘Murder?’’ Marylou said. I turned around. Marylou was sitting on the couch, Paula’s head resting on her left shoulder. The crying woman clung to her friend like she was a life preserver.

‘‘I’m afraid so,’’ I said.

‘‘Oh, dear me,’’ Marylou said. She patted Paula’s back with one hand and stroked her hair with the other. ‘‘Shush, now, Paula, and try to get ahold of yourself.’’

‘‘I forgot to tell them to send someone to guard the door,’’ I said, annoyed with myself. I started to pick up the phone but stopped. Surely the woman to whom I had spoken had sense enough to realize that.

‘‘I’m going back next door,’’ I said. ‘‘Someone needs to watch that door until the sheriff’s department gets here.’’

‘‘Oh, dear,’’ Marylou said again, looking very troubled.

‘‘You keep an eye on her,’’ I said. ‘‘I’ll be okay.’’

I went back out in the hall and moved quickly to stand near the door of the dead man’s suite. I glanced inside to be certain that no one was in there, and, satisfied, I turned my back to the door. I had left it open when I took Paula next door, and I figured I should just leave it open now. I shouldn’t risk touching the door again, despite the smell.

‘‘What’s going on?’’

I looked down the hall to see Leonard, the bellboy or whatever he was, approaching. He halted in front of me.

‘’Avery Trowbridge is dead,’’ I said.

‘‘Ohmigod,’’ Leonard said. He made as if to step around me into the room, and I put up a hand. ‘‘What’s that awful smell?’’

‘‘Don’t go in there. You don’t want to contaminate the crime scene.’’

‘‘Crime scene?’’ Leonard’s voice rose to a high note on the second word. ‘‘Ohmigod.’’ He paled. ‘‘All she told me was that someone died. Maybe I should take a look.’’

‘‘Trust me,’’ I said, ‘‘you don’t really want to see what’s in there.’’ He gave in without further protest and simply stood there staring at me.

Thus far I had managed to block what I had seen from my mind, but now it all came back, along with the smell. Maybe I should try to close the door after all. Turning, I put my full weight on my right leg and hooked the door with my left foot and pulled it toward me. Seeing what I was doing, Leonard put his arm on my right shoulder to steady me. I got the door as close to shut as I could, then let go.

‘‘That’s better,’’ I said.

Leonard, his nose wrinkling in disgust, nodded. ‘‘That smell,’’ he said.

‘‘Try not to think about it,’’ I told him. Advice that I wished I could follow myself.
Think about pleasant things,
I told myself.
Don’t let your mind go there.
Time enough later to fall apart from the horror of what I had seen.

‘‘I’ll stand guard if you like,’’ Leonard said. The color was coming back into his face. ‘‘I promise I won’t go in there, and I won’t let anyone else go in there either.’’

He seemed a trustworthy sort, and I decided to accept his offer. My stomach was not calming down. ‘‘Thanks,’’ I said. ‘‘I’ll be next door.’’

He ducked his head in acknowledgment.

I practically ran back to our suite. I had left the door open, and I hurried through it and through the living room to the bathroom. I was distinctly queasy, and I feared I might not make it in time.

I dropped to me knees by the toilet. I couldn’t suppress any longer the horrible images of what I had seen. I threw up a couple of times, had a few dry heaves, and then it was over.

I sat by the toilet until I felt strong enough to stand. My hands were shaky as I turned the cold-water tap. I soaked a hand towel with water and held it against my face. The coolness felt wonderful. I stood that way for a minute or two, and then put the towel away.

Grabbing a cup, I filled it with water and swilled the water around in my mouth. I spit that out and repeated the procedure. I debated rinsing my mouth with some mouthwash, but I thought the smell might bother me.

I dried my face before I went back into the living room. Paula, no longer sobbing, sat beside Marylou on the sofa, clutching her hand.

‘‘Are you okay, Emma?’’ Marylou asked me.

I nodded. ‘‘Just a little queasy, but otherwise okay.’’

Marylou looked like she wanted to ask me questions, but she thought better of it.

‘‘I’ll tell you about it later,’’ I said.

She nodded.

‘‘What happened?’’ Paula spoke in a harsh, low voice.

‘‘Someone killed your husband,’’ I said, trying to be gentle.

‘‘But who would want to kill him?’’ Paula asked, shaking her head. ‘‘Why would anyone do such a thing?’’

I stared at her in disbelief. She had to be kidding. After all that I had witnessed since meeting her dead husband, I could think of several reasons why someone would kill him, including Paula herself. Now was perhaps not the time to remind her that she herself had threatened his life during that phone conversation Sophie and I overheard at Marylou’s house.

There were sounds of commotion coming from the hallway. I went to the door, which I had left open in my dash for the bathroom. Peering into the hall, I saw several people in uniform at the neighboring door talking to Leonard.

I ducked back into the room and sat down in a chair near the sofa. ‘‘The sheriff’s department is here,’’ I said.

Paula stood up, finally letting go of Marylou’s hand. ‘‘I should go and talk to them,’’ she said. ‘‘Shouldn’t I?’’ She looked down at Marylou.

‘‘I think you should sit still and wait until they want to talk to you,’’ Marylou said in a firm tone. ‘‘They’re going to be too busy for a little while, and they’ll get to you soon enough.’’

‘‘She’s right,’’ I said. ‘‘Let’s just sit tight until they come looking for us.’’ I wasn’t in any hurry to tell my story to anyone official, because I knew it would take a long time and I would be completely exhausted by the time it was over.

My stomach rumbled, and my head ached. I hadn’t had any coffee yet, and the caffeine withdrawal was beginning to hit me. I didn’t think I could face food for a while yet, but I sure could use some coffee.

‘‘I’m going to make some coffee,’’ I said. Our suite had a minibar, and I had noticed a regular-sized coffeemaker there. ‘‘Who else wants some?’’ I got up from my chair and went to the minibar and started rummaging around.

‘‘I could use some,’’ Marylou said, sighing. ‘‘It’ll probably be forever before we can have any breakfast. ’’

‘‘Me, too, I guess,’’ Paula said. ‘‘Maybe with a shot of brandy in it?’’

‘‘I’ll see,’’ I told her. First I concentrated on getting the coffee started, and once that was done, I opened the small cabinet in the minibar and located a little bottle of brandy. ‘‘Here we are.’’ I set the bottle on top of bar.

I stood at the minibar, and Marylou and Paula sat on the sofa. We could hear sounds of activity from next door, but none of us spoke. The gurgling of the coffeemaker and our own breathing were the only sounds in the room.

Voices came to us from the hall, but I couldn’t really make out what they were saying.

Voices.

Suddenly I remembered the voices I had heard last night when I was trying to go to sleep. I had been in a pretty hazy state at the time, but I thought I recalled there was an argument going on. Then, abruptly, there had been silence before I drifted off completely.

My breath quickened as the realization hit me.

Without knowing it, I had been listening to a murder.

Chapter 11

I probably heard Avery Trowbridge being murdered.

For a moment I thought I was going to have to dash for the bathroom again. Instead I gripped the edge of the minibar tightly and willed my stomach to stop lurching about. I told myself I was being ridiculous. I’d had a strange dream, and more than likely it had nothing to do with Avery Trowbridge’s death.

The problem was, I didn’t believe myself. My so-called dream was too much of a coincidence.

‘‘Emma, honey, what’s wrong?’’ Marylou said. ‘‘You’re white as a sheet right now.’’

‘‘I’m okay,’’ I said, though my voice came out as a croak. I cleared my throat. ‘‘Really, I’m okay. It’s just a lot to take in right now.’’ I attempted a smile. ‘‘Once I have some coffee, I’ll feel a lot better.’’

‘‘Of course,’’ Marylou said, but she didn’t look like she believed me. Then she glanced down at herself. ‘‘Oh my goodness, here I am still in my nightclothes. I’d better get dressed before the police come wanting to talk to us.’’ She patted Paula’s hand as she got up from the couch. ‘‘You just stay here with Emma.’’

Paula nodded. Marylou trudged off to her bedroom and shut the door behind her.

I eyed the coffeemaker and said, ‘‘Coffee’s almost ready.’’

‘‘Good,’’ Paula replied. ‘‘I’m feeling cold.’’

‘‘How do you take it?’’

‘‘Black is fine.’’

I poured us each a mug of coffee and handed Paula hers, having added some brandy. To my own I added some sugar and cream. Adding the sugar made me remember something.

‘‘Paula, maybe you should have some sugar in your coffee.’’

She looked at me inquiringly.

‘‘It’s good for someone who might be suffering from shock,’’ I explained. ‘‘It can’t hurt, just in case.’’

Paula thrust her mug at me. ‘‘Sure, why not? I don’t feel so good.’’