The Unkindest Cut (6 page)

‘‘She is very unpleasant, isn’t she?’’ Marylou said, leading the way toward the elevator.

‘‘She’s obviously a deeply unhappy person,’’ I said. ‘‘Either that, or she was just born nasty.’’

‘‘I expect she crawled from under the rock that way,’’ Sophie said as the elevator door opened.

‘‘Talking about Veronica, I’ll bet,’’ Leonard said while stepping out of the elevator. His attractive face split in a large grin, he stood beside the door and extended his arm against it to keep it open for us.

‘‘Pretend you didn’t hear that,’’ Sophie said in a playful tone as she walked into the elevator. Marylou and I stepped in quickly behind her.

‘‘Your wish is my command, dear lady.’’ Leonard bowed deeply, and the elevator door closed as he withdrew his arm.

Sophie giggled. ‘‘He’s so cute,’’ she said.

‘‘Yes, he is,’’ I said, raising an eyebrow at her. ‘‘But don’t forget you have someone waiting for you back in Houston.’’

She stuck out her tongue at me as Marylou laughed.

‘‘Just because I’ve been dating Nate doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the scenery,’’ Sophie said, in a faux-haughty tone.

‘‘I suppose not,’’ I said, trying not to smile. Telling Sophie not to flirt with an attractive man was like telling Niagara Falls to flow backward.

The elevator door opened on the third floor, and the three of us moved back a bit to make room for Haskell Crenshaw.

‘‘Afternoon, ladies,’’ he said.

He was so tall his head almost brushed the ceiling of the elevator, and the space seemed too cramped for the four of us. He really was a big man.

‘‘Good afternoon,’’ Marylou said politely as the doors closed.

Crenshaw glanced at the panel of buttons and nodded. Apparently his destination was also the fourth floor.

When the elevator halted and the doors opened, he stepped out and held the door open for us.

‘‘Thank you,’’ we chorused. We headed down the hall toward our suite, and Crenshaw trailed behind us.

We had reached our door, and Sophie inserted the key. Crenshaw knocked on the door nearest ours.

Sophie lingered with our door, appearing to have some problem with the key. I suspected, however, that she was delaying opening the door because she wanted to see who answered Crenshaw’s knock.

We didn’t have to wait long. The door opened, and Avery Trowbridge stepped forward.

‘‘Haskell, what the hell are you doing here? When I fire someone, they stay fired.’’ With that, Trowbridge slammed the door in his former agent’s face.

Chapter 6

Sophie pushed our door open, and the three of us scuttled into the suite, shutting the door behind us. Marylou sank down in one of the overstuffed armchairs, and Sophie and I seated ourselves on the sofa.

Before any of us could say anything, we heard a dull pounding noise coming from the hall. Sophie got up and went to the door. Opening it slightly, she peered out. She stood there for almost a minute while the pounding continued.

The sound ceased, and Sophie watched at the door a moment longer. She closed it and came back to sit beside me on the sofa.

‘‘What was all that about?’’ Marylou asked.

‘‘That Crenshaw person was pounding on Avery Trowbridge’s door,’’ Sophie said. I had guessed as much. ‘‘Trowbridge finally opened the door and let him in the room, but from the glimpse I caught of his face, he didn’t look any too happy about it.’’

‘‘What on earth have we gotten ourselves into?’’ Marylou said, looking more than a bit perturbed. ‘‘I’m not sure I like the idea of us being in the suite next to such goings-on.’’

‘‘It’s nothing to do with us, really,’’ I said. ‘‘We’re here to play bridge, and that’s what we’re going to do. We’ll mind our own business, and we should be fine.’’ I tried to invest as much confidence into my tone as I could. Of course I should have known better, but despite the things we had seen today, I still thought we would be able to stay out of it.

‘‘I don’t like it,’’ Marylou said, frowning. ‘‘I wish I had never let Paula talk me into coming here. And then I talked you two into coming as well. I’m so sorry.’’

‘‘There’s nothing for you to apologize for,’’ Sophie said, waving a hand in the air. ‘‘Frankly, I’m finding it all more than a bit interesting.’’ She laughed. ‘‘This is better than watching a soap opera.’’

Marylou frowned at her. ‘‘It may be amusing to you, but I’ve got a bad feeling about all this. All these tensions, well, I’m sure something bad will happen. Just wait till Basil Dumont finds out that Avery is here. He won’t like that one bit.’’

‘‘Let me guess,’’ I said. ‘‘They aren’t best friends?’’

‘‘No, they’re not,’’ Marylou said. ‘‘They can’t stand each other. Basil resents it because Avery’s more successful than he is, and Avery thinks Basil is a pompous little twit.’’ She sighed. ‘‘And Paula has managed to put herself right between them.’’

‘‘A big, stinking mess,’’ I said, frowning. Despite my positive words to the contrary just moments ago, I was beginning to think it might be a good idea for us to pack our bags and head for Houston.

Sophie apparently read my mind, for she turned to me and said, ‘‘Now, Emma, don’t start talking about going home. It’s nice to be out of Houston for a week, and I don’t care what else is going on here. We’re going to have fun. We’ll play a lot of bridge, eat a lot of good food, and relax and enjoy ourselves.’’

I capitulated. ‘‘You’re right, you’re right. We’ll stay out of the way as much as possible, and maybe they’ll stay out of our way.’’

‘‘Good idea,’’ Marylou said. She yawned. ‘‘You know, I think I’ll have a little nap. After all that good food and that long drive this morning, I’m a little tired.’’ She got up from her chair. ‘‘What are you two going to do?’’

Sophie got up and went to the window. ‘‘Still raining, ’’ she announced. ‘‘I really would like to go for a walk, but not in such messy weather.’’

‘‘I think I’ll read awhile,’’ I said. ‘‘We really don’t have anything to do this afternoon except check in with the bridge-retreat people at some point, and the reception at six thirty.’’

‘‘I’m going to explore the hotel a bit. I can get my walk in that way, at least,’’ Sophie said. ‘‘You two relax, and I’ll find out where everything is.’’

Marylou yawned again and waved at us as she ambled off to her bedroom. She shut the door softly behind her.

‘‘Sure you don’t want to come with me, Emma?’’ Sophie asked as she headed for the door.

I was sorely tempted to stay in our suite and read, but curiosity got the better of me. It often did, I had to admit. ‘‘Sure, why not?’’ I got up and followed her out the door.

We both shot curious glances at Avery Trowbridge’s door as we passed it, but everything was quiet at the moment. We proceeded down the hall to the elevator, and Sophie punched the down button.

‘‘Where to first?’’ I asked. ‘‘You’re the cruise director. ’’

When the doors opened, I followed Sophie inside.

‘‘I thought we might check out the ballroom first,’’ Sophie said. ‘‘That’s where the reception will be, and I believe that’s where we’ll be playing bridge most of the time.’’

On the ground floor we followed the signs for the ballroom, and the closer we came to it, the more noise we could hear.

The doors were open, and Sophie and I paused on the threshold. Before us we could see the proverbial beehive of activity in a space large enough to hold a couple of hundred people very easily. Several men were setting up tables and chairs, while other men covered the tables with tablecloths. Two women followed behind them, setting out attractive flower arrangements, along with some sort of party favors. Against the wall at the center of the long room, three people were preparing the dais for the reception. We wandered into the room, out of the way of the workers. They paid us no attention.

Lightning flashed, drawing our attention to the French doors along the outside wall. Placed every six feet or so, they were separated by large windows that extended from about my knee level up to within five feet of the high ceiling. I closed my eyes for a moment, imagining this space in the spring, on a lovely late afternoon. A tea perhaps, or a wedding reception. Maybe a fiftieth wedding anniversary.

I grimaced. Thinking of wedding anniversaries was like worrying a sore tooth—painful and unproductive.

Sophie prodded me in the side, then indicated with a sideways bob of her head that I should look back at the doorway to the ballroom about six feet away.

Veronica Hinkelmeier had just walked in, accompanied by a tall, rail-thin man clutching a clipboard to his chest. He was sixtyish, with sparse gray hair and oversized glasses that gave him the look of a confused owl. He blinked at us, while Veronica simply scowled.

‘‘As you can see, Mr. Dumont,’’ Veronica said, ‘‘preparations are well in hand. Everything will be ready in plenty of time.’’

So this was Basil Dumont. I eyed him with more curiosity. His clothes were well made but beginning to show their age. The seat of his pants was shiny, and the elbows of his shirt appeared to be fraying a bit.

Avery Trowbridge, jerk though he seemed to be, definitely had the edge when it came to looks and grooming, but perhaps Basil Dumont compensated by having a far more likable personality. At the moment, though, I was hard-pressed to figure out what Paula saw in either of them.

When he spoke, Dumont’s voice was a surprise. Instead of the reedy tenor I expected, he possessed the rich baritone of an opera singer. Sophie twitched beside me as we both responded to the sound.

‘‘I’m sure you’re right, Veronica,’’ he said, ‘‘but you know I like to check on these things myself.’’ He flourished his clipboard. ‘‘Don’t let me detain you. I know you have many things to attend to.’’

Veronica’s eyebrows arched in annoyance, but she didn’t argue. Turning on her heel, she stalked off.

Basil Dumont uttered something under his breath, something that sounded suspiciously like ‘‘harpy.’’ Sophie and I exchanged glances, smiling. Then Dumont caught sight of us, and his expression became guarded.

‘‘Good afternoon, Mr. Dumont,’’ Sophie said, stepping forward and extending a hand. ‘‘I can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to meet you at last. I’ve read several of your books, and I recommend them to anyone who wants to learn more about bridge.’’

Like any straight male not on his deathbed, Dumont responded quickly to Sophie. His eyes lingered for a moment over her exquisite figure before he accepted her hand. He sketched a very courtly bow over it. ‘‘My pleasure, ma’am.’’

Sophie giggled, and Dumont beamed. Three minutes more of this, and he would be thoroughly besotted. I hid a smile.

‘‘I’m Emma Diamond,’’ I said, extending my own hand. ‘‘And this is Sophie Parker.’’

Dumont offered me the same courtesy of a bow, but I would have sworn he never took his eyes off Sophie.

‘‘It’s a pleasure to meet two such charming ladies,’’ he said, straightening and letting go of my hand. ‘‘I take it you’re both here for the bridge retreat?’’

As we both assented, he said, ‘‘How delightful! I shall look forward to working with you.’’

I turned my head away so that I wouldn’t laugh in his face. He still hadn’t taken his eyes off Sophie. I was so used to this reaction, I simply found it amusing.

Sophie giggled again, and Dumont was almost licking his lips. What he didn’t know, of course, was that Sophie always found these situations as funny as I did.

I had asked her once why she egged men on this way, and she just laughed. ‘‘Because they enjoy it, Emma, and so do I. It’s pretty harmless.’’

‘‘Basil!’’

Until she shrieked out the poor man’s name, none of us had noticed Paula Trowbridge approaching. I might have imagined it, but I would have sworn that Dumont winced at the sound of his former wife’s voice. His shoulders did tense slightly, and they stayed that way for several minutes.

When he turned to greet Paula, however, he had a pleasant smile on his face. Sophie and I watched the reunion with interest. As far as I could tell, Paula hadn’t registered the fact that Sophie and I were standing right there.

‘‘Paula, my dear, what a pleasant surprise,’’ Basil said. His tone lacked warmth, but at least it wasn’t outright rude.

He held out his hand to her. Paula, about to launch herself into his arms, halted awkwardly and stood staring at the outstretched hand. She took his hand with a woebegone look on her face. After a moment’s pause, she clasped the hand to her bosom and stared soulfully up into Dumont’s eyes.

‘‘Basil. I can’t
tell
you how I have longed for this moment, to be reunited with you.’’

I swear that’s what she said. I couldn’t have made up more clichéd dialogue if I had tried.

Dumont tried to free his hand, but Paula had an iron lock on it. He tugged, feebly at first, then with increasing strength, and finally she let go.

Shaking his hand, as if to restore the circulation, Dumont gave Paula a pained smile.

‘‘It’s nice to see you, Paula, dear,’’ Dumont said, ‘‘but I really do have to get to work. You’ll have to excuse me. Perhaps we can chat later.’’ He turned away.

Sophie and I should have slipped by them and disappeared before now, because our presence made things very awkward for Paula. She had finally noticed us, and her cheeks reddened in embarrassment.

‘‘Yes, Basil, dear, I’m sure you must have so much to do, but you know if there’s anything I can do to assist you, all you have to do is ask.’’

By now, Dumont had moved well away from us, and I doubted whether he had even heard her.

‘‘Sophie, Emma,’’ Paula said, ‘‘what are you two doing here?’’ She glared at us as if she had caught us stealing something from her purse.

‘‘Just exploring the hotel,’’ Sophie said. ‘‘We wanted to find out where everything is.’’

‘‘Yes,’’ I said, ‘‘it’s such a large place, and it really is lovely inside, don’t you think? The ballroom in particular.’’