The Unkindest Cut (13 page)

With a cry of rage, Veronica launched herself at Paula. Ainsworth was taken off guard, and Veronica almost knocked him off his feet. The other deputy, Jordan—I think that was her name—managed to get between the two women in time. Ainsworth recovered his balance, and he grabbed hold of Veronica before she could get to Paula.

‘‘All right,’’ he said, visibly angry. ‘‘That’s enough.’’ He nodded at his deputy, who pulled her handcuffs from her belt. Before Veronica realized just what was happening, she had her hands cuffed behind her back.

‘‘What are you doing?’’ she said.

‘‘I could charge you with assaulting an officer of the law,’’ Ainsworth said, ‘‘and if you don’t cool down, I’ll do it.’’ His fierce demeanor made an impression— finally—on Veronica, and reality began to sink in.

‘‘Jordan, take Mrs. Trowbridge to her room,’’ he said, then stopped. ‘‘I guess you can’t do that.’’

‘‘I wasn’t staying in the same room as my husband,’’ Paula informed him. ‘‘I have my own room.’’ She gave him the number.

‘‘Okay, then,’’ Ainsworth continued. ‘‘Deputy Jordan will take you to your room, and you will stay there. Don’t talk to anyone. I’ll come and finish questioning you there.’’

Paula nodded. She stood, and Jordan took her arm and led her to the door.

Ainsworth turned back to Veronica. ‘‘Now, Ms. Hinkelmeier, you and I are going downstairs to have a little talk, and we’ll see about some first aid for your face. If I take the cuffs off, are you going to behave?’’

Veronica nodded. Tears rolled down her face, and for a moment, I felt sorry for her. I did have to wonder, though, if Paula wasn’t right—that Veronica was the murderer.

‘‘Ladies, if you’ll excuse us,’’ Ainsworth said, nodding in our direction.

‘‘Of course,’’ I muttered. He had probably known all along that we were standing there, and I felt like a child caught with her hand in some forbidden dish.

‘‘Excuse me, Deputy,’’ Sophie said as she followed Ainsworth and Veronica to the door. ‘‘Do we have to stay here? Can we go downstairs and play bridge, for example?’’

Ainsworth paused in the doorway. He seemed to be considering the question. ‘‘I don’t see why not. But I have to ask you not to talk about anything you’ve seen or heard. Is that clear?’’

We each assured him that it was.

‘‘Okay, then,’’ he said. ‘‘I’ll have more questions for you later, but I’ll know where to find you.’’ He nodded at us before stepping into the hall.

Sophie shut the door behind him and Veronica before joining Marylou and me in the seating area. Marylou and I sank down on the couch, and Sophie chose a chair. We stared at one another for a moment. Then Marylou looked down at the first aid items in her hands. Shaking her head, she set them on the end table near her.

‘‘That was certainly quite a little show,’’ Sophie said.

‘‘Paula was really aggressive, I thought,’’ I said.

‘‘She certainly was,’’ Marylou replied. ‘‘It’s a bit out of character for her. I’ve never known her to actually attack somebody like that, but under the circumstances . . .’’ Her voice trailed off.

‘‘I suppose so,’’ I said. ‘‘Although if she’s capable of that kind of anger, then she could have killed Avery.’’

‘‘No,’’ Marylou said. ‘‘No, I can’t see Paula as a murderer. I just can’t.’’ She shook her head.

I didn’t want to upset her any further, so I decided not to pursue that line of thinking for the moment.

‘‘It’s all ghastly,’’ Sophie said, with a knowing glance at me, ‘‘but I still can’t help being fascinated by it. I mean, who did it, and all that.’’

‘‘We’re all too curious for our own good.’’

Marylou laughed. ‘‘Maybe so.’’ Then she sobered. ‘‘But I am worried about Paula.’’

‘‘The best thing we can do for her is to keep eyes and ears open like we said before.’’

Marylou nodded.

‘‘Okay, girls,’’ Sophie said, ‘‘I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to sit here in this suite any longer. Let’s go play some bridge, how about it?’’ She stood up, hands on her hips, waiting for a response.

Marylou and I didn’t demur—we were both ready for a change of scene.

In the hallway, we stared curiously at the activity going on next door as we passed by. There were various crime scene personnel at work, so we didn’t linger. I tried not to think about what I had seen in that room. Playing bridge would be a good distraction, at least for now. I just hoped I wouldn’t have nightmares about the crime scene tonight.

Once downstairs we made our way to the ballroom. I glanced at my watch, amazed to see that it was only about nine fifteen. Play was supposed to commence at nine thirty, so we weren’t even late, despite what had happened.

‘‘I’ll see you later,’’ Marylou said. She headed for the duplicate-bridge area.

Sophie and I surveyed the scene on the nonduplicate side. Most of the tables were already occupied by foursomes, but I spotted one empty table. ‘‘Shall we sit there?’’ I pointed. ‘‘And hope that two more people turn up?’’

‘‘Might as well,’’ Sophie said.

We had barely seated ourselves when we saw two men approaching us.

‘‘Good morning, ladies,’’ Bob said. ‘‘Mind if we join you and play a little bridge?’’ He smiled.

‘‘Please do,’’ I said.

His companion, Bart, said, ‘‘If it’s okay with you, ladies, Bob and I don’t usually play as partners.’’ The two men glanced at each other and grinned. ‘‘We find that it’s easier to keep the peace that way.’’

Amused, I shook my head. ‘‘Not a problem.’’ I had sat down across from Sophie at the table, but I moved to the chair to her right.

Bob sat down across from me, and Bart took the chair opposite Sophie. Two decks of cards, a scorepad, and pencil were on the table between the two men. Bob picked up a deck and started shuffling. Sophie handed the other deck to Bart to shuffle.

Once he finished shuffling his deck, Bob set the cards down to his right. Bart did the same thing with his deck. Sophie slid them toward me, and I cut. Sophie then dealt out the cards.

‘‘Do you play any particular conventions?’’ Bob asked. ‘‘Bart and I play the usual ones, but we don’t go in for a lot of the really complicated ones people play when they play duplicate.’’

‘‘I’m still pretty much a novice,’’ I said as I organized my hand. ‘‘We play Stayman, and Blackwood, of course, and we usually play short club openers.’’

‘‘Same here,’’ Bart said. ‘‘What about transfers?’’

‘‘I’ve read about them,’’ I said, ‘‘but we haven’t really played with them.’’ I nodded at Sophie. ‘‘Sophie might have. She’s played more than I have.’’

‘‘Yes,’’ Sophie said. ‘‘They can be quite useful.’’

Bart beamed at us. ‘‘Shall I refresh your memory?’’

Suppressing a smile, I said, ‘‘Please do.’’ Once a teacher, always a teacher. I was like that myself.

‘‘Okay, then,’’ Bart said. ‘‘You use transfers if one partner opens one no-trump. If you respond without using transfers, you can end up with the stronger hand as the dummy, and that gives your opponents an edge. So the point of transfers is to allow you to play from the stronger hand, with the weaker hand as dummy.’’

Sophie and I nodded obediently to show that we understood.

‘‘I open one no-trump,’’ Bart continued, ‘‘and if Sophie has up to seven high card points and a five-card major, she would bid two of the suit below her major. If she has a good heart suit, she would say two diamonds. And if she has a good spade suit, she would say two hearts.’’

Sophie and I nodded again.

‘‘If I like the suit Sophie is bidding, I respond with a two bid in the appropriate suit,’’ Bart said. ‘‘If Sophie doesn’t have many points, she passes on her next bid. If she has a stronger hand, enough for us perhaps to make game, she can bid two no-trump if her suit is a five-card suit. If it’s six cards or longer, she would bid three in the suit. Then I could decide whether to play three no-trump or four hearts of four spades.’’

‘‘Sounds easy enough,’’ I said. ‘‘But let me clarify one thing. If I respond to your one no-trump bid with two clubs, that means Stayman. If I respond with two diamonds or two hearts, it’s a transfer.’’

‘‘Exactly,’’ Bob said.

‘‘Those are the basics of the transfer,’’ Bart said. ‘‘We can go into the more complex issues if we need to. Does that sound okay?’’

‘‘That’s fine,’’ Sophie said. She examined her hand, then giggled. ‘‘One no-trump.’’

Bob grinned before responding, ‘‘No bid.’’

Bart surveyed his hand. ‘‘Two hearts.’’

I passed.

Sophie bid two spades, Bob passed again, and Bart said, ‘‘Three no-trump.’’

‘‘No bid,’’ I said.

‘‘Four spades,’’ Sophie declared.

After three passes, Sophie noted the bid on the scorepad.

As Bob was deciding on the first lead, he said, ‘‘Have y’all noticed there’s something strange going on in the hotel this morning? We’ve seen some people in cop uniforms coming and going.’’

Sophie and I exchanged glances.

‘‘Yes,’’ I said. ‘‘We’ve noticed, too.’’

‘‘I suppose we’ll find out eventually,’’ Bart said. ‘‘We asked at the front desk, but the girl there—I think her name is Monica—just looked scared and said she couldn’t talk about it. It’s all very mysterious.’’

‘‘Yes, it is,’’ Sophie agreed. She and I exchanged covert glances. I knew we both would have liked to tell Bob and Bart what was going on, but we had told Deputy Ainsworth we wouldn’t talk about the murder.

Bob played the queen of hearts, and Bart put down the dummy hand.

‘‘It’s too bad about our private lesson,’’ Bart said. ‘‘Bob and I were really looking forward to it. I’m sure you were, too, Emma. Avery Trowbridge is such a well-known teacher.’’

‘‘Maybe he’ll reschedule,’’ Bob said.

Sophie and I were careful not to look at each other this time. I noticed something odd about the men’s remarks. They didn’t know Avery Trowbridge was dead, but who had let them know the lesson was canceled? Perhaps someone from the sheriff’s department had called them. I had to know for sure, though.

‘‘How did you find out the lesson was canceled?’’ I said, trying to keep my tone nonchalant.

‘‘A woman called us this morning,’’ Bart said. He frowned. ‘‘At least I think it was a woman. It was early, and the voice was a bit odd, now that I think about it. Didn’t you get a call, too?’’ He played the king of hearts, and Sophie played the ace on it. I played the two.

‘‘What time did she call you?’’ I asked as Sophie gathered the cards and placed them in front of her. She appeared absorbed in her cards, but I knew she was waiting for the answer to my question as impatiently as I was.

‘‘It was actually pretty early,’’ Bob replied. ‘‘A bit too early, if you ask me.’’ He shook his head. ‘‘It’s a good thing Bart and I are so used to getting up at the crack of dawn—otherwise we would have been pretty annoyed.’’

‘‘How early is pretty early?’’

Bart frowned. ‘‘It was about seven thirty, wasn’t it?’’

Chapter 14

‘‘Seven thirty-three, actually,’’ Bob said with a smile.

Bart shook his head. ‘‘He’s obsessed with time. He always knows exactly when something happens.’’

I stole a look at Sophie, and she was looking at me. The significance of what the two men had told us was startling. Surely it was the murderer who had called them? Or, at the very least, someone in cahoots with the killer?

Sophie focused on selecting a card to lead. When she played it, I gave it a cursory look as I decided what to pull from my own hand. I ought to be concentrating on the game we were playing, but I was still trying to sort out the implications of that phone call.

Then another thought struck me. No one had called
me
to cancel the lesson.

At least, I didn’t think anyone had. I’d have to check the phones in our suite to see if someone had left a message. I was willing to bet, though, no one had called.

The question was,
why?
Did the killer not know I was scheduled for a lesson along with Bart and Bob? That didn’t make any sense, though. If the killer knew they were scheduled, he or she would also have known I was scheduled. My name and room number were on the list, along with those of Bob and Bart.

Suddenly I went completely cold.

The killer wanted me to find the body.

That was the only explanation I could come up with—unless whoever killed Avery had simply made a mistake. I wasn’t sure I believed that, though. If someone had planned this murder, had part of that plan included me finding the body?

Maybe the killer simply wanted Marylou, Sophie, or me—or maybe the three of us together—to find the body. Or was I putting too much significance into this?

‘‘Emma, it’s your turn again,’’ Sophie said. ‘‘We’re waiting.’’

‘‘Um, sorry,’’ I said, tuning back in to the game. I looked at the board. ‘‘What led?’’

‘‘I led the king of spades,’’ Sophie answered. Another spade and a club lay on the table with her king.

‘‘Sorry.’’ I pulled my one remaining spade, the four, and dropped it on the table.

Sophie collected the trick and put it in front of her, along with the two others she had taken. She examined her hand, then the board.

‘‘I’m up,’’ she said, laying her hand on the board.

Bob, Bart, and I examined the cards, and we all agreed with her.

‘‘Making seven,’’ Sophie said, grinning.

‘‘But only bidding four,’’ Bart reminded her.

‘‘Too bad, so sad,’’ Bob said in a singsong voice. ‘‘You stopped the auction too soon.’’ He wrinkled his nose at Bart.

Bob and I had both had very weak hands, and the one finesse Sophie had needed worked. Even the fact that I hadn’t been paying much attention to the game hadn’t really mattered.

Bob set the cards in front of Sophie, and she cut them. As he picked them up to deal, he said, ‘‘It’s our turn this time, Emma. Let’s get a slam hand, too.’’