The Unkindest Cut (8 page)

‘‘I think for her, Alice, every day must be a bad day,’’ I said, and Alice giggled.

Basil Dumont’s voice boomed out again. He launched into a lengthy description of the week’s activities. The only important thing he said, as far as I was concerned, was that play would begin promptly at seven thirty. That pleased me. I was itching to play some bridge and forget about all the unpleasantness I had witnessed today.

Dumont had neared the end of his remarks when I noticed someone approaching the dais from the side. Avery Trowbridge slowly climbed the steps and came to a halt about three feet away from Dumont, so far still oblivious to the other man’s presence. Dumont thanked the audience and began to turn away, in the direction of Trowbridge.

‘‘What the hell are you doing up here?’’ Dumont said. When he realized that everyone in the room had heard him, he flushed dark red.

Trowbridge didn’t speak to him. He stepped around his erstwhile rival to reach the microphone. Dumont stood helplessly by, sputtering incoherently.

‘‘Good evening, everyone,’’ Avery Trowbridge said. ‘‘I just wanted to let you all know that you have an alternative here during the coming week. I’ll be available for private instruction, and also as a partner for those wishing to earn some master points.’’ He flashed a cocky grin. ‘‘I have a card with my fees, and I’ll be happy to talk to you.’’ He waved and turned away.

He made the mistake of turning his back to Basil Dumont. Obviously enraged by Trowbridge’s announcement, Dumont took a wild swing at the back of Trowbridge’s head. The blow missed his head, but it connected with his shoulder, hard enough to knock Trowbridge off his feet.

Trowbridge scrambled to right himself, clutching at the table next to him on the dais, but he couldn’t. With a resounding crash, he and the table went off the dais and onto the floor.

Chapter 8

Everyone sat in stunned silence as Avery Trowbridge made contact with the floor, landing with the table beneath him. We were sitting too far away to be of practical use, but several people sitting much closer quickly got to their feet to check on Avery.

I shot a glance at the dais. Basil Dumont stood un-moving, an odd expression on his face. Remorse? Triumph? Satisfaction? I couldn’t decide. I was surprised at how violent his attack on Avery had been.

By now two men had helped Avery Trowbridge to his feet, and he appeared not to have suffered any serious injury from the fall. He dusted himself off, thanking the men who had come to his aid.

‘’Avery!’’ A shrill voice cut through the hubbub surrounding the accident victim, and for a moment I thought it was Paula who had spoken.

Veronica Hinkelmeier pushed her way through the people now milling about. A couple of hotel employees had stepped forward to remove the table and clean up the debris from the fall. Trowbridge had turned to scowl at Basil Dumont when he was nearly knocked off his feet again by Veronica’s onslaught. She threw her arms around him, oblivious to the stares of those nearby.

‘’Avery, darling, are you all right?’’

Avery Trowbridge thrust her away from him, almost violently, and Veronica stumbled, nearly falling herself.

‘‘I’ll thank you to keep your hands off me,’’ Avery said, and the chill in his voice was palpable, and his voice rang through the room. Everyone had to have heard him.

Veronica Hinkelmeier blinked at him, obviously stunned by his reaction. Trowbridge turned away from her, fixing upon Basil Dumont, still standing on the dais. ‘‘Look here, Dumont,’’ he said.

That was all he managed to get out before Veronica launched herself at him. Her fist connected with the back of his head, and he stumbled against the dais.

‘‘You bastard! How dare you treat me like that!’’ She stood there, her chest heaving. ‘‘I wish you were dead.’’

Trowbridge turned back to face her. As he rubbed the back of his head with one hand, he smirked at her. ‘‘Funny, you took the words right out of my mouth, you stupid cow.’’

Leonard, the attractive young man who seemed to be a combination of concierge and bellboy, stepped through the crowd to maneuver himself between Veronica and Trowbridge. He spoke quietly, and we were far enough away that I couldn’t hear anything of what he said. It apparently was effective, whatever he said, because Veronica allowed him to lead her from the room.

Trowbridge was left standing there, looking faintly ridiculous. The buzz of conversation had resumed, and I wondered how on earth anyone could settle down to playing bridge after this little tempest.

Basil Dumont seemed to have recovered his composure as he spoke into the microphone again. ‘‘Ladies and gentlemen,’’ he said, his voice quavering only slightly, ‘‘in just a few minutes the hotel staff will be setting up screens to partition the ballroom for our bridge playing. Roughly two-thirds of the ballroom will be dedicated to those playing duplicate, and the other third for those who don’t wish to play duplicate. Please enjoy your food, and I’ll be back soon to get you started playing bridge.’’

As he exited the dais, conversations resumed around the room. I watched him for a moment before he disappeared through a door at the back of the ballroom. Avery Trowbridge made no move to follow him, which rather surprised me. Perhaps, though, Trowbridge had had enough confrontation for the moment. Still rubbing the back of his head, he moved over to the food tables and began filling a plate.

‘‘That was surely something to see,’’ Marylou said in a low voice.

‘‘No kidding,’’ Sophie said. ‘‘Welcome to the circus, ladies.’’

‘‘Where is Paula?’’ I asked, suddenly realizing that I hadn’t seen her since we had entered the ballroom.

‘‘She was going to have a nap and join the festivities later,’’ Marylou said. ‘‘And it’s just as well, given what happened here. No telling what she might have done.’’

‘‘Can you believe that Hinkelmeier woman?’’ Sophie asked, leaning closer to me. ‘‘I mean, she might as well have announced to everyone in the room that she’s in love with the man.’’

‘‘He certainly doesn’t appear to feel the same way about her,’’ I said, doing my best not to sound catty.

‘‘Amen to that,’’ Marylou said.

Alice and her grandmother were watching us, and I mustered up a smile. ‘‘Very strange goings-on,’’ I said with a polite smile.

Her head bobbing up and down, Alice giggled. Her grandmother sniffed loudly. ‘‘I have a good mind to take Alice home first thing tomorrow morning. I’m not sure I want my precious granddaughter exposed to such vulgar scenes.’’

Frankly, I couldn’t blame the woman, but Alice evidently had other ideas. She turned to her grandmother with a pouting face. ‘‘But I don’t want to go home, Nana. You promised!’’

Nana’s stern face softened. ‘‘All right, dear,’’ she said. ‘‘We’ll stay so you can play. But I want you to stay away from those people as much as possible.’’

‘‘Of course, Nana,’’ Alice said with a prim smile. Her eyes cut to me with a sly look, and it was all I could do not to laugh. Nana was outmatched—that much I knew.

‘‘I’m going back for dessert,’’ Marylou said, standing up, plate in hand. ‘‘Emma, Sophie?’’

I glanced down at my empty plate. I really shouldn’t, but I remembered those miniature cheesecakes. Cheesecake was one of my weak points, where willpower usually failed me. Sighing, I pushed my chair back and stood up. Why break a perfect record?

Picking up my plate, I followed Marylou to the food tables. Sophie remained behind, chatting with Alice and her grandmother. Marylou and I joined the short line at the buffet, and I gazed curiously about.

Avery Trowbridge sat at a table just a few feet away. Several of the seats at the table were occupied, but it didn’t appear that any of the people at the table wished to converse with Trowbridge. He ate slowly and steadily, looking neither left nor right, staring straight ahead.

For a moment, our gazes locked, and Trowbridge quirked one eyebrow. I stared blandly back at him before turning away. A moment later I sneaked a peek at him, and he had gone back to staring into space as he ate.

The line moved forward, and I reached for a cheesecake, hesitating for a moment between chocolate swirl and plain. I went for the plain—why compound my lapse any further? In the meantime Marylou had put two cheesecakes and one éclair on her plate. I grinned, and Marylou saw me.

‘‘One of the cheesecakes is for Sophie,’’ she told me, her tone slightly defensive.

I nodded, repressing my amusement.

As we turned to go back to our table, I noticed a woman who had been ahead of Marylou in line. With a start, I recognized her as Lorraine Trowbridge. She held a heaping plate of dip with a few pieces of raw vegetables, and I watched in horrified fascination as she approached her ex-husband. I poked Marylou in the side, and she stopped to watch, too.

Trowbridge glanced up to see his ex-wife approaching. His mouth twisted in an expression of distaste. ‘‘Lorraine, what the hell are you doing here? Is Will with you?’’

‘‘Hello, Avery,’’ Lorraine said, coming to a halt very close to Trowbridge. ‘‘Yes, your son is here. Frankly I’m amazed that you even remember that you have a son. In case you’ve forgotten, he’s the one who has been waiting on money from you so he can pay his tuition for this semester.’’

Trowbridge started to rise from his chair. ‘‘Now, look, Lorraine, I told you, my so-called manager has screwed up my finances, and I don’t have the money right now.’’

‘‘Oh, give it a rest, Avery,’’ Lorraine said. ‘‘Every time Will has needed something from you, it’s the same old excuse. I’m really rather tired of hearing it, because I know better. I know your little game. You’re a cheap bastard who can’t be bothered to support his only child, and you know it.’’

Trowbridge opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get the first syllable out, Lorraine threw her plate at him. Upon impact, Trowbridge sank with a thump into his chair.

Lorraine leaned down and said, ‘‘That’s the nicest thing that’s going to happen to you, you bastard. If you don’t come across with that money by tomorrow, I’m going to rip your balls off and feed them to you. Do you understand me?’’

Trowbridge nodded, even as he was wiping the dip from his eyes.

‘‘Good,’’ Lorraine said. She walked off.

Marylou and I scurried back to our table then.

‘‘What was going on over there?’’ Sophie asked us as we sat down. Alice McCarthy and her grandmother had departed. We had the table to ourselves.

I filled her in, and she laughed. ‘‘Serves the jerk right,’’ Sophie said when I had finished. ‘‘Lorraine sounds like one tough broad.’’

‘‘I certainly wouldn’t want to get on her bad side,’’ I responded. I watched Marylou put a piece of cheesecake on Sophie’s plate. ‘‘I just can’t believe he sat there and took it, though. He actually acted like he was intimidated by her.’’

‘‘Well, she threatened him, didn’t she?’’ Marylou said. ‘‘Didn’t you hear that one thing she told him?’’ She forked a piece of cheesecake into her mouth.

The light dawned then. ‘‘ ‘I know your little game,’ ’’ I quoted.

‘‘Exactly,’’ Marylou said.

‘‘What do you think she meant?’’ Sophie asked. She played with her own piece of cheesecake, taking tiny bites of it.

‘‘It’s only a theory, mind you,’’ Marylou said, laying her fork aside for the moment. ‘‘But I’d be willing to bet you that Avery and his accountant are in trouble with the IRS. He said his manager had screwed up his finances, right?’’

I nodded.

‘‘It sounds to me like they were trying to cheat the IRS, and they got caught,’’ Marylou said triumphantly. She picked up her fork and ate the rest of her cheesecake.

‘‘That’s certainly plausible,’’ I said. ‘‘Avery does seem like the type. I wouldn’t trust him for a minute.’’

‘‘My money’s on Lorraine, though,’’ Sophie said. ‘‘She’ll get what she wants, and to hell with Avery.’’

Marylou and I agreed.

I looked over toward the table where Avery had been sitting, and he was no longer there. He had gone somewhere to clean up, no doubt. I wondered whether he would turn up again tonight. After all that had happened, I wouldn’t have the nerve to show my face again if I were with him, but somehow I figured that none of this would faze Avery enough to keep him in his room.

I was proved right about half an hour later when Basil Dumont returned to get the play started. He stood once again on the dais, to give out instructions. As everyone moved about to his or her chosen side of the divided room, I saw Avery Trowbridge slip back into the ballroom. He sidled into our area of the room, perhaps because Basil Dumont was busy in the section reserved for duplicate bridge. Avery held some papers in his hands, and he began going from table to table, stopping briefly at each one. Occasionally he wrote something down on one of the pages before moving on to the next table.

Marylou had elected to play duplicate this week, but Sophie and I had firmly resisted any suggestions that we join her. I wasn’t ready for the pressure of duplicate, and Sophie just plain didn’t want to work that hard, though she was more than skilled enough to be an excellent duplicate player. The other two players at our table were two men from Galveston named Bob and Bart, retired schoolteachers, as we discovered. They had taken up bridge in retirement as a way to keep their minds active.

I had dealt the first hand and was getting ready to bid when Avery Trowbridge finally made his way to our table. ‘‘Good evening, ladies, gentlemen,’’ he said, his voice smooth. ‘‘Pardon me for interrupting. I’ll only take a moment of your time.’’ He paused to see that he had our attention.

Flourishing the sheets of paper in his hand, he explained. ‘‘I’m offering half-hour sessions with me, beginning at nine tomorrow morning. Three people at a time. I’m even offering a steep discount this week, so now’s your chance. Anyone here interested?’’

Bob raised his hand as he glanced at his companion. ‘‘We are.’’ Bart nodded.