Authors: Honor Hartman
The Unkindest Cut (15 page)
If she was guilty, then she would probably clinch her arrest by talking to the deputy about it.
Either way, the deputy would be mighty interested in this development. The question was, should we encourage Paula to talk to Ainsworth? Or should one of us talk to him and tell him?
I thought it would be better coming from Paula herself. If she didn’t get to Ainsworth soon and tell him, I wouldn’t put it past Haskell Crenshaw to do it himself. He seemed pretty intent on doing Paula as much damage as he could. If he really cared for Avery, he could be angry enough over what happened that he would tell the deputy everything.
‘‘Come on, Paula,’’ Marylou said, gently disentangling herself from her distraught friend. ‘‘I think we need to get you up to your room so you can wash your face and maybe lie down for a while. How does that sound?’’
Paula nodded as she once again mopped her face with her sodden napkin. ‘‘I must look awful,’’ she said, ducking her head. ‘‘My face gets so blotchy when I cry.’’
She was right about that. I felt so sorry for her, even though I was halfway to suspecting that she killed her husband.
‘‘We’ll go with you,’’ Sophie said. She reached for our bill and quickly signed it and added our room number. Our waiter had dropped it off before the nasty little scene developed, thank goodness.
I trailed them out, aware of the eyes following us. Though no one had been sitting at a table right around us, there were people not too far away. They probably couldn’t have helped overhearing some of what went on. All the more reason for Paula to talk to Ainsworth, and soon.
Haskell Crenshaw had managed to put Paula in a very difficult position, and I had no doubts that was what he intended. If he really cared for Avery, then he was probably hurting. He was leveling his anger at Paula as the wife of the man he had cared for, perhaps even loved.
Then I recalled the curious way he had reacted when Paula first confronted him about his alleged advances to her husband. He had been relieved rather than upset, almost as if he was expecting her to say something else.
That’s when I remembered what I had overheard the day before, just outside Avery Trowbridge’s door.
He had fired Haskell Crenshaw, he said, but Crenshaw was now acting as if it hadn’t happened.
Why had Trowbridge fired him? To break off their personal relationship as well as their business one?
No matter what the answer, Haskell Crenshaw was in the same boat with Paula. A lover scorned had a powerful motive for murder.
Chapter 16
I kept all those thoughts to myself while we got Paula settled in her room. Marylou helped Paula wash her face and found some aspirin for her headache, then tucked her into bed. Paula smiled up gratefully at all of us. ‘‘Thank you for being so sweet to me,’’ she said. ‘‘I know I’m being a pain, but right now you’re the only friends I have. I just want you to know I appreciate how you’re sticking by me.’’
Touched by her obvious sincerity, I felt a little uneasy over my earlier suspicions that she had killed Avery Trowbridge. I didn’t think she was that good an actress. Someone that pathetically grateful for our kindnesses to her couldn’t be a killer.
Could she?
I’d give myself a headache at this rate. Time enough later to think about Paula’s possible guilt.
Sophie, Marylou, and I left Paula to get some rest. Out in the hall again, I turned to my friends. ‘‘Girls, do you remember what we overheard outside our room yesterday? I mean when Haskell Crenshaw tried to see Avery Trowbridge and got the door slammed in his face.’’
‘‘Oh Lord, yes,’’ Sophie said. ‘‘I can’t believe I’d forgotten about that.’’
‘‘I remembered,’’ Marylou said. ‘‘I thought about bringing it up downstairs when he was accusing Paula. Should I have?’’
‘‘I don’t know,’’ I said. ‘‘Paula didn’t seem to know about it. Don’t you think?’’
‘‘I’m sure she would have said something about it if she did know,’’ Sophie said.
‘‘She certainly would have,’’ Marylou said. ‘‘Probably Avery didn’t have time to tell anyone he had fired Crenshaw except Crenshaw himself.’’
‘‘Do you think we should talk to Ainsworth about this?’’ Sophie asked.
The elevator bell pinged right then, and the doors opened. Several people stepped out, leaving the car empty. I motioned for Marylou and Sophie to follow me into it. When they were safely inside, I punched the button for the ground floor.
‘‘I think we probably should,’’ I said.
‘‘Do we all need to go?’’ Marylou asked.
I shook my head. ‘‘No, I’ll do it. If he wants corroboration, he can always talk to you later.’’
‘‘Good,’’ Marylou said with obvious relief. ‘‘Then I think I’ll go back to the ballroom and try to get in a few rubbers this afternoon. Sophie, how about you?’’
‘‘I’ll come with you,’’ Sophie said, eyeing me doubtfully.
‘‘Sure, go ahead,’’ I said. ‘‘I’ll come along there as soon as I’ve spoken with the deputy.’’
The elevator halted at the ground floor, and we stepped out. Marylou and Sophie headed for the ballroom. My destination was the reception desk, to inquire where the sheriff’s department personnel were based at the hotel.
When I reached the desk, the young girl, Veronica Hinkelmeier’s daughter, was attempting to talk to a short, elderly man who was banging his fist on the counter. What was the girl’s name? Monica, I saw when I glanced at the name badge she wore. I’d try to remember it from now on.
‘‘I want to check out right now,’’ the elderly man was saying.
‘‘But, sir,’’ Monica protested. Her voice was drowned out by the old man’s increasingly loud complaints.
‘‘Excuse me,’’ I raised my voice over the din. Startled, the old man fell silent.
‘‘What seems to be the problem here?’’ I asked in my normal voice.
Monica shot me a grateful glance before she replied. ‘‘Mr. Atwell wants to check out.’’
‘‘This is a free country,’’ Mr. Atwell said. ‘‘I should be able to leave this place when I damn well want to.’’
He appeared about to launch into his tirade again, but I caught his eye and glared down at him. This tactic worked most of the time.
Atwell spluttered to a halt, shooting me a baleful look.
‘‘Why can’t he leave?’’ I asked Monica.
‘‘The sheriff’s department said that nobody can leave the hotel right now,’’ Monica said, rubbing her temples with trembling fingers. ‘‘I was trying to explain that to this gentleman, but he wouldn’t listen.’’
I turned to Atwell. ‘‘If you have any complaints, sir, then I suggest you take them up with the sheriff’s department. You heard the young lady. No one is allowed to leave right now.’’ I glared at him again.
Atwell evidently decided that discretion was the better part of valor. He conceded the field and walked away, muttering under his breath.
‘‘Wow,’’ Monica said, a huge smile of relief on her face. ‘‘Thank you for helping me with him. I wish I could do that.’’
‘‘Give it time,’’ I said, smiling. ‘‘Just practice being more assertive. Don’t let people like that bully you.’’
The girl straightened her shoulders a bit and gave me a huge grin. ‘‘What can I do for you?’’
‘‘Actually, I’m looking for the sheriff’s-department people myself,’’ I said. ‘‘Are they using a room here somewhere while they investigate?’’
Monica nodded. ‘‘They’re in the Alamo Room. It’s in the other corridor. Not the one the ballroom is on, I mean.’’ She pointed.
‘‘Thanks, Monica,’’ I said.
‘‘No, thank
you,
’’ she said, beaming.
you,
’’ she said, beaming.
I smiled as I turned away. She seemed like a very sweet girl. I didn’t envy her having to deal with that mother of hers. Veronica Hinkelmeier seemed to belong to some species that devoured its young.
Following the signs and Monica’s directions, I had little trouble locating the Alamo Room. Did every hotel in the state of Texas have an Alamo Room? I wondered idly. Shaking my head at such an inconsequential thought, I paused on the threshold of the open door.
Several persons in uniform occupied the room. Most of them were seated at tables scattered here and there. The hum of low-voiced conversations washed around me. Most of the officers were speaking on cell phones, some of them consulting notebooks or jotting things down in them. Deputy Ainsworth was talking on a cell phone, too, but when he caught sight of me, he motioned me toward him.
I approached the table where he sat, and took the seat across from him, which he indicated with a brief smile and a tilt of his head. He concluded his conversation after a moment, then snapped his phone shut.
‘‘Mrs. Diamond,’’ he said. ‘‘Perfect timing. I was just about to send someone to find you, but you saved me the trouble.’’ He smiled at me, but something in that smile made me wary.
‘‘Oh, really,’’ I said, feeling slightly flustered. ‘‘Well, here I am. I wanted to talk to you about something. What did you want to see
me
about?’’
me
about?’’
Again the deputy smiled at me, looking positively vulpine this time, and I shifted a bit in my chair. ‘‘You didn’t tell me you were involved in another murder case, Mrs. Diamond. I find that very interesting about you.’’
How on earth had he found out so quickly?
I swallowed. ‘‘Um, well, it’s not exactly the first thing you tell someone. And frankly, I didn’t think it had any bearing on the present situation.’’
Ainsworth quirked an eyebrow at me. ‘‘You have to admit, it’s quite a coincidence, you being on the scene of two murders, and only a few months apart.’’
‘‘That’s just what it is, coincidence,’’ I said, my tone getting a bit testy. ‘‘Nothing more, I can assure you.’’ I was itching to ask how he had found that out so quickly, but I was darned if I would ask him directly. He had probably been checking up on me, and Sophie and Marylou, with the Houston Police Department. ‘‘I’m sure Lieutenant Burnes in homicide at HPD would vouch for me.’’
‘‘He did.’’ Ainsworth had stopped smiling. ‘‘You found the body, Mrs. Diamond, and that automatically makes you a person of interest in this case. The fact that there are some special features to the case, well, you can see how I wanted to know everything I could.’’
Special features,
meaning the queen of diamonds clutched in the dead man’s hand. That was what he really meant but wouldn’t say aloud.
meaning the queen of diamonds clutched in the dead man’s hand. That was what he really meant but wouldn’t say aloud.
I tried to maintain a calm demeanor as I replied. ‘‘Was Lieutenant Burnes able to assure you that I’m basically harmless?’’
Ainsworth snorted with laughter. ‘‘That wasn’t exactly the word he used to describe you.’’ He eyed me critically for a moment. ‘‘Actually, he said you were kind of a busybody, but you were a helpful, smart busybody.’’
I didn’t know whether to turn red from embarrassment or anger. Somehow I doubted that Burnes had spoken about me in such a patronizing manner. I started a slow burn.
The deputy must have read something in my face, because he suddenly turned conciliatory. ‘‘You have to understand my position, Mrs. Diamond. I have to look at all the angles, and right off the bat you interested me a lot. Now that I know a bit more about the situation, I can see that I was probably off base about you.’’
That was probably as much of an apology as I could expect to get from him. I decided to accept it, or appear, to anyway, although I wasn’t convinced of its sincerity. ‘‘Thank you, Deputy,’’ I said, trying to keep the frost out of my voice. The man was only doing his job, and he should have been suspicious of me, for the very reason he cited. But that didn’t mean I had to like it.
‘‘Burnes told me you and your friends basically solved the case for him,’’ Ainsworth said, leaned back in his chair, and regarded me with a slight smile.
‘‘That was very kind of him, though he was exaggerating, ’’ I told him. ‘‘We were only doing what we thought was right. We just shared whatever information we could with him.’’ I winced inwardly. That sounded mealymouthed to me, because Sophie, Marylou, and I had very definitely been busybodies, sticking our noses into the murder investigation.
I doubted Ainsworth was fooled by my answer. I was sure that Lieutenant Burnes had given him an earful about the aging Nancy, Bess, and George who had interfered in his case.
‘‘I’m still reserving my judgment about some things,’’ Ainsworth said, with that eyebrow still raised. Then he relaxed it. ‘‘But I figure if you helped HPD, you can certainly help me and my team.’’
I eyed him carefully for a moment. Did he really mean that? Or was he being disingenuous on purpose? No matter what game he was playing, I decided I would go along with him. He would find out soon enough I was not the murderer.
‘‘That’s why I’m here,’’ I said primly. ‘‘I have some things to tell you.’’
‘‘Shoot,’’ Ainsworth said.
It took me about ten minutes to tell him everything. I started with Bart and Bob and the mysterious phone call they had received, telling them the lesson was canceled. Ainsworth made a note of the men’s names on a pad as I moved on to the bits involving Haskell Crenshaw.
The deputy’s posture stiffened the more I talked about Avery Trowbridge’s business manager and erstwhile lover and the sparring match Crenshaw had had with Paula.
When I finished, Ainsworth eyed me with fresh respect. ‘‘You certainly do manage to find things out.’’
I shrugged. ‘‘All this was purely accidental. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time, you might say.’’
Ainsworth nodded at that. ‘‘As long as you don’t get yourself into any dangerous situations, I hope you’re in more right places at the right times.’’
‘‘Sharon McCone at your service,’’ I said in a self-mocking tone.
‘‘You read Marcia Muller?’’ Ainsworth said, surprising me a little.
‘‘Yes,’’ I said. ‘‘I read a lot of mysteries, and she’s my favorite female PI writer.’’
‘‘Mine, too,’’ Ainsworth admitted. ‘‘Well, thank you, Mrs. Diamond. I have some new leads now, and I’m going to follow up on them.’’ He rose from his chair, and I stood up, too. He stuck a hand across the table, and I shook hands with him.
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