The Unkindest Cut (17 page)

‘‘You know, I can’t remember if we were ever properly introduced. I’m Emma Diamond.’’ I said.

He nodded, his cigarette dangling from his mouth. ‘‘I know. Will Trowbridge.’’ He stuck out a hand.

I shook his hand. ‘‘Thanks, Will.’’ He released my hand, and we regarded each other in silence.

‘‘I’m very sorry about your father,’’ I said.

He tensed, and for a moment I thought he was going to get up and walk away. ‘‘Thanks,’’ he said, his voice suddenly gruff.

Again there was silence. I waited.

Will spoke after a minute or two. ‘‘So what did my mother tell you about the will?’’

I figured I had better be very careful here. Ill-chosen words on my part might cause further tension between Will and his mother, and I definitely did not want that. Her willingness to talk about intimate family matters to strangers had obviously bothered him enough to make him leave the room. I wondered idly how long he had been out here. Glancing at the grass around his feet, I counted seven cigarette butts.

‘‘Oh,’’ I said, trying to be as nonchalant as possible, ‘‘she just told us some general things. About your grandfather’s will and so on, and your father’s trust fund.’’

Will dropped his cigarette on the grass and ground it fiercely with the heel of his shoe. ‘‘I’ll just bet she did,’’ he muttered.

‘‘I’m sorry, Will,’’ I said, partly to fill the awkward pause that followed his words, but mostly because I really did have great sympathy for him. ‘‘I know none of it is really any of my business.’’

‘‘Not your fault,’’ he said, shrugging. ‘‘My mother makes it everyone’s business. God knows why, but she does.’’

I didn’t answer that. Frankly, I wasn’t sure what to say to him at that point.

He didn’t seem to notice my silence. He turned to face me after a moment. ‘‘Just what
did
she say about my father’s trust fund?’’

I struggled for the words to put it as diplomatically as possible. ‘‘I believe she said she wasn’t sure what would happen to it, now that your father is . . . gone.’’

He snorted in disbelief. ‘‘I can’t believe she’s pulling that shit.’’ He had the grace to look slightly abashed. ‘‘Sorry.’’

I waved his apology away. I had certainly heard worse in the classroom.

‘‘Why do you say that?’’ I asked.

‘‘Because she knows damn well what happens to that trust fund,’’ Will said, his face reddening in anger. ‘‘It’s hers now, for the rest of her life.’’ His shoulders slumped, and he stared at me, misery replacing the anger.

He didn’t have to put into words what he was thinking—what he feared, rather. He knew as well as I did that the trust fund gave his mother a very good motive for murder.

Chapter 18

I thought carefully for a moment before replying. ‘‘I’m sure your mother is upset by all that’s happened, and she’s probably not thinking very clearly.’’

Will grunted. He pulled a cigarette packet out of his shirt pocket, shook it, and then crumpled it in his hand when he discovered it was empty. He tossed it into a trash can nearby.

‘‘Good shot,’’ I said, knowing it probably sounded fatuous, but wanting to do something to break the silence.

‘‘Thanks,’’ he said. He put his hands on his knees, his shoulders slumping a bit. He turned his head to look at me for a moment. Then he shifted to stare out into the woods ahead of us. ‘‘Look, I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. I love my mother. It hasn’t always been very easy for her because of my dad. He, well, he wasn’t always around when he should have been while I was growing up.’’

‘‘I know what that’s like,’’ I said. ‘‘Neither of my parents was around very much when my brother and I were growing up. We had nannies and servants around us all the time. They were the ones who really took care of us.’’

‘‘Seriously?’’ Will sat up and looked at me with open curiosity.

I nodded. ‘‘I wish it had been different. Sometimes I think I would give anything to have ordinary parents, but they weren’t. They were who they were, or rather, they are who they are.’’

‘‘They’re both still around?’’

‘‘Yes, but I hardly ever see them. They spend a lot of time traveling, and when they’re in Houston, they’re usually so busy they don’t have much time for my brother and me.’’

‘‘That’s pretty shitty,’’ Will said, and this time he didn’t apologize.

‘‘It is,’’ I agreed. ‘‘The point is, my brother and I managed to get on with our lives, and I think we both turned out pretty well, despite the way our parents are.’’

Will thought about that for a moment. ‘‘When I was little, things weren’t so bad. My parents actually used to get along then, but when I was about twelve, it all just started going wrong.’’ He stopped and looked at me again.

‘‘You don’t have to go into details,’’ I said. ‘‘I have some idea of what went wrong.’’ I turned my head away to stare off into the distance. ‘‘I know your father’s second wife, for one thing.’’

‘‘Paula.’’

There was much to read in his voice from that one word.

‘‘Yes,’’ I said. ‘‘I only met Paula recently. It turns out that she’s an old friend of a friend of mine.’’

‘‘I never could figure out why my dad married her,’’ Will said. He sat back on the bench and folded his arms across his chest. ‘‘Maybe because she was too dumb to catch on to what he was doing, and he thought he could have it both ways. If you know what I mean?’’ He arched an eyebrow in my direction.

Feeling just a bit embarrassed, I nodded.

‘‘Mom almost had a stroke when she found out,’’ Will said. ‘‘That’s when she divorced him.’’

‘‘Will, do you mind if I ask you something?’’ I said.

He shrugged. ‘‘Sure, go ahead.’’

‘‘Why on earth did your father marry again? It seems to me he would have been better off staying single.’’

Will responded with a snort of disgust. ‘‘That’s what he should have done. But he had an
image
to protect in the bridge world. It’s no big thing to get a divorce, but if word had gotten out just why he and my mom divorced, well . . .’’ He gestured with one hand, his thumb pointed downward.

‘‘I see what you mean,’’ I said, and I did. Paula had been an important part of Avery’s facade of respectability.

‘‘ ‘Oh what a tangled web we weave,’ ’’ Will quoted. He cut his eyes sideways at me in an interrogative manner.

‘‘ ‘When first we practise to deceive,’ ’’ I said, capping the quotation. ‘‘Canto six of ‘Marmion’ by Sir Walter Scott.’’

‘‘So, do you teach English?’’ Will asked with a smile.

‘‘History,’’ I said without thinking. Then I had to laugh. ‘‘How did you know I was a teacher?’’

Will laughed with me. ‘‘Just a guess.’’

‘‘A very astute one.’’

He blushed a little. ‘‘Thanks.’’ He stood up. ‘‘I guess I’d better go back. Mom will be wondering where I am.’’ He hesitated a moment. ‘‘And thanks for listening. ’’

I looked up into his face. He was still just a boy in many ways, but there was an all-too-adult weariness in his eyes. ‘‘You’re welcome, Will,’’ I said. ‘‘And if you should need to talk again, well, I’ll be happy to, whenever you like.’’

He nodded and gave me a shy smile.

I watched him as he walked away, his shoulders slumped. He seemed like a bright, personable young man, and he had certainly had to bear some things no child or adolescent should have to endure. He was troubled about his father’s death, and at some level, he was probably grieving for the man. He didn’t seem ready to talk about that, though, and I probably wasn’t the best person for him to use as a therapist.

With a troubled sigh, I turned to face the trees again. My heart went out to Will, but I couldn’t let sympathy cloud my reasoning too much. Will might very well be a nice young man, but other seemingly nice young men had turned out to be killers. Will could finally have had enough of his father’s behavior and snapped.

I didn’t really want to believe Will could be the murderer, but I couldn’t ignore the possibility.

Time to walk again, I decided. Getting up from the bench, I followed the trail toward the trees. Perhaps physical activity would help clear my head and allow me to see things more objectively.

Removing my sunglasses and stowing them in my bag, I stepped into the woods. The trail appeared to be well defined, so I ought not get lost if I stuck to it. I had no idea where the trail led, but I could turn back whenever I wanted.

The woods were cool and shady. I hadn’t realized quite how warm I had been, sitting on that bench in the direct sunlight. At the moment, the trees and the undergrowth weren’t too thick, but the farther I walked along the trail, the denser the woods became. Trees stood much closer together here, and the light filtering from above was murky. I could see just well enough to know where I was going and, more importantly, watch out for snakes.

My mind turned irresistibly back to the murder. Who could have done it?

My first choice was Veronica Hinkelmeier. That was based as much on my intense dislike of her as anything else. The woman was a first-class bitch. I usually didn’t like to use that term to refer to another woman, but I figured that, this once at least, it was all too apt. She definitely appeared to have the temperament, and Avery Trowbridge had humiliated her in public.

Plus, thanks to what Haskell Crenshaw had revealed, there was another possible motive. I doubted Veronica would have taken the news of Avery’s bisexuality lightly. My question now was whether she had known.

I thought about it a moment, but I couldn’t come up with a way to find out, other than by simply asking her outright. Of course, Deputy Ainsworth would probably be asking her that. Too bad I couldn’t sit in on that interview.

Something moved nearby, and I stopped suddenly, my heart pounding. Standing completely still, I peered into the gloom around me, trying to identify the source of the sounds.

Then I saw it. About six or seven yards away from me, standing in a small clearing, were a doe and her fawn. They stared at me for a moment before quickly bounding away.

Charmed by the sight, and relieved as well, I could feel my heart settling back to its normal rate. I took a deep breath and continued on my walk.

Where was I? Veronica,
I reminded myself. She was a good candidate for murder, a
crime passionnel,
as the French would say. She was passionate, if anything.

Lorraine Trowbridge had a monetary motive, if what Will had told me was true. With Avery’s death, she inherited the trust fund her father-in-law had set up. I had no idea how much money that was, but it had to be fairly substantial if Will’s grandfather had been as rich as Lorraine claimed. Of course, Lorraine could have done it simply out of hatred, I supposed. The money was a bonus.

But in that case, why would she wait so long to do it?

No, I decided, the financial motive was more probable in Lorraine’s case. I wondered if Will could, or would, tell me how much money was involved. Then I had to laugh. I was turning into a real busybody if I thought I could ask people such things and get an answer.

Who else, then, besides Veronica and Lorraine?

There was Haskell Crenshaw. Avery had fired him as a business manager and an agent, and more than likely as a lover, too. Another case of a
crime passionnel,
I mused, but had Crenshaw been in love with his client? When he had spilled the beans to Paula, I had a hard time reading him. It might have been jealousy making him act that way. But I wasn’t too sure about that.

In Crenshaw’s case, the motive was far more likely financial. If Avery had fired him as a business manager, he might have had a good reason, other than simply tiring of the more personal side of their relationship. What if Crenshaw had been embezzling from Avery, and Avery threatened to take action?

It was at least plausible, I reckoned.

Now I came to Paula. I had mixed feelings about her. She often irritated the heck out of me, but sometimes she did arouse a kinder response. She had been angry with her husband, but had she been angry enough to kill him?

I heard a sound somewhere nearby, and I halted to scan the underbrush. The sound came again, and now I realized it came from behind me.

Just as I began to turn, something hit my back with considerable force. I stumbled and went down hard. Then everything went dark.

Chapter 19

‘‘Emma! Emma, wake up!’’

Dimly I heard a voice calling to me. Then I felt someone’s hands on my arms.

‘‘Emma, please.’’

Sophie’s voice, sounding upset, penetrated through the fog in my head.

I opened my eyes, and there she was, looming over me.

‘‘Sophie,’’ I said as I tried to sit up. That hurt. ‘‘Ow,’’ I said.

‘‘Did you hit your head?’’ Sophie asked. ‘‘Maybe you should lie still.’’

‘‘No, it’s not my head,’’ I said, continuing the struggle to sit up. Sophie slipped an arm around my shoulders to help. ‘‘No, it’s actually my back that hurts.’’

‘‘So you didn’t hit your head?’’

‘‘I might have,’’ I said, putting my hands up to feel around on my head, now that I was sitting up. I found a small bump on the back of my head. Fortunately for me, my hair is really thick, so the impact had been cushioned, even though I had blacked out.

‘‘Maybe you hit this log,’’ Sophie said.

I turned my head a bit. ‘‘Yes, you’re probably right. But something struck me, hard, and that’s what made me fall.’’

‘‘Can you sit up by yourself?’’

‘‘Yes,’’ I said.

Sophie released me and stood up. She examined the trail around us, then started poking with a long, thick branch into the underbrush on either side.

I watched her idly for a moment, trying to gather my wits. I still felt a bit dazed.

‘‘How did you happen to find me?’’ I asked.

‘‘I decided I wanted some fresh air, just to get away from the bridge table for a little while,’’ Sophie said, ‘‘and I decided to come looking for you. It’s a good thing I did.’’