The Unkindest Cut (2 page)

‘‘At least we’ll see her at lunch today,’’ Sophie said. ‘‘I wonder what her friend is like.’’

Marylou had invited us both to lunch today at her house. She wanted us to meet her friend, about whom she had told us next to nothing.

‘‘I’m curious, too,’’ I admitted. ‘‘I wonder why Marylou hasn’t said much about her.’’

‘‘Maybe she simply hasn’t thought about it, not realizing that we’re both dying of curiosity,’’ Sophie said. She ate the last morsel of her coffee cake, even as she gazed longingly at the remaining piece on the counter.

‘‘Go for it,’’ I said, trying not to laugh. ‘‘With your metabolism, you’ll burn it off very quickly.’’

‘‘I suppose,’’ Sophie said, her tone indicating that she actually doubted it. I just rolled my eyes. The girl had the metabolism of a hyperactive chipmunk, and she could eat anything and not gain more than an ounce or two. She got up from her chair and put the last piece of coffee cake on her plate.

I, on the other hand, had only to look at chocolate, and I immediately put on two pounds—despite the fact that I went for an extended walk along the nearby bayou at least five times a week.
Make that four,
I amended silently, remembering that I had decided to skip my walk this morning in favor of computer bridge.

Sophie broke the piece in two and put half of it on my plate. I sighed. At this rate I never would lose the ten pounds I really ought to shed. Marylou’s coffee cake, like anything she baked, was heavenly and completely irresistible.

‘‘Did Marylou tell you she had a surprise for us?’’

I frowned at Sophie. ‘‘No, I don’t remember her saying anything about a surprise. Did she tell you what it might be?’’

Sophie shrugged. ‘‘I don’t think she actually said ‘surprise,’ come to think of it.’’ She thought for a moment before continuing. ‘‘I think maybe what she really said was she had something she wanted to ask us, and she sounded kind of excited.’’

‘‘And that’s all she said to you?’’

‘‘Yeah,’’ Sophie replied. She finished her last bite of coffee cake.

‘‘Then I guess we’ll just have to wait until lunch to find out,’’ I said. ‘‘She said twelve thirty, didn’t she?’’

Sophie nodded before sipping from her coffee.

‘‘Then I have plenty of time to do some house-cleaning before I have to clean myself up,’’ I said. ‘‘My hair is really beginning to get out of control. I should make an appointment to have it cut.’’

Sophie eyed me critically. ‘‘Yes, Emma, you could use a good cut. I wish you’d let me make an appointment for you with my hairdresser.’’

Considering that Sophie usually spent about 150 dollars when she had her hair done, I wasn’t certain I really wanted an introduction to her stylist. It wasn’t the amount, because I could have afforded it. My late husband, Baxter Diamond, had left me handsomely provided for, but something in me rebelled at spending that much money on my hair. Sophie had told me more than once that this was a distinctly unfeminine attitude.

Easily interpreting my lack of response to her offer, Sophie laughed. ‘‘I guess I should know better by now. But one of these days I’m going to kidnap you and take you myself. You ought to let yourself be pampered sometimes, Emma.’’

‘‘If I want pampering,’’ I said, ‘‘I can think of many ways to pamper myself other than by spending that much money on my head.’’

‘‘Like your expensive wardrobe?’’ Sophie arched an eyebrow.

‘‘Ha-ha,’’ I made a face at her. ‘‘You might like to wear the gross national product of Uruguay on your back, but I prefer to pamper myself in other ways. Mostly books.’’

Sophie shook her head. ‘‘You and your first editions. ’’

And Baxter’s,
I added silently. I kept adding to the collection of first-edition mysteries that had been Baxter’s pride and joy. For a moment the tears threatened to come, and I turned my head slightly away from Sophie to get myself under control.

‘‘Honey, I’m sorry,’’ Sophie said. ‘‘I really am a cat sometimes, and you know I didn’t mean anything by what I said.’’

‘‘I know,’’ I said, reaching across the table to accept the hand she proffered. I returned her quick squeeze of affection, then withdrew my hand and sat back in my chair. ‘‘It just hits me sometimes.’’

‘‘It hasn’t even been a year yet,’’ Sophie said, her voice soft. ‘‘It takes time.’’

I nodded. Time—day after day, night after night, without my beloved husband. Most of the time I did okay, but every once in a while, the pain hit me so hard I couldn’t do anything except curl up in a tight little ball on the bed and cry myself to exhaustion. Olaf would scrunch up beside me, watching me anxiously, occasionally licking my hand, while Hilda would rub her head against mine. Without them, and without Sophie and my brother and his partner, I think I would have gone completely mad. Marylou was another source of great comfort.

‘‘How do you think we should dress for lunch next door?’’ I said.

Sophie shrugged. ‘‘I don’t think we need to be too formal. I mean, good gracious, it’s just lunch at Marylou’s.’’

‘‘Yes,’’ I said, ‘‘but she’s inviting us to meet her friend, so I think we should make an effort for her sake.’’

Sophie leveled one of her looks at me, and I almost turned red. It wasn’t Sophie that Marylou had to worry about. I held up a hand. ‘‘Okay, message received. I know you’ll be dressed appropriately. But what should I wear? I’m sure you have a suggestion or two.’’

Sophie smiled. ‘‘One of these days I’m going to take you shopping, honey, and we’re going to update that wardrobe of yours. But for today, I think you should wear that lilac sheath with your pearls. It’s understated, not too dressy, and it’s a lovely color on you.’’

‘‘Thank you,’’ I said. Most of the time I preferred to run around in casual clothes, but I did like to look nice when the occasion demanded. I had simply never spent as much time on my appearance as Sophie did. But then I wasn’t beautiful like she was. People often mistook her for a model.

‘‘I suppose I should go home and let you get busy with your cleaning,’’ Sophie said. She rose from her chair. ‘‘I’ll see you at Marylou’s.’’ She waved a hand at me as she exited through the back door.

I spent the next two hours cleaning. First I tackled the bathrooms; next I vacuumed my bedroom and most of the upstairs, and I ended with some dusting. By the time I finished, I was hot, bedraggled, and dusty. A cool shower soon revived me, and I had enough time to dress and do my makeup so that I didn’t have to rush.

At twenty-eight minutes past twelve I walked out my front door, taking care to lock it after reassuring myself that I had put my keys in my purse. Sophie answered the door for Marylou, informing me that our hostess was in the kitchen. ‘‘Her friend hasn’t come down yet,’’ Sophie said, shutting the door behind me.

I followed her into the living room, and Sophie put out a hand to restrain me when I would have continued toward the kitchen.

‘‘What is it?’’ I said.

Sophie glanced in the direction of the kitchen, and when she answered me, she lowered her voice to little more than a whisper. ‘‘Marylou told me her friend can come across as a bit strange, but she wants us to know that she’s really a nice person, once you get to know her.’’

Looking askance at Sophie, I was about to reply when someone spoke from behind us in loud, angry tones.

‘‘I wish he was dead. He’s making everything so difficult, just to spite me. I ought to kill him myself.’’

Chapter 2

Sophie and I stared at each other, her eyes widening in surprise along with mine. Slowly we turned to look at the woman who had uttered those unsettling words.

She wasn’t paying attention to anyone around her. She was peering into the distance, and I wasn’t certain she had actually seen us. As I stared at her, I thought at first she was talking to herself, because her hands were empty, her arms hanging loosely by her side.

Then she shifted her head slightly, and in her right ear I spotted one of those ear gadgets I had seen other people wear. They looked uncomfortable to me, and I couldn’t imagine wanting to wear a phone in my ear for any length of time. I didn’t like using my own regular cell phone to begin with, and I hardly ever turned it on. My late husband had insisted I have one in case of emergency, but luckily I hadn’t had to use it for one so far.

Abruptly the woman focused on Sophie and me, and she stared hard at both of us. She told the person on the other end of the conversation that she had to go, and then she reached up and pulled the device from her ear.

Not smiling, she stepped forward and held out her hand. ‘‘Paula Trowbridge. How do you do?’’ I supposed she was going to pretend that we hadn’t heard her threatening remarks.

Sophie and I introduced ourselves, and I continued to examine Paula Trowbridge as discreetly as I could. She was around fifty, probably a couple of years on the other side of it. That made her a bit more than ten years older than I and twenty years older than Sophie. Her face had a hard set to it, and the severely bleached blond hair did nothing to soften her look. She was rail thin, bronzed from many hours in the sun, and a good two inches taller than my own five seven.

Marylou came into the living room before we had much chance to do more than introduce ourselves. ‘‘Good, you’ve met,’’ she said with a beaming smile. ‘‘It’s so nice to have you all together with me.’’ She turned to Sophie and me. ‘‘I’ve known Paula for nearly thirty years, you know.’’

‘‘Marylou’s one of the few people who’ve stuck by me,’’ Paula said, frowning. ‘‘People are always letting me down. I don’t know what it is. I spend so much time trying to be a good friend, and then my so-called new best friend stops returning my calls.’’

‘‘That’s a shame,’’ I said, trying to keep my tone neutral. Sophie stared at Paula, one eyebrow quirked upward in an expression I knew all too well. I could read Sophie’s mind, and I hoped she would keep her mouth shut until we were alone.

‘‘I’m such a giving person,’’ Paula said, not acknowledging my response. Her expression turned tragically woebegone. ‘‘It’s so hard sometimes.’’

‘‘Yes, dear, I know,’’ Marylou said in a tone full of sympathy. I detected signs of strain in her face, however. If Paula had been carrying on in this vein ever since she arrived yesterday, no wonder Marylou was feeling it. ‘‘But you’re here with me now, and you’ve got two
new
friends. I know you’ll enjoy getting to know Sophie and Emma. And like I told you, they’re both excellent bridge players.’’

Paula didn’t appear too thrilled over that last sentence. ‘‘God, I’m so sick of bridge sometimes, I could just scream.’’ Eyes narrowed, she regarded Sophie and me. ‘‘My husband is Avery Trowbridge.’’ She paused a moment. ‘‘Surely you’ve heard of him.’’ I hadn’t thought it possible for her facial expression to turn any more sour, but now it did.

I had no idea who the heck Avery Trowbridge was, but evidently Sophie recognized the name. ‘‘Of course,’’ she said. ‘‘He’s one of the more outstanding bridge teachers—and players—in the world. I’ve often wondered what it would be like to play with him.’’

Paula had relaxed slightly at Sophie’s first sentence, but then she frowned. ‘‘He’s a complete bastard to play with,’’ she said. The bitterness in her voice made me uncomfortable. ‘‘He’s incredible in bed, though.’’ Here she paused to smile, but that faded as she continued. ‘‘At the bridge table, he’s a complete and utter bastard. He doesn’t care how he humiliates you. He won’t play bridge with me anymore. Can you believe that?’’

At this point I was ready to tell Marylou I had a splitting headache, because I didn’t think I could take much more of Paula’s negativity. She wore unhappiness like perfume, and I almost thought I smelled it emanating from her in waves.

‘‘That’s enough of that, dear,’’ Marylou said, her tone just the tiniest bit sharp. ‘‘There’s no point in upsetting yourself. You’ll give yourself another migraine if you don’t watch out.’’ She patted Paula on the arm, and Paula actually had the grace to look abashed.

‘‘Sorry,’’ she muttered.

Sophie and I exchanged swift glances. I didn’t think either one of us had any doubts as to why Paula never managed to keep her friends. I had to wonder how Marylou had stood her for thirty years if she had always been like this. Marylou was such a kind, motherly soul, though, she probably felt sorry for Paula.

‘‘I thought we’d have lunch in the kitchen, if y’all don’t mind,’’ Marylou said. ‘‘It’s just so much cozier, I think.’’ She turned and led us out of the living room.

‘‘Oh, yes,’’ I said, trying to put as much enthusiasm in my voice as I could muster. ‘‘Your kitchen is always so inviting, Marylou. With the most heavenly smells.’’

‘‘Marylou is a wonderful cook,’’ Paula said. ‘‘I’m not very good at it, though. Every time I try anything more complicated than scrambled eggs or a hamburger, the results are disastrous. I just don’t have the knack. I don’t know how Marylou does it.’’

‘‘Oh, lots of practice,’’ Marylou said, keeping things light. ‘‘I do love it so.’’ She laughed as she looked down at her body. ‘‘And I think it shows. I’m too fond of sampling my own efforts, I guess.’’ She pointed us to our seats, and we sat down at the table. It was very prettily set with festive napkins in bright colors, and a lovely centerpiece of brightly hued flowers.

Marylou was very much on the plump side, but she was fairly active and not in great danger of becoming
too
plump.

‘‘Your food is simply too hard to resist,’’ Sophie said, leaning forward, her elbows on the table on either side of her plate. ‘‘I really have to fight with myself not to gobble up everything in sight when I’m at your house.’’ She giggled. ‘‘Otherwise I’d have to live on my treadmill.’’

Paula sighed heavily. ‘‘I
do
have to live on mine,’’ she said. ‘‘Because I have absolutely no willpower where food is concerned. I can look at a slice of cheesecake, and I feel like I’ve suddenly gained five pounds.’’

‘‘I know how you feel,’’ I said. I tried to give Paula a friendly smile. ‘‘I have the same problem. I love good food, and with Marylou living next door to me, there’s always something wonderful to try. Marylou spoils us terribly.’’