The Unkindest Cut (23 page)
Authors: Honor Hartman
‘‘It’s certainly a possibility,’’ I said, ‘‘but if she really did do it, why hasn’t she thought up some reason for the sheriff’s department to search and find it by now? I’d think she wouldn’t want to wait very long to do that without delay.’’
‘‘Who does the king of spades represent?’’ Sophie asked. ‘‘Maybe it has something to do with that?’’
I thought for a moment about the reading I had done. ‘‘You know, I’m not completely sure,’’ I said. ‘‘It’s either David or Charlemagne, but I can’t remember which.’’ I got up from the sofa. ‘‘Hang on a moment, and I’ll look it up.’’
In the bedroom I found the book and opened it to the appropriate pages. Scanning them, I found the information I needed. In both the Rouen and Paris traditions, the king of spades represented the biblical king David. I shut the book and put it back in the bag with the other books I had bought.
I puzzled over it as I walked back into the living. ‘‘King David,’’ I told Sophie and Marylou as I resumed my seat on the sofa.
‘‘David?’’ Marylou and Sophie said in unison. We all stared at one another.
‘‘What does that mean?’’ Marylou asked after a moment.
‘‘I’m not sure,’’ I said. ‘‘All I can think of is the story of David and Bathsheba.’’
‘‘And how David had Bathsheba’s husband sent into the front lines of the battle, knowing he would probably be killed, and then David could have her for himself,’’ Sophie said.
‘‘Exactly.’’
Marylou frowned. ‘‘You’re forgetting part of the story. David got Bathsheba pregnant while she was still married to her husband, Uriah the Hittite. She was the mother of Solomon.’’
‘‘This is all giving me a headache,’’ Sophie said with a grimace.
‘‘Me, too.’’ I sighed. ‘‘But before we go any further with this, we need to let Deputy Ainsworth know about it.’’ I got up from the sofa and went to the phone. I dialed the operator and asked for the room where the sheriff’s department was working.
Someone answered eventually. I identified myself and asked for Deputy Ainsworth. The first response was that he was too busy at the moment to talk to me. I insisted that what I had to tell him was of vital significance to the investigation—I hoped I wasn’t lying about that—and the man on the other end gave in.
I had to wait about a minute, but Deputy Ainsworth came on the line. ‘‘Yes, what is it?’’ His voice was terse to the point of rudeness.
I identified myself again. ‘‘I’m sorry to bother you, Deputy, but I’ve found something in our suite that I think could be important evidence. I think you really need to come see it, and as soon as possible.’’
‘‘What is it?’’ he asked.
‘‘It’s another playing card. Just come up and look at it,’’ I told him. ‘‘I’ll explain when you get here. It really is important.’’
I heard some muttering. ‘‘Okay, look, I’m in the middle of something, and I can’t leave it. Give me about twenty minutes.’’ The phone clicked in my ear.
‘‘He’s coming up in about twenty minutes. He’s in the middle of something,’’ I said while putting the receiver in its cradle. ‘‘So we’ll just have to wait.’’
‘‘I bet he was annoyed.’’ Sophie grinned.
‘‘Yes,’’ I said. ‘‘I know he thinks I’m probably one of those women who’s so desperate for attention that she manufactures reasons to call the police.’’
‘‘He’ll see differently when he gets here,’’ Marylou said, ‘‘and then he’ll be sorry he didn’t come right away.’’
‘‘Let’s hope so,’’ I said. I sat down on the sofa and stared at the card lying on the cushion next to me.
‘‘That bloodstain must mean this card was part of the deck Avery Trowbridge was playing with,’’ I said. ‘‘But how did it get blood on it if it was lying on the table with the other cards? I don’t remember seeing any blood on the table, just on Avery himself and the chair.’’ I shuddered as an all-too-graphic image flashed through my brain.
‘‘He had to have been holding it,’’ Sophie said.
‘‘Was he holding two cards, do you think?’’ Marylou asked.
I shrugged. ‘‘He could have been, and then someone removed this one from his hand. Or someone replaced this card with the queen of diamonds.’’
‘‘To implicate someone else in the murder,’’ Sophie said.
‘‘That’s what I think,’’ I said. ‘‘The question is, exactly whom does this card implicate?’’
‘‘David also slew the giant Goliath,’’ Marylou said. She stopped, frowning.
Sophie and I looked at her, waiting for her to continue.
‘’Avery was a giant, in a way,’’ Marylou said. ‘‘At least in the bridge world. Maybe he was killed because someone wanted the giant out of his way.’’
‘‘So the other person could become the giant,’’ I said.
‘‘Basil,’’ Sophie said. ‘‘What do you want to bet that Avery was the person who would have taken over that bridge column if he hadn’t been killed?’’
‘‘It’s a possibility,’’ I said. ‘‘And if that’s the case, then someone switched the card in Avery’s hand to protect Basil and shift the suspicion onto someone else, namely Lorraine.’’
‘‘And that means Paula,’’ Marylou said. ‘‘But when could she have done it? Didn’t she come into the room after you had found the body?’’
‘‘Yes,’’ I said, thinking it through. ‘‘She
came into the room,
as you said. But where was she before that? I thought she entered from the corridor outside, but what if she was in the bedroom instead? I had my back to the rest of the suite. She could have come from the bedroom, and I didn’t realize it at the time.’’
came into the room,
as you said. But where was she before that? I thought she entered from the corridor outside, but what if she was in the bedroom instead? I had my back to the rest of the suite. She could have come from the bedroom, and I didn’t realize it at the time.’’
‘‘The door to the suite was open just a little bit when you walked by,’’ Sophie said.
‘‘It was,’’ I agreed. ‘‘I suppose Paula could have opened it, and it was just bad luck that I happened to come in while she was in the other room. If that’s the case, she was foolish not to be sure the door was shut behind her.’’
‘‘Or she could have found the door open, too, and then when she went in to see Avery, she found him dead,’’ Marylou said.
‘‘That, too,’’ I said. ‘‘Either way, I think she was already in Avery’s suite when I went in.’’
‘‘And she switched the cards.’’ Marylou shook her head, still having trouble believing that Paula could have done it.
I jumped up from the couch and went back to the phone. Sophie and Marylou watched me, startled, but they didn’t say anything. I dialed the operator again. I was acting on impulse, but it might just pay off. I couldn’t stop thinking about the story of David and Goliath. ‘‘Haskell Crenshaw’s room,’’ I said when the operator answered.
I crossed my fingers, hoping he would be in his room. If not, I would have him paged. The phone rang four times, and I figured it was about to go to voice mail when it was picked up.
‘‘Hello.’’ The voice sounded groggy.
‘‘Mr. Crenshaw?’’
He cleared his throat and in a more alert tone said, ‘‘Yes, who is it?’’
‘‘Emma Diamond,’’ I said. ‘‘Look, I don’t have time to explain right now, but it’s really urgent that I talk to you. Can you come up to my suite right away?’’ I gave him the suite number.
‘‘What do you want?’’ He sounded very annoyed and slightly drunk. ‘‘Why should I talk to you? Who are you again?’’
I gave him my name and reminded him where we had met. ‘‘This is about Avery Trowbridge’s murder, and it’s very important,’’ I said. ‘‘Please just come, and I’ll explain when you get here.’’
‘‘What’s the room number again?’’
Good, I had obviously got his attention. I gave him the number a second time, and he said he would be right along. He was one floor down from us.
I replaced the phone on its cradle and came back to the sofa. As I sat down, Sophie asked, ‘‘So what was all that about?’’
‘‘David and Goliath,’’ I said. Sophie got it, but Marylou continued to look puzzled.
‘‘If Avery was Goliath,’’ Sophie explained, ‘‘then his business manager would know a lot about his career.’’
‘‘And he could say whether Avery was the one who was going to be doing the bridge column,’’ Marylou said. ‘‘And anything else the killer might want to take over, once Goliath was dead.’’
‘‘Exactly,’’ Sophie and I said in unison.
A knock came at the door, and Sophie went to answer it. Haskell Crenshaw strode in, looking slightly the worse for drink. He had made an attempt at combing his hair, but stray tufts stuck out at odd angles. His clothes had obviously been slept in, and his eyes were bloodshot.
‘‘Thank you for coming so quickly, Mr. Crenshaw,’’ I said. ‘‘Please, have a seat.’’ I indicated a place on the sofa. Using the tissue, I had stuck the king of spades back in its hiding place when I heard him knock on the door.
‘‘You said something about Avery’s murder,’’ Crenshaw said. He blinked at me.
Sophie left the room, and I figured she was going to make some coffee. Crenshaw could definitely use it.
‘‘Yes,’’ I said. ‘‘This has to do with Avery’s murder.’’
‘‘What’s it to you?’’ Crenshaw said. He flapped a hand in the air. ‘‘Why are you ladies so interested? It’s got nothing to do with you.’’
‘‘In a way, it has,’’ I said. ‘‘I was the one who found him.’’
‘‘Oh.’’ That sobered him a bit. He turned his head away for a moment. When he faced me again, he appeared more alert. ‘‘Why do you want to talk to me? I didn’t kill him. And you’re not the police.’’
‘‘No, we’re not,’’ I said, smiling in an attempt to placate him. ‘‘But we’re involved, unfortunately. I think you can help get this solved. You want to find Avery’s killer, don’t you?’’
Crenshaw nodded, still wary.
‘‘You were Avery Trowbridge’s business manager,’’ I said.
He nodded again.
‘‘He fired you, though, didn’t he?’’
‘‘How do you know that?’’ Crenshaw asked, scowling at me.
I thought he would have denied it, and I was a bit surprised. Maybe his brain was still clouded by sleep, or alcohol, or both. ‘‘I overheard part of a conversation, ’’ I said. ‘‘Next door.’’
Crenshaw thought about that a moment. Then enlightenment dawned. ‘‘Yeah, Avery was like that. He fired me several times, but he always hired me back in a day or two. It never bothered me, because I always knew we’d patch things up. Avery needed me as much as I needed him.’’
‘‘Okay,’’ I said. ‘‘So you were back in Avery’s good graces before he was killed?’’
‘‘Yes,’’ Crenshaw said. ‘‘We made up that night.’’ He sighed. ‘‘God, I’m going to miss him.’’ He turned away for a moment. He pulled a wrinkled handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes.
I felt a pang of sympathy for Crenshaw. I had begun to think he really cared deeply about Avery, in more than a professional sense. He seemed to be the only person mourning the dead man, except for his son.
‘‘I know this is hard for you,’’ I said, ‘‘and I regret that. But I think you know something that could be really important in this case.’’
‘‘What?’’ Crenshaw said. He tucked the handkerchief back in his pocket.
‘‘We heard something interesting a little while ago,’’ I said. ‘‘Something involving Basil Dumont.’’
Crenshaw snorted. ‘‘That weenie! Avery hated him. And that god-awful wife of his. I don’t know why Avery got mixed up with Paula. She’s nuts.’’
‘‘Basil and Paula are going to remarry,’’ I said.
‘‘They deserve each other,’’ Crenshaw said.
Sophie came back and sat down. She held up five fingers, and I took that to mean that the coffee would be ready in about five minutes. I nodded before turning back to Crenshaw.
‘‘They had some other news to share,’’ I said. ‘‘Apparently Basil has been asked to take over a nationally syndicated bridge column.’’
‘‘The hell he has!’’ Crenshaw half rose from his spot on the sofa. He cursed briefly as he sat down again. ‘‘That was going to be Avery’s gig. The little creep must have called them the minute he knew Avery was dead.’’ Slowly, comprehension dawned on his face.
Sophie, Marylou, and I exchanged glances.
‘‘The bastard!’’ Crenshaw shouted, and then he startled us all by slamming a fist against the table beside the sofa so hard it fell over. ‘‘He killed Avery, the sonofabitch. I’ll rip his goddamn head off.’’
Chapter 26
For a moment I was afraid Haskell Crenshaw would run out of the room in search of Basil Dumont. He was a big, powerful man, and if he managed to get his hands on Dumont, there probably wouldn’t be too much left of the smaller man.
‘‘Calm down, and don’t you dare get up from that sofa.’’
Marylou rarely raised her voice or spoke in such a sharp, commanding tone, but when she did, the person to whom it was directed usually didn’t argue. The expression on Haskell Crenshaw’s face was almost comical. He subsided on the couch without a word, shocked into silence, for the moment at least.
‘‘That’s better,’’ Marylou said, her voice resuming its normal placid tone. ‘‘There’s no need for any of that. Whoever the killer is, I’m sure the sheriff’s department is more than capable of dealing with him or her.’’
‘‘I guess you’re right,’’ Crenshaw muttered. He rubbed his forehead as if his head ached.
I had noticed Sophie slipping out of the room when Marylou spoke, and now she returned with a cup of coffee for Crenshaw. ‘‘Drink this,’’ she told him. ‘‘This will help.’’
Crenshaw stared at her for a moment, but he accepted the cup. He sipped from it, then grimaced. ‘‘There’s no sugar in it.’’
‘‘Drink it anyway,’’ Sophie said. ‘‘It will do you good.’’ Her tone and her stance brooked no opposition to her instructions.
‘‘Deputy Ainsworth will be here any minute now,’’ I said, watching Crenshaw as I spoke. ‘‘We can tell him our suspicions about Basil Dumont, and he can take it from there.’’
Crenshaw nodded. ‘‘You’re right. I was just letting my temper get away from me. I can’t stand the thought that that weenie is alive and trying to take over Avery’s gigs. It burns the hell out of me that he might get away with it.’’
‘‘We all certainly appreciate your loyalty to your client,’’ Marylou said.
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