The Unkindest Cut (25 page)

‘‘He said he’d see you in hell.’’ Paula poked Dumont on the arm. ‘‘Don’t forget that part. That sounds like a death threat to me.’’

‘‘I’ll have a word with Mr. Crenshaw,’’ Ainsworth said. ‘‘I’m sure he won’t accost you again, Mr. Dumont. ’’

‘‘Thank you, Deputy,’’ Dumont said. Paula scowled but didn’t say anything.

‘‘I do have some questions for you, Mr. Dumont,’’ Ainsworth said. ‘‘Would you mind accompanying me downstairs?’’

‘‘What kind of questions?’’ Paula’s voice held a note of panic, and I regarded her with interest. ‘‘Basil has already told you everything he knows.’’

‘‘I’d rather be the judge of that, Mrs. Trowbridge.’’ Ainsworth was making an obvious effort to remain polite, but I wondered how much longer he could manage if Paula kept on being, well, Paula. As usual, she was oblivious to the effect she was having on the deputy.

‘‘I should add,’’ Ainsworth continued, ‘‘that I also have some questions for you, Mrs. Trowbridge, so you can both come along with me downstairs, all right?’’

Paula blanched. ‘‘I don’t have anything else to tell you either, Deputy. But if you insist on talking to me, I want you to do it right here. I want my friends with me.’’ Her mouth set in mulish lines. Ainsworth was in for a struggle with her, the mood she seemed to be in right now.

‘‘Now, Paula,’’ Dumont said, ‘‘don’t be silly. Let’s just go downstairs and talk to the deputy like he asks. We don’t have anything to worry about.’’

Indeed, he appeared perfectly calm. Paula was the one who seemed to be having some kind of breakdown. She stared at Dumont, tears beginning to puddle in her eyes. ‘‘Oh, Basil,’’ she said, launching herself at him.

She almost knocked him over, but he wrapped his arms around her and steadied them both. As Paula sobbed on his shoulder, he stared helplessly at the rest of us.

No one spoke for a moment. Then Marylou said, ‘‘Basil, why don’t you get Paula settled on the sofa, and I’ll get her something to drink.’’ She glanced at Ainsworth, and he nodded permission. He didn’t look very happy with the situation, though.

Nodding, Basil steered Paula toward the sofa, and she made no effort to stop him. He lowered her onto a cushion and sat down beside her. She threw her arms around his neck and continued sobbing against his shoulder.

Marylou had left the room, and she came back with about half a small glass of amber liquid. ‘‘Here, Paula, drink this.’’ She tapped Paula on the shoulder.

Paula sobbed a moment longer, but with Dumont’s gentle insistence, she released her hold on him and turned to Marylou. ‘‘What is it?’’ she asked as she accepted the glass.

‘‘A little brandy,’’ Marylou said. ‘‘It will do you good.’’

Paula tossed back the brandy in one gulp, and she gasped as she handed the glass back to Marylou.

‘‘Thank you,’’ Paula said, her voice a bit hoarse. ‘‘I guess I needed that.’’

‘‘What on
earth
is the matter with you?’’ Dumont asked her, peering at her with a mingled look of alarm and distaste.

Paula didn’t answer. She stared mutely back at him. Dumont regarded her for a moment; then comprehension dawned in his face. He jumped up from the sofa and turned to stare down at her.

‘‘My God,’’ he said, ‘‘I don’t believe it. You think I killed Avery, don’t you?’’

Paula still didn’t respond, and Dumont gazed wildly at the rest of us. ‘‘She’s crazy,’’ he said, his voice beginning to resemble the bleating of a sheep. ‘‘She’s absolutely freaking nuts. I didn’t kill Avery. How could you even think such a thing?’’

Ainsworth was watching the developing scene with considerable interest. I guessed he was letting it play out to see what could be gleaned from it. He might get more from Dumont and Paula here than he would in a one-on-one session in the office downstairs.

Dumont continued to look from one to the other of us, seeking our reassurance, I supposed, that Paula really was nuts for thinking he was the killer. The problem was, of course, that Marylou, Sophie, and I agreed with Paula. The damning evidence of the king of spades put him at the head of the list. He certainly had a lot to gain from Avery Trowbridge’s death, perhaps more than anyone else.

‘‘Mr. Dumont, is it true that you are going to be writing a nationally syndicated bridge column?’’ Ainsworth finally spoke, and Dumont jerked in surprise.

‘‘Why, um, yes,’’ Dumont said. He swallowed, and sweat began to form on his brow. ‘‘I, um, just found out about it.’’ He stared at the deputy.

‘‘Is it also true that Avery Trowbridge was going to write that column instead of you?’’

Dumont licked his lips. For a moment he seemed unable to speak. ‘‘Uh, well, I guess so.’’ The sweat streamed down his face now. He mopped at it ineffectually with his hands.

‘‘How did you get the job so quickly?’’ Ainsworth continued to stare at Dumont, and Dumont seemed to wilt further.

‘‘Um, I guess I called the syndicate when I heard Avery was dead,’’ Dumont said. He gave up trying to keep the sweat off his face. If he didn’t stop sweating soon, he would completely dehydrate himself.

Sophie, Marylou, and I watched with unabashed interest. Ainsworth could stop this at any moment and take Dumont and Paula downstairs, but I didn’t think he wanted to break the rising tension in the room.

Paula sat, head in hands, on the sofa. She had stopped crying, but her labored breathing was evidence of her distress.

‘‘This syndicate offered you the job right away then?’’ Ainsworth asked.

‘‘Oh, yes, they were quite happy I was able to take it over,’’ Dumont said, something like relief in his voice. ‘‘I was on their short list anyway, and they’re perfectly happy with me.’’

‘‘It’s a lucky break for you,’’ Ainsworth said in an encouraging tone.

‘‘Oh, yes, it is,’’ Dumont said, a tentative smile on his face. ‘‘It’s the break I’ve been waiting for. For years.’’

Paula groaned, and Dumont’s face fell. It hit him then, what Ainsworth had been leading up to.

‘‘I didn’t kill Avery,’’ he said, once again sounding like a sheep. ‘‘I wanted to write the column, but not bad enough to kill someone. Surely you can’t believe I’d do something like that?’’

‘‘I’m sure you can see how it looks to me,’’ Ainsworth said, his voice smooth as silk. ‘‘It sounds like a very good motive to me.’’

Dumont was sweating even more now, and I was afraid he would pass out from fear alone. He trembled as he sank down on the sofa beside Paula. ‘‘Oh my God,’’ he said, ‘‘this is a nightmare.’’ He stared at Paula. His eyes closed briefly, and a moment later he sighed, as if he had come to some decision.

‘‘I didn’t kill Avery,’’ Dumont said. The sheep was gone. His voice firm, he continued. ‘‘I couldn’t have killed Avery. I have an alibi for the whole night.’’

Paula’s head jerked up. ‘‘Oh, Basil, don’t. Don’t lie.’’ She reached toward him.

Dumont shied away from her. ‘‘It’s not a lie, Paula. You’re not going to like what I’m going to say, but it’s the truth, I swear to God.’’

‘‘What is your alibi, Mr. Dumont?’’ Ainsworth asked.

Basil licked his lips before replying. ‘‘I spent the whole night with someone. A woman. We were never out of each other’s sight the whole night long. I swear it.’’

‘‘Who is the woman?’’ Ainsworth asked.

Dumont hesitated. ‘‘I suppose I have no choice. It was Lorraine. Lorraine Trowbridge.’’

That wasn’t very gallant of him, I thought. At the very least, he could have insisted on talking to the deputy in private.

Paula howled with rage, and she started beating Dumont with her fists. Ainsworth stepped in quickly and pulled her away from Dumont before she could inflict too much damage. One of her fists had connected with his right eye, though, and he would probably have a nice shiner as a result.

‘‘Mrs. Trowbridge, calm down,’’ Ainsworth said in a stern voice. He held Paula in a tight grasp. She struggled for a moment before subsiding weakly in the deputy’s arms.

Marylou came forward and took Paula from the deputy. She led Paula to her own chair and sat her down in it. Paula clutched at Marylou’s hand and held on to it.

Ainsworth faced Dumont, who had a hand over his right eye. ‘‘I suppose Mrs. Trowbridge will back you up, Mr. Dumont?’’

Dumont nodded.

Of course she will,
I thought. She needed an alibi, too. For a moment, I was tempted to think that Dumont had made up the whole thing, but as I watched him, I came to the conclusion that he was telling the truth. He was so relieved that I didn’t think he was faking it.

‘‘You’re sure that neither of you left the other one alone, even for a few minutes, that night?’’

Dumont stared up at the deputy. ‘‘I’m sure.’’ He blushed. ‘‘We were, um, quite busy until early in the morning.’’

Paula howled again, and Marylou held on to her. All the fight seemed to have gone out of Paula, though, and she just sat there in the chair.

‘‘I did it all for nothing,’’ she said, her voice hoarse with emotion. ‘‘You sorry sonofabitch. I thought I was protecting you, and all the time you were screwing that bitch behind my back.’’ She breathed heavily for a moment. ‘‘You were going to marry me as soon as Avery and I got a divorce.’’

‘‘How were you protecting
me
?’’ Dumont said. ‘‘I didn’t kill Avery.’’

‘‘I found Avery before Emma did,’’ Paula said. She stared blankly ahead of her. ‘‘He had a card in his hand. The king of spades. I thought he was trying to say that you had killed him.’’

‘‘With the bloody king of spades?’’ Dumont was clearly incredulous. ‘‘Why the hell would you think he meant me?’’

‘‘David, the king of spades,’’ Paula said. ‘‘David, who killed Goliath. David, the puny little man who slew the great giant.’’ The acid fairly spewed from her mouth as she said the words ‘‘puny little man,’’ and Dumont flinched.

‘‘So I took that card, and put the queen of diamonds in his hand instead,’’ Paula continued. ‘‘Then I heard footsteps in the corridor, and I went into Avery’s bedroom to hide. That’s when Emma came in. I pretended I came in from the corridor, and that she was the one who found the body.’’

‘‘And at some point, when you were here with Marylou and Sophie,’’ I said, ‘‘you hid the card in our sofa.’’

Paula nodded. ‘‘I was planning to retrieve it later and destroy it. I guess I wasn’t thinking too clearly.’’

‘‘You tampered with a crime scene,’’ Ainsworth said. ‘‘I may have to charge you with that.’’

Paula shrugged. ‘‘It doesn’t matter. I don’t care anymore. ’’ She glared at Dumont.

‘‘Now, Paula,’’ Marylou said, ‘‘don’t talk like that. It’s a good thing you found out what a rat Basil is, so that you didn’t make the mistake of marrying him again.’’ She glared at Dumont, too, and he flushed and turned away.

‘‘I think you had both better come downstairs with me,’’ Ainsworth said. ‘‘I want to take your statements down, and I’ll have to decide whether to charge you, Mrs. Trowbridge.’’

Paula and Dumont stood up. Ainsworth escorted them to the door. They preceded him into the hallway. He paused at the door to look back at Sophie, Marylou, and me. ‘‘I’ll be back to talk to you ladies later.’’ With that, the door shut behind him.

‘‘Oh my goodness,’’ Marylou said, sinking down on the sofa in the spot vacated by Basil Dumont. ‘‘Did you ever in your life see such a scene?’’

‘‘Sure,’’ Sophie said, ‘‘every day on the soap operas. ’’ She shook her head. ‘‘What a mess.’’

I nodded, thinking about the implications of what had taken place. ‘‘You realize, don’t you, that if Dumont’s alibi holds up, then neither he nor Lorraine Trowbridge killed Avery?’’

‘‘Yes,’’ Sophie said, ‘‘and that leaves Paula.’’

‘‘What about Will Trowbridge?’’ Marylou said.

‘‘Will didn’t kill his father,’’ I said.

‘‘How can you be so sure?’’ Sophie asked. ‘‘I know you think he’s a nice young man, Emma, but nice young men have killed their fathers before.’’

‘‘I know that,’’ I said, ‘‘but while everything was going on, I was thinking about David.’’

‘‘David?’’ Marylou and Sophie asked at the same time.

‘‘David,’’ I said. ‘‘There’s another story about David that we didn’t think about.’’

Chapter 28

I waited a moment to see whether Sophie or Marylou realized the story I meant.

Sophie got it first. ‘‘David and Jonathan.’’

Marylou looked bewildered for a moment. ‘‘David and Jonathan,’’ she said slowly. ‘‘Oh.’’

I nodded. ‘‘Yes, exactly.’’

Marylou frowned. ‘‘David and Jonathan were really good friends. They loved each other, but what has that got to do with anything?’’

Ordinarily Marylou wasn’t this dense. Sophie and I exchanged glances.

‘‘Not everybody believes the relationship between David and Jonathan was platonic,’’ Sophie said.

‘‘Yes,’’ I said, ‘‘some scholars think they could have been lovers.’’

‘‘I’ve never heard that,’’ Marylou said, surprise evident on her face. ‘‘Are you sure?’’

Over the years I’ve attended a number of lectures on various topics with my brother, Jake, and his partner, Luke. Several of them had to do with the Bible and homosexuality. ‘‘Yes, I’m sure,’’ I said. ‘‘Look, no one will ever really know, but that doesn’t really matter so much in this case.’’

‘‘Jonathan was an older man who loved a younger man, David,’’ Sophie said. She had attended some of the lectures as well. ‘’Avery Trowbridge was older than Haskell Crenshaw, and we know that they were lovers. Maybe Avery picked up the king of spades, the David card, to point the finger at
his
‘David.’ ’’

Marylou shook her head. ‘‘Well, I guess that makes as much sense as any of the other interpretations we’ve heard.’’

‘‘It sure does,’’ Sophie said. ‘‘And we know Crenshaw had a motive.’’

‘‘I think he was in love with Avery,’’ I said, thinking back on Crenshaw’s behavior. ‘‘Think about the way he was killed, too. Stabbed in the chest.’’