The Unkindest Cut (4 page)

Marylou, Sophie, and I stared at one another for a moment, and I wondered how long we would have to stand there before someone resolved the problem. Cold air blasted through the lobby via the air-conditioning vents, and I shivered. I wanted to go to my room and warm up.

The door behind the desk opened again, and a tall woman stepped through the doorway. ‘‘I beg your pardon, ladies,’’ she said with an insincere smile. ‘‘I’m afraid Monica is still in training, and your request presented her with a task a little too complex for a rather feeble brain.’’

Monica, who had just followed the woman through the door, stopped dead in her tracks, blushing unbecomingly. ‘‘I’m sorry, Mother,’’ she said in faltering tones. ‘‘I mean, Ms. Hinkelmeier.’’ With that, she disappeared back through the door.

Monica’s mother pretended not to have heard as she accepted our three cards and began tapping at the computer.

Marylou frowned at Ms. Hinkelmeier while Sophie and I rolled our eyes at each other. If poor Monica had to put up with this kind of criticism from her mother, it was no wonder the girl had problems. How terribly unkind to say something negative about one’s daughter in front of strangers—and how unforgivable.

None of us said a word as we waited for Ms. Hinkelmeier to finish what she was doing. Soon she had something for each of us to sign and, as we did, she rather ostentatiously checked our signatures on the forms against those on our credit cards. ‘‘Thank you, ladies,’’ she said with a fake smile plastered across her face. She returned our cards, then handed us key cards for our suite.

‘‘Leonard will show you to your suite,’’ she said before turning away. She disappeared through the door.

We waited a minute or so before Leonard appeared. Sophie was ready to climb over the counter and go after Ms. Hinkelmeier—I could see it in her eyes. But the muscular young man with the umbrella who had parked the car turned up then.

He smiled at us, and I think we all three relaxed. He was an attractive young man, and in contrast to Ms. Hinkelmeier, he fairly radiated charm. ‘‘If you’ll follow me, ladies,’’ he said. Turning, he headed for an area behind the grand staircase.

‘‘You’re in one of our nicest suites,’’ he informed us as he shepherded us into the elevator. ‘‘It’s on the fourth floor, and you have a wonderful view of the lawns and the woods from your windows.’’

‘‘That sounds lovely,’’ Marylou said. ‘‘I’m sure we’ll enjoy that.’’

Leonard smiled. ‘‘If there’s anything I can do for you ladies while you’re here, please let me know. Anything at all. I’m here to serve you.’’ He flexed his chest as he spoke.

Marylou beamed at him, but Sophie twitched a bit at my side. I could read her mind all too well. She had picked up on the same note of ambiguity in Leonard’s voice that I had. Not to mention his flexing and the way he arched one eyebrow slightly when he said the word ‘‘serve.’’

I was getting some very peculiar vibes from this place. First, the obnoxious Ms. Hinkelmeier, and now the suddenly servile Leonard. Just what was going on at the Waldheim Hotel?

The elevator stopped, and the door opened. Leonard stepped out and held the door for us while we exited. He led us down the hall to the end of the corridor, and Marylou handed him her key card. With a flourish, he opened the door and stood aside for us to precede him into the room.

Whatever the oddities of the hotel’s personnel—at least the three we had met thus far—the hotel itself was beautifully furnished, judging by our suite. We had entered a living room that would not have looked out of place in any of Houston’s finest residential homes. Large and well-appointed, it was welcoming and comfortable. The style reminded me of an English country house, and the large windows in the wall opposite the entrance drew me right away.

Leonard was right about the view. Even through the drizzling rain, I could see the beauty of the lawns below us and the woods beyond. The view would be spectacular when the sun came out again. It was pleasant to be in the country, and I looked forward to some long walks along the paths and trails I spotted. Sophie joined me at the window for a moment while Marylou chatted with Leonard.

Sophie and I soon rejoined the other two. Leonard gave us a quick tour, pointing out the two bathrooms and two bedrooms. One bedroom had two double beds and the other had a queen-sized bed. Sophie and I insisted we take the room with the two beds while Marylou took the other one.

‘‘Probably just as well,’’ Marylou laughed. ‘‘Otherwise whoever roomed with me would have to put up with my snoring.’’

‘‘If you ladies will just point out which luggage belongs in which rooms, I’ll take care of it for you right now,’’ Leonard said. He gestured toward the pile of suitcases in one corner of the living room.

We each claimed our bags, and Leonard, without visible effort, carried them to our rooms. Once he had finished, he reiterated his invitation to avail ourselves of his services whenever—and whatever—we needed.

Marylou gave him a handsome tip, and he winked at her as he thanked her. Sophie and I didn’t say a word, because Marylou seemed to be enjoying what I hoped was a harmless bit of flirting on Leonard’s part.

‘‘Well, ladies, what do you say we unpack and then find something to eat?’’ Marylou said. ‘‘I don’t know about you two, but I’m starving.’’

‘‘I’m getting pretty hungry, too,’’ I said. ‘‘It won’t take me long to unpack.’’

‘‘Last one unpacked is a rotten egg,’’ Sophie said, giggling, as she sprinted for our bedroom.

Laughing, Marylou and I trailed behind her.

Chapter 4

We went downstairs about twenty minutes later and quickly found the dining room. I had checked my watch before we left our rooms, and it was just now going on eleven thirty. A bit early for lunch for some folk, no doubt, but since we had left Houston so early, the three of us were more than ready for something to eat.

There were a few other early birds already seated when a hostess escorted us to a square table near one of the large windows. ‘‘Your server will be with you in a moment,’’ the hostess informed us after handing us menus.

We sat in silence for a minute or two to scan the menu. I decided on a grilled-chicken Caesar salad, folded the menu, and placed it on the table. Marylou and Sophie were still reading their menus. Glancing around the room, I groaned inwardly. Paula Trowbridge was hovering in the doorway. The minute she spotted us, she made a beeline for our table.

‘‘Marylou, Emma, Sophie,’’ Paula said, her tone light and happy. ‘‘I’m so glad you’re here. I was hoping you’d get here early.’’ Without waiting for an invitation, she pulled out the vacant chair across from me and sat down. She picked up my menu. ‘‘The food here is excellent. Whatever you order, I’m sure you’ll just love it.’’

‘‘Hello, Paula,’’ Marylou said. ‘‘So glad you could join us.’’ She paused. Did I detect a note of irony in Marylou’s voice? ‘‘When did you get in?’’

‘‘Last night,’’ Paula said. ‘‘What are you going to have, Emma?’’

I told her my choice, and she turned to Sophie.

‘‘I’m going to have the regular grilled-chicken salad,’’ Sophie responded.

That left Marylou, who sighed. ‘‘I suppose I should have a salad, too, but I want something more substantial. So I’m going to have the chicken fettuccine Alfredo. I just love Alfredo sauce.’’

‘‘That sounds good to me, too,’’ Paula said. ‘‘I think that’s what I’ll have.’’

A young woman, who brightly introduced herself as Bree, said she was ready to take our orders whenever we wanted. She didn’t write anything down, simply nodded her head as we spoke in turn. Next she asked what we wanted to drink, and we all asked for iced tea. ‘‘I’ll be right back with your drinks,’’ Bree promised.

‘‘Do you think her parents were cheese fanciers?’’ Sophie asked. She gave us her best mock-serious expression.

‘‘Oh, hush,’’ I said, trying not to laugh. ‘‘It’s probably short for Brianna, or something like that.’’

Paula frowned. ‘‘She’s a very nice girl. Her parents own this place.’’

‘‘Is Ms. Hinkelmeier one of the owners?’’ Sophie asked. ‘‘We met her when we checked in.’’

Paula shook her head. ‘‘No, she’s the sister of the woman whose husband is the owner.’’ She hesitated. ‘‘To be honest, I don’t care much for Veronica Hinkelmeier. ’’

‘‘She wasn’t the warmest person I’ve ever met,’’ Marylou said, ‘‘but I’m sure she must get tired of dealing with the public.’’

‘‘She’s very friendly with some of the public,’’ Paula said, her voice sharp. ‘‘
Too
friendly, if you ask me.’’

I glanced at Sophie. She shrugged. I faced Paula. ‘‘Which of the public is she too friendly with?’’

‘‘Men, of course,’’ Paula said, her face marred by a nasty sneer. ‘‘You should see the way she fawns all over Avery and Basil. It’s disgusting. It’s like she’s in heat.’’

‘‘How do the men respond to her?’’ Sophie asked.

‘‘How do you think?’’ Paula snapped at her. ‘‘They’re men, aren’t they? The minute some woman comes on to them, they start strutting around like bantam roosters. ’’ She fell silent for a moment. ‘‘Basil isn’t as bad as Avery, at least. They both have big egos, I’ll admit. But Basil doesn’t think only of himself all the time.’’

Neither man sounded like the proverbial knight in shining armor to me, but that was Paula’s lookout, not mine or anyone else’s. She wouldn’t be the first woman who made poor choices when it came to the men in her life. Sophie was another example. She was bright, gorgeous, and just plain wonderful, yet she had married two men who were complete heels, as it turned out. At the moment she was dating one of our neighbors, Nate McGreevey. Though I had some doubts about him, so far he had proved to be a decent and thoughtful man.

No one responded to Paula’s comments on the two men, but Paula frowned. Before she could say anything else, Marylou spoke. ‘‘When do the festivities start, Paula? Are we supposed to sign in somewhere?’’

Trying—unsuccessfully—not to look peeved, Paula said, ‘‘There’s a reception this afternoon at six thirty. If you want to officially sign in, you can do it after three in the ballroom. There should be someone there to register you.’’

‘‘Is the reception very dressy?’’ Sophie asked. ‘‘I didn’t bring anything formal with me.’’

Paula snorted with laughter. ‘‘You don’t need to dress up to play bridge, or talk about bridge, believe me. Everyone’s pretty casual at these things, though there are some women who dress like you wouldn’t believe. One of them wears her blouses cut so low you’d swear she’s about to lay something on the table besides cards.’’

Sophie giggled at that, and I couldn’t suppress a smile. The image was just too funny.

‘‘It is pretty funny,’’ Paula said, with a sour smile, ‘‘unless your partner happens to be a man. You think a man’s going to keep his mind on his cards when he’s got that to look at right in front of him?’’

‘‘I know many men would find that distracting,’’ Marylou said, ‘‘but surely not all men are that crass.’’

Paula snorted again. ‘‘Most of the straight ones are, let me tell you. I’ve been to so many of these things, following either Basil or Avery around, I am sick to death of some of these people and the way they behave. Or maybe I should say ‘misbehave.’ ’’

Sophie quirked an eyebrow at me, and I responded in kind. Our time at this bridge retreat could turn out to be interesting in a way none of us had anticipated. The way Paula was talking, it had begun to sound like we had walked onto the set of
Peyton Place
.

‘‘Will we be expected to play duplicate while we’re here?’’ Sophie asked.

That was a good question. Sophie had played a little duplicate, as had Marylou, but I hadn’t. Another friend of mine had been urging me to join her at the local bridge studio to play duplicate, but I had been holding back. I wasn’t sure I was ready to play bridge more competitively. For me it was fun, and an entertaining social activity. I wasn’t sure I wanted to worry about earning points and all the trappings that went with playing duplicate bridge. But I knew my friend Dianne well enough, and I knew sooner or later she would wear me down. She was very persuasive, besides being a wonderful bridge player.

‘‘You won’t be expected to,’’ Paula said, ‘‘but that will certainly be an option. Retreats like this, as long as they’re sanctioned by the American Contract Bridge League, are a good place to earn master points. You can take the classes, and you don’t have to play duplicate. There are opportunities to play rubber bridge instead.’’

‘‘That’s a relief,’’ I said, smiling. ‘‘I’m not ready for duplicate yet.’’

‘‘You’ll be very good at it, Emma,’’ Marylou said, ‘‘when you’re ready to start. You’re a fine bridge player, and all you have to remember is that you don’t have to get as deeply involved in it as other people do. I never have, and I enjoy playing duplicate occasionally. ’’

Marylou had said as much to me before. She was probably right. I would enjoy it, and my bridge skills had improved enormously since I first started playing, not long after my husband died. More experience certainly wouldn’t hurt, however, and I was looking forward to the educational sessions Paula had mentioned.

Our server, Bree, reappeared at our table with our tea, and she set a tall, cold glass down in front of each of us. Marylou added several packets of artificial sweetener to hers, as did Paula. Sophie didn’t add anything to hers, but I did add one packet of sweetener.

Marylou lifted her glass in a toast, and the rest of us clinked our glasses against hers. ‘‘Here’s to a lovely week of playing bridge and having a good time.’’

‘‘Amen to that,’’ Sophie said. I echoed her, but Paula simply grimaced before gulping down some of her tea.

I glanced up, and over Paula’s shoulder I saw Veronica Hinkelmeier approaching our table with an odd look on her face. She came to a halt beside our table.

‘‘Mrs. Trowbridge, I hate to trouble you at a time like this,’’ she said, but the smirk on her face belied her words. ‘‘But there’s a problem with the credit card you gave us. Would you mind coming to the office with me for a minute? I’m sure we can straighten it out very quickly.’’