The Unkindest Cut - By Honor Hartman Page 0,19

you later,’’ Sophie said as the doors shut.

Back in our suite, everything was quiet. Marylou must still be napping, I thought, and moved with care through the living room area to the bedroom I was sharing with Sophie. I pulled off my shoes, retrieved my book from my bag, and made myself comfortable on the bed.

As I read, I could feel my eyelids drooping, and after a few minutes, I surrendered to the drowsiness and put the book aside. I closed my eyes, nestling down in the bed, and before long I dropped off.

I awoke sometime later when Sophie slipped into the room. Yawning, I sat up.

‘‘Sorry if I woke you,’’ she said. ‘‘When I came in earlier, you were sound asleep.’’ She wore her exercise togs, but from what I could see, she didn’t appear to have broken a sweat.

‘‘No, I need to get up and start stirring around.’’ I moved to the side of the bed and put my feet on the floor. Yawning again, I glanced at my watch. ‘‘Good grief, it’s almost five thirty.’’

‘‘And the reception starts at six thirty,’’ Sophie said. ‘‘If you don’t mind, I’m going to hop in the shower to freshen up. I won’t be long.’’

‘‘Go right ahead,’’ I said, yawning again. ‘‘I need to wake up a little, and then I probably should take a quick shower myself.’’

Sophie disappeared into the bathroom, and I got up from the bed and wandered out into the living room. I walked over to Marylou’s door, which stood slightly ajar, and knocked.

When I received no answer, I pushed the door open and took a step inside. ‘‘Marylou,’’ I called. I listened for sounds of movement from her bathroom, but all was quiet. She wasn’t in the suite. I went back to the living room and paced around a bit to wake myself up completely.

I was on my fourth circuit of the room when I heard the door from the hall opening.

Marylou came in, and from the look on her face, I could tell something was wrong.

‘‘Are you okay?’’ I asked, moving toward her. ‘‘You look like you want to murder someone.’’

Marylou pushed the door shut behind her, then leaned against it. ‘‘I’ll give you three guesses, and the first two don’t count.’’

‘‘Paula?’’

She nodded. ‘‘Of course. I was sound asleep, enjoying a nice nap, when the phone rang. It was Paula.’’

‘‘I didn’t even hear the phone,’’ I said.

‘‘It rang only once,’’ Marylou said. ‘‘I wake very quickly, and I picked it up before it could ring again.’’

‘‘Come on over here and sit down a minute,’’ I said, heading for the sofa. Marylou followed me and plopped down beside me. ‘‘So what was it this time?’’

‘‘More of the same,’’ Marylou said, shaking her head tiredly. ‘‘I gather you and Sophie were on the scene when Paula ran into Lorraine Trowbridge and her son.’’

I nodded. ‘‘Another unpleasant little encounter.’’

‘‘Well, Paula wanted a shoulder to cry on,’’ Marylou said, ‘‘and I obliged.’’ She sighed. ‘‘If this goes on much longer, my shoulders will start to mildew.’’

I laughed, and Marylou smiled. It was a rather grim smile, however. ‘‘You’re a good friend to put up with her.’’

‘‘I suppose,’’ Marylou said. ‘‘She’s just so goshdarned pathetic right now, and I can’t find it in my heart to turn her away when she needs to talk to somebody. I suppose I’m helping her, but no matter what I say, I’m not sure she really hears what I’m telling her.’’

‘‘Just look at it this way,’’ I said. ‘‘You’re shortening your time in purgatory in a big way.’’

She laughed outright at that, and I was pleased to see her normally cheerful demeanor returning.

‘‘Where’s Sophie?’’ she asked.

‘‘In the shower,’’ I said. ‘‘I need to take a quick one myself, so I can get ready for the reception.’’

‘‘Oh, good grief,’’ Marylou said, forcing herself up from the sofa. ‘‘I completely forgot about that dad-blamed reception. I need a shower, too.’’ She frowned. ‘‘It’s at six thirty, isn’t it?’’

‘‘Yes,’’ I said, glancing at the clock on the wall. ‘‘That gives us about forty-five minutes to get ready.’’

Marylou relaxed a bit. ‘‘Plenty of time, then. But I guess I’ll go ahead and have a shower.’’ She disappeared into her bedroom and shut the door.

I got up from the sofa and wandered back into my bedroom. Sophie had finished her shower and was sitting at the dressing table doing her makeup. ‘‘Shower’s all yours,’’ she said.

‘‘Thanks.’’ I gathered my things and busied myself in the bathroom.

At a few minutes