The Unkindest Cut - By Honor Hartman Page 0,21

she did it to other people, too.’’

‘‘I think for her, Alice, every day must be a bad day,’’ I said, and Alice giggled.

Basil Dumont’s voice boomed out again. He launched into a lengthy description of the week’s activities. The only important thing he said, as far as I was concerned, was that play would begin promptly at seven thirty. That pleased me. I was itching to play some bridge and forget about all the unpleasantness I had witnessed today.

Dumont had neared the end of his remarks when I noticed someone approaching the dais from the side. Avery Trowbridge slowly climbed the steps and came to a halt about three feet away from Dumont, so far still oblivious to the other man’s presence. Dumont thanked the audience and began to turn away, in the direction of Trowbridge.

‘‘What the hell are you doing up here?’’ Dumont said. When he realized that everyone in the room had heard him, he flushed dark red.

Trowbridge didn’t speak to him. He stepped around his erstwhile rival to reach the microphone. Dumont stood helplessly by, sputtering incoherently.

‘‘Good evening, everyone,’’ Avery Trowbridge said. ‘‘I just wanted to let you all know that you have an alternative here during the coming week. I’ll be available for private instruction, and also as a partner for those wishing to earn some master points.’’ He flashed a cocky grin. ‘‘I have a card with my fees, and I’ll be happy to talk to you.’’ He waved and turned away.

He made the mistake of turning his back to Basil Dumont. Obviously enraged by Trowbridge’s announcement, Dumont took a wild swing at the back of Trowbridge’s head. The blow missed his head, but it connected with his shoulder, hard enough to knock Trowbridge off his feet.

Trowbridge scrambled to right himself, clutching at the table next to him on the dais, but he couldn’t. With a resounding crash, he and the table went off the dais and onto the floor.

Chapter 8

Everyone sat in stunned silence as Avery Trowbridge made contact with the floor, landing with the table beneath him. We were sitting too far away to be of practical use, but several people sitting much closer quickly got to their feet to check on Avery.

I shot a glance at the dais. Basil Dumont stood un-moving, an odd expression on his face. Remorse? Triumph? Satisfaction? I couldn’t decide. I was surprised at how violent his attack on Avery had been.

By now two men had helped Avery Trowbridge to his feet, and he appeared not to have suffered any serious injury from the fall. He dusted himself off, thanking the men who had come to his aid.

‘’Avery!’’ A shrill voice cut through the hubbub surrounding the accident victim, and for a moment I thought it was Paula who had spoken.

Veronica Hinkelmeier pushed her way through the people now milling about. A couple of hotel employees had stepped forward to remove the table and clean up the debris from the fall. Trowbridge had turned to scowl at Basil Dumont when he was nearly knocked off his feet again by Veronica’s onslaught. She threw her arms around him, oblivious to the stares of those nearby.

‘’Avery, darling, are you all right?’’

Avery Trowbridge thrust her away from him, almost violently, and Veronica stumbled, nearly falling herself.

‘‘I’ll thank you to keep your hands off me,’’ Avery said, and the chill in his voice was palpable, and his voice rang through the room. Everyone had to have heard him.

Veronica Hinkelmeier blinked at him, obviously stunned by his reaction. Trowbridge turned away from her, fixing upon Basil Dumont, still standing on the dais. ‘‘Look here, Dumont,’’ he said.

That was all he managed to get out before Veronica launched herself at him. Her fist connected with the back of his head, and he stumbled against the dais.

‘‘You bastard! How dare you treat me like that!’’ She stood there, her chest heaving. ‘‘I wish you were dead.’’

Trowbridge turned back to face her. As he rubbed the back of his head with one hand, he smirked at her. ‘‘Funny, you took the words right out of my mouth, you stupid cow.’’

Leonard, the attractive young man who seemed to be a combination of concierge and bellboy, stepped through the crowd to maneuver himself between Veronica and Trowbridge. He spoke quietly, and we were far enough away that I couldn’t hear anything of what he said. It apparently was effective, whatever he said, because Veronica allowed him to lead her from the room.

Trowbridge was left standing there, looking faintly