ridiculous. The buzz of conversation had resumed, and I wondered how on earth anyone could settle down to playing bridge after this little tempest.
Basil Dumont seemed to have recovered his composure as he spoke into the microphone again. ‘‘Ladies and gentlemen,’’ he said, his voice quavering only slightly, ‘‘in just a few minutes the hotel staff will be setting up screens to partition the ballroom for our bridge playing. Roughly two-thirds of the ballroom will be dedicated to those playing duplicate, and the other third for those who don’t wish to play duplicate. Please enjoy your food, and I’ll be back soon to get you started playing bridge.’’
As he exited the dais, conversations resumed around the room. I watched him for a moment before he disappeared through a door at the back of the ballroom. Avery Trowbridge made no move to follow him, which rather surprised me. Perhaps, though, Trowbridge had had enough confrontation for the moment. Still rubbing the back of his head, he moved over to the food tables and began filling a plate.
‘‘That was surely something to see,’’ Marylou said in a low voice.
‘‘No kidding,’’ Sophie said. ‘‘Welcome to the circus, ladies.’’
‘‘Where is Paula?’’ I asked, suddenly realizing that I hadn’t seen her since we had entered the ballroom.
‘‘She was going to have a nap and join the festivities later,’’ Marylou said. ‘‘And it’s just as well, given what happened here. No telling what she might have done.’’
‘‘Can you believe that Hinkelmeier woman?’’ Sophie asked, leaning closer to me. ‘‘I mean, she might as well have announced to everyone in the room that she’s in love with the man.’’
‘‘He certainly doesn’t appear to feel the same way about her,’’ I said, doing my best not to sound catty.
‘‘Amen to that,’’ Marylou said.
Alice and her grandmother were watching us, and I mustered up a smile. ‘‘Very strange goings-on,’’ I said with a polite smile.
Her head bobbing up and down, Alice giggled. Her grandmother sniffed loudly. ‘‘I have a good mind to take Alice home first thing tomorrow morning. I’m not sure I want my precious granddaughter exposed to such vulgar scenes.’’
Frankly, I couldn’t blame the woman, but Alice evidently had other ideas. She turned to her grandmother with a pouting face. ‘‘But I don’t want to go home, Nana. You promised!’’
Nana’s stern face softened. ‘‘All right, dear,’’ she said. ‘‘We’ll stay so you can play. But I want you to stay away from those people as much as possible.’’
‘‘Of course, Nana,’’ Alice said with a prim smile. Her eyes cut to me with a sly look, and it was all I could do not to laugh. Nana was outmatched—that much I knew.
‘‘I’m going back for dessert,’’ Marylou said, standing up, plate in hand. ‘‘Emma, Sophie?’’
I glanced down at my empty plate. I really shouldn’t, but I remembered those miniature cheesecakes. Cheesecake was one of my weak points, where willpower usually failed me. Sighing, I pushed my chair back and stood up. Why break a perfect record?
Picking up my plate, I followed Marylou to the food tables. Sophie remained behind, chatting with Alice and her grandmother. Marylou and I joined the short line at the buffet, and I gazed curiously about.
Avery Trowbridge sat at a table just a few feet away. Several of the seats at the table were occupied, but it didn’t appear that any of the people at the table wished to converse with Trowbridge. He ate slowly and steadily, looking neither left nor right, staring straight ahead.
For a moment, our gazes locked, and Trowbridge quirked one eyebrow. I stared blandly back at him before turning away. A moment later I sneaked a peek at him, and he had gone back to staring into space as he ate.
The line moved forward, and I reached for a cheesecake, hesitating for a moment between chocolate swirl and plain. I went for the plain—why compound my lapse any further? In the meantime Marylou had put two cheesecakes and one éclair on her plate. I grinned, and Marylou saw me.
‘‘One of the cheesecakes is for Sophie,’’ she told me, her tone slightly defensive.
I nodded, repressing my amusement.
As we turned to go back to our table, I noticed a woman who had been ahead of Marylou in line. With a start, I recognized her as Lorraine Trowbridge. She held a heaping plate of dip with a few pieces of raw vegetables, and I watched in horrified fascination as she approached her ex-husband. I poked Marylou in the side, and she stopped to