The Unkindest Cut - By Honor Hartman Page 0,52

much closer together here, and the light filtering from above was murky. I could see just well enough to know where I was going and, more importantly, watch out for snakes.

My mind turned irresistibly back to the murder. Who could have done it?

My first choice was Veronica Hinkelmeier. That was based as much on my intense dislike of her as anything else. The woman was a first-class bitch. I usually didn’t like to use that term to refer to another woman, but I figured that, this once at least, it was all too apt. She definitely appeared to have the temperament, and Avery Trowbridge had humiliated her in public.

Plus, thanks to what Haskell Crenshaw had revealed, there was another possible motive. I doubted Veronica would have taken the news of Avery’s bisexuality lightly. My question now was whether she had known.

I thought about it a moment, but I couldn’t come up with a way to find out, other than by simply asking her outright. Of course, Deputy Ainsworth would probably be asking her that. Too bad I couldn’t sit in on that interview.

Something moved nearby, and I stopped suddenly, my heart pounding. Standing completely still, I peered into the gloom around me, trying to identify the source of the sounds.

Then I saw it. About six or seven yards away from me, standing in a small clearing, were a doe and her fawn. They stared at me for a moment before quickly bounding away.

Charmed by the sight, and relieved as well, I could feel my heart settling back to its normal rate. I took a deep breath and continued on my walk.

Where was I? Veronica, I reminded myself. She was a good candidate for murder, a crime passionnel, as the French would say. She was passionate, if anything.

Lorraine Trowbridge had a monetary motive, if what Will had told me was true. With Avery’s death, she inherited the trust fund her father-in-law had set up. I had no idea how much money that was, but it had to be fairly substantial if Will’s grandfather had been as rich as Lorraine claimed. Of course, Lorraine could have done it simply out of hatred, I supposed. The money was a bonus.

But in that case, why would she wait so long to do it?

No, I decided, the financial motive was more probable in Lorraine’s case. I wondered if Will could, or would, tell me how much money was involved. Then I had to laugh. I was turning into a real busybody if I thought I could ask people such things and get an answer.

Who else, then, besides Veronica and Lorraine?

There was Haskell Crenshaw. Avery had fired him as a business manager and an agent, and more than likely as a lover, too. Another case of a crime passionnel, I mused, but had Crenshaw been in love with his client? When he had spilled the beans to Paula, I had a hard time reading him. It might have been jealousy making him act that way. But I wasn’t too sure about that.

In Crenshaw’s case, the motive was far more likely financial. If Avery had fired him as a business manager, he might have had a good reason, other than simply tiring of the more personal side of their relationship. What if Crenshaw had been embezzling from Avery, and Avery threatened to take action?

It was at least plausible, I reckoned.

Now I came to Paula. I had mixed feelings about her. She often irritated the heck out of me, but sometimes she did arouse a kinder response. She had been angry with her husband, but had she been angry enough to kill him?

I heard a sound somewhere nearby, and I halted to scan the underbrush. The sound came again, and now I realized it came from behind me.

Just as I began to turn, something hit my back with considerable force. I stumbled and went down hard. Then everything went dark.

Chapter 19

‘‘Emma! Emma, wake up!’’

Dimly I heard a voice calling to me. Then I felt someone’s hands on my arms.

‘‘Emma, please.’’

Sophie’s voice, sounding upset, penetrated through the fog in my head.

I opened my eyes, and there she was, looming over me.

‘‘Sophie,’’ I said as I tried to sit up. That hurt. ‘‘Ow,’’ I said.

‘‘Did you hit your head?’’ Sophie asked. ‘‘Maybe you should lie still.’’

‘‘No, it’s not my head,’’ I said, continuing the struggle to sit up. Sophie slipped an arm around my shoulders to help. ‘‘No, it’s actually my back that hurts.’’

‘‘So you didn’t hit your head?’’

‘‘I might