The Unkindest Cut - By Honor Hartman Page 0,56

like to have Marylou for a mother.’’

‘‘I think we do,’’ I said, smiling at her.

‘‘You’re right,’’ Sophie said, giggling.

We played canasta until nearly midnight, taking a break only when the food we had ordered from room service was delivered. Marylou came in at one. I was still awake, but Sophie had dozed off on her bed, fully clothed.

Marylou tiptoed into the room. ‘‘How are you?’’ she whispered.

‘‘I’m fine,’’ I said. ‘‘I think I’m going to go to sleep now, though.’’

Nodding, Marylou approached Sophie and gently shook her awake. Sophie sat up on the side of the bed and stared blankly at us for a moment.

‘‘Time for bed,’’ I said.

‘‘Are you sure?’’ Sophie asked, alert at once.

‘‘I’m fine,’’ I said. ‘‘My head is perfectly clear, no headache, only a little stiffness in my back. We all need to get some sleep.’’

‘‘Well, good night, then.’’ Marylou came over to my bed, bent down, and kissed my forehead. ‘‘Sleep well, Emma, dear.’’

‘‘Thank you,’’ I said. ‘‘You, too.’’

Sophie and Marylou bade each other good night. I slid down in my bed and got comfortable while Sophie changed into a nightgown.

‘‘G’night,’’ she said, and in moments she was sound asleep again.

Not for the first time, I envied her that quick ability to fall asleep. I was tired, but my mind wasn’t quite ready for sleep yet.

As I lay there, courting sleep by trying to still my mind, I suddenly realized that I had never told Sophie or Marylou about my conversation with Will Trowbridge. That could wait until morning, of course.

Determined to fall asleep, I concentrated on emptying my mind. There shouldn’t be any voices coming through the air vent this time to disturb me. I shivered, then scolded myself for thinking about that.

Relax, I told myself sternly. Gradually, I slipped into a dreamy state, and finally into sound sleep.

Chapter 20

The next morning I felt fine except for the same stiffness in my back. A hot shower would help that. I felt on my head for the bump I’d had yesterday, but it appeared to have gone down, leaving only a small tender spot in its place. Otherwise my head felt just fine, too, so I wasn’t particularly worried about the possible concussion.

Swinging my feet out of bed and onto the floor, I stood up—again, no problems. I glanced over at Sophie, who was still sound asleep. Then my eyes wandered to the clock. It was a few minutes past eight.

Before getting into the shower, I started the coffee. I wanted some caffeine, and then I wanted some breakfast. To my surprise, I was quite hungry. That had to be a good sign. I smiled as I stepped into the shower.

Twenty minutes later I was out of the shower and dressed, makeup done, sitting on the side of my bed. Sophie had woken while I was in the shower, and now she occupied the bathroom while I sipped at my coffee. I was debating whether to go to Marylou’s room when a light knock sounded on our door.

‘‘Come in,’’ I called, and the door opened.

‘‘Good morning, Emma,’’ Marylou said. She was fully dressed and no doubt ready for breakfast, just as I was. ‘‘How are you feeling?’’

‘‘I’m fine,’’ I said. ‘‘Just a little stiffness when I woke up, but another hot shower helped tremendously.’’ I got up from the bed as I spoke and walked toward Marylou.

‘‘I’m so glad,’’ Marylou said. ‘‘What an awful thing for someone to do.’’ She stood aside for me to pass by, then followed me into the living room.

We sat down on the sofa, and I continued to sip at my coffee.

Marylou regarded me with curiosity. ‘‘Why do you think they did it?’’

I shrugged. ‘‘Who knows? I must have annoyed someone by doing something, I suppose.’’ I laughed. ‘‘My best guess is Veronica Hinkelmeier because of the way I told her off the other day.’’

‘‘Sounds like something she would do,’’ Marylou said. ‘‘She is such an unpleasant person.’’

‘‘If it wasn’t Veronica,’’ I mused, ‘‘I’m not sure who it could be. I mean, I’m not running around like Sharon McCone, asking people questions. Otherwise I would consider it a warning from someone.’’

‘‘The murderer?’’ Marylou’s eyes grew round with horror.

‘‘Most likely,’’ I said, ‘‘but who might’ve got the wind up over what I’ve been doing?’’ I shook my head. ‘‘No, I think it’s more likely just a malicious prank.’’

‘‘If that rock had hit your head, or if you had hit your head hard on something when you fell, it could be a