The Unkindest Cut by Honor Hartman

his head in acknowledgment.
    I practically ran back to our suite. I had left the door open, and I hurried through it and through the living room to the bathroom. I was distinctly queasy, and I feared I might not make it in time.
    I dropped to me knees by the toilet. I couldn’t suppress any longer the horrible images of what I had seen. I threw up a couple of times, had a few dry heaves, and then it was over.
    I sat by the toilet until I felt strong enough to stand. My hands were shaky as I turned the cold-water tap. I soaked a hand towel with water and held it against my face. The coolness felt wonderful. I stood that way for a minute or two, and then put the towel away.
    Grabbing a cup, I filled it with water and swilled the water around in my mouth. I spit that out and repeated the procedure. I debated rinsing my mouth with some mouthwash, but I thought the smell might bother me.
    I dried my face before I went back into the living room. Paula, no longer sobbing, sat beside Marylou on the sofa, clutching her hand.
    ‘‘Are you okay, Emma?’’ Marylou asked me.
    I nodded. ‘‘Just a little queasy, but otherwise okay.’’
    Marylou looked like she wanted to ask me questions, but she thought better of it.
    ‘‘I’ll tell you about it later,’’ I said.
    She nodded.
    ‘‘What happened?’’ Paula spoke in a harsh, low voice.
    ‘‘Someone killed your husband,’’ I said, trying to be gentle.
    ‘‘But who would want to kill him?’’ Paula asked, shaking her head. ‘‘Why would anyone do such a thing?’’
    I stared at her in disbelief. She had to be kidding. After all that I had witnessed since meeting her dead husband, I could think of several reasons why someone would kill him, including Paula herself. Now was perhaps not the time to remind her that she herself had threatened his life during that phone conversation Sophie and I overheard at Marylou’s house.
    There were sounds of commotion coming from the hallway. I went to the door, which I had left open in my dash for the bathroom. Peering into the hall, I saw several people in uniform at the neighboring door talking to Leonard.
    I ducked back into the room and sat down in a chair near the sofa. ‘‘The sheriff’s department is here,’’ I said.
    Paula stood up, finally letting go of Marylou’s hand. ‘‘I should go and talk to them,’’ she said. ‘‘Shouldn’t I?’’ She looked down at Marylou.
    ‘‘I think you should sit still and wait until they want to talk to you,’’ Marylou said in a firm tone. ‘‘They’re going to be too busy for a little while, and they’ll get to you soon enough.’’
    ‘‘She’s right,’’ I said. ‘‘Let’s just sit tight until they come looking for us.’’ I wasn’t in any hurry to tell my story to anyone official, because I knew it would take a long time and I would be completely exhausted by the time it was over.
    My stomach rumbled, and my head ached. I hadn’t had any coffee yet, and the caffeine withdrawal was beginning to hit me. I didn’t think I could face food for a while yet, but I sure could use some coffee.
    ‘‘I’m going to make some coffee,’’ I said. Our suite had a minibar, and I had noticed a regular-sized coffeemaker there. ‘‘Who else wants some?’’ I got up from my chair and went to the minibar and started rummaging around.
    ‘‘I could use some,’’ Marylou said, sighing. ‘‘It’ll probably be forever before we can have any breakfast. ’’
    ‘‘Me, too, I guess,’’ Paula said. ‘‘Maybe with a shot of brandy in it?’’
    ‘‘I’ll see,’’ I told her. First I concentrated on getting the coffee started, and once that was done, I opened the small cabinet in the minibar and located a little bottle of brandy. ‘‘Here we are.’’ I set the bottle on top of bar.
    I stood at the minibar, and Marylou and Paula sat on the sofa. We could hear sounds of activity from next door, but none of us spoke. The gurgling of the coffeemaker