and our own breathing were the only sounds in the room.
Voices came to us from the hall, but I couldn’t really make out what they were saying.
Voices.
Suddenly I remembered the voices I had heard last night when I was trying to go to sleep. I had been in a pretty hazy state at the time, but I thought I recalled there was an argument going on. Then, abruptly, there had been silence before I drifted off completely.
My breath quickened as the realization hit me.
Without knowing it, I had been listening to a murder.
Chapter 11
I probably heard Avery Trowbridge being murdered.
For a moment I thought I was going to have to dash for the bathroom again. Instead I gripped the edge of the minibar tightly and willed my stomach to stop lurching about. I told myself I was being ridiculous. I’d had a strange dream, and more than likely it had nothing to do with Avery Trowbridge’s death.
The problem was, I didn’t believe myself. My so-called dream was too much of a coincidence.
‘‘Emma, honey, what’s wrong?’’ Marylou said. ‘‘You’re white as a sheet right now.’’
‘‘I’m okay,’’ I said, though my voice came out as a croak. I cleared my throat. ‘‘Really, I’m okay. It’s just a lot to take in right now.’’ I attempted a smile. ‘‘Once I have some coffee, I’ll feel a lot better.’’
‘‘Of course,’’ Marylou said, but she didn’t look like she believed me. Then she glanced down at herself. ‘‘Oh my goodness, here I am still in my nightclothes. I’d better get dressed before the police come wanting to talk to us.’’ She patted Paula’s hand as she got up from the couch. ‘‘You just stay here with Emma.’’
Paula nodded. Marylou trudged off to her bedroom and shut the door behind her.
I eyed the coffeemaker and said, ‘‘Coffee’s almost ready.’’
‘‘Good,’’ Paula replied. ‘‘I’m feeling cold.’’
‘‘How do you take it?’’
‘‘Black is fine.’’
I poured us each a mug of coffee and handed Paula hers, having added some brandy. To my own I added some sugar and cream. Adding the sugar made me remember something.
‘‘Paula, maybe you should have some sugar in your coffee.’’
She looked at me inquiringly.
‘‘It’s good for someone who might be suffering from shock,’’ I explained. ‘‘It can’t hurt, just in case.’’
Paula thrust her mug at me. ‘‘Sure, why not? I don’t feel so good.’’
I added a generous amount of sugar, stirred it in, then gave Paula back her coffee. She sipped at it. ‘‘Oh, that’s good. I’m feeling warmer already.’’
I didn’t reply. I watched her as I sipped at my own coffee. Caffeine on an upset stomach probably wasn’t the best idea, but at least my headache ebbed away as I drank.
I was surprised at Paula. Frankly, I had been expecting all kinds of histrionics over the murder of her husband. But perhaps she was relieved he was out of the way, and was afraid of giving that away if she said anything. She was hard to figure out.
‘‘What’s going on next door? Is that why you didn’t come down to breakfast?’’ Sophie had walked into the room without my hearing her—I had been so intent on Paula.
Sophie approached the bar and thrust a Styrofoam container at me. ‘‘I brought you some breakfast,’’ she said. She settled on a stool at the breakfast bar. ‘‘Now, tell me what’s going on.’’
‘‘Thank you,’’ I said as I accepted the food. I opened the container and glanced inside. Biscuits and sausage, plus a couple of small cinnamon buns. Good. Those I could deal with. If Sophie had brought me scrambled eggs—I shuddered at the thought. I clamped the top down and answered Sophie’s question.
‘’Avery Trowbridge has been murdered,’’ I said, keeping my voice low. ‘‘I found the body.’’
‘‘Ohmigod,’’ Sophie said, paling. ‘‘I figured it had to be something pretty serious. They didn’t want to let me pass by them, and when
Voices came to us from the hall, but I couldn’t really make out what they were saying.
Voices.
Suddenly I remembered the voices I had heard last night when I was trying to go to sleep. I had been in a pretty hazy state at the time, but I thought I recalled there was an argument going on. Then, abruptly, there had been silence before I drifted off completely.
My breath quickened as the realization hit me.
Without knowing it, I had been listening to a murder.
Chapter 11
I probably heard Avery Trowbridge being murdered.
For a moment I thought I was going to have to dash for the bathroom again. Instead I gripped the edge of the minibar tightly and willed my stomach to stop lurching about. I told myself I was being ridiculous. I’d had a strange dream, and more than likely it had nothing to do with Avery Trowbridge’s death.
The problem was, I didn’t believe myself. My so-called dream was too much of a coincidence.
‘‘Emma, honey, what’s wrong?’’ Marylou said. ‘‘You’re white as a sheet right now.’’
‘‘I’m okay,’’ I said, though my voice came out as a croak. I cleared my throat. ‘‘Really, I’m okay. It’s just a lot to take in right now.’’ I attempted a smile. ‘‘Once I have some coffee, I’ll feel a lot better.’’
‘‘Of course,’’ Marylou said, but she didn’t look like she believed me. Then she glanced down at herself. ‘‘Oh my goodness, here I am still in my nightclothes. I’d better get dressed before the police come wanting to talk to us.’’ She patted Paula’s hand as she got up from the couch. ‘‘You just stay here with Emma.’’
Paula nodded. Marylou trudged off to her bedroom and shut the door behind her.
I eyed the coffeemaker and said, ‘‘Coffee’s almost ready.’’
‘‘Good,’’ Paula replied. ‘‘I’m feeling cold.’’
‘‘How do you take it?’’
‘‘Black is fine.’’
I poured us each a mug of coffee and handed Paula hers, having added some brandy. To my own I added some sugar and cream. Adding the sugar made me remember something.
‘‘Paula, maybe you should have some sugar in your coffee.’’
She looked at me inquiringly.
‘‘It’s good for someone who might be suffering from shock,’’ I explained. ‘‘It can’t hurt, just in case.’’
Paula thrust her mug at me. ‘‘Sure, why not? I don’t feel so good.’’
I added a generous amount of sugar, stirred it in, then gave Paula back her coffee. She sipped at it. ‘‘Oh, that’s good. I’m feeling warmer already.’’
I didn’t reply. I watched her as I sipped at my own coffee. Caffeine on an upset stomach probably wasn’t the best idea, but at least my headache ebbed away as I drank.
I was surprised at Paula. Frankly, I had been expecting all kinds of histrionics over the murder of her husband. But perhaps she was relieved he was out of the way, and was afraid of giving that away if she said anything. She was hard to figure out.
‘‘What’s going on next door? Is that why you didn’t come down to breakfast?’’ Sophie had walked into the room without my hearing her—I had been so intent on Paula.
Sophie approached the bar and thrust a Styrofoam container at me. ‘‘I brought you some breakfast,’’ she said. She settled on a stool at the breakfast bar. ‘‘Now, tell me what’s going on.’’
‘‘Thank you,’’ I said as I accepted the food. I opened the container and glanced inside. Biscuits and sausage, plus a couple of small cinnamon buns. Good. Those I could deal with. If Sophie had brought me scrambled eggs—I shuddered at the thought. I clamped the top down and answered Sophie’s question.
‘’Avery Trowbridge has been murdered,’’ I said, keeping my voice low. ‘‘I found the body.’’
‘‘Ohmigod,’’ Sophie said, paling. ‘‘I figured it had to be something pretty serious. They didn’t want to let me pass by them, and when
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