Death on a Silver Platter (16 page)

21

As soon as Sophie got back to her apartment, the phone rang. She raced into the kitchen and grabbed the one on the counter. “Hello?”

“Sophie, hi,” came her mother’s voice.

“Hey, Mom! Where are you?”

“Tokyo. We’re about to get on a plane. It’s been delayed for one reason or another, but they’ve finally started boarding. I’m glad I caught you before we had to leave.”

“Where’s Dad?”

“He went to buy a copy of the
New York Times
.”

Sophie’s dad was a news junkie. She figured he channeled CNN in his sleep. After 9/11 he’d become even more obsessed with keeping his finger on what was happening in the world. Sophie’s reaction to the devastation had been somewhat different. She wanted to hide her head under a pillow and forget the rest of the world existed. She assumed there was a happy medium somewhere in between those two extremes, but neither she nor her father had found it.

“We should be home soon,” continued Pearl.

“Do you have a flight number yet?”

“We’re spending a day or two in San Francisco, so I’ll call you from there. Your father wanted to know if you found out any information on the log homes. He really wants to move on that when we get back. And you know your dad. When he gets an idea in his head—”

“I know,” said Sophie.

“Have you talked to Elaine?”

“Yes, but . . . well, Millie Veelund died a few days ago.”

Her mother was silent for a moment. “I’m sorry to hear that. She’s been in bad health for years.”

“It wasn’t her health,” said Sophie. “The police think she was given an overdose of insulin.”

More silence. “Do they know who did it? Or why?”

“Not yet.”

“Oh, there they go, calling our section,” said Pearl, sounding distracted. “And here comes your father. I better get off. Give Millie’s kids my love, okay?”

“I will,” said Sophie. “And I’ll see you soon.”

Clicking off the phone, Sophie decided to run over to the south wing and check her parents’ apartment one more time. She’d asked maintenance to put a fresh coat of paint in the bathroom. She wanted to make sure everything had been done. She also wanted to open a few windows to air the place out. On the day her parents would arrive home, she’d make sure fresh flowers were placed in the entryway and in the bedroom, and that the kitchen was stocked with a few essentials—milk, eggs, ketchup (in her father’s mind, eggs and ketchup went together like Astaire and Rogers), fresh coffee beans, bread and butter. Her parents could handle the rest of the grocery shopping when they got home.

Sophie sniffed the air as she entered the apartment. The paint smell wasn’t too strong. The carpet had been freshly cleaned and was still a bit damp. From the foyer, she could see into the living room and since the door to the balcony was open, she decided not to walk on the carpet until it was dry.

As she turned to leave, she spied the rusted metal box, the one that had belonged to her great uncle. The broken lock dangled enticingly from the front hinge. She paused, fighting an inward battle. She fingered the lock, flipping it back and forth. She was so frustrated by Mick disappearing on her. Here was another mystery. But this one she could solve. Right now. This minute, if she had the nerve.

She was a bad person. She had no scruples. On the other hand, if she could come up with a reasonable rationalization, she’d be okay. But that would take time. She made a quick decision. She’d open the box now and figure out the rationalization later.

Tucking the box under her arm, she walked the quiet hallway from the south tower back to the north and returned to her apartment. After pouring herself a glass of iced tea, she sat down on the living room couch. There was probably nothing important inside the box, nothing of particular interest. Her mother had pack-rat tendencies, just like Bram. Sophie slipped off the lock and pulled back the top.

Inside she found a bunch of letters written to her mother, all tied together with a gold satin ribbon. They looked ancient. Checking them over, Sophie concluded that they spanned the years from 1950 to 1952. There were several different return addresses, but the writing all looked the same. The sender hadn’t written his or her name on the outside. The postmark was from Minneapolis. Thinking back, Sophie calculated that her mother was still living at her parents’ home in Bovey at the time. In 1950, she would have been eighteen. Sophie’s mother and father had married in 1954, and moved the next year to the Twin Cities.

Underneath the letters was a notebook. Black cover. Nondescript. The kind you could buy in any drugstore. The year 1972 had been taped to the front. Sophie would have been fifteen that year. She set the letters down and opened the notebook. Only the first twenty or so pages had been used. The rest was blank. But there was no mistaking her mother’s handwriting.

Before she realized it, Sophie had read the first page, and then the next . . . and then. . . .

Pearl’s Notebook
March 29, 1972

I should have waited for Henry and Sophie to come out
of the house. I knew Henry would worry when he found
that I’d taken the car and driven off without him, but time
was running out. Carl had been drinking heavily all
evening, and besides that, he was terribly upset. He had
no business getting behind the wheel of a car, especially
on a night when the roads were growing more slick by the
minute. He was a car wreck waiting to happen. I had to
get to him, make him pull over and listen to reason.
Whatever had transpired between Carl and his wife
wasn’t the point any longer. When I caught up with them,
I planned to drive the two of them back to the house. If
Carl wanted to leave, Henry and I could take him wherever he wanted.

The service road was two lanes, but only one was
being used as the guests fled the party. Everyone was
driving so slowly that I knew if I stayed behind them I’d
never catch up to Carl’s Cadillac. I swerved into the left
lane and sped ahead, all the while watching for Carl’s
car. I made it all the way out to the county road without
spotting it.

Everyone in the long line of cars leading from the
house was turning right, on their way to County Road 31
and the long drive back to the Cities. Something told me
that instead of following the crowd, I should turn left, and
that’s what I did. I drove along with the windows open because the rain was starting to stick to the glass. Even with
the defrost fan turned up as high as it would go, I still had
trouble seeing. Whatever was coming out of the sky—
sleet, snow, freezing rain—was turning the world into one
huge skating rink.

Less than a mile from the turn, I saw it. The Cadillac
had skidded off the road and landed in a ditch about a
hundred yards in front of me. Skid marks had dug into the
shoulder. As I got closer I could see that the car had torn
away great clumps of earth from the field as it hurtled
toward a section of woods.

I rolled to a stop behind the car but left the headlights
on. It was the only light I had. The front of Carl’s Cadillac was wrapped around a tree. My heart was beating so
hard I thought it would fly out of my chest. The passenger
door was wide open and the seat was empty. I heard a
groaning sound coming from behind me, and when I
turned around I saw that Millie was lying in the field
about fifteen feet away. If she hadn’t made the sound, I
never would have seen her. In the red glow of the rear
headlights, I knelt down next to her. I said her name and
touched her shoulder, asked her if she was all right. She
was barely conscious, and soaked to the skin. But she was
alive. I could tell her right arm was broken, and I assumed there might be some internal injuries. Covering
her with my coat, which seemed pointless but nevertheless necessary, I told her I’d go get help. But I had to
check on Carl first.

When I finally reached the Cadillac, I found that the
driver’s door was so twisted I couldn’t open it. Running
around to the other side, I climbed into the passenger’s
seat. Carl’s eyes were closed, and he was incredibly still.
I checked and found that he was barely breathing. His
body had been pinned between the steering wheel and the
seat and he was bleeding from his mouth and from a
wound in his chest. I knew I should try to stop the bleeding but I didn’t know how. When I touched his arm, he
opened his eyes.

“Carl, I’m here,” I said. “I’ll drive back to the house
and call for an ambulance. Millie was thrown from the
car. We’ve got to get you both some help.”

“No,” he whispered. He didn’t move his head, only his
eyes. His hand found mine. And then he said my name.
Softly. Tenderly. It broke my heart.

“I love you, Pearl,” he said. “I always have.”

I told him that I had to go get help.

“Don’t leave me,” he said. It was horrible. With every
word, more blood leaked from his mouth. I brought up a
fold of my dress to wipe it away.

“Why did you have to leave the house?” I said. I tried
not to sound angry, but I don’t think I succeeded. “Why
did you drive off in a storm when you’ve had so much to
drink?”

And that’s when he told me. In a few broken sentences,
he explained what had happened when he’d asked Millie
for a divorce. She’d finally told him the truth. In the car,
his life being crushed out of him, he said he wanted to kill
her. If he’d stayed in the house, he would have. He had to
get away, but she forced herself into the front seat. She
needed to make him understand. He said he never would.

I told him that none of it mattered. What did matter
was that he get some medical help.

He said he was dying. He didn’t want to die alone.

What could I do?

And then he asked me for one last favor. He said that,
after he was gone, I should go back to the house, to his
study. There was a sealed envelope in the bottom drawer
of his desk. On the outside he’d written “Agreement.” The
drawer was locked so he told me where to find the key. He
wanted me to take the letter and tear it up. I was confused. I didn’t understand. I asked him to explain it, but
he didn’t respond. He just looked at me. He seemed to be
trying to memorize my face. There were tears in his eyes.

“I’ve made a terrible mess of my life,” he said.

I told him that wasn’t true. That he was a good man, a
successful man.

“Do you love me?” he asked.

I squeezed his hand. “Always,” I said.

He closed his eyes and, a few moments later, he was
gone.

22

By Thursday afternoon, Sophie had given a lot of thought to what she’d read yesterday—her mother’s notebook, Carl Veelund’s love letters. She had so many questions, but they would all have to wait until her mother returned home. Whether or not she would ever be willing to admit to her relationship with Carl, it was clear that she’d been in love with him. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on Sophie. Her mother had been in love with two men.

As she picked up the letters and slipped the golden ribbon back around them, she heard a knock on her office door. Swiveling her chair around, she saw Nathan standing there.

As a reflex, she stood up. Nathan hadn’t visited her at the hotel since he’d been released from prison a year ago. She thought she’d made it clear to him that he wasn’t to come to the Maxfield. For her own peace of mind she needed to keep him as far away from Bram as possible, and she thought that he not only understood her ground rules, but that he’d agreed to them.

Glancing quickly at her watch, Sophie saw that it was going on three. Bram would be on the air for another hour, so she relaxed a bit, thinking she had some time. She had to admit that she was curious to know why he’d come. She wished she had a better poker face because he could probably read everything she was thinking.

“Do you have a minute?” he asked, stepping hesitantly into the room.

“You could have phoned, Nathan.”

“I could have.” Without being invited, he lowered himself into a chair on the other side of the desk. He was wearing jeans, work boots, and a chambray shirt—his
uniform
as he laughingly used to call it. He looked rough and handsome, so different from Bram’s sophisticated elegance.

“Can I get you something?” asked Sophie. She might as well be civil. He wasn’t her enemy. “A cup of coffee?”

“Nothing, thanks. Look, Soph, I need to talk to you about Elaine.”

The last thing she needed was for her ex-boyfriend to ask her advice about his new girlfriend.

“You know her better than I do,” said Nathan.

Sitting down, she said, “I know her in a different way than you do.”

“Did she tell you we were dating?”

“I’m aware of it, yes.”

“I assume you know about the murder investigation.”

“I know it’s ongoing.”

He met her eyes, then looked down. “I’m worried about her, Soph. With her daughter on the run, and now the suspicion she’s under—”

“Are you saying the police think she had something to do with her mother’s death?”

“They’ve been interrogating the entire family, Elaine included.”

“They’re just doing their job.”

“Yeah, I know. But it’s taking a toll. On everyone.” Running a hand through his hair, he added, “I feel especially sorry for that old guy . . .”

“Doc Holland?”

“He’s been staying at the house, sleeping in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Nobody’s got the heart to kick him out. That other man . . . the butler—”

“You mean Zander? He’s not a butler, Nathan. He was Millie’s personal assistant.”

“If he looks like a butler and acts like a butler, he’s a butler. Anyway, he’s taking care of Holland—bringing him his meals, making sure he eats. Elaine told me that Holland was totally devastated by her mother’s death, not that I couldn’t see it with my own two eyes.” He paused, then leaned forward. “You don’t think Elaine had anything to do with her mother’s murder, do you? She seems so . . . decent. So . . .”

“Spare me the details.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

“Let me repeat to you what I said the other night. Elaine has a terrible track record when it comes to men. Marriage is more or less a hobby with her.
And
she’s on the rebound from husband number three. Catch my drift?”

“I’m not planning to pop the question, Sophie. We’re just dating. Having some fun.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

“So answer my question. Is she the kind of woman who could commit a murder?”

Sophie didn’t answer immediately. It was her opinion that, given the right set of circumstances, almost anyone was capable of murder. But if she answered Nathan’s question in the affirmative, he might take it the wrong way. He might think she actually
was
jealous. Sinking to a bit of character assassination was just the proof he needed. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “I don’t think so, but I suppose anything is possible.”

“I have a theory about this whole mess.” He folded his arms over his chest, thinking about it for a moment. “Last night, Elaine told me that her daughter had been molested when she was a kid. I assume you know about it.”

“I know it happened, but that’s about all.”

“What if Millie Veelund knew who the guy was, or simply had a strong hunch? And what if she confronted him about it? I think there’s a good chance he was the one who murdered her.”

“Two birds with one stone. The molester is also the murderer.”

“Exactly.”

“I’ve had the same thoughts. Only problem is, it’s just a theory. There are other motivations involved, some that are every bit as strong.”

“Like what?”

Sophie leaned back in her chair. “Did you know that Millie was planning to sell Veelund Industries?”

Nathan whistled, opening his eyes wide. “No way.”

“She announced it just two nights before she died.”

“Geez, I can imagine how that went over. Elaine’s whole life is that company. And Alex, too, from what I can tell.”

“Alex and Roman Marchand wanted to take the company public.”

“Elaine thinks Marchand is a parasite.”

“He’s Alex’s right-hand man.”

“I know. I guess Tracy worked for him last summer, in the Kitchen Visions office.”

That was the first Sophie had heard of it. “As what?”

“Oh, a secretary, or a file clerk. Something menial. Elaine told Tracy that if she refused to work on her degree, she should do something productive. So she ran some job openings past her and they finally settled on the one at KitchenVisions. Apparently Tracy got sick of it after a few months and quit. With what she’s about to inherit, she won’t be taking any more dead-head jobs for a while.”

Sophie’s ears pricked up. “Did Millie leave her some money?”

“A substantial trust fund, from what I understand. I don’t know how much, but I do know she’ll be a rich young woman. If she ever comes out of hiding.”

“I wonder if Tracy knew about the trust?”

Nathan raised an eyebrow. “You think she offed her grandmother for the money?”

“Stranger things have happened.”

Sophie was about to tell him that she’d had a long talk with Tracy’s boyfriend, Mick, but the sound of Bram’s voice in the hallway stopped her. She checked her watch again. It was too early for him to be home, but here he was. Her first instinct was to hide Nathan, stuff him in a closet or behind a plant, but there was nowhere for him to go.

An instant later, Bram appeared in the door. His smile faded as he saw that Sophie had a visitor. “I’m interrupting,” he said stiffly.

Sophie jumped up. “No, no, not at all. Nathan was in the neighborhood so he stopped by.”

Nathan stood and turned to Bram. “Hi,” he said, hooking his thumbs around his belt. “I, ah . . . I was just wondering what kind of review Soph was going to give my restaurant in next Sunday’s
Times Register
.”

Bram’s eyes moved from Sophie to Nathan, then back again to Sophie.

“I was just about to leave,” added Nathan. “I’ve got to get back to the restaurant.”

“Nice to see you again,” said Sophie, knowing her voice sounded fake.

Bram didn’t move out of the doorway, so Nathan had to flatten himself against the door frame to get out.

“You’re home early,” chirped Sophie, silently berating herself for sounding so damn guilty. Bram had hardly caught them in flagrante delicto. They were just talking.

“I was feeling tired, so the station manager decided to air a
Best of Baldric
for the last hour.”

“Oh,” said Sophie. “Just tired? But . . . you’re okay, right?”

“Does he come here often?” asked Bram, still not moving from the door.

“Nathan? No, of course not. He’s dating Elaine.”

He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. “Lucky Elaine.”

“Bram . . .”

“I think I’ll go for a swim.”

She followed him out of the room, past the reception desk, and into the lobby. Once they were in the elevator, they couldn’t continue their conversation because several hotel guests were riding up at the same time. When they reached the sixteenth floor, Bram got off and headed for their apartment.

They were alone now, but Sophie didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t sure if he was angry or hurt, or just miffed.

Ethel met them at the door as they entered. Bram picked her up, carried her into the bedroom, and deposited her in the center of their bed, then stripped off his clothes and pulled on his sweats. He wasn’t talking, always an ominous sign. Sophie sat down on a chair in the corner. She felt as if she were the little mouse in a children’s story. If she just got small enough, maybe he wouldn’t be mad anymore.

“Why did you review his restaurant?” asked Bram.

Sophie was a bit taken aback. “It’s my job. I waited too long as it was. I usually review new restaurants within the first two months.”

“But why did
you
have to do it? Your son could have.”

“Sure, Rudy does occasional reviews, but never new restaurants. Rudy’s learned a lot. He’s a great assistant, but he’s not ready for the big reviews yet.”

“Says you.”

“It’s true.”

“The truth is, you wanted to see Nathan and this gave you just the opportunity you were looking for.”

“Bram, I asked you to come along, but you had something else going on that night.”

“Yeah, that would have been a fun evening, watching him drool over you.”

“I’m a middle-aged woman. Nobody drools over me.”

“
He
does. It’s revolting.” Bram leaned over to tie his shoelaces. “I wish that guy would just disappear.”

“Why are you getting so upset?”

“You mean he doesn’t call all the time? You don’t get together when I’m not around?”

“Of course not.”

“You’ve never been able to put him behind you, Soph. After my heart surgery, I thought you had. But I see I was wrong.”

“That’s not true.”

“Have you slept with him?”

She felt instantly light-headed. “Bram!”

“Since the day he walked back into your life, I haven’t had a moment’s peace. Who do you want, Sophie? Me or him?”

“I want
you
.”

“But you want him, too.”

“No.”

“You love him. I’m not blind.”

“Don’t do this.”

“I thought that if I gave you some time, if I just kept looking straight ahead, if I ignored him, he’d go away. But it doesn’t work like that. By the way, Margie thinks you’ve still got a thing for him, too.”

“Margie? What’s she got to do with this?”

“She’s not stupid, you know.”

“I never said she was. But how could she possibly know how I feel?”

“You can’t be friends with an old boyfriend. It doesn’t work.”

“Says who?”

“Says everyone in the goddamned world except you.” He got up and grabbed his gym bag from the floor of the closet.

She stared at his shoelaces, trying not to cry. Tears were the last thing this discussion needed. “But we’re not friends, Bram. Not in any real way. I hardly ever see him.”

“I’m supposed to believe that? You take every chance you get to be with him. I’m sure I don’t even know about all the times you get together. Maybe you haven’t slept with him yet, but how long before you do?”

“Stop it!”

Without looking at her, he stomped out of the room.

“Bram, you can’t leave. We’ve got to talk this through.”

But before she could get up, she heard him slam out of the apartment.