Death on a Silver Platter (20 page)

29

Alex spent the afternoon talking to a representative from Pike Bay Construction, a company in Vermont that had made the most impressive buyout offer for Veelund Industries. It was a solid deal at a fair price. What it required now was two signatures, and that was the rub. Elaine might agree to it if she knew the full story, but the timing had never been right for him to sit down and break the news to her. He’d made a date to have breakfast with her this morning, but when Tracy was attacked and sent to the hospital, his opportunity was lost in the shuffle.

The problem was, the iron was hot now. If they were going to strike a deal, it had to be soon. So that meant convincing Danny. Alex felt certain that he could talk him into signing the contract. Unlike Alex and Elaine, Danny didn’t have a cushy income. Being a writer was an iffy financial situation at best. And he hadn’t published a book in years. Elaine would hit the ceiling when she found out what they were up to, but Alex felt confident that he was making the right decision. He was protecting his family, even though Elaine didn’t realize it yet.

Alex’s first reaction, after his mother had dropped the bomb about her affair, was to insist that everyone get a DNA test right away. But the more he thought about it, the less the idea appealed to him. What if it turned out that
he
was the child of another man? As long as the prenup stayed lost, the question was moot, but if it ever did turn up, Alex wasn’t sure if he could trust Elaine. He knew she loved him, but she also loved her career. If he wasn’t a legitimate heir, it would put her in the driver’s seat at Veelund Industries and Danny would probably do what she told him to do. That left Alex uncertain about his financial future. Still, no matter who their fathers were, the three of them were family. On the off chance that the prenup did resurface, Alex felt he had no choice but to act fast to sell the company.

Not that Alex wasn’t deeply invested in knowing who his father was. If he had to guess, he’d say that Danny was the least like Carl Veelund. Elaine was the most like him, in terms of her business sense and personal drive. And Alex, well, he looked the most like Carl. He was big, blond, and athletic. As far as he could see, it was a crap-shoot. Any conclusions he came to were nothing but speculation. Perhaps a simple blood test could settle the issue, but that would have to wait until the company was sold. Once the money was safely in the bank, they’d have plenty of time to figure out their parentage.

Arriving home just after five, Alex found Roman’s car in the drive. Roman had refused to stay at the cabin after the shooting incident. When the rifle was found in a crawl space under the main house, he went ballistic, accusing everyone in Alex’s family of trying to kill him. Alex wasn’t sure who was actually being targeted, but he did agree with Roman about one thing: There were a limited number of people who had access to his father’s gun cabinet. The shooter had to be someone he knew.

Grabbing his briefcase, Alex headed up the walk to the front door. He’d spent several nights at Roman’s town house in St. Paul, but the last two nights, by mutual agreement, they’d slept apart.

One fact Alex had learned about Roman in the past few years was that he had no particular talent for happiness. He was constantly annoyed, upset, or angry. He was a possessive man with a hair-trigger temper, one who wanted to control his world. And yet, Alex didn’t judge him. Roman had had some bad luck, but Alex wanted to change all that—if Roman would only let him.

Once inside the cabin, Alex found Roman in the bedroom, bent over two suitcases.

“What’s going on?” asked Alex, coming to an abrupt stop in the doorway.

Lifting a pack of cigarettes from the nightstand, Roman shook one out and lit it. After taking a deep drag, he said, “What happened with your meeting today? Will you sell my company out from under me?” His hand shook slightly as he held the cigarette to his lips.

“We’ve been all through this. Again and again. Don’t turn this into high tragedy, okay? This is something I have to do.”

“Ah, yes. Because of your mother.” With the cigarette dangling from his lips, he returned to his packing. “Once I thought we had the same goals, you and me, but I see now that we don’t. You are a frightened man. That much I know. You do not care for me, not the way I thought.” He moved over to the dresser and opened one of the drawers.

“How can you say that? I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Selling the company is . . . necessary . . . to that future.”

“But you won’t tell me why. Not the real reason.”

“I can’t.”

Roman grunted, removing the cigarette from his lips and tapping ash into an ashtray. “You do not trust me.”

“I do,” insisted Alex. “But it’s . . . complicated. A family matter.”

“And I am not family.”

Alex’s voice grew tender. “You’re
my
family.”

“Then sell Veelund Industries without including Kitchen Visions in the deal. Give it back to me. Give my life back to me. We can return to Canada together. I promise you, we will be happy then. I will make you the happiest man in the world.” His eyes pleaded.

“I can’t. There’s a deal on the table and I have to take it.” Alex sat down on the edge of the bed, his uncomfortable gaze moving to the suitcases. Virtually every scrap of clothing Roman had brought to the cabin in the past two years was there, ready to be hauled out. Alex saw it for what it was—a last-ditch effort to exert the only pressure he could. In the end, Roman would give in. He would stay with Alex and they would start a new business together. But between now and then, the road would be tricky.

Taking another drag from his cigarette, Roman said, “I’m leaving town. Returning to Toronto.”

“When?”

“At the end of next week. There is nothing left for me here.”

“You’re trying to punish me.”

“If I thought it would get my company back, I would torture you, Alex.”

“You
are
torturing me.”

“Now who makes this into a Shakespeare tragedy?” A harsh smile touched his lips. “Do you think we are Romeo and Juliet? That love rules the world? Love is a whore, my friend. The kind of relationship you offer me is exactly like a marriage—being locked away forever by the aims of another. I will not be used that way. Not by you, not by anyone.”

For a moment, Alex’s certainty wavered. Roman knew how to play the game. “You’re willing to turn your back on me, on our future together, just because of a business deal?”

“You think my life’s work is a small thing?”

“No, of course not. But—”

“You are happy to be rid of your father’s company. I am not blind.”

Alex watched him scoop up his socks.

“Your mind is like a block of wood. You do not examine the world. You do not truly comprehend other people. You see only what you want to see.”

The phone on the nightstand gave a jarring ring.

“Let it go,” said Alex.

Roman glanced down at the caller ID box. “It is the hospital.”

Taking a deep breath Alex said, “Then I better answer it.” He reached over and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Son, this is Doc Holland. I’m here in ICU with your sister. I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.”

Alex closed his eyes. “Yes?”

“It’s Tracy. She died a few minutes ago. I’m truly sorry.”

He bowed his head. “Where’s Elaine?”

“She’s still in the room. She asked me to call you and Danny. She would have done it herself, but . . .”

Giving himself a moment to steady his nerves, he said, “It’s okay.” He felt an ominous thundering in his ears. “Is Elaine . . . all right?”

“She’s pretty torn up. We both are.”

“What happened?”

“Well, it’s not unusual to have breathing problems after the kind of injury your niece sustained. The doctors did everything they could to save her, but it wasn’t in the cards.”

“I see.” He cleared his throat. “Will you tell Elaine that I’ll be there as soon as I can? I’m leaving right now.”

“I’ll do that.”

Alex put the phone down, then looked over at Roman. “Tracy died. I have to go to the hospital. Will you be here when I get back?”

After taking a last drag on his cigarette, Roman crushed it out. “No,” he said, returning his attention to the dresser drawer.

30

The plane carrying Sophie’s parents back to Minnesota on Friday afternoon was almost two hours late. When they finally arrived at the Maxfield it was close to five-thirty. Sophie and Bram met them in the lobby with balloons and flowers. The staff had all lined up to greet them, welcoming the world travelers home. Sophie was so glad to have them back that she started to cry. Seeing Sophie’s tears, her mother started to cry. All the crying made Bram and Henry laugh, which in turn started everyone else laughing and crying. So much for emotional reticence in Minnesota.

Henry gave specific directions to the bell captain about what to do with the extensive array of luggage.

Removing the unlit cigar from his mouth, Henry said, “We just kept buying more luggage when we needed it. Your mother went wild in Italy, Soph. Loves that Italian leather. She thought the Italian men were pretty okay, too. But she still prefers old Finlanders.” He winked at Bram.

After dinner at the Zephyr Club, the gourmet restaurant on the top floor of the south tower, Henry wanted to call it a night. “I’m jet-lagged,” he said on the way back to their apartment.

“I’m not the least bit tired,” said Pearl, adjusting her turquoise necklace.

They both looked so wonderful, thought Sophie. Tanned. Healthy. Her father’s hair was a tad more salt-and-pepper. Her mother’s hair was no longer gray, but had been dyed blond. Other than that, they seemed unchanged. Not a pound heavier. Not a day older.

“I don’t want to even look at that luggage until tomorrow morning,” added Henry, chewing on his unlit cigar as he entered the living room. “I just want to climb into a pair of my old pajamas and hit the sack.”

“Aunt Ida, Uncle Harry, and cousin Sulo are planning to drive down from Bovey to see you this weekend,” said Sophie. She opened up the balcony door to let in some fresh air.

“Agh,” said Henry, elbowing Bram in the ribs. “Family. Can’t wait to see what presents we brought them.”

“We’ve got suitcases filled with gifts,” said Pearl, smiling broadly. “In addition to what we’ve already sent home.”

Removing his sport jacket, Henry hung it up in the front closet. Slapping Bram on the back, he kissed Sophie and Pearl good night, then headed into the bedroom. “Nighty night,” he called over his shoulder.

“The place looks wonderful,” said Pearl, sighing contentedly as she touched a doily here, a vase there. She sniffed the air. “You’ve had the carpet cleaned.”

“The entire place, from top to bottom,” said Sophie.

Bram glanced at his reflection in the mirror over the couch, adjusting his tie. “Since you’re not tired, Pearl, what do you say we all go for a walk?”

Pearl shook her head. “After that big meal, I just want to sit.”

“Me, too,” said Sophie, patting her stomach.

“Quiet down out there!” called Sophie’s dad. “There’s an exhausted old man in here trying to get to sleep.”

Pearl pressed a finger to her lips. “You go, Bram. Sophie and I’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

“I can still hear you,” called Henry.

“Mom, why don’t you come over to our apartment? That way, Dad can have some peace and quiet.”

“Good idea,” called Henry.

“We’re leaving, Dad,” whispered Sophie. She grinned at her mother.

“Lock the door on your way out,” he said in response.

“He must be able to hear a pin drop,” said Bram, stepping out into the hallway.

“From twenty yards away,” called Henry. “And my sight’s still pretty fair. But if I don’t keep shoveling in the bran flakes, I’m in deep trouble.”

“Sweet dreams, Dad.” Sophie was happy to close the door on his last comment.

Once Bram and Ethel had left for their after-dinner stroll, Sophie and her mother made themselves comfortable on the couch, each with a mug of coffee.

“I’m sorry Margie couldn’t join us for dinner,” said Pearl. “But it’s really wonderful that she’s come back to stay.”

“Yes, wonderful,” repeated Sophie, hoping her mother didn’t hear the lack of enthusiasm in her voice.

After the attack on Tracy in Margie’s apartment, Margie had moved into Bram and Sophie’s spare bedroom while the police did their forensic search of the crime scene.

“How’s Bram’s health?” asked Pearl, taking a sip of coffee. “He looks wonderful.”

“He had a small episode the other day that gave me a scare. Ended up in the emergency room. But the doctor gave him a clean bill of heath. He’s eating well, and exercising, so I just keep my fingers crossed and hope for the best. There’s so much heart disease in his family.”

“Biology isn’t destiny,” said Pearl. “Or it doesn’t have to be.” She set her mug of coffee on the end table.

Before her mother could launch into a new section of her travelogue, Sophie had a couple of burning questions she had to ask. “Mom?”

“Yes, dear? Is something wrong? All of a sudden, you look so serious.”

“Actually, a week ago, a pipe broke in the subbasement. It flooded one of the storage rooms.”

“Oh, my,” said Pearl.

“One of the maintenance men found this.” Sophie rose and walked over to a cabinet next to the TV set. She opened a low cupboard and took out the rusted metal box. When she turned around, she could see that her mother’s eyes had locked on it with a look of discomfort.

“Do you remember hiding this in the storage room?” asked Sophie, sitting back down.

Pearl fidgeted with her necklace. “I, ah, well, yes. I put it down there. Years ago. I’d forgotten about it. Wasn’t there a lock on it?”

“It broke,” said Sophie. “It was badly rusted.”

“Oh, sure, well,” said Pearl, fussing with one of her earrings.

Sophie opened the top, revealing the contents.

“Oh, my.” Pearl gave a nervous laugh. “Will you look at that. Did you . . . I mean, have you . . .”

“I couldn’t help myself, Mom.”

“No, I suppose not. I suppose you want to talk about all this. After all, Elaine is your good friend. And Millie just died. Oh, my,” she said again. Her face had flushed a deep red.

“Look, Mom, if you don’t—”

“No, you deserve an explanation. It’s just . . . your father doesn’t know about any of this.”

“That’s why you hid the box in the storage room.”

She looked down at it, lifting out the notebook. “Will you keep my confidence, Sophie? It would only hurt your father if he found out.”

“Did he know you were in love with Carl Veelund?”

She opened the book to the first page. “He knew we were engaged when I was eighteen, and that Carl broke it off to marry someone else. Her name was Catherine Isley. He met her when he was a junior at the U of M. They married when he graduated, but she died about a year later.”

“That must have hurt you terribly,” said Sophie.

“It did. I never stopped loving him. But then I met your father. We were married the year Catherine died. I didn’t know she was gone until I ran into Carl at a Minneapolis Library Guild function two years later. He told me what had happened. He was still reeling from the shock. I’d just had a miscarriage so we were both in pretty bad shape emotionally. One thing led to another and we started getting together for coffee. Your father is a good man, Sophie, but he didn’t understand how broken up I was about losing the baby. He had his work, but I was home alone. I don’t think I’d ever felt that lonely before. Carl seemed to understand. He’d always wanted children, so he and I talked about it. I talked about the miscarriage, and he talked about losing Catherine. It brought us close again. It didn’t take long before we realized that we were still in love.”

“Did he want you to leave Dad?”

She nodded. “I was deeply torn. You may not understand this, but I loved them both.”

“I do understand,” whispered Sophie. Nathan had come back into her life while her parents had been on their round-the-world tour. Sophie hadn’t brought the subject up because it seemed too complicated for a letter or a brief phone call. “But you decided to stay with Dad. Why?”

“I guess it’s pretty simple, although it took me years to figure it out. I had to look inside myself, sweetheart. I had to find what I suppose was my moral center. I’m not religious, but I do believe in the sanctity of vows, and I’d made a vow to your father. I took that seriously. It wasn’t as if I didn’t love him. I did. The problem was I loved Carl, too. But in this world, you can’t love two men.”

“So you told Carl that you couldn’t marry him.”

“I had to.”

Sophie wanted to ask if her mother had ever been unfaithful, but she didn’t have the nerve. “Did you ever wonder what your life would have been like if you’d divorced Dad and married Carl?”

“In the early days, all the time. I still think about it occasionally, because if I’d married him, he wouldn’t have died in that horrible car accident. But then, I would never have had you. You get to a point in your life, if you’ve been lucky, if you’re happy, where you can’t imagine it any other way. I love your father. I’ve never regretted spending my life with him. But I did regret what happened to Carl. Marrying Millie was a disaster from the very beginning.”

“He must have loved her.”

“She was pregnant, so he felt he had no choice but to marry her. And he adored Alex, their firstborn, so I guess he felt it was worth it. He adored all his kids. They were the best part of his life.”

Sophie had so many questions. “The night that Carl died, you wrote that one of the staff brought him an envelope. He took it to his office and opened it, then got really upset and stormed out. You went in and retrieved the note from the wastebasket. Once you’d read it, you put it in your purse. What did it say, Mom?”

Pearl just stared at her.

Sophie felt she needed some coaxing. “You wrote that Carl said there was a certain solace in finally knowing what the worst thing was that life could throw at him. Had Millie been cheating on him? Was that it?”

Pearl closed the cover of the notebook. “Yes, she’d cheated on him.”

“Who with? Do you know?”

“I do.”

“That’s why he wanted the divorce.”

“I imagine so.”

“What did he say to you when he was dying? He told you to go back to the house and find some agreement he’d signed. Did you do it?”

She nodded.

“Do you still have it? The agreement?”

Again, she nodded. “It’s in a safety-deposit box.”

“Did you read it?”

“I didn’t have to. Carl told me what was in it.”

“What about that note, Mom? The one that started it all. The one Carl received on the silver platter.”

“I threw it away.”

“But what did it say?”

She hesitated. “Do you have a pen?”

“A pen?” Sophie grabbed one off the coffee table and handed it to her.

Opening the cover of the notebook, Pearl said, “To the best of my recollection, this is what it said.”

Carl—
It’s A +.
Sorry, man.
Stanley

“What’s it mean?” said Sophie. “A plus? Is it a grade?”

“A blood type.”

Sophie’s eyes opened wide. “A blood type for one of his kids?”

“Yes.”

“Are you saying that he wasn’t the father of one of his children? Is that what he told you when he was dying?”

“That, and much more,” said Pearl.