Death on a Silver Platter (7 page)

We sat for a long time in silence. It might have been
half an hour. It might have been more. I didn’t think to
look at the clock. All I knew was that Carl was sitting next
to me and that his stillness came from pain. I wanted to
help him, but I didn’t know how. So I waited. We were in
our own little cocoon and the world had grown hushed
around us. The soft green lights from the dash illuminated
our faces. As I turned off the windshield wipers, I glanced
at myself in the rearview mirror. I wasn’t a young woman
anymore. I don’t know why that came as such a shock.
Maybe because, with Carl, I always felt young. The same
young woman who’d fallen in love with him all those
years ago. I tipped my head back slightly and watched the
rain beat against the windshield. I assumed he’d let me
know when he wanted to go back.

When he finally did speak, it was as if his voice came
from a distance. I looked over and realized for the first
time that he’d been crying. His head was bent, tears
streaming down his cheeks, his straight blond hair falling
over his forehead, his big beautiful hands resting in his
lap. I closed my eyes and turned away because the sight
of him was breaking my heart.

“When I was a child,” he began, “I wasn’t afraid of
anything. As I got older, I saw that life could hurt me. No
matter how strong I was, how hard I fought, I might not
always win. But losing is a far cry from total ruin, Pearl.
A very far cry.”

Surely it wasn’t that bad, I thought. Surely something
could be done to set matters right.

He continued: “In a strange sort of way, there’s a certain solace in finally knowing the worst life can throw
at you.”

I was torn. Should I tell him I’d seen the note he’d been
sent? Ask him who sent it? Ask him to explain what it
meant? Would he think I was prying into his personal
affairs? At this moment, did it matter? Without thinking,
I reached over and touched his arm. I wanted to comfort him.

He put his hand over mine and I felt the tenderness in
the gesture.

Carl said: “They say that touch is our first language.
And that it’s the last sense to leave us.”

He held my eyes. I couldn’t look away.

“I’ve never stopped loving you. If only I’d married you
instead of Millie—” He drew his hand away. “No,” he
said, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean that. It sounds like
I’m blaming you for my problems. I’m not, Pearl. I’d
never do that.”

I asked him what was wrong, pleaded with him to
tell me.

He wouldn’t answer. Instead, he sat back, his eyes following the rivulets of rain as they trickled down the glass.

After a few more minutes of silence, I simply couldn’t
take it any longer. I said, “I saw the note, Carl. The one
the waiter gave you. I followed you to your office. I knew
something was wrong. Something’s been wrong all
evening.”

“You were watching me?”

I told him I was concerned.

“Oh, God,” he said, pressing his hands to his face. “I
could have dropped dead in front of Millie and she
wouldn’t have noticed.”

“You were waiting for that envelope, weren’t you.
That’s why you seemed so nervous. After you left, I went
in your office and took the note out of the trash. I looked
at it, Carl. It was a letter, a symbol. But I don’t understand.” I couldn’t read his expression. “Are you angry?
Say something.”

“Pearl, let’s keep driving. We’ll go back to the Cities.
Get on a plane and head south to the Keys, or west to
Aspen. Anywhere, just to get away from this god-awful
place. Let’s do it now. No bags. Just the clothes on our
backs. Screw caution. Screw responsibility. For once, let’s
live just for us.”

“Are you asking me to leave my husband?”

“Why not? You love me. Tell me that isn’t true and I’ll
stop.”

I couldn’t deny what he already knew.

“We’ll build a new life together. I’ll love you so hard
and so strong you’ll never have a moment’s regret. I’m a
millionaire, Pearl. Anything’s possible. We could buy a
yacht and sail around the world. Live like nomads. No
ties. No pressure. Just sun and sea breezes. Just pleasure,
Pearl. A dream life.”

“But your children,” I said. “And Sophie? How could
we leave them?”

“God.” That’s when he broke down, started to cry.
After a moment, he said, “We’ll bring them with us.”

“Tonight?”

“No, no,” he said, pulling a handkerchief out of his
pocket and wiping his eyes. “I’ll hire someone to get
them, bring them to us. We’ll be a family of nomads.”

“You can’t just steal children. It’s not legal.”

“Do you think I care about legalities?”

“But Carl,” I said, searching his eyes. “What about
Henry?”

“What about him?”

“He’s my husband.”

“But you love me more.”

How could I tell him that wasn’t true? I loved them
both, but for different reasons. “You’re not thinking
clearly.”

“You figure I’m drunk. That’s the only reason I’m talking like this.”

“You are drunk, Carl. And you’re also married to Millie.”

His eyes closed. “It always comes back to her, doesn’t
it. God, but I loathe that woman. She was the single worst
mistake I ever made in my life. You know what, Pearl? If
it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to make her pay.”

His anger was white-hot and it frightened me.

“Drive back to the house,” he said.

“Why? What are you going to do?”

“Turn the car around. Now.”

When I switched on the windshield wipers, I saw that
the rain had finally changed to sleet. The longer we
waited the more slippery the roads would become. I worried that Henry was back at the party searching for me,
wanting to leave. I was frightened by Carl, and I was
frightened for him.

With trembling hands, I put the car in gear.

8

Danny retrieved his bag from the rental car and carried it upstairs to his bedroom to unpack. Since there was to be a family dinner tonight, he figured he might as well wear his new suit. Alex always dressed like a banker— pinstripes, vests, button-down collars—and made Danny feel like a schlump in his jeans and sweaters. Danny figured that wearing a power suit tonight might give him just the edge he needed. It would make him look substantial. Well-off. A man of the world, with knowledge and insights that deserved to be considered. While lecturing at a college campus, or being interviewed on TV, he
was
all of those things. But at home, he was just Danny, the baby of the family, the crazy kid who’d written a couple of books. Nobody in his family read fiction, not even his.

After taking a nap and then showering, he sat down on the bed and picked through the socks his wife had packed for him until he found the ones he wanted. He thought about calling Ruth but decided to wait. If he was able to talk to his mother privately tonight after dinner, he might have something interesting to report. Ruth didn’t know why he’d come, nor would she have agreed with his plan. Danny had worked out a progression in his mind. One step at a time. Maybe he’d been wrong about his mother. Time would tell. The problem was, he wasn’t sure how much time was left.

As he stood, he glanced out the window. Directly below him was the patio and the pool house. The patio was empty now, which meant that everyone was inside, getting ready for the evening.

Danny laughed to himself, remembering how much trouble the pool and the tennis court had caused his mother. The tennis court was built first, but nobody took into consideration the amount of wind on the prairie. His mother had built a windbreak after a couple of years of never using the court. Danny and Elaine would try to hit balls back and forth, only to have them blow into the next county.

Once the pool was complete, it had the same problem. When it wasn’t covered by a tarp, leaves, dead grass, and general prairie debris blew into it and clogged the filters. It was like swimming in a swamp. In frustration, Danny’s mother had consulted a builder and a plastic dome was eventually affixed over the top. It worked pretty well until a tornado came through one summer, lifting the dome off its moorings and tossing it on top of the garage. It cracked into six huge pieces. Now the pool was enclosed in a brick building. Floor-to-ceiling windows allowed a view of the outdoors without letting the outdoors in. So much for the little house—or, in this case, the log mansion—on the prairie.

Glancing at the time, Danny saw that he’d better get moving. As he opened the closet door to get his suit, he heard voices. Stepping deeper into the closet, he bent down, pressing his ear to a crack in one of the wallboards. He remembered now that, as a kid, he’d crawled into his closet once or twice a week to listen to his sister talk on the phone. The bedroom next door had been Elaine’s. God, but she was full of shit. Always angling to draw some poor sap into her web of romantic excess. Listening at that crack had been a rite of passage for Danny. He’d learned about sex and the intricacies of the mating dance in that closet. The room appeared to be Tracy’s now. She was talking to her boyfriend Mick.

Danny listened:

“Are we gonna eat dinner with your family?” asked Mick.

“No.”

Tracy’s voice sounded as sullen as ever, thought Danny. Nothing had changed.

“Won’t your mother want us to come down?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. But I’m not going. You can if you want. If you’re
that
hungry.”

“Not without you.” Silence. “Tracy, are you worried about something?”

“What makes you think that?”

“I don’t know. The way you’re acting.”

“I’m just tired.”

“Is that all?”

“What do you want from me? Yes, that’s
all
.”

More silence.

“I don’t believe you. Something’s been eating at you ever since we got here. I think you’re scared.”

“You don’t have a clue so just shut up.”

“Look, you may not believe me, but I care about you.”

“You mean you care about my family’s money.”

“No. I care about
you.
If my life was about money, do you think I’d be selling hot dogs at a ballpark for a living? I care about time. Time is all we’ve got. That’s why I don’t want to sell it for some asshole job. Look, if you were upset because of what we did yesterday, I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. You could have said no.”

“You didn’t hurt me. I wanted to.”

“Then why did you freak out last night?”

“I told you. I was drinking. I got depressed. I saw the razor blades in the medicine chest and I just
did
it, okay? It was an impulse.”

“A stupid one.”

“Okay,
okay.
I won’t do it again.”

Another silence. This one longer.

“Don’t look at me like that,” said Tracy.

“You’re up to something.”

She lowered her voice. “I’m not staying here.”

“You’ve got to stay here. Otherwise, your mom said it’s the psych hospital, Shady whatever.” He laughed.

“Screw her. Screw all of them. I’ve got stuff I need to do. I’m not sticking around.”

After a few more seconds: “Tracy?”

“What?”

“I take that back about you being scared. It’s more like you’re really pissed off. You seem . . . stronger. More sure of yourself.”

“Whatever.”

“Tell me the truth. Is there another guy? If there is—”

“No. Just drop it.”

“Did he try to hurt you? If that’s what you’re so angry about, just tell me who he is and I’ll wipe the floor up with him.”

“You mean violence isn’t against your principles?”

“Shit, no.”

Danny could hear rustling.

“I’ve got to get out of here,” said Tracy. “I’m going stir crazy.”

“It won’t be easy. What am I saying? With that guard service your mother hired, I’d say it’s fairly impossible.”

“If I can figure out a way, will you help?”

“You mean tonight?”

“Hell, no. Not with everyone watching me like a hawk. In a few days. I’ll make my break then.”

Their voices dipped to a whisper.

Danny pressed his ear hard against the board, but they were talking too softly. He couldn’t catch it. And it was getting late. If he was late for dinner, it would only tick off his mother. He didn’t want to start the evening on a negative note. Even though it might end that way.

9

It was chaos theory, pure and simple. A butterfly flapped its wings in Japan and altered the atmospheric pressure in Seattle. Or at least that’s what Elaine was thinking as she hurried down the central stairs in her mother’s house, carrying a tray of dirty dishes. She’d spent the last few minutes trying to convince Tracy and Mick to come downstairs for dinner. When Tracy ripped open a bag of potato chips and turned on the TV, she knew it was a lost cause. And then, as she passed into the front foyer, Alex walked in. She was glad to see him and would have said so if it hadn’t been for the man accompanying him. Elaine couldn’t believe her brother would bring Roman Marchand to a private family gathering, but there he was, standing in the front hall with his lopsided grin, wreaking of smarm.

Yup, it was chaos theory all right. Life had too damn many variables.

Marchand was the president of Kitchen Visions, a division of Veelund Industries, and a man Elaine loathed for a multitude of reasons.

Alex must have noticed the disgruntled look on her face because he rushed over and whispered, “Just chill, okay? I need him to be here. Don’t make a scene.”

“I never make scenes.”

“You live for them, Elaine.”

She turned her back on them both and continued into the pantry, where she set the tray on the granite counter and then tried a couple of deep-breathing exercises to calm herself down. Exhaling slowly through her mouth, she counted to seven. She heard Alex urge Roman to make himself a drink, that he’d be right back. A minute later, he pushed into the small butler’s pantry.

Elaine was hurt and angry and she wasn’t about to let her brother off the hook. When she was a kid, she always thought that having a brother was a lot like having a gerbil. They were fun, but they were also kind of useless. She wasn’t sure her opinion had changed. “In case you’ve forgotten, my daughter just tried to end her life. Do you think I want to sit across the table from that buffoon?”

“Lower your voice, okay? Your jealousy is showing.”

“Why do you always defend him?” She figured she knew the answer, but it wasn’t the time or place to discuss that now. “He’s a weasel, Alex, with a ridiculous French accent. He sounds like Pepé Le Pew.” And he looked like him, too, with his slicked-back silver gray hair and thin mustache. As far as she was concerned, Roman Marchand gave French Canadians a bad name. Maybe that’s why he’d been run out of Toronto on a rail—or was that just one of her daydreams?

“How’s Tracy doing?” asked Alex. He looked fresh and tanned, recently showered and shaved, dressed in a yellow polo shirt and khaki cargo pants. Apparently, celebrating an unsuccessful suicide attempt wasn’t a formal occasion.

“She’s . . . okay.”

“Just okay?”

“She’s peachy keen. What do you want me to say?” The tension between her shoulder blades was growing worse. She needed a glass of wine. Or maybe someone could just put a paper bag over her head and tell her when it was over. Glancing into the kitchen she saw Mrs. Knox, the cook, frosting a chocolate cake with whipping cream. Just what she needed. Empty calories.

Alex stepped closer and gave her a hug. “Come on, Lanie. It’s going to be okay. If that therapist can’t help her, we’ll find someone who can.”

She relaxed against him. It felt nice. If nothing else, he was a sturdy gerbil. “I wish it were that simple. By the way, Danny’s here.”

Alex backed up, holding her by her shoulders. “Did you call him?”

“Nope. He just arrived out of the blue. Said he needed a break.”

“That’s weird. I wonder if he and Ruth are having problems.”

“He didn’t say anything about it. On the other hand, I only talked to him for a couple of minutes. Actually, I’m glad he’s here. It gives me one more pair of eyes to watch Tracy.”

“Do you think she’ll try it again?”

“She says she won’t.”

He slipped his hands into his pockets. “I wish someone would tell me what’s wrong with that kid, why she’s in therapy in the first place. I mean, maybe I could help.”

“It’s her decision, Alex. Her life. I have to respect that.”

“Yeah, I suppose. Look, Elaine, just so that you know. I’ll do anything—and I mean anything—to help. Just name it. Day or night. I’m your man.”

She brushed a lock of blond hair away from his forehead. “Thanks.”

He ducked his head and whispered, “Where’s the dragon?”

“In her study.”

“You doing okay with her? She hasn’t been breathing too much fire at you today?”

“She’s been in one of her more sanguine moods. She did a fifteen-minute rant on modern psychology, but that’s about it.”

He offered her his arm. “Shall we present a united front?”

At this moment, Elaine adored her older brother. She wished they could always be this supportive, this connected, but she knew that life had a way of messing up relationships. “You’re on,” she said, linking her arm with his.

Together, they bumped their way, laughing, out of the pantry. They were met in the living room by Danny and Roman, who were standing by the fireplace, drinks in hand, talking quietly.

Danny was all dressed up. With his graying blond hair and trim build, he looked terrific. He was a good foot shorter than Alex. Shorter and leaner. Alex was into his body in a way Danny never had been. Elaine knew that Danny, as a New Yorker, walked a lot. Alex, on the other hand, worked out at the gym, keeping himself not only fit but buff. She also had a sneaking suspicion that he was dyeing his hair these days. The blond had changed slightly from the blond of old. The new color had more red in it. All in all, they were a good family, a good-looking family—and a family of total opposites. That last part was the rub.

Before Elaine sat down to dinner she puffed back upstairs for the umpteenth time to check on Tracy. She and Mick were lying on the king-sized bed watching a horror flick, laughing hysterically at the dialogue and hokey sets. So far, so good.

Returning to the dining room, Elaine found that the family had gathered around the table. A sixth member of the party had been added while she was upstairs. Dr. Walter Holland, otherwise known as Doc, was seated next to her mother. He was not only her mother’s best friend, but he was her only confidant as well.

Doc Holland was in his late seventies, plump, with thinning white hair and thick glasses. He’d retired from his medical practice long ago. He needed a cane to help him get around these days, but other than that, he seemed to be in good health. Everyone treated him like an uncle, and he seemed to bask in the attention. He’d never married and he had no children. As far as Elaine knew, he was also the only man who could make her mother giggle. The two of them played canasta together nearly every night.

Even though Elaine was surrounded by friends and family, dinner was a struggle. She didn’t talk much, but listened as others carried the conversation. Alex and Roman struck her as unusually secretive tonight, passing meaningful looks back and forth. At the same time, they came off as extremely upbeat—too upbeat for the occasion. Danny was almost as subdued as Elaine. His comments seemed occasionally biting. Not that he wasn’t a master of sarcasm when he wanted to be, but this seemed different somehow, almost as if he was trying to distance himself from everyone at the table. Elaine didn’t get it and thought that, in her present condition, she must not be reading him—or anyone—correctly.

“You look so pretty tonight, Mom,” said Alex, taking a sip of coffee.

“I concur,” chimed in Roman, wiping his bright red little mouth with a napkin.

What an asinine, thoroughly tight-assed way to put it, thought Elaine, searching the table for the wine bottle.

“Nobody at my age looks pretty,” said Millie.

Elaine knew her mother hated being around old people. It was one of the main reasons she was so concerned about money. She refused to end up in a nursing home, drooling along with the riffraff. If she was going to drool, she wanted to do it in the privacy of her own home, with a staff to wipe her chin—and anything else that needed wiping. She often said that she found old age ugly and generally pathetic, which meant, of course, that that’s how she viewed herself. Elaine, on the other hand, truly believed that there was something almost beatific in the faces of old people. She’d always been drawn to the elderly, far more than to the other end of the spectrum: children. But when she tried to explain this to her mother, her mom just brushed it off by saying “Wait till you get old. You won’t find it so ‘beautiful’ then.”

Maybe her mom was right. Elaine wasn’t feeling very sure about anything tonight, especially her own judgment. She returned her attention to the filet of sole, which was suitably blah. The roasted brussels sprouts were okay. Mrs. Knox had made them in honor of Danny’s arrival. Incomprehensible as it was, brussels sprouts were Danny’s favorite vegetable. He craved them the way other people craved chocolate.

Nobody talked much about Tracy, and for that Elaine was grateful. She’d spoken of little else since last night and desperately needed a break. She’d already had too much wine, but she figured she was allowed. Actually, as she looked around the table, everyone, except for her mom, was drinking more than usual. Coming face-to-face with suicide was probably taking a toll.

As the dessert plates were removed and the final round of coffee poured, Alex cleared his throat and said that there was something he’d like to discuss with everyone. He said he knew it was bad timing, but he’d started a process in motion many months ago and now needed to talk about it. All he needed was ten minutes.

Elaine had been planning to hit the couch in the music room and check out for a few hours, but Alex seemed so keyed up, she felt it was only fair to stay and hear him out. She glanced at Marchand and saw that he was chewing his bottom lip, looking nervous.

“Okay,” began Alex, pushing back from the table and crossing his legs, “this may sound like it’s coming out of the blue, but I’ve been thinking seriously about this for almost a year. Mom, everyone, I believe it’s time to take Veelund Industries public.”

“Public?” repeated Danny. He seemed puzzled by the proposition.

“Just listen, all right?” said Alex. “Let me explain. This past winter, I had our annualized revenues pulled for the last five years. I gave them to a financial service company—P.J.I. in Boston. In today’s market, you can’t just tread water. You either grow or you die. We need to expand, add to our visibility, but to do that we need money. I want to build on Dad’s dreams. Not just with the Log Lodges, but with all our divisions. Going public would allow us access to new capital through both equity and debt financing. We’d be able to attract better people if we could offer stock options. We convert our debt to equity and strengthen the company’s balance sheet. It’s win win.”

Nobody said anything for several long moments.

Finally, Danny crossed his arms. “You want to do this through an IPO?”

“Possibly. We could do it more quickly through a reverse takeover.”

“What’s that?” asked Elaine. Her head was throbbing.

“It’s complicated,” said Marchand.

“Meaning what?” said Elaine. “Women can’t possibly understand?”

“No, of course not,” said Alex. “If you want me to take you through it step by step, I will. But for now, let’s just address the basic concept. Should we take the company public? I think the answer is yes.”

Danny looked over at Elaine. “There’s a significant cost associated with going public, I believe. I’ve spent a lot of time studying the stock market, as well as investing in it. This last downturn has nearly finished me off. I’m not sure that’s where we want to be.”

“Wall Street will kill you,” muttered Doc, adjusting his glasses, “if you miss.”

“I’d like us to take the next step,” said Alex, ignoring them both. “I want to hire P.J.I. to help us with the process. As far as I’m concerned it’s no guts, no glory. We need to hire additional key personnel, possibly even start looking to acquire additional businesses to complement our core company.”

“We already have good employees,” said Elaine, still chewing on the no guts, no glory comment. Who did he think he was? General Patton? If the company went public, it would change everything. Veelund Industries would suddenly be responsible to a bunch of faceless shareholders who would demand to be informed about business practices, financial stats, budgets, changes in management, or anything else that might materially affect the cost of the stock. It sounded like a nightmare—not at all like the company her father had begun in the sixties.

“We need someone who can speak to the public,” continued Alex. “I, for one, would like to nominate Roman for that job.”

“You’ve
got
to be kidding,” said Elaine. She couldn’t believe her brother was that stupid. “Have you lost your mind?”

Marchand stiffened.

“The main problem I see,” said Danny, glancing at his mother, “is that the family would lose flexibility, particularly with actions that would require shareholder approval.”

Bingo, thought Elaine. Give that man a cigar. She poured herself more wine.

“You mean
control
, don’t you, dear?” said Millie. All through the discussion, she’d remained silent. But everyone knew she had the final say.

“That’s too simplistic,” said Alex. “You need to come to the office, let me lay it all out for you.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Her eyes traveled slowly from face to face. “I’m sorry you did all that work. You should have consulted me first. Not only are we not taking Veelund Industries public, I’m planning to sell the company.”

“What?”
Had Elaine heard her correctly? “
Sell?
”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“For a multitude of reasons, not the least of which is the uncertainty in the American economy. After what happened on nine-eleven, I made a decision. Who knows what crazy thing could happen to this country? The world has grown too precarious to have major assets sitting out there without protection. Even a small terrorist attack could send us into deep recession, possibly even a depression. I want all my investments as safe and secure as possible, and that means I intend to sell the company within the year. I already have two buyers waiting for my decision, and one is about to put in a bid.” She turned to Alex. “Your going ahead with your plans without consulting me only further proves my point. Veelund Industries belongs to me, Alex. Your father wanted his fortune passed on to his family, and I’ll make sure that happens. But he gave the company to me because he trusted my judgment. After I’m gone, you’ll all be quite rich. I promise that none of you will be hurt by my decision to sell. If you’d like to continue working for the new company, we’ll make that a provision of the sale. One day you’ll all understand why I did this, and you’ll thank me.”