Death on a Silver Platter (8 page)

“You can’t be serious,” said Alex. He looked dumbfounded.

“I’m perfectly serious.”

“But . . . what about my company?” asked Roman. “I’m not one of your children. What happens to me?”

“I’m afraid your division has complicated this sale, Mr. Marchand. It was a bad decision to buy Kitchen Visions. I’m sorry I ever agreed to it. Alex felt it would be an interesting experiment, and I agreed. But it hasn’t turned out well.”

“But, as you said, the entire economy is in a downturn.”

“At this point, it’s all moot. Decisions have been made. I’m sorry this couldn’t work out to everyone’s benefit, but that’s the way it is sometimes. Alex, next week we need to set up meetings with all our division heads. My legal team will brief everyone on what’s about to happen.”

Alex looked as if he’d been hit over the head with a shovel. “You can’t do this to me, not after all the hard work I’ve put in.”

“Mom,” said Elaine, her head drooping into her hands, “I can’t talk about this tonight.”

“We don’t need to,” said Millie, struggling to push her chair back from the table.

Danny stood and helped her. Quietly he muttered, “I was hoping we could talk privately for a few minutes.”

“This discussion is over.”

“No . . . I don’t want to talk about the sale. It’s something . . . more personal.”

Millie sighed, patting his arm. “I’m too tired, dear. I’m going to turn in early.” Addressing everyone, she said, “Will someone tell Zander to bring my medication up to my room? Doc, I’ll see you tomorrow. The rest of you, well, I suppose you can take another crack at me in the morning, but it won’t change my mind.”

On that note, she turned and walked out of the room.

Elaine’s head sank down farther against her hands. In twenty-four hours her daughter and her mother had managed to blow her entire life to smithereens. All this talk about terrorists seemed like nothing but a red herring. Why did you need a terrorist to create chaos when you had the love of a good family?

10

An arm waving a white silk handkerchief oozed inside Sophie’s office door. The cuff links on the shirt belonged to Bram, so Sophie assumed the body did, too.

“What are you doing?” she asked, tossing her pen on the desktop. She’d been at work since seven A.M.

“Asking for permission to enter,” came his deep voice.

“Do you need permission?”

“You tell me.” He opened the door, a strained smile on his face. “I’ve come to grovel.”

“Well then, better sit down. It’s no fun groveling and standing at the same time.”

Sophie had been working on a new program she was designing for the Maxfield. She called it the Corporate Connection. It was meant specifically for frequent business travelers and she hoped to have it up and running by the time her father returned, though that seemed optimistic.

“You got up awfully early this morning,” he said, pulling up a chair. He unbuttoned his herringbone sport coat, then straightened his tie.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Because of me?”

“You? Why would you prevent me from sleeping?”

“You’re upset with me. Because of Margie.”

“I am?”

“You don’t think I should have offered her one of the Maxfield’s apartments. If I’ve overstepped, Sophie, I’m sorry. I know, in theory, the hotel belongs to both of us, but it’s really yours. We both know that. I just thought, having her here would be so fantastic. I’d actually get to see her every now and then.”

“I think it’s fine, sweetheart. Really. I’m just not sure—” She could hardly say that she knew he’d written Margie a sizable check. After all, she shouldn’t have been snooping, and if he gave his daughter money that was up to him. Sophie simply felt uncomfortable around Margie, and being a sensitive sort of guy, Bram had picked up on it. “Look, I’m happy that Margie’s here, truly I am, particularly because it makes you happy.”

“But not you.”

“No, it’s not that.” She’d been dreading this conversation, though she knew it was coming.

“You two have never really bonded, Soph. That’s the problem.”

“I agree. But I’m not sure how to change it. I mean, I tried years ago, but Margie resisted. I hoped we could be friends, but it never happened.”

“But it could, if you spent time with her. She’s grown up a lot since high school. She’s not the same person. We’re a lot alike. You love me. I think you could love her, too.”

Sophie’s take on Margie was a little different from her husband’s, but she knew he was right. She had to try harder. Bram had been so generous when Rudy, Sophie’s son, had come to stay with them. It was right before his freshman year at the university. Against his father’s wishes, he’d left Montana. Rudy was gay, and he knew that if he stayed, he’d have to hide his sexuality. He needed a safe place where he could figure out his life. That had become Sophie and Bram’s home. Bram had done his best to make Rudy feel welcome. And that’s why Sophie needed to make a greater effort when it came to Margie. The tension in the air between them was probably all in Sophie’s head. She just needed a little time to smooth things out.

“I’ve got the perfect opportunity for you,” said Bram, stuffing his white silk handkerchief back in the breast pocket of his sport coat. “I know it’s Saturday, but something came up at the station and I need to run over there.”

“Will you be gone long?”

“Actually, next Thursday, I was supposed to interview a woman about her new book. She’s an ornithologist with a pet parrot. The book’s about the woman’s relationship with the parrot. It’s pretty bizarre stuff. Anyway, her tour got rearranged and she’s coming through town today. I tape the interview this morning or I don’t get it at all.”

“I thought you’d made plans to take Margie shopping for a new couch.”

“I had.” He lifted his eyebrows and gave her a slow smile.

“You want me to do it?”

“Your taste in furniture is almost as good as mine.”

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

His smile widened.

“Actually—” She glanced at her watch. “Elaine invited me out to Prairie Lodge for lunch. Remember? I told you my dad wants a log house built up on Pokegama Lake. There are several models on the Veelund property I’m supposed to look at.”

“Fine,” said Bram. “The couch can wait. Why don’t you take Margie with you? I’m sure she’d love to see the log houses. And you two could do a little . . . bonding . . . in the car on the way.”

He was pushing, but she couldn’t blame him. “Do you really think she’d want to? I doubt log houses are really her thing.”

“She’d love it.”

“You know, Bram, sometimes I think she wishes you’d married someone else.”

“Nonsense.” He retrieved a cell phone from his pocket. As he punched in the numbers, he said, “You’re sure you’re okay with asking her to come along?”

“Fine with me,” said Sophie, trying not to look trapped.

Sophie hadn’t visited Prairie Lodge in almost eight years, not since Elaine’s last wedding. It was a good hour’s drive from St. Paul—freeway about a third of the way, and then two-lane country roads heading southwest. Margie and Sophie managed some small talk at first. Margie thought Sophie’s short, strawberry blond hair was a dye job and wanted to know the name of the color. Sophie assured her it wasn’t. Margie talked a little about how much she used to hate Minneapolis. In high school, she thought it was sleepy and dumb and couldn’t wait to go live someplace else. Just as they were leaving the St. Paul city limits, Margie asked, “Who’s Nathan?”

Sophie turned to look at her. “Nathan?”

“I don’t know his last name. Dad just said ‘Nathan.’ ”

“In what context?”

“That he was an old boyfriend of yours. That he owns some big fancy restaurant in town.”

“It’s in Stillwater. What else did your father say?”

“Just that he was back in town. He’s a chef, right?”

Sophie nodded.

“Dad said he didn’t like him.”

“Why was he talking to you about Nathan?”

Margie shrugged. “I guess maybe he needed to vent a little. He knows I care about him.”

And I
don’t
, thought Sophie, gripping the steering wheel more tightly. Margie was the last person Bram should be confiding in about any perceived marital problems. Not that Nathan was a problem.

“I guess maybe he’s kind of jealous. Do you see this guy a lot?”

“No, certainly not.”

“Well, whatever. I suppose that since he’s still around it sort of bothers Dad.”

This was all news to Sophie. Bram hadn’t even mentioned Nathan’s name in over a year. She hated herself for thinking this next thought, but what if Bram had asked Margie to feel out the situation? What if he was using her as a go-between, a way to ferret out information? Suddenly, the earth under Sophie’s feet seemed to shift.

“Nathan Buckridge and I are just friends—not even friends, really. We used to be friends.”

“But you had dinner at his restaurant the other night.”

“Yes, it’s my job. I review new restaurants, Margie. I can’t ignore Nathan’s just because we once had a relationship.”

“Dad said you almost married him.”

“I was eighteen. That was a long time ago.”

“So, you don’t have a thing for him anymore? You and my dad are still tight?”

“Of course we are. Where’s all this coming from? Does your father think I’m still involved with Nathan?”

“No, not really. Actually, he didn’t say all that much about him. I was just reading between the lines.”

“Well, there’s nothing to read.”

“Okay.”

Sophie wasn’t sure it was okay, but she couldn’t let it show. That would only add more fuel to a fire Sophie wanted to douse. And yet she realized that Margie’s comments had left her shaken. What if Margie had picked up on something Bram was really worried about? Sophie thought Nathan was a dead issue between them. But what if Bram was still chewing on it, still in doubt about her affections?

Sophie figured it was best to change the subject, so she took a few minutes to explain about Elaine’s daughter’s suicide attempt. It seemed to both horrify and intrigue Margie. They talked about death for a while, but Margie eventually grew tired of the topic and slipped in a CD. She spent the rest of the drive humming along with Counting Crows as she gazed out the side window. Sophie was relieved to be able to sink back into her own thoughts. She had the impression that Margie hadn’t really wanted to come along, but that, like Sophie, she’d succumbed to Bram’s pressure.

It was close to noon by the time Sophie’s Lexus rolled onto the paved drive in front of the four-car garage. Like everything else on the property, the garage was made of logs. Elaine was sitting on the front porch, but rose when she saw the car, padding barefoot down the front steps and across the wide lawn to greet them. Sophie introduced Margie, and after a short conversation about how hot the weather was for mid-September, the three of them entered the house.

Sophie had always loved Prairie Lodge. The log walls made the interior look like it was bathed in honey. The faint smell of cedar was deliciously rustic, and took Sophie back to another place and time. Her grandparents on her father’s side had owned a log cabin up on Deer Lake in northern Minnesota. As a child, Sophie had spent many wonderful fall nights there, sitting in front of the fire. The Veelund home was far more grand, and yet the construction had a simplicity that appealed to her.

As they walked into the cool of the kitchen, Elaine explained that Tracy and Mick were about to take a swim. She wondered out loud if Margie would like to join them. There were extra swimsuits in the pool house.

When Mick breezed into the kitchen to grab some drinks from the fridge, he nodded to everyone, but stopped when he saw Margie. “Baldric?” he said, a slow grin forming.

“Frye?” Margie responded.

“Shit, lady, get over here and give me a hug!”

Sophie and Elaine stood in surprised silence as Mick and Margie slapped hands and then embraced.

“What are you doin’ here?” asked Mick.

“I came with my stepmom,” said Margie.

Sophie had never heard Margie call her by that name before and it caused a moment of pure panic. Stepmothers were horrible creatures with hair on their chins and warts on their faces, fairy-tale crones who baked their children in gingerbread ovens. Sophie couldn’t possibly be a
stepmother
.

“Do you have to stay . . . in here?” asked Mick, glancing at Elaine. “Why don’t you come out to the pool, meet my girlfriend.”

Margie turned around to look at Sophie. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Fine with me,” said Sophie. “But first, tell me, how do you two know each other?”

“High school,” they both answered, almost in unison.

“Actually,” said Margie, “we both liked this one local band, so we met for the first time in a bar. We kind of followed them around town and struck up a friendship along the way.”

They both seemed anxious to leave the kitchen. “You go have fun,” said Elaine, waving them off.

After they’d gone, Sophie saw that Elaine had set fresh bagel sandwiches out on the kitchen counter next to a bowl of cut-up strawberries and cantaloupe. The coffee had already been brewed. But Elaine, too, seemed anxious to leave.

“What’s up?” asked Sophie, picking up a sandwich.

“Let’s get out of here.” On the way out the back door, Elaine whispered, “You’ll never believe what happened last night.”

As they crossed the patio and headed for the garage, they ran into Elaine’s mother and Doc Holland, who looked as if they’d just come back from a walk. Doc’s big, good-natured face was red and damp. He carried a handkerchief balled up in one hand and used it to wipe the sweat away from his forehead.

“Sophie,” said Millie, coming to a full stop. “What a nice surprise. Elaine told me you were coming today. Something about your dad wanting us to build a log house for him.”

Millie had aged since the last time Sophie had seen her. Aged and put on weight. Even with a smile on her face, she looked dour.

“You know, Sophie,” said Millie, steadying herself by taking hold of the fence. “An idea came to me last night, one I’d like to talk over with you.” She glanced up at the house. “I’m thinking of turning my home into a bed-and-breakfast.”

Elaine’s jaw dropped.

“I spoke to my granddaughter about it this morning, and—”

“What’s Tracy got to do with it?” said Elaine, cutting her off.

“I’m doing it for her. She would be the person to run the business and eventually own it. Why not get some use out of the old place? It’s a good idea, Elaine, so stop looking like you just swallowed ground glass. It will give Tracy something to focus on, something other than her problems. In case you’re interested, she really took to the idea. This house would make a perfect bed-and-breakfast. We have a tennis court, a pool, a lovely garden, and twelve empty bedrooms upstairs. If Mrs. Knox doesn’t want to stay on as the cook, we’d find someone else. Sophie, you run a hotel. I thought you could give me some pointers on how to put my idea to work.”

“Well,” began Sophie. She wasn’t sure where to go from there.

“I know you’re here to see Elaine today,” said Millie, taking hold of Doc’s arm, “but come back first thing Monday morning. I’m happy to pay you a consulting fee. Just name your price. Tracy and I will both meet with you.”

Sophie and Elaine exchanged glances.

“Fine,” said Sophie.

“Good. We’ll see you then.” Millie and Doc continued on their way to the back door.

Elaine eyed them for a moment, then turned and stomped off toward the garage. Sophie took another bite of her sandwich and hurried after her. By the time she caught up, Elaine had opened one of the doors and was backing up what looked like an electric golf cart, complete with front and back seats, and a yellow canvas canopied top with the words
Veelund Log Lodges
stamped on the side in bold black letters.

“Get in,” said Elaine.

“Your mom’s full of surprises.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you on a tour of the cottages.”

As they bumped along a dirt road, Sophie nibbled on her sandwich. “How’s Tracy doing today?”