Death on a Silver Platter (9 page)

Elaine stared straight ahead. “It’s hard to say. She sounds fine. She’s eating normally, which means with no interest in nutrition. She promised to stop drinking, although her therapist doesn’t think she has an actual drinking problem. She talks and acts just like she always did. But . . . trying to end your own life has to change a person, right? Except, I don’t see any changes. She acts like it didn’t happen. That worries me.”

“Is she still talking to a therapist?”

“Absolutely. The woman was here most of the day yesterday, and she’s stopping by later this afternoon.” Elaine grew silent.

As they came down the rise behind the garage, Sophie could see three log cabins in the hazy distance. Now that they were away from the tended grass around the main house and into the higher prairie grass, the hot scent of baked earth rose up all around them.

Glancing over at Sophie, Elaine said, “Tracy doesn’t want anyone to find out what happened to her when she was a teenager.” Stopping the cart, she turned her head away. “If I tell you a secret, Sophie, will you promise to keep it to yourself?”

A swarm of bees suddenly materialized inside Sophie’s chest.

“You were always good at keeping secrets.”

“I still am,” said Sophie.

“Then listen to this.”

11

“I feel like . . . like I’m going to explode if I don’t talk to someone about it,” said Elaine, her eyes scanning the high grass. “Normally, I’d confide in my family, but that’s just it. They’re part of the problem. Not that that’s anything new.” She hesitated, then started again. “I’m sorry to dump all over you, Soph, but I need to vent. I need someone I can trust.”

“You can trust me,” said Sophie. She’d been Elaine’s vent-ee many times before. As far back as high school.

“I know,” said Elaine, reaching over and squeezing Sophie’s hand. “You’re a good person. I should be more like you.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

Heat rose off the land in waves.

“This is hard to talk about,” began Elaine. “As a mother, I should have known what was happening. I should have protected my daughter.”

That sounded ominous, thought Sophie. She could just about guess what was coming next.

“Apparently, when Tracy was eight, she was . . . molested.”

“My God, Elaine. I’m so, so sorry.”

She held up her hand. “It didn’t just happen once, but over a period of years. I don’t know a lot of the details. The man who did it warned her that if she ever told anyone, he’d kill her. She believed him.”

“How awful!”

“Tracy still refuses to say who did it.”

“You mean she hasn’t even told you?”

“She hasn’t told anyone, not even her therapist. I think she’s still frightened by him.”

“He’s still around?”

“Tracy said he is. The only thing I know for sure is that it wasn’t her father, and it wasn’t my third husband. My first husband died before she turned eight, so it couldn’t have been him.”

“Maybe it was a teacher, or—”

“It wasn’t. She said it always happened in the grove just south of the tennis court. For years, Tracy wouldn’t go near the tennis court and I never understood why. Now I do.”

“Do you think it was a member of the family?”

“That’s a pretty small group, Sophie. Two people. Alex and Danny.” She covered her face with her hands. “How can I think something so terrible about my own brothers?”

Sophie rubbed Elaine’s back, feeling a rush of tenderness toward her.

“It’s like . . . like I’m standing next to something so huge I can’t even see it.”

“There had to be other men around,” said Sophie.

“Not many. Mom always kept her work life separate from her private life. The only other men who’ve been around consistently are Zander—he’s lived at the house since before Tracy was born—and then Doc Holland. He’s been a friend of the family since before I was born.”

“You can’t think of any other men who—”

“The mailman?”

The suggestion was such a ridiculous stretch, they both laughed.

“Tracy won’t say a name, but the vibe I get is that it’s someone we all know. And that’s part of the problem. Could this monster still be tormenting her? What kind of a mother allows something like that to happen?”

“You’ve been a good mother, Elaine. But you don’t have eyes in the back of your head. No mother does.”

“Except for my mother.”

“And mine.”

Sophie tossed her sandwich away. She’d lost her appetite. “Under the circumstances, maybe your mom’s house isn’t the best place for Tracy.”

“But that’s just it. Tracy’s the one who suggested it. Of course, that was after her doctor and her therapist insisted she be admitted to Langston Hills.”

“The private mental hospital?”

“Tracy nearly went berserk. I thought the doctors would have to sedate her. The idea of being locked up terrifies her, Sophie. How could I do that to her? She’s already been horribly injured. When she suggested coming to Mom’s place to recuperate, I gave in. Mom thought it was a perfect idea. She doesn’t know anything about the molestation, and I promised I wouldn’t tell. Mom has staff around to help out, and I’ve hired a private bodyguard to watch over Tracy. That way she’ll be safe. As safe as I can make her.”

“You’re really in a bad spot.”

“Don’t I know. The thing is, Tracy used to come and stay at Mom’s place all the time, especially during the summers. I thought she loved it out here. But when she started getting a little older, all that changed. I get it now, but at the time I thought it had something to do with Mom—that she was being her old pushy, obnoxious self and that Tracy was sick of it. But you know Mom. She insisted that Tracy come for two weeks every July. And you know that when my mother insists, even Tracy had to give in. But neither of us knew what was happening behind the scenes. If we had—” Her mouth trembled and she looked away.

Sophie’s heart went out to her.

After a few moments, Elaine shook off the emotion, pulled a tissue out of the pocket of her shorts and blew her nose. “I have to be pragmatic, Soph. I can’t fall apart. As I see it, this pedophile has to be one of four people: Alex, Danny, Zander, or Doc. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it was someone else, some stranger, but until Tracy tells me the man’s name, I’ll never know for sure. And that means every time I see one of those men I wonder. I’m angry at them all and I
hate
that.”

“None of this is fair.”

“I want to shake every one of them, demand to know the truth, but if I did, I’d be betraying Tracy’s confidence. Maybe, in the end, it would be worth it. I just don’t know anymore.”

“When did the molestation stop?”

“When Tracy was thirteen.”

“Why did it stop then?”

“I figure the guy’s a classic pedophile. She was getting too old. He wasn’t attracted to her anymore.”

“How does Tracy act around her uncles—around Doc and Zander?”

“Aloof. But she acts aloof around everyone. She doesn’t like men. That’s been clear since her teenage years. Can you blame her? It’s why I brought Mick into the picture. I thought having a safe guy around might help.”

“You
brought
him into her life?”

She nodded.

“How? And how do you know he’s safe?”

“I’m paying him to be Tracy’s friend. He does what I tell him to do.”

Sophie wasn’t shocked by much, but she was by this. And Elaine thought
her
mother was controlling. “What if Tracy finds out?”

“She won’t.”

Sophie couldn’t fathom how she could be so sure. “Has his presence helped?”

Elaine squinted up at the sky. “I don’t know.” She sat silently for a few seconds, then pressed her foot to the pedal and drove on. At a fork in the road, she turned right. “As if Tracy’s problems weren’t enough,” she continued, tapping her fingers nervously on the steering wheel, “my mother announced last night that she’s selling the company.”

Sophie turned to stare at her. “She what?”

“Before the grand announcement, Alex made this big pitch to take the company public, but then Mom nixed it all by saying she’d already found a couple of buyers.”

“How . . . how do you feel about that?”

“Like I’ve been sucker punched. But what can I do? Rip my hair out? Pitch a fit? Mom’s mind is made up. I blame Alex for this. It’s all his fault.”

“Why?”

“Because the company hasn’t prospered under his leadership. My division, as I told you the other night— the log lodges—is the only reason we’re still in the black. Mom knows it, but she’d rather sell the company than give me the top job, even though I’ve earned it.”

Talk about kicking someone when they’re down, thought Sophie. She didn’t know what to say.

“When Alex took over the company, he listened to the men my father had hired. He took their advice. Everything went okay for a long time. After I’d been around for a while and felt I had a firm footing, Alex and I formed a kind of partnership. You remember how close we used to be. As the men my dad had placed in positions of authority retired, we took over. Of course, Mom always had the final word. She blew in every morning and arranged her desk for a few hours. But then she’d leave for her usual three-hour lunch. If she got involved in shopping, she wouldn’t come back at all.”

“Your mother is a study in contradictions.”

“Tell me about it. Anyway, Alex and I would talk to everyone, then we’d take our decisions to Mom. She generally went along with what we wanted. But when Roman Marchand came on board in the spring of 1999, everything changed. Suddenly Alex was listening to
him
, going to
him
for advice. Eventually I was edged out.”

“I didn’t know,” said Sophie.

“I opposed buying Kitchen Visions and Roman knew it, so he didn’t like me from the get-go. About a year after Marchand arrived, Alex began bellowing like he was some kind of business genius. I realized immediately that it was all the crap Marchand had been feeding him. We were doing so well with the log lodges, and everything associated with that side of the business, that Alex thought he had the magic touch. A year after he bought Kitchen Visions, he acquired a wood-flooring company. Neither have done well. But the real epiphany for me came when I realized that Alex and Marchand’s relationship might be more than just business.”

“Meaning what?”

“I’m a little slow on the uptake sometimes, Sophie. Marchand is a predator, I get that now. He must have seen Alex coming a mile away. His company needed money to survive. When Veelund Industries bought it—leaving him, I might add, in the top position—he started working on Alex. Flattering him. And more.”

“More what?” asked Sophie, not sure where Elaine was headed.

“We’re still keeping confidences, right? This stays between us?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. I don’t know this for an absolute fact, but . . . actually, I think Alex is gay.”

“Alex?” Sophie couldn’t believe her ears. “He’s about as homophobic as they come. Ever since he was a kid.”

“He’s a cliché. The guy who talks the loudest about hating fags—”

“But he was married.”

“Yeah, for about five minutes. And besides, you and I both know being married means nothing. And it threw Mom off the track. I think that’s why he did it. He’s gotten a lot of mileage out of that five-minute marriage.”

“What would your mom do if she found out he was gay?”

“What do you think? He’d be out on his ass. Out of the company and erased from her life. And beyond that, it would kill her. Alex has always been her favorite. That’s hard for me to say, but it’s true.”

“You think he and Marchand are lovers?”

Elaine looked over and gave Sophie a heavy-lidded nod. “I have no proof, but yes, that’s exactly what I think. I also believe he’s the motivating force behind this idea to take Veelund Industries public. Alex wants to make him the spokesperson for the company. Can you imagine anything more ridiculous?”

“You make Alex sound like a puppet, with no will of his own.”

Elaine groaned. “He’s in love, Sophie. I’ve seen it in his eyes. And he looks up to Marchand. Ever since Dad died, Alex has been looking for a mentor. Maybe it’s because Marchand is older. It can’t be because of his business savvy, because he’s a failure, in anyone’s book. But aside from all that pop psych crap, if Alex is anything like me, being in love means he’s lost his mind.” She paused, then shook her head. “And they say
I
have bad taste in men.”

“You make love sound like an illness.”

“It is.”

“That’s a rather dark view.”

“Maybe so, but that’s my experience. And besides, everyone knows testosterone rots the brain.”

Sophie couldn’t help but laugh.

“Once Mom is gone—”

“After she dies.”

“I suppose she could live another fifteen years. Who’s to say? But if Marchand can just wait it out—”

“Alex is just a glorified meal ticket?”

Elaine shrugged. “That’s the way it looks to me.”

“Marchand doesn’t care about your brother, even a little?”

“If I’m reading him right, he cares about one person and one person only. Himself.”

“Then I feel sorry for Alex.”

“I do, too. It must be hard to find a decent guy when you’re hiding in a closet. I’m out there in the world every day and I’ve never found one.”

Sophie had met Marchand once. She remembered a short, compact, rather swarthy man. Tiny mustache. Slicked-back salt-and-pepper hair. Not bad-looking. His taste, as Bram would call it, was “corporate corporate.” Expensive business suits. Essentially conservative appearance, but wearing too much heavy gold jewelry to be considered entirely tasteful.

“But if your mother sells the company, then all of Marchand’s plans are out the window.”

“Exactly,” said Elaine. “And so are mine. You think I want that company sold? I could strangle her with my bare hands.”

“What does Danny think of all this? Has anyone called him?”

“He’s here. He arrived at the house yesterday afternoon.”

Sophie brushed bagel crumbs off her khaki slacks. “Because of Tracy?”

“No, he said he just needed a break.”

“Interesting timing.”

“I suppose. I mean, he never just
drops in
. Leaving New York is always this big production number. He usually brings his wife and kids and about thirty suitcases. I think he’s got something on his mind.”

“But you have no idea what.”

Elaine sighed. “I can’t take on any more problems right now, assuming it is a problem.” She turned off the dusty dirt road and headed up a gravel path toward one of the log houses. She pulled the cart up next to a dark gray BMW convertible and turned off the motor. “Alex lives in this one.” They sat for a few moments looking at it.

“It’s beautiful,” said Sophie. She remembered when Elaine had built the model homes, but she’d never been in them. “But it’s kind of . . . western. Feels like Annie Oakley should meet us at the front door.” It was a one-story structure, just a simple rectangle, with a picture window to the right of the door and two smaller windows to the left. The roof swooped down low over a narrow deck that ran the length of the front.

“That’s the style. We call it The Ranch House. Alex has lived here for six years. Seems to suit him. The one I moved into five months ago has more of an English country house feel to it. Two-story. We call it Wisteria Cottage. And then the third one is Morningstar House. That one’s empty. It’s more modern, not my favorite. But we can build to any specifications. All your dad needs to do is tell us what he and your mom like.”