Death on a Silver Platter, page 11
part #7 of Sophie Greenway Series
“I will. Thanks, Glen.” All she could think of was that she was an hour away from the city. Too far. She had to get back to the main house, grab Margie and leave right away.
Hurrying back inside, she saw that Elaine and Roman were still sparring, but she couldn’t focus on anything but her husband. “Elaine, Bram’s been taken to the hospital. I’ve got to get back.”
Elaine seemed startled. “Oh my God.”
“You’ve got to drive me back to your mom’s house so I can get my car.”
“Sure. Right away.”
As they rushed out, Elaine called, “We’re not done, Marchand.”
12
Sophie dropped Margie off at the emergency room entrance, then parked the car in the lot. When she finally made it to Bram’s room, she found him sitting up on the gurney, fully clothed except for his sport coat. Margie was sitting next to him, holding his hand. A nurse stood on the other side of him taking his blood pressure.
Sophie gave Bram a kiss on his forehead. She wished Margie would move so she could sit down with him, but she didn’t look like she was about to vacate her spot anytime soon. “What do the doctors say?”
Bram’s expression was full of irritation. “This has all been a stupid overreaction. I had some indigestion, that’s all. I felt a little dizzy. So what does my producer do? He has a meltdown. Baldric’s on his deathbed again. Call the National Guard.”
“It’s important to be careful, Dad,” said Margie, slipping her arm around his back. “You’re a pretty important guy. I don’t want to lose you.”
He smiled at her. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
The nurse stepped in front of him.
“That goes for me, too,” said Sophie, waving her hand to get his attention. She couldn’t help but feel as if her comment was somehow lessened because Margie had said it first. Get a grip, she told herself. She was being entirely too touchy. What mattered was that Bram was okay. “You are okay, right?” asked Sophie.
“He had an EKG,” said the nurse. “Everything was normal.”
“See,” said Bram. “I’m fine. Can I get out of here now?”
The nurse checked the chart. “Your doctor’s in the hospital. She wants to see you before you leave. I think she may have ordered one more test.”
“Oh, just great,” said Bram, hanging his head. “Some new form of Chinese water torture, no doubt.” Looking up at her, he added, “Whatever it is, does it hurt?”
“Daaaad,” said Margie, her voice growing nasal. “You’re such a baby.”
“It’s part of my charm.”
“No, Mr. Baldric. It won’t hurt.”
Bram glanced at Sophie. “How’s Elaine?”
“Long story.”
“Oh, goodie. Save it for bedtime. I love juicy bedtime news.”
“If you ladies will step out to the waiting room,” said the nurse, pulling the curtain around the bed.
“Sophie, will you take my sport coat with you?” asked Bram. “One of the paramedics stuffed it in that bag over there. It’s probably wrinkled beyond repair.”
Margie hopped off the bed. “I’ll get it.”
As they were about to leave, a petite, attractive, brownhaired woman pushed her way in through the curtain. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this, Baldric. You’re wife’s going to catch on.” She winked at Sophie, then smiled at Bram, taking the chart from the nurse and giving herself a moment to study it.
Dr. Anne Schaefer had always reminded Sophie of Debra Winger. Throaty voice. Nice-looking—and with a great deal of intelligence behind those dark brown eyes. Sophie liked her. Most important, she thought Schaefer was a good doctor.
“Hmm, well, everything looks fine. Your EKG was normal. Blood pressure is good. Tell me about the pain. Where was it?”
He pointed to a spot closer to his stomach than his heart.
“Do you feel it now?”
“No. It’s gone. But earlier, it was like I’d eaten one too many bowling balls.”
“Have you eaten any bowling balls today?”
“No.”
“Have you had this same feeling before?”
He nodded.
“Recently?”
“Yes, but this was a little worse.”
“Instead of a one-bowling-ball pain it was more like a three-bowling-ball pain?”
“Exactly.”
“You don’t make my life easy, Baldric.”
“Haven’t you ever felt like you’d eaten a bowling ball?”
“Not that I recall.” She stepped behind him, pulled up his shirt, and pressed her stethoscope to his back. “And the dizziness. Have you had that before?”
“Never.”
“Breathe deeply.”
He rolled his eyes, but did as she asked.
“Yup, I can hear it.”
“Hear what?” asked Sophie.
“His heart. It’s still there.” She moved around to the front and listened to his chest again. “Sounds good.” Taking off the stethoscope and wrapping it around her neck, she added, “But there is another test I want to do. It won’t hurt and it won’t take long.”
“What do you think the pain was all about?” asked Sophie.
“It could have been gas. Or indigestion. But combined with the dizziness, we need to be sure this gets checked out thoroughly.” Narrowing her eyes at Bram in mock seriousness, she said, “So you can live to flirt another day.”
“It’s my raison d’être.”
“We’ll be in the waiting room,” said Sophie, giving Bram one last kiss. “Thanks, Anne.”
“I’ll have him back to you in less than an hour.”
Sophie and Margie found a couple of empty chairs near the windows. Margie asked Sophie if she wanted a cup of coffee, but Sophie was already so nervous, she didn’t want to add to it. She couldn’t believe this was happening. Bram had been feeling so well. She was glad Dr. Schaefer tended to be conservative, always erring on the side of caution. If there was a problem, she’d get to the bottom of it.
Margie returned with her coffee, grabbing a People magazine before sitting down. She flipped it open, looked at a couple of pictures, then turned to Sophie and said, “Dad looked a little pale this morning, didn’t you think?”
“Pale,” repeated Sophie. “No, not really.”
“He seemed upset. Stressed. I’m worried about him. Maybe he’s exercising too much.”
“I think he’s discussed all that with his doctor.”
“You mean that woman we just met? She’s his doctor?”
Sophie nodded.
“She’s really cute. I could tell Dad thought so, too.”
“Really.”
“Yeah.” Margie flipped to the next page. “Do you feel threatened when Dad finds other women attractive?”
“Excuse me?”
“I just wonder how it will be when I get married and my husband is so obviously flirty with someone who’s younger or prettier than I am.”
“I’m sure you’ll cope.”
“I suppose.” Margie read for a moment, then continued, “For an old guy, Dad’s pretty cute. He’s got that Cary Grant thing going. People used to tell him all the time that he looked like Cary Grant.”
“They still do. I think he’s sick of hearing it.”
“Oh, don’t kid yourself. He loves it.”
Sophie would have preferred a few peaceful moments, but Margie obviously wanted to talk. Perhaps it was the way she expressed her nervousness. Whatever it was, the inevitability of a lengthy conversation led Sophie to change the subject. “Did you and Mick and Tracy have a nice swim?”
“Yeah, it’s a great pool. Mick’s really lucked into a sweet situation, if you ask me. He’s not a terribly motivated guy, so hooking up with a rich girl was a stroke of luck.”
“I thought they were just friends.”
Margie snorted. “Hell, no. He’s head-over-heels in love with her. I mean, he is totally gaga, treats her like a princess. I don’t think she’s quite as hot and heavy for him as he is for her, but she’s lucky. He’s a great guy.”
“How well do you know him?”
“I haven’t talked to him in years.” She picked up her coffee, blew on it, then took a sip. “But the summer after high school, we were pretty close. I’d say we talked probably every day. I was dating Lance Crawford at the time, and Mick was dating a girl named Janna Eberly. The four of us did a lot of stuff together. Bars. Concerts. Janna loved to play miniature golf late at night. Sometimes we’d just sit on a bench by Lake Harriet and talk, or go back to Janna’s place and drink beer. Mick had a motorcycle back then and Janna and I would take turns riding it with him.”
“And what did you think of Tracy?”
Margie considered the question, taking another sip of coffee. “I liked her. It took her a while to warm up to me, but when she did, we really hit it off.”
“Did she talk about—”
“Her suicide attempt? Yeah. She said she’d been drinking. That it was totally dumb and she’d never do it again. She struck me as kind of young, you know, but she’s no dummy, that’s for sure. Actually, she did say something really interesting.”
“What?”
“Well, when she woke up in the hospital, she said it was like she’d become this new person.”
“In what way?”
“Like . . . she wasn’t going to be anybody’s victim anymore. She was going to take charge of her life. She said she didn’t know where it came from, but she felt this surge of power. Personal power. Mick’s into Eastern religion, and he had some name for it—I don’t remember what it was. But he said he was proud of her.” Margie paused, chewing on her lower lip.
“What?” said Sophie, sensing that there was more.
“Well, Mick saw Tracy’s change as positive. And, I mean, it is. But my take on what she was saying was a little different. When I looked at her, I saw—and I know this might seem melodramatic—but I thought she seemed dangerous. Like, not only was nobody going to mess with her, but she had plans for some major paybacks.”
“Did she give you any details?”
“Not really,” said Margie, her voice fading as she looked down at the magazine in her lap.
It was a tease, thought Sophie. Margie knew Sophie was dying to know more about what Tracy had said. Holding a piece back allowed her a sense of power. If Sophie pushed, it would only add to Margie’s general amusement.
Sophie hated herself for thinking such negative thoughts about Bram’s daughter. She wondered briefly if she was jealous of Margie’s relationship with him.
Leaning her head back against the wall, she closed her eyes. She was being too hard on the girl. Too analytical. She was seeing motivations that weren’t there. Sophie thought of herself as a good person. Giving. Generous. Generally patient. For some reason, Margie brought out the worst in her. She would simply have to turn over a new leaf, show Margie a kinder, gentler Sophie. In turn, Margie would respond by being kinder and gentler herself.
Right. And the earth was flat.
Pearl’s Notebook March 29, 1972
On our way back to the house that last night, we were met by a succession of cars going in the opposite direction. The bad weather had cut the evening short. Guests were leaving the party. Everyone seemed to be crawling along at a snail’s pace, trying to avoid ending up in the ditch. I hate driving in treacherous weather, especially on narrow country roads.
“Rats leaving the sinking ship,” Carl muttered, shielding his eyes from the oncoming headlights.
When we arrived at the house, Carl told me to park the Cadillac across from the front door. We stayed in the car for a few seconds, watching people trickle out. Some stood beneath the porch’s overhang, waiting for the attendants to bring their cars around. It wasn’t a mass exodus, but it was steady.
Carl didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get inside. On the drive back, he’d grown quiet again.
“What are you going to do now?” I asked, studying his face. “You won’t . . . hurt Millie, will you?” It nearly killed me to ask him that, but his emotions were all over the place.
“I’m going to ask her for a divorce,” he said.
“Tonight?”
“Yes, tonight.”
“But . . . this was supposed to be such a special evening.” I said it more to myself than to him. He was already well beyond the gala celebration for his new house. I looked past him out the window at his grand log mansion, wondering if Millie and the children would live there without him when all the dust settled. It seemed like just one more piece of bad luck. But a house was a house. He could always build another. I knew that what had truly gone wrong in his life had nothing to do with a piece of property. He’d admired his wife once upon a time, but he’d never loved her. I was amazed that they’d stayed together this long. But divorcing Millie was just the end product of something far more serious. I thought I knew what it was. “Millie’s been cheating on you, hasn’t she.” Knowing Carl, that would have been the last straw.
He glanced over at me. “Pearl,” he said, “she’s been lying and manipulating me from the day we first met. I saw it . . . but I didn’t see it. Do you understand? She’s a black widow spider. She eats her young.”
I gathered from this that she’d hurt him and the children in some profound way, not that it was a direct confirmation of my suspicions. I believe that he might have forgiven Millie if it hadn’t involved his kids, but since it so obviously did, I was starting to understand his anger. I asked him how she’d hurt his children.
He looked back at the house. All he said was, “She’s hurt them beyond anything I could ever imagine.”
We sat silently for a few moments.
Finally, he said, “I’ll get them away from her one way or the other.”
I shivered at his words.
“Come on,” he said, climbing out of the front seat. “It’s time to divest myself of that monstrosity.” Crossing the drive in front of the house, he said, “You and Henry might as well go home. The party’s over.”
Once back inside the warmth of the house, I tried to brush the sleet off my dress. It was coming down pretty hard now, starting to accumulate on the grass. As I was looking around for Henry, I noticed that Carl had once again made his way to the bar. He was downing another drink—this one looked like a double. His speech had never seemed slurred to me, but as he walked through the thinning crowd, he looked like a man lurching across the deck of an unsteady boat. A few of his guests seemed a bit startled by his red face and his uneven gait, but nobody said a word to him, or tried to stop him.
Millie was sipping from a glass of champagne in the dining room. A group of people were gathered around her. Her admirers, I thought to myself. Most of them were men. I’d never found Millie terribly attractive, but in the soft interior light, she looked radiant, a woman on top of the world. Carl pushed his way into the group and grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her with him as he made his way to a door at the back of the room. She seemed both shocked and embarrassed by his behavior, but she didn’t struggle. She must have figured it was better to go quietly, indulge his little tantrum, than to make a scene.
Just then, Henry came down the stairs arm in arm with Sophie. He asked me where I’d been, said he was starting to get worried. He wanted to leave because of the weather. Leaning close to give me a kiss, he saw that my hair was wet, and my evening gown was spattered with watermarks.
“Have you been outside?” he asked.
I guess I felt a little guilty about leaving with Carl and not telling him. “I was just coming to tell you about the weather,” I said.
“March is the cruelest month,” he said, smiling at me.
“I think that’s April, Dad,” Sophie said, adding, “Mom, come upstairs with me for a minute. There’s something you’ve just got to see. It’s really really really important.” She was so excited, I couldn’t say no. While Henry went to say good-bye to a couple of new friends—and to get our coats—Sophie led me up the long stairway to the master suite. Elaine was waiting for us, sitting on the edge of the bed. She ushered me into the bathroom and opened a closet full of cosmetics.
“Look at this,” Sophie said, removing one of the bottles. “It’s French. Elaine’s mom uses it all the time.” She couldn’t pronounce the brand name and neither could I. “There’s shampoo, triple-cream conditioner, a special skin lotion, an after-bath splash, and perfume. Here, smell.” She twisted the cap off one of the bottles.
“It’s nice, dear,” I said. I wasn’t really concentrating. I was thinking about Carl, about what he was saying to Millie.
“Nice? It’s divine! This is what I want for my next birthday.”
“Your birthday isn’t for another six months,” I said.
“Yeah, but, see, I wanted you to look at it so you’d know what to get. It’s pretty expensive, otherwise I’d buy it with my allowance.”
“We’ll see, honey.”
Sophie was heavily into makeup and body lotions at the time, although I’d never seen her this excited. As Elaine pointed out some other “exclusive” products, my concern was elsewhere. In another part of the house, a dramatic scene was unfolding. I didn’t realize how dramatic until later.
“Okay, then, Mom. Mom? Are you listening?”
I smiled, said that I was.
“Okay, the body splash for sure. Oh, and the shampoo.”
I agreed to whatever she wanted.
On our way back downstairs, Sophie remembered one more thing she’d forgotten to tell Elaine. I said she could phone her when we got home, but she insisted she had to tell her in person. As she bounded back upstairs, I went to look for Henry. He wasn’t in the living room so I thought perhaps he’d already gone outside to ask for our car to be brought around. I crossed the front foyer and walked out onto the porch. I looked around, but couldn’t see him anywhere. I was about to go back in when I noticed that Carl’s Cadillac was missing. I walked down the outside steps and asked one of the attendants if it had been taken to the garage.
“No,” said the young man. He explained that Mr. and Mrs. Veelund had driven off together a few minutes before.
