Death on a Silver Platter (11 page)

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.

A tiny chill ran down my back. “Are you sure?”

To the best of my knowledge, he said, “Mr. Veelund came
out first. He looked kind of funny. You know, kind of upset.
Then, as he was about to drive off, Mrs. Veelund rushed out
of the house and jumped into the passenger’s seat.”

I asked him if they said where they were going.

He responded that he figured it was some kind of emergency, otherwise, why go out?

There was only one way they could have gone.

“Will you bring my car around? The name’s Tahtinen.
It’s a green Buick.”

“Sure thing, ma’am,” he said. He took off running
toward a field north of the house where most of the cars
were parked.

As far as I was concerned, he couldn’t find the car fast
enough.

13

Danny stood before a grouping of framed family photographs, the ones his mother had placed on top of the grand piano in the music room. He’d spent the last few minutes examining each and every one. In fact, he’d spent the last hour wandering through the house, looking at all the family photos. There was the line of wedding pictures hanging on the wall in the upstairs hallway. The pictures in his mother’s bedroom and the small framed snapshots in her study. He’d gone down to the rec room in the basement, glancing through a picture album he found under the bar. And he’d scanned all the miscellaneous photos tucked here and there, on bookshelves, on end tables, atop bureaus and dressers in the unused bedrooms.

His wife had been right. She’d pointed out something curious to him a few weeks before and at first he was positive she was mistaken. His mother couldn’t be
that
hateful. And yet if his wife had been right, if it
was
true, he couldn’t understand why he’d never noticed it. Then again, his ability to erase his mother’s troubling behavior from his mind was a survival mechanism he’d adopted years ago.

Ruth’s comment had eaten away at Danny. He knew that coming home simply to inspect the family photographs was a strange mission, and yet he needed to do it. Danny saw himself as a good-natured, adaptable man, and that good-natured adaptability had always been a source of comfort. He might scrutinize other parts of his life, but he rarely scrutinized his family of origin. He now saw that lack for what it really was—a way to prevent the match from ever touching the fuse that would ignite the bomb of fury he’d always held deep within.

Danny had been waiting all morning for Doc Holland to leave because, once he was gone, his mother had promised him an audience. Oh, she hadn’t put it quite that grandly, but that’s how Danny felt. He was being allowed into her inner sanctum for a chat. She probably assumed he wanted to talk about her decision to sell the company. If she wanted his opinion, he thought it was a fine idea. He knew it would hurt Elaine, and for that he was sorry, but the family business had always been a source of contention. Alex would be just as happy being an unemployed millionaire, off doing his charity work. Not that he’d be a millionaire right away. The family largesse would become available to one and all only upon their mother’s demise. Danny wondered if she only knew how loudly that clock ticked in her children’s minds. It must be an awful feeling knowing your children were waiting for the moment when the clock would stop. Nobody deserved that. Not even Mad Dog Millie.

Danny felt momentarily sorry for his mother, but as his eyes took in the photos, the feeling passed. When he heard the door open behind him, he turned around, expecting to find his mother. Instead, Alex walked in.

“Hey, bro,” said Danny. It took a moment for Alex’s strange appearance to register. He looked like a man who’d been sleepwalking until a voice had startled him back to consciousness.

“Danny, hi. I forgot you were here.”

“That’s flattering.”

“Huh? No . . . I mean—”

“You okay?”

He lowered himself into a chair, looking around at the room as if it gave off a painful light. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

He massaged his forehead.

“You want to talk?”

Alex had no particular gift for conversation. Even though Danny was his brother, he felt he could know him only generally. Danny’s penchant for adaptability had made that seem okay, up until now. Alex was his brother, his closest biological bond. Treating each other like former college roommates who had lost their grip on an old intimacy but were unwilling to admit it didn’t cut it anymore.

“How about a drink?” asked Danny.

“It’s kind of early.”

“Let’s live dangerously.”

He left the room and proceeded to the kitchen, where he grabbed a bottle of brandy from a low cupboard and two juice glasses from the dishwasher. Returning to the music room, he poured them each a full glass.

“Here,” he said, handing one to Alex.

“Huh?” Alex looked at it without comprehension. “Oh,” he said after a couple of seconds. “Sure. Why the hell not.” He took it and downed it in two gulps.

Danny raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say anything. His brother had always reminded him of the squeaky-clean blond in the toothpaste commercials. But Alex had aged, as had they all. Sitting down on the piano bench, Danny said, “You look like shit. Something happen?”

Before he responded, Alex got up and poured himself another drink. “Mom happened.”

“Ah. This is going to be a conversation about Mother.”

Alex tossed back another shot of brandy. “I don’t even know where to begin. It’s like she took a sledgehammer to my life.”

“You’re talking about selling the company.”

Alex looked over at the windows. Suddenly, his face puckered and tears leaked out of his eyes. He made no sound, nor did he make a move to wipe the tears away. He just stood there, the bottle in one hand, the glass in the other.

Danny hadn’t expected this. He’d never seen his brother cry before. Not even when he was a kid. His senior year, Alex had been the star running back on the high school football team. The last game of the season, the last play of the game, he broke his shoulder. Danny remembered seeing the pain on his face, but no tears.

“It’s just a business, Alex. We won’t lose money, we’ll probably make money.”

“It’s not about money.” He poured himself another drink, then sat back down.

“Okay, I admit you’ve got ties to the business that I don’t. But you’ll survive. It’s not as if someone died.”

“It is. It’s exactly like that.” He finished his drink, then, holding the glass sideways, as if he’d already forgotten it was in his hand, he rose from his chair and left the room.

So much for their intimate brotherly dialogue, thought Danny. He checked his watch. When he glanced out the window, he saw that Doc Holland’s car was gone. It was time.

Passing quickly through the gloomy back corridor, he reached the study. The door was standing open. His mother was sitting behind her desk, her face turned to the side, leaning over the lower drawer looking for something. Instead of announcing his presence, he just stood and looked at her, realizing he would be forever bound to her by an endless snarl of memories, of love and of loathing. Were his knees actually beginning to tremble?

Danny’s family had never been confrontational. Well, not the kids. Their M.O. was to cast a blind eye on the outrageous opinions of their mother, treating her behavior and prejudices as a kind of family joke. It was both a way to defuse the vitriol and an opportunity to bond against her. Danny hated confrontation in any form, and yet that’s why he’d come. No joke would clear the air this time. He gave a soft knock on the open door.

His mother’s head popped up. “Daniel. Come in. I was just looking for a copy of my will.”

“Why? Are you going to change it?”

“No, of course not.”

“Am I mentioned in your will, Mother?”

She blinked at him. “Of course you are. I sent you a copy. My estate is divided equally among my three children.”

He sat down. “Speaking of wills—” He let his voice trail off.

“Yes?” She continued her search.

He waited until his silence caused her to look up.

“You’re in an odd mood today, Danny.”

“Am I?”

“You haven’t really weighed in about my decision to sell Veelund Industries.”

“I don’t care what you do with it.”

She patted the curls at the back of her gray hair. “I assumed as much.”

“Mother?”

“Yes?”

He waited a couple of beats. “Why don’t you have any photographs of my family on your piano?”

She looked at him quizzically. “I do. There’s that one of you when you graduated from college. And then I’ve got a couple of those wonderful professional photos you had done for your second book.”

“Those are pictures of me, Mother.”

“That’s right.” She seemed puzzled.

“What about my wife and kids?”

“What about them?”

“You have no photos of my family. Why is that?”

“Oh, you must be mistaken.”

“Name one photo that includes Ruth, Abbie, or Zoe?”

“Well . . .” She fussed with some papers on her desk.

“There aren’t any. I looked.”

She stared at him, her mouth turning to a thin, grim line.

“I’ll ask the question again. Why aren’t there any pictures of me and my family? There are pictures of Alex and his wife of eight months. Pictures of Elaine and her seventeen husbands. Picture after picture of Tracy since the time she was a baby. Pictures of Dad. Pictures of every dog we ever owned. But no pictures of my wife and children. That can’t be an oversight. You did it for a reason. I want to know what it is.”

She leaned back in her chair. “Is Ruth making you do this? Did she send you here to pick a fight with me?”

“Ruth knows nothing about why I’m here. Answer the question.”

“You won’t like it.”

“Just cut the crap and tell me!”

She adjusted the collar on her dress. “All right. Have you ever heard of the
Protocols of the Elders of Zion
?”

“Oh, God,” he groaned, closing his eyes. He should have known it would be something like that. “You can’t be serious, Mother. That piece of trash, that . . . anti-Semitic fantasy has been responsible for the death of more Jews than—”

“But have you ever
read
it? Do you know what it says? Daniel, the Jews have been conspiring for more than a century to gain control of all the major governments in the world, to destroy Christian civilization and to become masters of the earth. It’s all there in black and white.”

“The international Jewish conspiracy. You actually believe that trash?”

“It’s not a matter of belief, dear. It’s a fact. They start by controlling the money. Just look at our own country. Who were the big industrial financiers? All Jews! Andrew Carnegie.”

“He was Scottish.”

“A Scottish Jew! And Rockefeller—”

“Rockefeller was a Presbyterian.”

She looked annoyed. “I can see the hand of your wife here, Daniel. If you weren’t under her influence, you’d see that I was right.”

He was so furious, he was shaking. He should have confronted her years ago. This horror should have been opened to the light of day.

“That’s why I was so against your marriage, Daniel. I had such hopes and dreams for you. You were always my favorite.”

Now she was trying to flatter her way out of it. “That’s bullshit, Mother. You’ve always loved Alex far more than you have Elaine and me.”

“No, no. You don’t understand. Your father and I . . . we planned to have two children. That’s all. Your father wanted a boy and a girl. We were lucky enough to have Alex and Elaine. When you came along, you were—”

“An accident.”

“No, a miracle. My. . . . redemption. When I watched you sleeping in your crib, my heart was filled with such love and joy. It was only then that I realized God was good, that there was a chance for me. Your birth brought me back to Him. And then you went and linked yourself to . . . to that woman. It was beyond my ability to comprehend.”

“Do you actually hate my wife and children? Has this moral insanity caused you to sink that low?”

“Daniel, you miss my point. I don’t hate your family, not specifically, not personally, but I hate what your wife’s race is doing to the world. I will not have their pictures in my house.”

“You’re the worst kind of bigot, Mother.”

She refused to look away.

“When Ruth comes to visit, you smile at her. You hide your hatred behind a
filthy smile
.”

“I do not hate. That would be wrong.”

“What do you think the
Protocols of the Elders of Zion
is? It’s nothing but hate from beginning to end. Hate and lies. How can you live with yourself?”

“The Bible says that the Jews killed Christ. I didn’t say that, the Bible did. The Jews cried,
Let His death be on
our heads
. It’s why the Holocaust happened. The Bible also says—”

He covered his ears to block out the sound of her voice. As she talked on, he flashed to a crime story he’d once read. One of the men in the book, a police detective, said that with people like his mother, you either had to ignore them or kill them, because nothing you said would ever change their mind.

“Daniel, stop it. Put your hands down. Listen to me,” she demanded.

He couldn’t stay in the same room with her another minute. He got up, struggling simply to breathe. He felt frantic, wild, like his brain was bleeding. He had to get out before he did something he’d regret.