Death on a Silver Platter (14 page)

18

Sophie carried a new round of coffee into the living room. Friends of the family had started arriving shortly after noon. News traveled fast out in the country. Thankfully, if there was one thing Millie Veelund had an abundance of, it was china cups and silver platters.

It was now three in the afternoon and Sophie still hadn’t left. Once it became clear that she might need to stick around to help with the onrush of visitors, she’d called Bram to tell him that Millie had died and that she wouldn’t be home until later—she couldn’t say exactly when. She explained that one thing had led to another, and ultimately, she’d taken over the kitchen. It was her way of helping the family, who were up to their ears in visitors in the living room. The food dropped off by concerned neighbors became Sophie’s responsibility.

The Veelunds’ usual cook had come in for work around ten, discovered what had happened, and fainted dead away on the kitchen floor. After she was revived, Elaine had sent her home. And then, as other mourners started arriving, Sophie realized that Elaine couldn’t handle it all alone. Elaine took center stage in the living room, like the good politician she so clearly was, explaining to visitors in quiet, earnest tones, what she knew about her mother’s death. She mainly talked to the women. The people surrounding Alex were mostly men.

Zander had been put on phone duty. There had been a steady stream of calls since about one o’clock. Sitting at a desk in the kitchen, he wrote down messages from wellwishers and answered as many questions as he could. Sophie got the impression that most of the people who called wanted inside information. Zander appeared to know most of the callers personally. He used first names. He also deftly sidestepped the more prurient questions.

Danny had evaporated around noon, and so had Mick. Sophie wondered if they’d gone off together. She couldn’t imagine why they would, but then she had very little time to imagine much of anything. It was all she could do to handle food donations and coffee and cookie detail. The people who came by merely to drop off a hot dish inevitably stayed for the better part of an hour. And they all seemed to expect some kind of refreshment. Sophie was glad to help. Neither Elaine nor Alex were thinking clearly. They were on autopilot, accepting the onslaught of compassion as graciously as they could.

Sophie felt the sorriest for Doc Holland. He’d arrived just as Millie’s body was being removed to the coroner’s van. He was so overwhelmed with grief that he’d demanded to see her. The paramedic helped him up into the van. Sophie and Elaine stood back, watching as he kissed her tenderly. The driver and one of the police officers had to help him out because he’d left his cane in the house. He batted at his eyes, but couldn’t seem to stanch the flow of tears.

Sophie had first met Doc when he was in his early forties. She’d been thirteen at the time. When she visited the Veelunds’ house—before they moved to the country—he was often around. Elaine told Sophie once that Doc Holland was her dad’s best friend. After Carl’s death, Doc had become a kind of surrogate father to the kids. He was an old man now, heavyset and arthritic. After the paramedics left, he sat down in the corner of the living room, his face puffy and red, saying very little, but dabbing at his eyes constantly with a white handkerchief. Nobody paid much attention to him.

After pouring more coffee, Sophie returned to the kitchen to make another pot. She heard the doorbell ring again, but when she glanced out into the foyer she saw that Elaine had gone to answer it. Sophie hadn’t actually eaten a meal today, but had survived on a chocolate chip bar here, a slice of coffee cake there. Her stomach was beginning to feel queasy. She needed some protein, some fruit or vegetables. Searching through the refrigerator, she took out a tray of cheese and meat that someone had brought earlier in the day. She made herself a sandwich and sat at the kitchen table to eat it while the coffee brewed.

When she was finished, she offered to make a sandwich for Zander, but he shook his head. He was too busy on the phone. Her energy renewed, Sophie began assembling clean cups and saucers on a silver platter, leaving a space for the coffeepot.

On her way through the foyer, the doorbell chimed again. Since nobody came out of the living room to answer it, she set the tray down on a low table and opened the door. She expected more neighbors, but instead found a young man in a gray uniform standing on the front porch surrounded by half a dozen flower arrangements. Sophie had forgotten about that part of bereavement. She would need to find a place to put all the flowers that would be arriving. She asked the delivery man to bring them into the foyer. After signing his clipboard and closing the door behind him, she set off to find Elaine. The coffee would have to wait.

Sophie stood under the living room arch and searched the room, but Elaine was nowhere to be found. Crossing the dining room to Millie’s study in the back of the house, she saw that the door was partially closed. Approaching quietly, she could hear a man’s voice, then Elaine’s. The man’s voice was familiar. And then it struck her. She looked inside.

Nathan had his arms around Elaine. He touched her hair. He was saying, “I’m glad you called me. I wish I could have been here for you earlier.” Then he kissed her.

Instantly, Sophie felt herself ceasing to be a woman of character. She wanted to yell
fire
in a crowded theater. Dropkick Elaine through the side window. Elaine had no business sucking Nathan into her chaotic life. Nathan had every right to date whomever he wanted, but not Elaine.
Not Elaine
. She made a good friend, but she made a lousy lover and an even worse wife.

But before Sophie could march in and break the two of them up, she was seized by a moment of great emotional clarity.
She
was the one who had her priorities out of whack. The better part of valor was to get the hell away from both of them.

Returning to the kitchen, Sophie stood by the sink and washed her hands. She didn’t know why she needed to wash her hands, she just did. Perhaps she was absolving herself of any responsibility to protect Nathan from his fate. After Elaine chewed him up and spit him out, he might come crawling to her to commiserate, but she would remain stoic. It wasn’t her place to save him—or to listen to him whine. Was she her ex-lover’s keeper?

Damn straight she wasn’t.

Just as Sophie was about to return to coffee detail, she heard a knock on the back door. She stood on her tiptoes and looked out the window. A police car had pulled up on the path that separated the main house from the pool house. When she opened the door, she found three officers standing outside. “Ms. Veelund?” asked the oldest of the three men.

“No, I’m a friend.”

“I need to speak with a member of the family.”

She wanted to ask what this was about but figured she would get an answer soon enough. As she was about to run and get Alex, he walked into the kitchen, introducing himself as Alexander Veelund.

“I saw the squad car pull up,” he offered as an explanation. “Did you find my niece?”

“No, sir. This isn’t about that. It’s about your mother.” The officer in charge removed his hat. “I’m sorry about your loss, Mr. Veelund, but I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news. We pushed your mother’s autopsy through real fast, like we promised. We got the results about an hour ago.”

“And?” said Alex.

Zander, who’d been talking nonstop on the phone, said a quick good-bye. He remained at the desk, but turned around so he could see what was happening.

“Your mother was a diabetic,” stated the officer.

“For many years,” said Alex.

“How did she receive her insulin?”

Zander stood up. “By injection.”

“And you are?”

“Galen Zander. I was Mrs. Veelund’s personal assistant.”

“When was the last time she received an injection?”

“Last night before bed.”

“Who gave it to her?”

“I did.”

The officer studied him hard for a moment, then returned his gaze to Alex. “The doctor who did the autopsy found that your mother’s glucose levels were extremely low, perilously low. I’m not a doctor, so I can’t give you all the particulars, but the cause of death will be listed as an insulin overdose.”

“I don’t understand,” said Alex.

“I’ll give it to you plain and simple. Your mother didn’t die of natural causes, Mr. Veelund. We believe her death was a homicide.”

19

Holding a blindfold, Sophie met Bram in the Maxfield’s lobby. She was wearing a raincoat to hide her clothes, and three-inch heels—her power shoes—to hide her short stature. Twelve-year-olds were taller than she was.

It was Tuesday, early evening, and Bram was just getting home from the station. He’d spent all last night with his daughter looking for rugs, but Sophie had other plans for him tonight.

“Put it on.”

“Excuse me?” He took off his shades.

Sophie thought he looked incredibly suave in his white linen suit with a black shirt open at the collar. “The blindfold. I want you to put it on.”

“Am I allowed to ask why?”

“It’s a surprise.” She surveyed the hotel lobby, figuring it was just her luck that Margie would dance out from behind a potted palm and whisk them off to spend the evening discussing “lighting options.”

When she tried to slip the blindfold over Bram’s head, he balked. “Come on, stop it. You can’t actually expect me to walk through the lobby looking like Arlene Francis on
What’s My Line?
”

“Shhh, sweetheart. Your age is showing.”

He glowered, then gave up and tied on the blindfold himself.

“Can you see?”

“My entire life is flashing before my eyes.”

“Imagine that.” She led him to the elevators, careful that he didn’t bump into any of the guests. They rode to the eleventh floor in silence. When they finally got off, Bram said, “Let’s be philosophical. Why would one be asked to wear a blindfold? Are you about to make me walk the plank?”

“Guess again.”

“You’re going to line me up against a wall and throw knives at me, missing me by mere millimeters.”

“That’s a thought.” She slipped a key card into suite 1139B and opened the door. Leading Bram inside, she told him to stand still and wait. She took off her raincoat and tossed it over a chair. Once the candles were lit and everything looked exactly the way she wanted it, she said, “You can take the blindfold off now.”

“I’m not sure I want to.”

“Okay, then I’ll take you back downstairs and you can wander around the lobby looking like a reject from a magic show.”

“How about you take it off for me.” He bent down to make it easier.

As she slipped it free, he grabbed her around the waist and drew her close, kissing her like he hadn’t kissed her in months.

“You’re feeling frisky tonight.”

Taking in the full suite, the bedsheets turned back in the bedroom, the pillows perfectly fluffed, and in the adjoining sitting room, a small round table set for a formal dinner—and Sophie standing before him in a sexy negligee—he grinned. “Looks like I’m not the only one.”

“Should I ring for our dinner, or would you like—” She glanced into the bedroom.

“I want what’s behind door number two.”

“That would be me?”

“That would be you.”

Several hours later, Bram and Sophie were just finishing their chocolate fondue—creamy dark chocolate with fresh strawberries and melon—when there was a knock on the door.

“Oh, God,” said Sophie, wiping a smear of chocolate off her chin. “She found us.”

“Who found us?” asked Bram, taking a sip of the Barsac, his favorite dessert wine.

“Margie.”

He flicked his eyes to his wife, then down at his glass. “She has been a bit much.”

“Why do you think I arranged this rendezvous in one of our guest suites? I thought it was Margie-proof.”

The knocking grew louder.

“Maybe we better answer it.”

“I will,” said Sophie. “You keep your lips zipped.” Tossing on her raincoat, she opened the door a crack. Sure enough, it was Margie.

“What are you doing down here?” she asked, trying to look into the room over Sophie’s head.

“I’m, ah . . . meditating.”

“Meditating? Do you do that a lot?”

“It’s what keeps me centered, gives me inner peace.” She could tell by the look on Margie’s face that Margie didn’t think the meditation was helping much. Suddenly,

Sophie heard the sound of water running. She glanced around and saw that Bram had left the table. The suite had a double Jacuzzi, and the sound probably meant he’d gone into the bathroom to start them a tub.

“What’s that noise?” asked Margie.

“Running water. Helps me meditate. Makes me think I’m sitting by a peaceful stream.”

“Do you know where my dad is?”

“He, ah, went to a lecture.”

She folded her arms. “Funny. He never told me about that. I smell food.”

“I always eat when I meditate. It helps concentrate my . . . my . . . my
essence
.”

“You’re weird.”

“To each her own. Just out of curiosity, how did you find me?”

“I talked to someone at the front desk.”

“Who?” Sophie would make sure they got fired.

“One of the staff. I don’t know her name. Anyway, if you see Dad, will you tell him I’m looking for him?”

“Sure thing.”

She hesitated, clearly in no hurry to go. “Hey, did you hear the news about old Mrs. Veelund? She’s dead. The police think it was murder.”

“Yes, I know all about it.”

“Amazing, huh? To think we were just down there last weekend.”

“Yeah, amazing.”

Margie tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Listen, there’s one more thing. I think my furniture will be delivered on Thursday. I’ll be working that day, so I was hoping someone here could let the movers in. Is that a problem?”

“I’ll take care of it,” said Sophie.

“Thursday,” repeated Margie. “All the boxes are labeled. All they have to do is put them in the right rooms.”

“I’ve got it.”

“Say, when you’re done meditating, why don’t you come up to my apartment? I’ve got some cool ideas for window treatments I’d like to run past you.”

“You know, Margie, I think I’ll have to pass on that tonight. I’m kind of tired.”

“Oh. Sure, I understand. What time does Dad get home?”

“No idea.”

“Okay. Well, thanks. See ya.” Reluctantly, she turned and walked off down the hall.

Sophie shut the door. Turning around, she saw that Bram was back at the table. “You heard all that?”

“Every word. Coffee?” He held up the silver pot.

“Sure.” She removed her raincoat and sat back down. “You’re not mad, are you? You don’t think I’m devious?”

“Of course you’re devious. It’s what I love about you. Look, sweetheart, I know my daughter can be a little difficult. I want you to know that I appreciate all the time and effort you’ve taken with her. Once she gets more established in town, makes some new friends, we’ll have to schedule a date just to spend ten minutes with her.”

Sophie’s heart leapt with joy. “You’re probably right.” She stirred cream into her coffee.

Bram sat back and patted his stomach. “Great meal.”

“I assume the Jacuzzi is next on the agenda.”

“Any problems with that?”

“Are you kidding?”

“I poured in some of the stuff you had sitting next to the tub, so it’s going to be more on the order of a bubble bath.”

“Excellent.”

“I assume the suite is ours for the entire night.”

“This is
not
the kind of hotel that rents rooms by the hour, dear.”

He grinned.

Once they were comfortably ensconced in the bubbles, the candles lit, the champagne poured, Bram said, “Tell me more about Millie Veelund. You were asleep when I got home last night. And this morning you didn’t mention anything about a homicide.”

“I didn’t want to get into it until we had more time.”

“Thanks to my beautiful wife, I’ve got all the time in the world,” he said, spreading his arms wide.

Sophie was eager to tell him what had happened after the police arrived yesterday. “Okay, I think you know everyone involved. First, Alex Veelund.”

“I’ve played golf with Alex many times. I like him. He’s a good man.”

“And his brother, Danny. He’s been home visiting his mother for the past few days.”

“Daniel Reed Veelund. We’ve never met, but I admire his writing.”

“Then there’s Elaine, and Galen Zander—”

“Zander was Mrs. Veelund’s assistant, right? I’ve only met him once. He struck me as a smart guy, but kind of brittle.”

“Good description. And then, Tracy, Elaine’s daughter; Mick Frye, Tracy’s boyfriend; and finally, Doc Holland.”

“The old guy who was always hanging around Millie?”

“He’s been a friend of the family forever. In my opinion, every one of them is a suspect.”

“I’m all ears.”

One of the things Sophie appreciated most about Bram was that he loved a mystery as much as she did.

“Okay. The coroner pushed the autopsy of Millie Veelund through quickly as a favor to the family. I’m sure he thought it was just a formality. But the results showed that she’d died of an insulin overdose.”

Bram whistled. “The klaus von Bülow weapon of choice.”

“Except von Bülow was acquitted and his wife didn’t die. In her case, the excess insulin caused an irreversible coma. But Millie Veelund was an old woman. Her immune system was compromised by asthma, years of diabetes, and heart disease.”

“So who gave her the lethal dose?”

“That’s the million-dollar question.”

“How did she normally receive her insulin?”

“Zander would test her blood sugar and administer a shot before she went to bed. Doc Holland taught him how to do it. He’d done it for years, so it’s unlikely he’d get the dosage wrong. Millie’s medication was kept on a shelf in the downstairs pantry. Zander said that when he did the evening medication, he always brought her shot up on a small silver platter, along with a cup of sugar-free cocoa. The cocoa was kept in a tin in the kitchen.”

“Was the medication cabinet locked?”

“No reason to. After the police arrived at the house yesterday, they asked all the visitors to leave. Then they executed the search warrant. The guy in charge gathered us all in the living room to ask a few questions. His name was Prentice. Sheriff Earl Prentice.

“Zander was adamant that he’d given Millie the proper dose, said he always gave it to her in her left arm. The doctor who did the autopsy found a second needle mark on her right arm. So the theory is that she was given a second shot, sometime in the night.”

“Then Zander’s off the hook?”

“If he’s telling the truth.”

Bram was silent for a few seconds, thinking it over. “How could Millie be given a second shot? She would have screamed bloody murder, tried to stop it.”

“The autopsy also found a fairly high level of benzodiazepines in her blood. Millie took Ativan for anxiety— and also for insomnia. Doc Holland had prescribed it years ago. He examined the bottle and said he thought it was about half gone. It should have been almost full.”

“So she was drugged.”

“That’s the theory. The police took the tin of cocoa to test it. They think someone may have ground up the Ativan and dumped it into the cocoa. But here’s a complication. The same night Millie died, Tracy ran away. The next day, Danny followed Mick to a sleazy motel in Maple Lake. That’s where Tracy was staying. Danny listened through the screen door, so he got a real earful. When he finally confronted them, Tracy pulled a gun, took his wallet and his car keys, and locked him in the bathroom.”

“Yikes,” said Bram. “So she escaped again.”

“That’s right. Danny finally got out of the bathroom and called Alex to come pick him up. Anyway, according to what Danny learned, Tracy said she was sick of being trapped and treated like a mental patient, so she climbed out the window of her bedroom. In order to do that without being discovered, she had to drug the bodyguard. The police figure it was in the woman’s Coke.”

“Do the police think there’s a connection between the bodyguard being drugged and Millie being drugged?”

Sophie shrugged. “The same medication was used. Beyond that, I don’t know. Somehow Tracy managed to get off the property.”

“I assume Mick helped her.”

“He was supposed to wait for her in his truck on the service road about a mile from the house. But she never showed. She left her overnight bag behind in the grove next to the tennis court.”

“Why?”

“Well, I guess Alex walked up to the pool house around one to take a swim. He must have come right past her without knowing it. She told Mick that she was so startled that she just rushed out of there and in the process forgot her bag. But whatever the case, she managed to get to that hotel somehow. Someone else must have picked her up and taken her there.”

Sophie went on to explain that Tracy had been molested as a child. She told Bram everything she’d learned, and then said that Elaine believed one of four men was responsible.

Bram cringed when Sophie listed Elaine’s two brothers, and then Doc Holland and Galen Zander. “How long has Elaine known about this?”

“Just a few months.”

“But . . . I don’t see that the molestation would give Tracy a motive to murder her grandmother.”

“I agree with you, except she had means and opportunity, so the police can’t count her out. Not until they find her and talk to her.”

“Go on,” said Bram, sipping his champagne.

“Well, it seems there was a lot of activity around the house on Sunday night—into the wee hours of Monday morning. Not only did Tracy fly the coop, but when Mick came back to the house to find out why she hadn’t met him like she’d promised, he decided he’d better search the house. That’s when he bumped into Zander in the pantry.”

“What time was that?”

“Around three in the morning.”

“And what was Zander doing in the pantry?”

“He said he couldn’t sleep so he’d gone downstairs to get himself a glass of milk.”

Bram’s eyes narrowed. “Sounds kind of fishy.”

“But again, if Zander murdered his employer, why? The thing is, Zander said he saw Danny coming out of Millie’s room. He wasn’t positive about the time, but he thought it was around eleven-thirty.”

“What was Danny doing there?”

“He admitted that he’d gone in to talk to her. Apparently, they’d had a rather heated discussion the day before.”

“About what?”

“That was never clear to me. But he said he’d been thinking about some of her comments and he wanted one last opportunity to talk. He’d scheduled a flight out early the next morning, so he figured it was his last chance.”