Death on a Silver Platter by Ellen Hart Page B

someone to get them, bring them to us. We’ll be a family of nomads.”
    “You can’t just steal children. It’s not legal.”
    “Do you think I care about legalities?”
    “But Carl,” I said, searching his eyes. “What about Henry?”
    “What about him?”
    “He’s my husband.”
    “But you love me more.”
    How could I tell him that wasn’t true? I loved them both, but for different reasons. “You’re not thinking clearly.”
    “You figure I’m drunk. That’s the only reason I’m talking like this.”
    “You are drunk, Carl. And you’re also married to Millie.”
    His eyes closed. “It always comes back to her, doesn’t it. God, but I loathe that woman. She was the single worst mistake I ever made in my life. You know what, Pearl? If it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to make her pay.”
    His anger was white-hot and it frightened me.
    “Drive back to the house,” he said.
    “Why? What are you going to do?”
    “Turn the car around. Now.”
    When I switched on the windshield wipers, I saw that the rain had finally changed to sleet. The longer we waited the more slippery the roads would become. I worried that Henry was back at the party searching for me, wanting to leave. I was frightened by Carl, and I was frightened for him.
    With trembling hands, I put the car in gear.

8
    Danny retrieved his bag from the rental car and carried it upstairs to his bedroom to unpack. Since there was to be a family dinner tonight, he figured he might as well wear his new suit. Alex always dressed like a banker— pinstripes, vests, button-down collars—and made Danny feel like a schlump in his jeans and sweaters. Danny figured that wearing a power suit tonight might give him just the edge he needed. It would make him look substantial. Well-off. A man of the world, with knowledge and insights that deserved to be considered. While lecturing at a college campus, or being interviewed on TV, he was all of those things. But at home, he was just Danny, the baby of the family, the crazy kid who’d written a couple of books. Nobody in his family read fiction, not even his.
    After taking a nap and then showering, he sat down on the bed and picked through the socks his wife had packed for him until he found the ones he wanted. He thought about calling Ruth but decided to wait. If he was able to talk to his mother privately tonight after dinner, he might have something interesting to report. Ruth didn’t know why he’d come, nor would she have agreed with his plan. Danny had worked out a progression in his mind. One step at a time. Maybe he’d been wrong about his mother. Time would tell. The problem was, he wasn’t sure how much time was left.
    As he stood, he glanced out the window. Directly below him was the patio and the pool house. The patio was empty now, which meant that everyone was inside, getting ready for the evening.
    Danny laughed to himself, remembering how much trouble the pool and the tennis court had caused his mother. The tennis court was built first, but nobody took into consideration the amount of wind on the prairie. His mother had built a windbreak after a couple of years of never using the court. Danny and Elaine would try to hit balls back and forth, only to have them blow into the next county.
    Once the pool was complete, it had the same problem. When it wasn’t covered by a tarp, leaves, dead grass, and general prairie debris blew into it and clogged the filters. It was like swimming in a swamp. In frustration, Danny’s mother had consulted a builder and a plastic dome was eventually affixed over the top. It worked pretty well until a tornado came through one summer, lifting the dome off its moorings and tossing it on top of the garage. It cracked into six huge pieces. Now the pool was enclosed in a brick building. Floor-to-ceiling windows allowed a view of the outdoors without letting the outdoors in. So much for the little house—or, in this case, the log mansion—on the