Death on a Silver Platter by Ellen Hart Read Free Book Online

not playing this game. Answer me!”
    Nothing.
    “Tracy. Answer me now. If you don’t, we’ll break the door down.”
    “It’s a pretty heavy door,” whispered Mick. “I’m not sure I can do that.”
    “Tracy!” Elaine was shouting now. Her heart was hammering inside her chest. “Answer me, damn it!”
    She turned to Mick. “Use your shoulder. Break it down. Something’s wrong, I can feel it.”
    Mick stepped closer. “This is really silly, Trace. Just say you’re all right.” When no response came, he bent down and threw himself against the door—once, twice, three times. It didn’t budge. He glanced at the hinges. “Get me a hammer and a crow bar.”
    Elaine kicked off her high heels and raced down the stairs to the kitchen. She found a hammer in the bottom cupboard drawer. Rushing outside, she flipped the light on in the garage and found the crowbar hanging from a rusted nail. When she returned to the second floor, Mick was talking to Tracy, still trying to get her to answer him. Elaine handed him the tools.
    Mick wedged the crowbar into the tiny space between the door and the jamb and pushed and pulled with all his might. He was sweating, cursing. The look on his face told Elaine that he understood the seriousness of the situation. He stripped away the wood, chunk by chunk, lever-aging his way in until the lock finally gave. Pulling the door free, he stepped back and allowed her to enter first.
    Tracy was lying in the bathtub fully clothed, the water surrounding her stained a sickening red. Her eyes were closed.
    “She cut her wrists,” said Elaine, her brain switching to autopilot. She plunged into the tub, lifting her daughter up and back until her chin was no longer perilously close to the water. “Wake up, honey. Wake up.” She slapped her daughter’s cheeks, trying to get a rise out of her. “Come on, baby. Just open your eyes.” She felt for a pulse at her neck. “Jesus. It’s so weak.” Twisting around she cried, “Call nine-one-one!”
    “Is she still alive?”
    “Yes. Get out of here! Make the call!”
    Mick backed away.
    Elaine climbed out of the tub and scoured the medicine chest for bandages, but everything she found was too small. The blood was still pumping out of the cuts. Soaking wet, her knit dress hanging around her ankles, she ran back down to the kitchen and grabbed some duct tape from under the sink. There was very little left, but it would be enough. It had to be.
    On the way back up the stairs, she peeled off two long strips. After drying Tracy’s wrists, she pressed a towel hard against them, trying to stanch the flow of blood, but it was no use. Holding her breath and willing the blood to stop, she slapped the duct tape around the cuts, winding the silver strips as tight as she could. It seemed to work for a moment, but then the blood began to well up from around the edges of the tape. She held Tracy’s hands above her head, thinking that might help, but the blood just ran down her arms. She remembered something about tourniquets, but she didn’t have one, and wouldn’t know how to use it if she did.
    “Damn,” she shouted, looking around wildly.
    Spotting a single-edged razor on the floor by the tub, she grabbed it and hurled it at the tiled wall. It bounced back and hit her face, nicking her just below the eye.
    “Stupid stupid stupid!” she screamed, whirling around and nearly slipping on the wet floor. She couldn’t do anything right.
    “Tell them to hurry!” she yelled, jumping back into the tub and cradling her daughter in her arms. “It’s going to be all right,” she whispered, squeezing her hand around one wrist, then the other. “Mama’s here, honey. Mama’s here.”

5
    On the way back to the Maxfield, Sophie had some time to ponder her evening at Chez Sophia. Seeing Nathan again had left her feeling oddly empty.
    Sophie wasn’t an unhappy woman. Far from it. She adored her husband, her son, her life, her career. And yet the ruins of that