Chapter 19: The Plate

The detective didn't hurry.

He came down the length of the table past the champagne and the gold place cards, and the guests leaned out of his way.

"Dean Ellery," he said. "Step over here, please."

Dean was still in the older man's grip.

"I didn't do anything," Dean said. "It was Mom. Ask her. It was all Mom."

"Sir, I've got your signature on the sale in two places and a practice sheet in your handwriting."

"That's not..."

"Turn around."

The handcuffs clicked.

Dean started to cry.

Not the quiet kind he did when he wanted something.

It was loud and ugly, a man of thirty-six sobbing with his hands behind his back in front of ninety people he'd spent his life impressing.

"Mer," he said. "Mer, please. I'll do anything. I'll go to rehab. I'll sign the divorce. Please don't let them take me."

"It's already filed, Dean," I said. "I filed it weeks ago."

"Mer."

"You laughed when she handed me the paper plate."

He opened his mouth, and no sound came out.

The detective turned to the two men in the dark coats.

"Gentlemen. I'd like to hear about the loan."

The older man raised both hands.

"We were owed a debt. We came to collect."

"At a social event, with a threat. I'd like a word at the station."

"Of course," the older man said calmly, and for the first time that night, the younger one looked scared.

They walked out behind Dean, one on each side of the detective.

The front door closed.

Norma was still standing at the head of the table.

Nobody had touched her.

She seemed to be waiting for someone to tell her this was a joke.

"Norma Ellery," a uniformed officer said from the hall, "you have the right to remain silent."

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