This Little Piggy Went to Murder (13 page)

“I hope those men know how to roast a pig better than they’re able to follow simple directions.” Nora held up her hand to shade her eyes from the glittering lake. Her luxurious red hair was pulled back tightly into a thick ponytail.

“I can hardly wait,” said Sydney, smacking his lips. Ryan closed his eyes and looked away.

“Did you take care of everything?” asked Nora, leaning over and touching Ryan on his knee.

He nodded.

“Good.” Her smile was positively brilliant. “Then let the Labor Day celebration begin.”

Around one, Nora took a stroll down by the pit where the caterers were roasting the pig. She wanted to make sure everything was on schedule. Since the coals were very hot but completely covered by a thick tarp, the men had roped off the entire area so that none of the guests could wander in and get hurt. One of the cooks had been posted since early morning to prevent an accident. The pit itself had been dug late last evening, with the pig going into it around two A.M. It would be at least twelve hours before it was done and ready to eat.

As Nora approached, one of the guests came to her and pointed to something on the far side of the pit. “What is it?” he asked. “Don’t you see?’’

Nora squinted curiously at the tip of a striped piece of cloth. She immediately recognized what it was. “It’s nothing,” she said with a quick smile. “Just part of the process.” She took the man’s arm and turned him around until he was facing the food tables set up under several high-peaked yellow tents. “Why don’t yon try some of the guacamole and a glass of fresh lemonade? My husband is up there and I’m sure he’d love to meet you.”

Nora tried not to rush him. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. I need to talk to the cook first. Please, we’re asking the guests to stay away from this area.”

“All right,” he said. “But I’ll be waiting.”

Nora watched him walk up the grassy hill. Once he was out of earshot, she turned back to the pit. “Pull that thing out of there,” she demanded. “I want to see it.”

The caterer walked around the back and drew out what appeared to be a partially charred man’s silk necktie. “Gee, I didn’t see that. I wonder how it got there?”

“Someone’s idea of a joke,” said Nora under her breath. Except she knew she couldn’t dismiss it quite that easily. Something about it had frightened her. As she took it from his outstretched hand, she realized it was one of Jack’s. She moved under the rope and approached the edge of the pit. “I want you to uncover the pig. I have to see it.”

The cook appeared confused. “But lady, the whole thing is spread with this thick layer of hot coals. Then there’s a layer of wet leaves. Under that is —”

“I don’t care what it’s covered with! Take that shovel over there and uncover part of it. Now!”

The caterer stared at her as if she had lost her mind. Grudgingly, he picked up the shovel.

Nora stood by impassively as he went to work. After a few minutes of careful digging, the head of the pig appeared. Instantly, Nora could feel the tension in her body begin to dissipate.

“That’s fine. You can cover it back up now.”

With a look of intense disgust, the cook did as he was told.

The crowd fell silent as Jack Grendel took his place behind the podium. All eyes watched as he brushed a lock of curly blond hair away from his forehead and reached underneath the stand for a glass of water. He took a sip before beginning.

“You know, my friends, this means a great deal to me today to see so many of you here pledging your support to this campaign. I much prefer
this
to the fifteen-second sound bites I’ve been trying to get used to for the last several months. On the other hand, I give you my guarantee, I won’t be making a long speech this afternoon. The food smells entirely too good to keep everyone waiting.”

The crowd clapped their approval.

“What I do want to talk about is really quite simple. This Republic has finally begun to recognize the luminous stupidity of the very
same
politicians we send back to Washington year after year, time after pointless time. It’s like a game of political yo-yo, and nothing ever changes. Just the rhetoric. Our collective ears can now pick out a political lie quicker than it takes to turn off the TV set. We realize that too much — much too much — is daily being taken away from us, while very little is ever returned.

“In our election process today, no one is allowed to go uncategorized. This one is a liberal. That one is a conservative. We all know the buzzwords. Yet, if we must be pigeonholed to allow for quick and easy analysis by the newspaper columnists and nightly newscasts, let’s at least choose those names carefully, and give them a modicum of definition. Therefore, let’s talk for a minute about liberals and conservatives.

“I am running for the U.S. Senate as a Democrat. For all practical purposes, that name designates me as a liberal. The question is then, what is a liberal? For the last ten years candidates for public office have been desperately running away from that unholy title. I do not. I believe I’ve finally begun to understand what motivates the liberal and conservative minds. And that motivation, my friends, is at the very heart of our national dilemma.”

Almost as one, the crowd grew quiet, giving their full attention to the handsome man behind the lectern.

“I submit to you that the conservative position in this country today is one inherently motivated by fear. Fear of loss. Fear of change. Quite honestly, I understand those fears myself. We all do. It’s natural to fear losing power. And as much as we look forward to it, in some sense we all fear the uncertainty of the future. Why? Because it represents change. And change is a terrifying thing. Consequently, in this time of some of the greatest changes humankind has ever experienced — both politically and socially — conservatism is an appealing and highly comforting position. After all, at least we understand the way things used to work. They may not be working all that well for everyone
now,
but again, it’s familiar, and change is threatening and we’re doing okay; so leave us alone. Don’t rock the boat. Sticking with the status quo — indeed,
making it the moral equivalent of righteousness
— means that we’ll all stay safe and secure, and as part of the bargain, feel ourselves to be ethical human beings. And that, my friends, in a nutshell, is the fallacy of the conservative position.

“Change is inevitable. Whether we are prepared or not, the future is coming. Past rules and ways of looking at things — even though every sane person agreed they were the very foundation of God’s will on earth — may no longer work. Will we have to be dragged, clutching our old ideas to our breasts, into the next century? Or will we embrace change? I believe
that
perspective is what liberalism can offer to this nation.

“The liberal position, although sometimes Pollyannaish and impractical, has always embraced change —
and
human diversity — as good and necessary. One way or another, things
will
change. We can either send people to Washington who will nurture and direct our collective future, or we can send philosophical dinosaurs who will fight against it with the virulent and highly effective weapons of racism, sexism, reactionary religion — those whose fear is so great they would paralyze this nation and send us to our doom. My friends, the stakes are clear. We
have
to believe in our ability to shape the future and live with diversity and, yes, change!”

Thunderous applause followed the statement.

“Let’s make a deal,” said Jack, holding up his hands for quiet. “Let’s decide to take the future into our hands. Even though we’re afraid, even though we need to be cautious and practical, let’s not let our fears lead us to defeat. “Look to this day for it is life. Yesterday is but a dream, tomorrow only a vision. But, today well-lived makes every yesterday a dream of happiness, and every tomorrow a vision of hope. Look well, therefore, to this day.’ It’s my hope, my good friends, that instead of voting our fears in November, this time, this year, for our future, we will vote our dreams! Thank you very much. And God bless you all!”

People leapt to their feet, cheering and calling Jack’s name.

“Nora, come up here!” Jack waved her up onto the stage. “I want you all to meet my wife.”

Looking extremely elegant in a jade-green designer suit, Nora stepped up next to her husband. Their almost-Hollywood attractiveness wasn’t lost on the crowd of supporters cheering from the lawn.

“I hope you’ll all enjoy the fabulous food prepared by Olafson Catering here in Duluth. Nora informs me we’ll be ready to eat about three o’clock. In the meantime, I’d like to meet and talk personally with each and every one of you. If we work together, if we never lose sight of our goal, we will achieve victory, for ourselves, ourcountry, and our future in November. Thank you very much! Have a great Labor Day!”

The crowd continued to cheer as the Sons of Norway Marching Band began to play “Stars and Stripes Forever.” Jack waded into the throng, shaking hands with the people closing in around him. Nora shook a few hands and then caught Ryan’s eye. He’d been standing quietly at the edge of the deck, observing people’s reactions. Together they headed around to the rear door of the house. Jack had his duties to perform. So did they.

“Are you coming?” shouted Bram, his voice impatient. He paused at the edge of the front lawn, waving his arms furiously.

From her vantage on a rocky cliff overlooking Lake Superior, Sophie could see people beginning to line up in front of the food tables. She had been enjoying a moment of solitude, breathing in the sweetness of the afternoon lake breezes. Much to everyone’s dismay, the sky had begun to turn cloudy during Jack’s speech. Large black thunderclouds were now appearing over Duluth. Thankfully, it would be a while before they reached this far up the shore. “Is it time to eat?” she shouted back, picking up the fringed suede jacket Bram had given her for her last birthday. Such a sweet man. They had seen it in a specialty shop on a recent trip to visit some of Sophie’s relatives in northern Minnesota. An elderly Ojibwa woman in Cass Lake still made them by hand. Bram knew how much she wanted it and arranged to have it sent to the house the day of the party.

“You better hurry,” he called. “There won’t be a scrap left after I’m through.”

Saying a brief goodbye to the acrobatic gull that had been keeping her company, she crossed the flat rock to the lawn. The house, which loomed high above her on the hill, seemed a forbidding vision in the gloomy afternoon light. Something about it had aIways felt so cold, so closed off and remote. It wasn’t just that it was constructed of stone. It had more to do with the interior darkness. There was no sense of comfort or warmth within its thick, wintry walls. Sophie shook off the melancholy feeling. Today was
not
going to be spent worrying about anything at all. A picnic was supposed to be fun. Amanda had already introduced her to so many people she felt she knew half the crowd.

Bram motioned her into the food line in front of him.They were standing a good twenty yards from the tent. The line was moving slowly because of the vast array of food set out on the long folding tables. Everything smelledso wonderful it was going to be an agonizing wait. In the distance, a group of small children, each holding a balloon, danced on the grassy slope in front of the gazebo. The band was still playing, but had changed from patriotic marches to “Let Me Call You Sweetheart.”

“Today, my darling, you look like you’ve been on a three-day drunk.” Sophie touched his prickly face.

“I must say, I like this no shaving in the morning. I should have grown a beard long ago.”

Sophie smirked. “Kissing you is like kissing a Brillo pad.”

“Well, if it’s so damn bad —”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You like Brillo pads?”

“I could get used to them.”

Bram harrumphed. “Lucky for you. By the way, have you gotten through to your son yet? I heard you calling him last night. No use trying to keep secrets.”

Sophie’s expression turned serious. “Not yet. Norman’s wife answered. She said she’d pass on the message, but I don’t believe her.”

“Maybe you should try calling again?”

“Maybe.”

“You seem so preoccupied with it, Soph. I wish you wouldn’t worry so much. Things will work out. You’ll see.”

Sophie stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. To be honest, she hadn’t had the heart to tell him what was really uppermost in her thoughts since last night. All morning she simply couldn’t get the image of what she’d witnessed at the lighthouse out of her mind. It wasn’t that Bram was homophobic. They both had lots of gay friends in Minneapolis. But Amanda was married to a man they each cared about. Claire was a threat to that marriage. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be just a casual affair. And, adding insult to injury, it was obvious something else was going on. Something sneaky. The more Sophie thought about it, the more she wondered what it could possibly be. Still, she didn’t want to say anything to distract Bram from his writing. At least, not yet.

“Good afternoon,” called Claire. A large brown spaniel dragged her toward them. “I was hoping we’d run into each other today.” Her round face beamed cheerfully as she yanked the dog to a halt. “Hi,” said Sophie, a little disoriented to see the woman she had just been thinking about materialize right in front of her. She caught Bram’s eye. “Sweetheart, I’d like you to meet a friend of Amanda’s. This is Claire Van Dorn. My husband, Bram Baldric.”