This Little Piggy Went to Murder (14 page)

Claire held out her hand. “Bram. That’s an unusual name, I don’t believe I’ve ever heard it before. Is it short for something?”

“Bramble,” said Sophie. “It means a rough, prickly shrub.” She patted his face.

“My wife thinks she’s a comedian. I try to humor her, otherwise she pouts. No, it’s just Bram. Unfortunately, my mother’s favorite book was
Dracula
by Bram Stoker. I am his unwitting namesake.” He took off his straw hat and bowed.

“I keep telling him he should feel lucky. After all, we could be calling him
Drac
”

Bram glowered.

“Claire is headmistress at the Tate Academy just outside of Two Harbors,” continued Sophie, ignoring his look.

“It’s a young women’s academy,” smiled Claire. “I’ve been there for several years. I taught art history at the University of Minnesota in Minneapolis before I was offered this job. I jumped at the chance to get out of the city. It’s so quiet living by the shore. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

Quiet, huh? thought Sophie. Right. “And I believe you’re the current president of the North Shore Feminist Association. Isn’t that correct?”

“It is. Speaking of the Association, I was wondering if you’d like to attend one of our meetings while you’re here? We’d love to have you. Amanda is giving a speech on Wednesday night. She wants to discuss her brother’s position on things like child care, the rights of children and the elderly, and other specific issues that affect women.”

Before she could form an answer, Sophie caught sight of Luther crossing the lawn toward them. He was holding a bunch of balloons in one hand and waving at them with the other. Plaid seemed to be the order of the day. Luther had exchanged his usual Brooks Brothers attire for that of L.L. Bean. Somehow, even in an old flannel shirt and faded jeans, he still gave the impression of dignified formality. A baseball cap was pulled low over his eyes.

“I don’t know,” said Sophie, returning her attention to Claire. She wasn’t sure she wanted to spend one of her precious vacation evenings sitting in a room listening to a political speech.

“You don’t know what?” asked Luther, grinning as he punched Bram in the arm. The dog, obviously recognizing him, began to wag its tail.

“I was saying to Claire,” said Sophie, “that I’m not sure I would be able to attend the next Association meeting.”

“Ah. Well, we all have to live with life’s little disappointments.” Luther scratched the dog’s ear. “I was always disappointed Claire was never able to attend one of my classes at the university. I think she would have particularly enjoyed my lecture on women as viewed by the great philosophers.”

Claire’s face grew stony. “As I’ve told you before, I’m quite aware how men have defined women down through the centuries. It’s not my favorite subject.”

“Things like,” Luther continued, “Nietzsche’s infallible solution to all of women’s problems.” He let one of the balloons go. Everyone watched as it was caught by the wind and carried high into the air.

“What was that?” asked Bram.

“Pregnancy.”

Claire’s lips tightened.

Sophie could tell the conversation was headed in the wrong direction. Was Luther baiting her? Sophie had never found him a particularly sexist man, yet he did seem to enjoy Claire’s all too obvious irritation. Did this mean he knew about her relationship with Amanda?

“And then there’s Immanuel Kant. He said any formal learning in a woman would surely weaken her powers to attract a man. If a woman wanted a formal education, she might as well grow a beard. Or words to that effect.”

“You don’t actually believe that stuff, do you?” asked Sophie. “Come on.”

Luther ignored the question. He was on a roll. “And if you like that, you’ll love Schopenhauer. He felt woman’s fatal flaw was her inability to understand principles, especially justice.” He glanced sharply at Claire. “Interesting, don’t you think?”

Claire leveled her gaze. “He was full of shit. And if you believe that crap, so are you.”

Sophie had to do something before they came to blows.

“Luther, Amanda tells me you were thinking of teaching a special class this fall.” It was painfully apparent she was trying to change the subject, but so what? Better that than a formal declaration of war.

A sudden gust of wind blew off the lake, causing the ropes on the food tent to strain against their moorings. Sophie glanced at the angry sky,

“That’s right,” said Luther. “I wasn’t really feeling up to it, but if they’d allowed me to teach the Western world’s single greatest philosopher, I’d have considered it. As it turned out, no one was interested.”

Everyone turned in unison as a rotund, unkempt Sydney Sherwin walked up and slapped a meaty hand over Bram’s shoulder. “How you doin’, fella? Been lookin’ for you folks.” He reeked of sweat and alcohol. “What did y’all think of Jack’s little speech? I guess the murder of his father is old news. A mild display of bereavement might’ve been nice, but then, people are fickle. On the other hand, if he gets some bad press over it, I doubt he’ll find quite so many adoring crowds.” He leaned closer to Claire and whispered, “This little piggy stayed home. Kind of cute, don’t you think?”

“What are you talking about?” coughed Claire, waving away his foul-smelling breath.

“You mean no one around here reads the morning paper?” He stifled a burp. “Old man Grendel was the second little piggy to be bumped off in two days. Someone phoned the paper with an anonymous tip.”

Angrily, Luther pulled Sydney aside. He looked helplessly at Sophie. “I’m afraid it’s true. For Amanda’s sake, I had hoped we could get through the day without making it the subject of conversation. The gossip will start soon enough.”

“But what did this article say?” asked Bram.

Luther eyed Sydney with disgust. “It appears someone called the
Duluth Daily News
and reported that the police fund the words
This little piggy stayed home
typed onto Herman’s computer screen shortly after he was murdered. The police have been trying to keep it quiet. With the revelation in this morning’s edition, it’s not going to be a secret any longer.”

Sophie was stunned. “But that means …”

Sydney moved in closer, wiggling his eyebrows. “This little piggy went to market. This little piggy stayed home. This little piggy ate roast pork …”

“Roast pork?” repeated Bram. “No, no. It’s roast beef.”

“No, honey,” said Sophie, “I think he’s right. I’ve always heard it as roast pork.”

With the exception of Sydney, the significance of the statement seemed to strike everyone at the same time. Sophie looked from face to face, each expression more aghast than the last. Almost as one, their eyes moved to the food table.

Claire backed up several steps. She yanked her dog to a standing position. “Using a gentle little children’s poem for something so hideous — well, I for one think it’s disgusting! If you will all excuse me, I just lost my appetite. It was nice seeing you again, Sophie. Think about that Association meeting.” She nodded politely to Bram. “Nice meeting you.”

“Hmph,” said Sydney, watching her walk away. “No manners.” He belched. “God, can you smell those beans! And did you see that mound of potato salad?” He licked his lips.

Luther draped his arm around Sydney’s shoulder. “Come on, Sid old boy. I think you’ve had a bit too much of our ten-year-old Scotch. Not everyone finds your charms irresistible, you know.” He started to maneuver him away. “I want you to go sit over there,” he said, pointing to a chair under a large oak, “and I’ll bring you a plate of food.”

“Well, if you insist,” said Sydney, lisping slightly. He strided uncertainly toward the tree. “Lots of piggy!” he shouted over his shoulder. “Don’t forget!”

Bram shook his head. “I suppose you’re going to tell us he’s nothing like that when he’s not drinking.”

“No,” said Luther wearily. “He’s just the same. I’m sure you’ve already noticed. I suppose the only reason I can tolerate him is because I’ve known him so long — warts and all. When we got out of the service, Jack convinced Sid and me to visit Duluth. He said this area was just waiting for enterprising young men to move in and take over. I know that really appealed to Sid. On the other hand, I wanted to go back to school. I’d always hoped to teach. I agreed to a visit but then I was going to drive back to St. Louis. As you know, a small problem developed. Somehow, I managed to fall in love with Jack’s older sister. I never counted on that. She was the most vibrantly beautiful woman I’d ever met.” He looked wistfully at the lake. “Needless to say, I changed my plans.”

“And see? You made the right choice. You two have had such a good life,” said Sophie. “I’ve often envied you and Amanda.” The words came out before she realized what she’d said. Yet, from her point of view, it
was
the truth. Why did things have to become so complicated?

Luther gave her a half smile. “Does it seem that way?”

“Hey, Mr. Jorensen?” A young man yelled from the edge of the deck. “Your wife wants you to come up to the kitchen.”

“Right away,” shouted Luther. “Well, duty calls.” He glanced at Sydney who had already fallen asleep under the tree.

“Looks like you got a reprieve,” said Bram. “Don’t worry, we’ll bring him his food.”

“You two got a reprieve, too,” grinned Luther. “I hate to bore people with ancient history.”

“It’s not boring,” protested Sophie. “I mean that.”

Luther smiled almost shyly. “You’re both very kind.”

“Can I ask you one thing before you go?” said Sophie.

“Sure. Anything.”

“You mentioned you’d like to teach a class if you could teach the philosophy of someone in particular. I guess I’m just curious who that might be.”

Luther gazed up at the threatening sky. “
‘And blest are those whose blood and judgment are so well commingled that they are not a pipe for Fortune’s finger to sound what stop she please.’
“

“Shakespeare,” pronounced Bram.

“Exactly.” His eyes slipped to the house. “Now, I better go. We can talk more later.”

“One more thing,” said Sophie, touching his sleeve. “While you’re up there, do you think you could find that newspaper article for me? The one about the note found on Herman’s computer terminal? I’d like to see it.”

Luther cocked his head and stared at her for a moment. “Sure, I suppose. Why not. It’s on the desk in my study. Maybe you can figure out what’s going on around here. I, for one, would damn well like to know!” He turned to Bram. “Listen old boy, don’t eat the entire pig before I get back.” He winked.

Bram swallowed hard, casting a longing glance at the heaped plates of food people were carrying away from the tent. “No problem. You know, I know this is out of character, but I may just stick to vegetables today.”

“Hey, this is really nice of you.” Sydney turned down the volume on the TV with the remote. He was sitting in Luther’s study watching a baseball game on a cable channel. He’d finished his meal about an hour ago, just in time to catch the opening pitch. It was now nearly four-thirty. “I’ve got two hundred dollars riding on this game. I’m betting the Red Sox make it all the way to the World Series.”

“Where would you like me to set your drink?” A crack of thunder shook the tiny panes of glass in the windows on either side of the fireplace.

“How about just handing it over.” He reached for it, turning his head to glance outside. “Looks like we might be in for a storm. A pity.” He snickered. “The picnic may be called on account of rain. You know, I think you mix the best stinger I’ve ever had. That first one you brought in really hit the spot.”

“Why don’t you take a sip? See if I mixed this one the same way.”

Sydney leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the footstool. “I will if you sit down and join me.”

“Of course, I’ll join you.”

“No, no, don’t sit there. I won’t be able to see the Tv.”

“All right. How about here?”

“Dandy.” He took a taste of his drink. “Agh, this one tastes kind of bitter.”

“That’s funny. I mixed it with the same ingredients as the first. It must be the brandy.”

He took another sip, choking slightly. “It’s not so bad, I guess. You just have to get used to it.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

A flash of lightning caused the TV screen to flicker.

“You’re awfully quiet. Something goin’ on?” asked Sydney.

“I don’t know what you mean?”

“Well,” he laughed, “if you don’t know, how should I?” He took another sip. “I think we may have a no-hitter here. The third baseman is the problem. That’s the hot corner tonight.” He watched eagerly as the next man at bat was struck out.

“Is there something wrong with your throat, Sid?”

Sydney set his glass down and sat forward in his chair. “I don’t know. Something feels kind of funny.” A ripple of pain crossed his face.

“Why don’t you try taking another drink. That might help.”