This Little Piggy Went to Murder (15 page)

“Right. Good idea.” He picked up the glass and took several swallows.

“Feel better?”

Slowly, Sydney pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket and began to wipe his forehead. “Shit, is it hot in here, or what?”

“No. I feel just about perfect.”

“Well, I don’t.” He held his stomach. “I feel awful.”

“You know, Sid, you look awful.”

“Do I?”

“Yes, you do.”

He took another sip. “I hope it’s not the stomach flu. I’ve heard that’s going around and I’ve got an important meeting tomorrow.”

“I don’t think you need to worry. It’s not the flu.”

“Well, Christ! It’s got to be something. My stomach hurts like hell. And the inside of my mouth feels like a five-alarm fire.” He sat forward, doubling up in pain.

“It’s probably the cyanide.”

“The what?” Sydney’s eyes grew wide.

“The cyanide. At least, I think it’s cyanide. The bottle just said rat poison. But it’s highly toxic to human beings. You’re a human being, aren’t you, Sid?”

Sydney stared straight ahead.

“I put some in both your stingers. A little more in that last one. Kind of gives new meaning to the name, don’t you think?”

Sydney could no longer speak. He clutched his stomach and pitched forward onto the Oriental rug.

Amanda slumped against the soft couch cushions, covering her face with her hands. “How could this have happened? I can’t believe Sydney’s gone!” Her voice shook with emotion.

“I’m going to have to ask each of you in this room some questions,” said Detective Wardlaw. Silently, his tired gray eyes moved from face to face.

Sophie and Bram were seated on one end of the living room couch next to Amanda. Claire sat tucked into the other end. Jack and Nora stood stonelike in front of the fireplace, while Ryan and Jenny had taken up positions near the mullioned front windows.

Outside, the storm that had been threatening for several hours had finally broken over Brule’s Landing. Sheets of wind-driven rain crashed heavily against the silent house. For once Sophie was glad the walls were made of thick stone. The crowds outside had dispersed around five-fifteen, shortly after the police had arrived. The thunderstorm had taken care of any stragglers who might have wanted to stick around and gawk.

“Where’s your husband, Mrs. Jorensen?” Wardlaw towered over her frail form.

“I imagine he’s still upstairs sleeping. He was exhausted by all the commotion and went up to take a nap around four. I’ll have someone go up and get him.”

Jack draped his arm protectively around his sister’s shoulder. “Surely you must realize there were hundreds of peopIe milling around here today. Any one of them could be responsible for Sid’s death.”

Wardlaw shook his head. “Not possible.”

“I don’t understand,” said Jack.

“This house was locked all afternoon. The only access was through the kitchen. We’ve already checked the doors and windows for signs of a break-in. None have been tampered with. We’ve also talked to Alice Oag, the Jorensens’ cook. She remembers quite clearly that Mr. Sherwin entered the house about three forty-five P.M. At no time did any stranger enter through the kitchen. Mr. Jorensen left strict orders that none of the guests be allowed in the house. People who needed rest room facilities were asked to use the portable units set up in the parking lot. So, Mr. Grendel, whoever murdered Mr. Sherwin was either someone known to Ms. Oag, who entered through the kitchen — that could be any of you — or someone who came in with a key.” He sat down in a chair opposite Amanda. “How many people have keys to your home, Mrs. Jorensen?”

Nervously, Amanda cleared her throat. “Well, of course, Luther and I each have one. And then Jack and Nora both have keys. We gave Ryan and Jenny a set because they’re here so much. It was just easier that way. And, of course, my friend Claire has a key. Last winter she stayed with us fairly often. She was helping me redesign the interior of my restaurant.”

“Anyone else?”

“No, I think that’s it. Except for our daughter, Chelsea. She has one, but she’s hardly ever here. We asked her to come to the barbecue this aftemoon, but she couldn’t make it.”

“That’s not the information we’ve been given,” said Wardlaw.

Amanda looked up. “What?’’

“She was seen entering the house by the side door at approximately three-thirty this afternoon. That would be close to the time Mr. Sherwin died.”

Amanda flushed, pulling her collar more closely around her neck. “Surely you aren’t suggesting…”

“Eight people have keys to this house, Mrs. Jorensen. I believe we’ll find the owner of one of those keys committed a murder.”

An oppressive silence filled the dank, storm-darkened living room as Detective Wardlaw stood, rubbing the center of his back. Only the crackling fire seemed to relieve some of the growing tension.

Bram took hold of Sophie’s hand, squeezing it tightly.

“What about the note we found?” asked Jenny. The sound of her voice seemed to startle her. She looked hesitantly around the room, making sure she hadn’t said the wrong thing.

“What note?” asked Jack.

“Another note was found next to Mr. Sherwin’s body,” sighed Wardlaw. “After this morning’s article in the Duluth newspaper, I suppose there’s no point in trying to hide what’s going on here. The note found today in Mr. Sherwin’s hand clearly links his death with that of your father, Herman Grendel, and Lars Olson. From a quick examination, it appeared to be typed on the same typewriter as the first note.” He turned his back to the fire. “Now we’ve prepared a room upstairs where we can talk privately. For your protection, our conversations will be taped. I’d like to start with you, Ms. Tremlet, since you found the body. If you’ll come with me?”

Jenny quickly fell in behind him as he left the room.

Watching them go, Amanda reached for the handkerchief Bram held out to her. The tears she’d been holding back now came in a flood.

Sophie felt completely helpless as she watched her friend cry. She slipped her hand around Bram’s arm, feeling comforted by his presence.

“It’ll be okay, Sis,” said Jack, trying to sound hopeful. “Really. The police will find out who did it.”

“Claire,” sniffed Amanda, “would you be a dear and wake Luther? Tell him he’s wanted downstairs right away. Oh, and while you’re up, would you mind getting my pills? You know the ones I mean. They’re in my purse. It’s hanging on the coatrack next to the front door.”

“Of course,” said Claire. “I’ll just be a minute.”

Ryan dropped down on a chair opposite Sophie, stretching his arms and legs to relieve some of his nervousness. “How do they think Sydney was — ?”

“Poison,” said Nora, cutting him off. She drew out a cigarette from a brass box on the mantel. “Don’t smoke that damn thing in here,” snarled Jack, stepping away from her.

“Excuse
me
, your lordship.”

“And cut the crap. I don’t have time for it today.”

Sophie noticed a smile creep around the edges of Ryan’s mouth. Was he enjoying this?

“Sophie,” said Amanda, dabbing at the edges, of her eyes, “be a dear and get me a glass of water, will you? I’ll need it for my pills.”

“Sure,” said Sophie, more than glad to get out of the room. She was beginning to feel like an unwelcome intruder inadvertently witnessing a private family tragedy. The last thing Amanda and Jack needed right now was an audience. “I’ll be right back.”

“

Nodding to a heavyset policeman who had been observing her from the doorway, Sophie crossed to the dining room, past the long Duncan Phyfe table covered in lace, and walked at last into the darkened kitchen. A flash of lightning illumined the empty food trays stacked haphazardly on the wide counter. Mechanically she turned on the faucet and reached inside the cupboard for a clean glass. As she watched the water trickle into the sink, she tried to clear her mind and think .

Wardlaw was undoubtedly right. Someone in that room had indeed murdered three people. But facing that fact was frightening — not just because of the horrible deaths involved, but because these people were her friends! Never in her life had Sophie come upon a situation like this. Nothing had prepared her for the cold revulsion she was feeling. Yet somehow, the most surprising part of it was the intense curiosity she’d experienced ever since she’d heard Jenny’s scream and had run into the study to see what was wrong. Under the circumstances, curiosity seemed an appalling reaction to something so horrid. Yet, there it was.

It was that child’s verse that was so diabolical. Only a sick mind could twist something so sweet into something so evil. But think, now. What were the verses?
This little piggy went to market. This little piggy stayed home. This little piggy ate roast pork.
And what was, the next verse?
This little piggy had none.
None of what? None of the roast pork? None of the festivities surrounding the eating of the roast pork? Or none of something completely unrelated? It was the puzzle that fascinated, even though the reality was almost too horrible to contemplate. If she could only crack the code, she might be able to prevent a death. Sophie knew she had one important advantage over the police. They didn’t know the people involved as well as she did. Maybe, just maybe, she might be able to help. Except, what if Bram wanted to leave? That was a strong possibility now that the peace he needed so badly to complete his book had been totally shattered. Yet how could she leave at a time like this? Her friends needed her. It was unthinkable!

Sophie filled the glass and walked quietly back through the dining room. Hearing footsteps on the stairs, she made a quick decision and hid behind one of the large oak doors just as Claire came into the foyer. Watching through a crack, Sophie saw her approach the coat stand, where Amanda’s purse was hanging, and reach inside for the pills. Carefully, Claire drew out a large, brown plastic bottle. It didn’t look like any prescription container Sophie had ever seen before. Holding it closer to a lamp, Claire appeared to be reading the print on the back. Sophie couldn’t see her expression, but the hesitation told her something was wrong. Hurrying now, Claire felt in the pocket of her sweater for a tissue. After wiping the bottle clean of fingerprints, she stuffed it into the pocket of a gray suede jacket hanging next to the purse. Still glancing around, she stuck her hand inside the purse again and, this time, drew out the correct container. Sophie took it as her cue to move from behind the door.

“Oh,” said Claire, whirling around. “You startled me. I didn’t hear you coming.”

“Amanda asked me to get her a glass of water.” She held it up. “For the pills.”

“Of course. I should have thought of that.” Absently, she touched the gold chain at her neck. “I expect we have a long evening ahead of us.”

Sophie nodded.

“I was going to do a book signing later this evening at Beckman Books in downtown Duluth. I called and told them I couldn’t make it. After I explained the situation, they understood.” She sighed. “Well, I guess there’s nothing else to do.” With a look of frustrated resignation, she turned and walked into the living room.

Sophie took a deep breath and followed.

“Lower your voice,” said Sophie, pulling Bram into a nook under the back stairs. “We’ve got to talk.”

“If you’d tried a little harder, I’m sure you could’ve found a more uncomfortable spot.” He stooped to avoid hitting his head. “To someone who is barely five-three, this may look inviting.”

“Shush and help me think. These are our friends, for pity’s sake. We’ve got to help them.”

“I’m going to say this once, darling —”

“Don’t call me darling. You only call me darling when you’re going to say something nasty.”

“— and I expect you to listen. I think we should check into renting that cabin farther up the shore. Things have already gotten out of hand around here, and I, for one, have the sense to leave! I know you feel a certain loyalty to Luther and Amanda. Even Jack and Nora. But —”

“A certain loyalty! One of them may be accused of murder! What if this detective screws up and accuses the wrong person?”

“lf the police make an arrest, they’ll have plenty of evidence. Don’t worry. Besides, they’re professionals. They know how to handle things like this.”

Sophie wasn’t convinced. “You know, I got a pretty good look at that third note Wardlaw found in Sydney’s hand. It was typed on an old manual typewriter. All the
t
’s were slightly below the rest of the letters. I doubt it would be too hard to trace. And another thing. There was something else printed on that paper. I took a second to memorize it. What do you make of this?
But the unkind and the unruly, and the sort who eat unduly, they must never hope for glory — theirs is quite a different story!
”

“Charming.” He scratched his chin. “You know, it does kind of ring a familiar chord. I’m sure I’ve heard it before.”