This Little Piggy Went to Murder (19 page)

Jack didn’t take his eyes off her. “Olson contacted you?”

“He did. He called me last week. Said he had some important information we might be interested in.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“He asked me not to say anything until I’d talked with him.”

“He wanted money?”

“Among other things. You didn’t answer my question. Did you know?”

Jack brushed a well-tended hand through his blond hair. “No, not at the time. But I was told about it. Recently.”

“By whom?”

“My niece.”

“Chelsea? WeIl, of course. Why not? Since she’s been working directly under your father for the past few years, she could easily have found out.”

“We’ve always been close. You know that. She wanted to warn me. If it gets to the press, there could be some negative political fallout.”

Nora snorted. “Not to mention negative financial fallout for Grendel Shipping. Chelsea owns the company now. The cleanup will cost millions.”

“Possibly more.”

She watched him. “There’s something you’re not telling me. I can feel it. You’ve struck some kind of deal, haven’t you? Chelsea’s financial support for your campaign in return for a political favor. What is it? You keep the federal dogs off her heels until she can see what’s really in those barrels? Get the whole thing cleaned up without any government supervision? Ryan’s not going to like that. He doesn’t make deals that could hurt the environment. You better see that he doesn’t find out.”

“He won’t. And don’t get the wrong idea. I don’t need to make deals with Chelsea. I’d have her support no matter what.”

“Lucky for you your father left the company to her. If he was still alive, you wouldn’t be getting a penny for your campaign.”

“Don’t make it sound like that. Do you think I wanted my father dead?”

Nora finished her wine. “Someone did.”

“Drop it.”

“You’re a fool, Jack.”

“You might be surprised.”

She stretched her arms above her head and leaned back, closing her eyes. “I doubt that. You’re a rich kid. You’ve always been insulated by money. You’ve never learned how to fight dirty. Sometimes, I don’t think you’ve got what it takes to win.”

“And you do?”

She narrowed her eyes and watched him with a catlike intensity. “One day you’ll be glad I was on your side. We’re very different, you and I. You sit around with your books and ideas — as if they made any real difference.”

“Never underestimate the power of thought, Nora.”

She pulled a headband off her long red hair and shook it loose. “Horseshit. We need to cover your political ass or you may find it displayed rather unattractively on
Prime TIme News
”

Jack burst out laughing. “I knew I married you for something besides that gorgeous body.”

“Careful. Amanda and Claire probably have you wired for sound. I think you just said something gratuitously sexist.”

Jack reached for her hand. “Don’t worry. Things will work out the way we both want. Come the new year, we’ll be in Washington. That’s a promise. Now,” he said, standing and picking up his briefcase, “you haye to get ready. We’re expected for dinner at Brule’s Landing. Amanda’s planned dinner and a movie.”

Nora groaned. “We just got home.”

“Be nice. And repack that overnight bag of mine while you’re at it. I’m meeting with my staff there early tomorrow morning. We’ll be spending the night again.”

“Lucky us.”

“Besides,” he added, “a little rest and relaxation might be good for both of us. Amanda thought I was looking a bit pale.” He stood over her, running, his hand lightly around her neck. “I haven’t had an evening off in quite a while. Maybe tonight we can catch up on more than our sleep.”

Nora grinned. “All right. I’ll consider it. But on one condition. I get to pick the mood music tonight. Hail to the Chief is getting kind of old.”

“We missed you at dinner.” Alice Oag, the Jorensens’ cook, smiled. She sat heavily on a stool in front of a long wooden worktable cutting up fresh peaches. Her silver-gray hair was haphazardly pinned away from her face, revealing a high forehead and shrewd, somewhat rheumy eyes. “Your husband had three helpings of my famous cassoulet. He even had room for dessert.” She spoke with a certain awe.

“That sounds like Bram.” Sophie smiled. “He adores your cooking.” She poured herself a cup of steaming Norwegian egg coffee. “What are all the peaches for?”

“Homemade peach pie. Mr. Jorensen’s favorite. Mr. Grendel is having a big meeting here at the house tomorrow morning. Some kind of strategy session for the next debate.” She gave Sophie a knowing look. “Everyone will be staying for lunch.”

Sophie sat down at the table and watched Alice slice deeply into the center of a particularly lovely peach, removing the pit. She had known the Jorensens’ cook for just over ten years. Alice had come to their employ shortly after they’d moved to Brule’s Landing. Her sturdy, no-nonsense approach appealed to Sophie. And Alice definitely knew her way around a cassoulet.

“I don’t mind telling you,” continued Alice, pulling another bowl of peaches closer to her, “I’m pretty upset about what’s going on around this house. If you ask me, poor Mr. and Mrs. Jorensen are being harassed by the police. And with Mr. Jorensen so tired all the time. Can’t they see the man is ill? They should leave him alone.” She poked her paring knife threateningly at Sophie. “Never in all the years I’ve worked for the Jorensens have I once considered leaving their employ. Not until now. I mean, I don’t feel safe! “ She shuddered, slipping the skin from another peach.

“I’m curious,” said Sophie. “How well did you know Sydney Sherwin?”

Alice scowled. “Well enough. He was an evil man. You may not believe in evil, but I do. I don’t know why he came back here, but you can bet it was to cause trouble.”

One of the few things Sophie had not lost faith in over the years was her belief in human evil. She could easily grant that Alice was right. “What about Chelsea? Were they … friends when she was a child?”

Alice sighed. “Poor Chelsea. She’s always been such a lost soul. I don’t blame her parents though. They love their daughter very much. The thing is, both Luther and Amanda were so busy when she was growing up, they didn’t make much time for her. I know Chelsea felt isolated when they moved to Brule’s Landing. There weren’t many children to play with this far out of town. Anybody who showed her any attention, at least when she was young, she would follow around like a little puppy. I don’t mind telling you it was a sad sight. If I remember correctly, Sydney did take her on a skiing trip once. I always thought it was kind of funny, him offering to take her and all. He wasn’t one to spend much time with children. I think it was the first winter we lived here. Chelsea must have been eleven or twelve. You know, it was her uncle Jack who really made time for her. She would just light up when he’d come through that front door. They’re still quite close. I’ve often wondered if Mr. Jorensen isn’t a little jealous of Mr. Grendel’s relationship with his daughter. I think he’d like to go back and change some of the things he did — or didn’t do — when Chelsea was young. He’s said as much. Mrs. Jorensen, too. But there’s no use now. What’s done is done.”

Sophie held the coffee cup to her lips, mulling over what Alice had just said. “Let me ask you another question. What do you thin of Claire Van Dorn?”

Alice made a sour face. “Well, it’s none of my business, you understand. I hate to speak ill of people. She’s okay, I guess. She used to be here all the time. Last winter Mrs. Jorensen even insisted she be given her own room upstairs. They were working on the restaurant renovation and sometimes they’d work late into the night. Lots of times they’d come into the kitchen here to make a snack after I’d gone to bed. I could hear them giggling like two schoolgirls. And then other times they’d be very secretive, whispering to each other. I know it got on Mr. Jorensen’s nerves. Can you blame him? He tried to be pleasant, but I think her constant presence upset him more than he let on. Since Mr. Jorensen got sick, she hasn’t been around as much. But she’s here tonight, God love her.” Alice nodded to the basement door. “They’re all down in the rec room watching a movie. Something about a python. It’s supposed to be a comedy, not that I can see anything particularly funny about a snake. “ She stabbed another peach.

Sophie could hear laughter coming from the stairway.

“Chelsea called a few minutes ago. I took the message. She’ll be coming out for that breakfast meeting tomorrow. When Mrs. Jorensen came upstairs a few minutes ago, I mentioned that her daughter was going to be here in the morning. She got so excited I didn’t have the heart to tell her it wasn’t a social call.” She shook her head. “It’s sad, isn’t it — that people can’t get along better? Oh, that reminds me. You had a phone call, too.”

Immediately Sophie thought of the man she’d spoken with at Damascus Gate. “Was there a message?”

Alice set down the knife and wiped her sticky hands on a damp towel. “Let me think. No, no message. It was from someone named Rudy. He just asked for you and when I said you weren’t here, he thanked me and hung up.”

Sophie was stunned. “That was my son!”

“Is that right? Sure, I remember now. He lives out West somewhere.”

“Montana.”

“Well, he has a nice voice. Very polite.”

Sophie’s mind was racing. Why had he called? Was it possible that Norman’s second wife had actually given him her message? Did she dare call him back? What if Norman answered? If he found out Rudy had called her, there might be a very nasty scene. Rudy didn’t need that. She didn’t either. But he’d called her! Bram was right. Maybe there was some hope after all.

“Oh, he did say he was over at a friend’s house. Maybe that’s why he didn’t leave a number.”

Sophie’s heart sank. He wasn’t home. Even if she got up the nerve to call, he wouldn’t be there. Her soul ached to hear her son’s voice.

“Are you all right?” asked Alice. “You look kind of flushed.”

Sophie stood and walked to the sink, splashing a handful of cold water into her face. “It’s nothing.”

“Your son sounded fine,” said Alice comfortingly. “Really. You shouldn’t worry.”

She attempted a smile. “I’m not. As a matter of fact, this is really great news.” If he’d called once, he might try again. She had to hold that thought. As she returned to the worktable, she could feel the adrenaline pumping through her body. The evening would be a total loss if she simply spent it stewing. She had to find something to occupy her time. “Say, Alice, I was wondering. I know how much Amanda has always loved to garden. Did she and Chelsea ever do it together?”

Alice cocked her head. “No, not that I remember.”

“There’s no
child’s garden
around here then?”

Alice seemed confused. “I don’t think so. There’s a small rock garden up near the gazebo. Could that be what you’re thinking of?”

Sophie sipped her coffee. “No. But thanks anyway.” She decided to shift subjects. There was still the matter of the typewriter on which the murder notes had been typed. She knew the police had searched the house quite thoroughly last night, after Sydney’s body had been found in Luther’s study. But they hadn’t found it. Maybe she’d get lucky. “Listen, Alice, I need to write a letter to a friend. Is there a typewriter around here that I could use? I don’t want to bother anyone.”

Alice got up and crossed to the stove, turning up the fire under a kettle of water. “Let me think. Well, there’s the computer Mr. Grendel bought for Ryan to use in his speech writing. Very fancy. It’s in the east sunroom.”

Sophie shook her head. “Sorry. It’s not an IBM. I wouldn’t know how to use it.”

“No, me either.” Alice nodded her approval. “Well then, I think your husband is using one. I suppose he brought that with him. Would he let you borrow it?”

“I have strict orders not to bother him until he comes out of his lair.”

Alice smiled at the allusion. “Yes, he is kind of a bear, isn’t he? You know, I’ve never told you this before, but I think you two make such a cute couple.”

“Cute?”

“Oh, you know what I mean. When you first brought Bram up here, I wasn’t sure what I thought. I have pretty high standards, if I do say so myself. My own husband, God rest his soul, was one in a million. But Bram was forever coming back into the kitchen, poking through the pots on the stove, peeking in the ovens. He always wanted to know what was for dinner, how I did this or that. I like that in a man. He has down-to-earth interests. And all the while, we were becoming friends. He kind of sneaks up on you, you know that? Before you know it, you like him.”

“I know,” smiled Sophie.

“Tonight he wanted to know where I got the sausage for the cassoulet. He wouldn’t leave me alone until I told him all about this smokehouse in Two Harbors where they smoke Lake Superior whitefish and trout — and occasionally do some garlic sausage. You know, a cassoulet is only as good as the marriage of the wine and sausage. As far as I’m concerned, if there’s a secret, that’s it. He wrote everything down and I think he’s going to drive over and get some — or make you do it.” She winked. “I told him he should buy some of the whitefish, too. A trip to Duluth is never complete without it. I even gave him one of my secret recipes, one of Mrs. Jorensen’s favorites. You see, I bind the fish in a rich bechamel sauce with fresh dill and basil, and then bake it in a puff pastry. I usually serve it in the summer with slices of fresh lime.”