This Little Piggy Went to Murder (2 page)

Sophie groaned. “He didn’t have a chance to get his tux pressed before we left Minneapolis, so he’s scouting the area for a while-you-wait dry cleaner.”

“Good luck. You know, Luther might have something he can borrow.”

“Bram fit into something of Luther’s? Amanda, I think restaurant renovation has taken a bigger toll on your psyche than you realize.”

Amanda laughed, sitting down and reaching for Sophie’s hand. “God, it’s good to see you again. What’s it been? Four, five months?”

“Since I started as managing editor of
Squires
, I haven’t had a minute.”

“And you still like the glamorous world of magazine publishing?”

“Forget the glamour — but yes, I absolutely love it. It’s what I’ve been working toward for the last fifteen years.”

“I’m curious. They don’t mind your strange sideline?” She nodded to Sophie’s tweed jacket.

“On the contrary. It’s given me a great deal of visibility. Actually, several articles have recently been written about my method of reviewing restaurants. Even though
Squires
deals primarily with the arts, it has an intellectual, almost scholarly reputation. I think they feel my presence adds a certain
joie de vivre
”

Amanda nodded. “You’re lucky.”

“Listen,” continued Sophie, making herself a little more comfortable in the high-backed, wooden chair, “Bram’s got a deadline on that book he’s writing. You know, the science-fiction thriller for which he intends to win the Pulitzer.’

“I can’t wait,” mumbled Amanda.

“Anyway, we’d love to stay with you and Luther out at Brule House tonight and attend the celebration here in Duluth, but tomorrow we’re planning to head farther up the shore. We called about renting a cabin. Bram feels he needs the solitude, so he can concentrate on his manuscript.”

Amanda wrinkled her nose. “You mean you aren’t staying the week?” She slipped her glasses back on and studied Sophie for a moment. “Will you at least consider this: what if Bram worked in Luther’s study? He could have all the peace and quiet he wanted, Luther certainly wouldn’t mind. And you know how much that husband of yours loves Alice’s cooking.”

“I don’t know,” said Sophie, trying not to sound overly confident. Bram was sometimes a bit of a poop when it came to last-minute changes of plan. “I suppose we could discuss it.”

“Good. Then it’s settled.”

Sophie wasn’t so positive, but for now, she let the subject drop. As they continued to talk, she let her eyes travel around the newly renovated dining room. Three years ago, Amanda had found a shelf of publicity photographs taken of the Gasthaus Rethenau in 1923, the year her maternal grandfather first opened the doors. Ever since then, she’d been wanting to get rid of every trace of modernization that had turned the dark Bavarian-inspired den of the Twenties into the trendy mauve-and-gray greenhouse of the Nineties. By the looks of the room, she had done a faithful job. She’d even resurrected the original oak tables and chairs from a downstairs storage room and had them repaired.

Sophie had to admit that the result was amazing. She felt she was sitting in a faithfully preserved nook of pre-World War II Europe. Even the artwork looked authentic. In front of the newly restored floor-to-ceiling mural of the Black Forest, Amanda had found someone to construct a raised platform big enough to accommodate a small orchestra. In front of that, tables had been cleared away for the dance floor.

Amanda had taken over the management of the restaurant in 1978, the year her mother died. There had never been any question of selling. The restaurant was too much a part of her family history.

“By the way,” said Sophie, “how is Luther? Your last report hinted that he wasn’t feeling so well.”

Amanda tugged on her hoop earrings. Her quiet brown eyes looked tired. “He’s on some pretty nasty medication right now. It’s playing havoc with his digestion. As you’ll soon see, he’s lost weight. Listen, do me a favor. Luther doesn’t like to discuss it, so don’t —”

“Did you see the Duluth paper this morning?” The inquiry emanated from the kitchen doorway. In the now uncarpeted hall, the deep voice almost created echoes. “You should call your father right away.” A thin, impeccably dressed bearded man entered, a newspaper tucked under one arm. “Sophie! I don’t believe it.” Walking briskly across the room, Luther bent down and gave her a kiss. With an inquisitive twist of his head, he pulled back and eyed her clothing. “Is that what women are wearing these days in the big city?” He felt the expensive material and smirked.

“If you’re a good boy, I may let you borrow it.” Sophie was glad Amanda had warned her about her husband’s appearance. She’d always considered Luther Jorensen an extremely elegant man. Tall. Professorial. With a dark, beautifully somber face. Yet never before had she seen him so gaunt. Even his beard couldn’t hide the hollowness in his cheeks. She gazed up into his intense blue eyes, glad, at least, that they bore no trace of illness. “Besides, I couldn’t miss the reopening, dear one. l have to keep an eye on you two, you know.” She winked at Amanda.

Luther smiled warmly and sat down across from her. As always he moved with the grace of a dancer.

“Why should I call my father?” asked Amanda, resuming the conversation.

Sophie pulled the newspaper across the table and read the headline out loud. “Ex-Chancellor of UMD Found Dead Under Aerial Lift Bridge.”

“How awful!” cried Amanda. “Read the rest of it. How did it happen?”

“I’ll save you the trouble,” said Luther. He reached inside his coat pocket for a cigarette. “Lars Olson was hanged from the lift bridge last night around midnight. Someone tied him up, gagged him, and then tied a rope to the bridge. When it lifted —” He paused to light up. “You get the picture.”

Amanda stared at the files in front of her, her face a mask of confusion. “That’s hideous. I wonder if Jack knows.”

“Jack?” repeated Luther. “What would your brother care? It’s your father who needs to know.”

“What does Olson’s death have to do with your dad?” asked Sophie. She’d known Amanda’s father for over forty years. He and her own father had been fast friends since college.

“Herman hired him as a consultant for his shipping company last year,” answered Luther. “Olson had just resigned from the university. I must say, there was no weeping or gnashing of teeth in the philosophy department over his departure. Actually, we had a celebration.” He grabbed an empty ashtray off another table. “It was the least we could do.”

Sophie continued with the article. “It says here the man who found the body also found a note in his shirt pocket. The police aren’t certain it had anything to do with his murder.”

“I see,” said Amanda, her voice oddly expressionless. “Does it mention what the note said?”

“
This little piggy went to market
,” quoted Luther. “Kind of an apt little phrase, don’t you think? After all, Lars resigned from the university to go make his fortune as a business consultant for Grendel Shipping. And, from personal experience, I can assure you he was a pig.”

“Don’t be a ghoul!” Amanda played nervously with the fine blonde tuft that had escaped from her braided bun. “The man is dead. Leave it alone.”

A loud crash drew their attention to the dining room entrance where an elderly man in an electric wheelchair careened into the room. He’d somehow managed to knock over a porcelain statue next to the front door. Several shards were resting precariously in his lap. He came to a stop just inside the room, mutely glaring at them.

“Father!” said Amanda, clearly surprised.

“To what do we owe this unannounced visitation?” asked Luther.

Herman Grendel surveyed the room suspiciously, his gaze coming to rest on Sophie. “Sophia,” he mumbled. “Didn’t know you were in town.” He didn’t seem to notice her bizarre fashion statement.

After all these years, Sophie was accustomed to Herman’s inexplicable mispronunciation of her given name. “Bram and I came up for the reopening,” she explained. “I intend to do an article on it for the Minneapolis Times Register. And how are you, Herman? You look well.”

“I’m old, Sophia. Tell that father of yours to get on the horn and give me a call. He’s still alive, isn’t he?”

“Last mother checked, he still had a pulse. I’ll give him your message.”

Herman harrumphed. “A man his age should retire.”

“But you haven’t.” Sophie tried hard not to grit her teeth. From her point of view, Herman Grendel had always been opinionated, supercritical, and arrogant.

“Father?” said Amanda, her voice soothing. “Are you coming to the celebration tonight?”

“No. I’m here now.” He glanced quickly around the room. “Seems okay.”

Amanda shot Sophie an amused look. So much for honeyed compliments.

“I’ve never had much interest in this place,” grumped Herman. “You know that. Your mother brought it with her into the marriage. If it’d been up to me, we would’ve sold it for scrap long ago.”

“Cut to the chase,” said Luther under his breath.

Amanda threw her husband a cautionary look. She stood and made a move toward a coffeepot that nestled on a warming plate next to the table.

“Sit down,” ordered Herman. “I’ve come to talk to you and I want your undivided attention.”

Amanda stiffened, but caught.herself and said, “Of course, Father.” She cleared her throat. “Both Luther and I were so sorry to hear about Lars Olson’s death last night.”

Herman appeared momentarily confused. The expression swiftly turned to anger. “You think I don’t know what you and your weasel brother have been up to? I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find that one of you was behind Olson’s death.”

“That’s a horrible thing to say!”

“Daddy, please.” Luther’s voice dripped sweetness. “We have a guest.”

“Sophia’s no guest!” Herman glared at Luther, then tugged at the top button of his wool sweater. He’d lost weight in the last year. Nothing fit him properly anymore. “There’s something funny going on around here. I can smell it. You tell Jack that all deals are off. You got that? Tell him he’d better tread carefully. It’s tit for tat, as far as I can see, and you both know what I mean by
that
.” He rolled his wheelchair menacingly in front of her. “And add one thing. Tell him I’m withdrawing my financial support from his senatorial campaign as of this minute.”

Luther began to laugh. “It’s always some pathetic play fot control, isn’t it, Herm? You’re not happy unless everyone else isn’t. Well” — he leaned over and put his arm protectively around Amanda’s shoulder — “if you came here to threaten Jack with that, it suggests your stroke affected your mind after all. I must say, I always suspected it.”

Herman narrowed one eye, and backed up the wheelchair slightly. “For a man who prides himself on having a quick intellect, you’re a remarkable dunce, Luther. You may not be interested in my money, but look at your wife. If a drooling old man can see the flicker of fear in her eyes, why can’t you?”

For a split second, Luther registered surprise.

“Father,” said Amanda, her voice perfectly calm, “I think we should talk about this … privately.”

“No more talk. As far as I’m concerned, Jack better watch his step. Give him that message when you see him.” He snapped his slack lips together and ran a shaky hand over his bald head. “I suppose I don’t need to remind you that I’m leaving everything to Chelsea when I die. She’s the net worth of your hopeless and nearly fruitless union.” He raised an eyebrow at Luther. “Are you sure she’s really yours, my boy? She doesn’t resemble you one iota.” He glanced back at Amanda. “Chelsea has been at my side for nearly four years now and I’ve taught her well. I probably don’t need to mention that she loathes both of you.”

Sophie noticed a small shudder pass through Amanda’s body. She felt terribly sorry for her old friend. Herman was a master at probing the most delicate, carefully protected nerve. She wanted to tell him to knock it off, to take his bitter opinions and leave, but knew it wasn’t her place. Besides, there was obviously more going on here than simple family strife.

“Chelsea’s going to make something of herself,” continued Herman. He yanked at the lever of his wheelchair and nearly backed over a potted plant. He seemed oblivious to his comically erratic inability to control the machine. “She’s a fighter. Lucky for her she, never bought any of your empty liberal values. You’re out of date, Amanda dear. The youth of this country see right through that feminist crap. How I could have raised two children so unlike me, I’ll never know. You and your women’s libber yammering and your brother’s high-toned environmentalist claptrap have finally convinced me that neither of you is worth a bowl of warm spit. Let Jack’s conservation cronies support him. If they’re lucky, they might cough up enough money to buy him a bus ticket back to the statehouse.” His last statement struck him as particularly funny, and he began to giggle.

Luther held on tightly to Amanda as Herman bumped his way out of the dining room.

Sophie watched from her own corner of the table, glad that the wooden chairs were already antiques. A few more nicks here and there would hardly be noticed.