This Little Piggy Went to Murder
Read This Little Piggy Went to Murder Online
Authors: Ellen Hart
Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #General
LITTLE
PIGGY
WENT TO
MURDER
Ellen Hart
Copyright © 1994 by Ellen Hart
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.
Edition: November 2010
This, too, for Kathy
SOPHIE GREENWAY:
Managing editor of Squires magazine; part-time food critic for the Minneapolis Times Register; married to Bram Baldric.
AMANDA JORENSEN:
Owner of the Gasthaus Rethenau in Duluth; wife of Luther, sister of Jack, mother of Chelsea.
BRAM BALDRIC:
Radio talk-show host of WMST in Minneapolis; husband of Sophie Greenway.
LUTHER JORENSEN:
Professor of philosophy at University of Minnesota, Duluth; husband of Amanda, father of Chelsea.
LARS OLSON:
Ex-chancellor of UMD; business consultant for Grendel Shipping.
HERMAN GRENDEL:
Owner of Grendel Shipping; father of Amanda and Jack, grandfather of Chelsea.
JACK GRENDEL:
Senatorial candidate for U.S. Congress; brother of Amanda, son of Herman, husband of Nora.
NORA GRENDEL:
Wife of Jack Grendel.
CLAIRE VAN DORN:
Headmistress at the Tate Academy; assisted Amanda with the renovation of the Gasthaus Rethenau; author of a new book of children’s poetry.
CHELSEA JORENSEN:
Daughter of Luther and Amanda, niece of Jack; works directly under her grandfather, Herman Grendel, at Grendel Shipping.
RYAN WOODTHORPE:
President of North Shore Coalition for a Better Environment; speechwriter for Jack; lives with Jenny.
JENNY TREMLET:
Runs a day-care center out of the cottage at Brule’s Landing; lives with Ryan.
SYDNEY SHERWIN:
Vietnam war buddy of Jack’s and Luther’s.
JOHN WARDLAW:
Detective, Duluth Police Department.
ALICE OAG:
The Jorensens’ cook and part-time maid.
This Little Piggy
Went to Market
The gravel against his face woke him. Tiny jagged rocks cut sharply into his soft cheek. As he tried to twist himself into a sitting position, something scratchy grabbed at his neck. My God, he thought, his mind grasping at consciousness: a rope!
He gave himself a minute before rolling over onto his side and looking up at the stars. Where was he? The tape across his mouth pulled at the coarse hairs in his mustache. Lights bobbed and dipped in a strange pattern above him. This must be a nightmare! He closed his eyes, trying to control his growing panic. Behind his back, his arms throbbed. The rope around his hands was beginning to cut off circulation.
What on earth had happened? He dimly remembered a bar somewhere. That was it. He’d waited and waited. Too many gin and tonics. He’d gotten into that car and … then what? He shook his head to clear his memory. Sure. He recalled it now. That last drink on the way into town. An open bottle in the car. And then, this strange feeling of weakness came over him. But when was that? His mind struggled to make sense of each new fragment.
Straining to look around, he heard the familiar sound of an ore boat blasting its horn into the late summer night. The Aerial Lift Bridge! Why had someone brought him to Canal Park? The smell of popcorn and newly mowed grass slowly reached his consciousness. Fireworks began to explode in vivid colors across the night sky. The bridgeman, responding to the call from the boat, repeated the same horn pattern. Seconds later, the whir of traffic above him ceased. The bridge was being cleared of cars. How many times had he driven over that same bridge himself out to his home on Park Point? A comforting sense of the familiar calmed him as he lay quietly, looking up at the huge, metal girders. Seconds later, the bridge began to lift. The rough hemp rope around his neck tightened.
Out on the water, the ore boat glided swiftly into the canal as people gathered along the sides of the channel to wave and shout goodbyes. Fireworks cast an eerie, staccato brightness on the boatmen standing on deck.
No one noticed the doll-like figure dancing and twisting alone under the bridge. As the figure grew still, the bridge began its descent until the now-slack body came to rest once again on graveled ground. With one last blast of its horn, the immense ship slipped out of the canal and into the vast darkness of Lake Superior. It was the last boat scheduled to leave Duluth before morning.
This Little Piggy
Stayed Home
Sophie stood alone in the dark entrance to the Gasthaus Rethenau. It was nearly noon. The blond wig and false beard she was wearing felt somewhat ridiculous in such familiar surroundings. Still, it was going to be a great joke. Normally, she wore her disguises only in the evenings, but this was too delicious to pass up. Somewhere inside the building she could hear a small orchestra practicing what sounded like a Thirties fox-trot. For a moment, she had the distinct sensation of stepping back in time.
“Can I help you?” asked a young man emerging from the coatroom.
“Indeed you can,” said Sophie, in her deepest register. She was glad that, even under normal circumstances, hers was a throaty voice. “I’m looking for Amanda Jorensen.”
“She’s in the main dining room.”
“Ah.” Adjusting her silk tie, Sophie glanced at a series of recently acquired antique beer steins displayed on a ledge behind the front counter. Nice. “Where’s that music coming from? I feel as if I’ve just walked into a Fred Astaire movie.”
The man laughed. “It’s a small orchestra Mrs. Jorensen hired to play at the opening tonight. They’re practicing downstairs in one of the banquet rooms.”
“Of course. Well, is it all right if I just go in?” She nodded to the wide double doors.
“Sure. I think she’s doing some paperwork.”
Sophie smiled her thanks and moved across the foyer, past the ornately decorated bar, into a huge oak-paneled room. She’d always found the dining room of the Gasthaus Rethenau rather daunting, as if the builder had misunderstood the reason for the room, and instead of creating a comfortable space in which to eat a well-prepared meal, he’d built a stage set for a Wagnerian opera. Dark. Germanic. Squarely and a bit too heroically proportioned. Along the far wall, a series of arched windows allowed a magnificent view of Lake Superior. Except for an attractive, casually dressed woman seated at a table in the back, the room was empty.
Amanda looked up from a stack of papers. “Yes? Can I help you?”
“I understand you make wonderful bratwurst sandwiches.” Sophie made herself comfortable at a table several feet away. “I’ve come to try one.”
Amanda stood. “Excuse me. Perhaps you didn’t see the sign, We aren’t open for business right now. We’ve been doing some rather extensive remodeling. The grand reopening is tonight. Tomorrow,” she said, emphasizing the word with great patience, “we would be glad to let you sample some of our famous bratwurst.”
Sophie remained implacable. She tugged on her French cuffs and looked grim. “You have
no
bratwurst available?”
“Not today.”
“This is outrageous. I’ve traveled all the way from Minneapolis to have lunch in your establishment.”
“I’m terribly sorry. Perhaps tomorrow …”
Sophie stroked her beard and appeared to consider the issue. “I’d even be willing to prepare it myself.” She stood, narrowing one eye at the kitchen doorway. “After all, Sophie Greenway told me you’d treat me impeccably.”
“Sophie? You’re a friend of hers?”
“Old pals. We both worked in the circus when we were younger.”
Amanda raised an eyebrow. “Sophie never worked in a circus.”
“She didn’t?”
“No.”
“Pity. She’s so good with makeup. Disguises. You know.” She smoothed an eyebrow. “I’m sure that’s what makes her such a successful restaurant reviewer. No one knows when she’s coming — and she never looks the same twice. I’m told she rather enjoys her flamboyant reputation.”
Amanda’s mouth nearly dropped open. “Who?” She moved closer. “Sophie? Is that you?”
“Are you insinuating your old friend has sprouted whiskers?” Sophie pulled off the beard and mustache and grinned.
“You crazy idiot!” Amanda threw her arms around Sophie. “I don’t believe it. I thought you weren’t going to be able to come!”
“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” said Sophie, settling herself at Amanda’s table and loosening her tie. “Bram just got word late last night that they’d found a replacement for him at the station. We simply got up this morning and jumped in the car — and here we are.” She pulled off the wig and shook out her short, strawberry blonde hair.
“I’m absolutely delighted!” beamed Amanda. “I’d made my peace with the fact that you weren’t going to make it for the reopening.” She glanced curiously at the empty doorway. “Speaking of Bram, where is that lump of a husband of yours?”