This Little Piggy Went to Murder (23 page)

Mutely, Jenny stood in the kitchen doorway.

“Good morning, Jennifer.” Nora peeked curiously into the messy living room. “Lovely morning isn’t it?”

“See you later,” said Ryan curtly. He left without a backward glance.

An empty silence permeated every corner of the little cottage after he had gone. With her fists thrust deep into her long, baggy sweater, Jenny shuffled back into the kitchen and put on the teakettle. Her mind was a blur of emotions. She hated fighting. It was totally against her nature. Inside, she felt like putty. Was she doomed to feeling forever humiliated? Incomplete? No artist would dare call something as unformed as she was a finished work. She sat down at the table and watched the boys still playing contentedly in the sand. Why couldn’t life be that simple? Safe? How frightened she’d always been of finding her way in the world. Ever since she’d left home at fifteen, she’d been scared, deprived of some necessary nourishment she could only call love.

When she’d first met Herman Grendel and was offered the housekeeping position, she was barely making it. After she was fired, she’d blamed Chelsea. Even though Ryan tried to convince her otherwise, she knew it was her doing. But Amanda had been there with the offer of the cottage and a suggestion for another way to support herself. Since moving to Brule’s Landing, her life had finally begun to make sense. Something inside her was beginning to thaw. She was starting to feel almost — what was the word Luther had used the other night? Legitimate? Amanda’s love had done that for her and she would never forget it. When she and Ryan moved in together, the world was already beginning to feel like a good place. He just made it better. She’d loved him almost immediately. His interest in her ideas and his sensitivity to the natural world fascinated her. She’d never met anyone quite like him before. But something happened. What had changed? Was it the baby? She’d only found out last week. She thought Ryan would be so happy, but his reaction confused her.

Jenny shivered and hugged herself, staring at a heap of stuffed animals in one corner of the room. Elephants. Bears. Bunnies. A zebra. A dragon. What had Amanda said once? Men fall in love with themselves through the adoration of their women. Was that the problem? Had she simply stopped adoring him?

She stood and trudged to the stove, pouring hot water into a mug. Getting down a tea bag from a tin in the cupboard, she dropped it into the water and returned to her seat by the window. So what if Ryan left? What difference would it make? Bitterly, she laughed, feeling her body begin to quake. Men did that to you. Hadn’t she always known? Romantic feelings had to be borne, much like the aftermath of a long illness. Perhaps that, ultimately, was what relationships were. Lucky Chelsea. If she could only think of it that way, maybe she wouldn’t hate her so much. Chelsea had simply caught the same virus. But it didn’t help. Not really. Jenny knew she’d always wanted to be both free and safe. Maybe, in the end, that was what was truly impossible.

“We’ve been waiting for that cretinous pencil-necked gasbag for the last two hours,” complained Bram as he leaned against the deep windowsill in the hospital room. He was completely dressed except for his shoes.

“If you’re referring to Dr. Quist, I’d speak a little more softly,” answered Sophie. “He could be standing right outside.”

“Hmph. Wishful thinking. I hate all this inane procedure. It makes me feel like I’m five years old.”

“We only finished lunch ten minutes ago. The nurse said he’d be in to sign our release papers sometime this afternoon. I think we should be prepared for that to mean anytime before dinner.” She fluffed the short reddish gold hairs around her ears.

As Bram continued to sputter, Sophie heard the sound of a soft knock on the door. “Come in,” she called.

Bram turned just as Jenny stuck her head into the room. “Are you two up for a visit?” She inched hesitantly inside.

Today her choice of clothing was decidedly less baggy. She wore a dark brown dress with a high neck and long sleeves. Sophie found it unusually severe for such a young woman. Almost chillingly so. “Sure,” she said, swinging her legs off the bed. “Come in. You didn’t drive all the way in from Brule’s Landing just to see us, did you?”

Jenny seemed embarrassed by the question, her hand fidgeting with a small button at her neck. “Well, no, not exactly. Of course, I knew you were here. Amanda told me. Actually, I had to come in for an appointment this afternoon. But I did come early.” She smiled, brushing her hair behind her ears. “I was so sorry to hear what happened to you yesterday. Such a horrible thing for someone to do.” She glanced curiously at the oxygen equipment still sitting in the corner of the room.

“Would you like to stay for a few minutes?” asked Bram. He waved his hand to an uncomfortable-looking orange plastic chair at the foot of his bed. “We’d enjoy the company.”

Jenny glanced at her watch. “I really should be getting downstairs. I don’t want to be late.”

“An important appointment?” asked Sophie.

“Yeah. Kind of. I suppose it’s no secret any longer. I told Amanda this morning. I’m pregnant. Ryan and I are going to have a baby.”

How awful! thought Sophie. “How wonderful for you.” She quickly masked her look of horror.

“Yeah, I’m pretty excited. I’ve always wanted a child — I love children. I just wish …” She looked down at her feet.

“Wish what?” asked Bram.

Jenny shook her head. “Oh, nothing really. Just, well, that Ryan was a little more … involved. Not that he isn’t happy,” she added quickly. “He’s just so busy right now. You understand.”

“Completely,” said Bram.

Sophie couldn’t imagine Ryan as a father. He was too much of a child himself.

“By the way, I should have said something to you the other night. I didn’t find any record of Jack’s volunteering time in Wisconsin in 1969. I’m sorry. Maybe you should ask him yourself.”

“Thanks,’“ said Sophie. “I’ll do that.”

“Well, I better get going. I have an appointment with an obstetrician at one. When will they be releasing you two?”

“Within the hour,” pronounced Bram. “If not, Soph and I are going to storm the nurses’ station. We may even be forced to take hostages.”

Jenny cocked her head, smiling without the slightest trace of humor. “Well,” she continued, her eyes slipping to the door, “see you both later. Maybe tonight at dinner?”

“It’s a date.” Bram smiled. As soon as she was gone, he slapped his knees and stood.

“You’re not going to start pacing again, are you? You’re wearing a groove in the linoleum.”

“It’ll give them something to remember me by.”

“I doubt anyone will ever forget your visit to North Shore General. You’ve made your usual impression.”

Bram raised an elegant eyebrow.

“And anyway, staying here last night gave me some time to think. I seem to have come to a dead end with that Damascus Gate business. If Jack did volunteer there, there’s no way to prove or disprove it. And what’s the, difference anyway? If only Amanda hadn’t acted so strangely when I mentioned it, I’d have dropped it long ago.”

“Perhaps you should drop it now.”

Sophie ignored him. “But what if he was never there? What if the real secret had to do with that other place you mentioned? What was the name?”

“The Emmet Saltzman Clinic.”

“That’s it. What if Jack spent a year there?”

“I doubt they use many volunteers, Sophie.”

“Exactly. I know I haven’t wanted to admit the possibility of a problem, but what if he was a patient?”

“All right, I’ll say this much. Whoever is behind these murders has got to be more than a little nuts. If Jack really was mentally ill, maybe he was never completely cured.”

“That’s unfair.”

“Is it?”

She swung her feet off the bed. “The problem is, we can’t prove anything. No real clinic is going to give out confidential information. So, as I see it, any suspicions we might have are just another dead end.”

“Well, not necessarily.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you have the phone number?”

“No, but I can get it.” She picked up the receiver and diaIed Wisconsin telephone information. After jotting the number on a notepad, she hung up and tore off the top page. “Here you go. What are you going to do with it?”

Bram began shaking his arms wildly, making sounds like a duck.

“Knock it off, you idiot! They’re going to be in here any minute with a straitjacket.”

“I have had years of professional voice training, my dear. If these people don’t understand my methods, let them
learn.
I need to warm up my vocal cords.”

Sophie shook her head.

“Just watch now.” He winked as he dialed the number. After a few rings a receptionist answered, “Saltzman Clinic.”

“Medical records,” snapped Bram using his deepest, most authoritative radio voice.

“Just a minute.”

He smirked at Sophie.

“Records,” said a bored male voice.

“This is Dr. Darrel Thorndyke of the Thorndyke Psychiatric Clinic in Duluth, Minnesota. I’m sure you’ve heard of us.” He paused, waiting for a response.

“Yes, of course, Dr. Thorndyke. How may I assist you?”

“My secretary just informed me that records we requested over a month ago still have not arrived. I don’t mind telling you, this is
not
acceptable. I can’t stress that too strongly. This matter concerns one of our most important and
sensitive
clients. I felt I should call personally to facilitate the matter.”

“I’m sorry,” said the young man. “We do have a procedure here that —”

“I know all about your procedures. And, rest assured, we’ve complied with everything you’ve asked of us. But, do I see that file on my desk this morning? No, I don’t. I do not! Now, what is your name?”

“My name?” said the man quickly. “It’s Theodore.”

“That’s not the name I was given,” said Bram impatiently. “You weren’t the one my secretary talked to. Do you have someone else working in that department?”

“Well, I suppose she could have talked to Rose. She’s here Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons. I’m kind of new.”

“I thought so. I don’t remember you. My association with the Saltzman Clinic goes back many years. Fifteen years ago I was on the board of directors. I will tell you truthfully, Theodore, I have never had a problem like this before.”

“I’m very sorry, Dr. Thorndyke. Maybe you could give me the name and I could look it up for you. I might be able to find out where the problem is.”

“That would be fine, Theodore. Just fine. And believe me, I won’t forget this. I’ll be in town next month to give a lecture on quintessential renderings of homeopathic instability. It’s my specialty. And I’ll be sure to mention to Dr. Blatten-Vorgstein how helpful you’ve been. Now, the file we’re looking for is the one on Jack Grendel.” He spelled the last name carefully.

“Yes. I’ll be right back.”

Bram took a small bow as Sophie sat in rapt attention on the bed. A minute later, papers began rattling on the other end and Theodore returned.

“That file has already been sent to Minnesota, Dr. Thorndyke. We no longer have any of the records here.”

“That’s ridiculous!” said Bram. “Very unprofessional. Can you explain that to me?”

“Well, it is sort of unorthodox, I guess. We usually just send copies and keep the permanent record here on file. All I found was his name, the address where the file was sent, and the empty folder.”

“Give me the address,” said Bram impatiently.

“Well, I’m not sure …”

“Theodore, this snafu is costing me time and money. If I have to contact your supervisor …”

“It was sent to Mrs. Amanda Jorensen, Box 1298, Duluth, Minnesota. That’s it.”

“I see,” said Bram. “Amanda Jorensen. Well. You’ve been a great help. Next time I talk with Emmet Saltzman, I’ll tell him what a good job you’re doing.”

“But … Dr. Thorndyke?” The voice grew apprehensive. “He’s been dead for over thirty years.”

“Oh, I am sorry,” said Bram quickly. “I’ll have to make a point of sending his family some flowers. Thanks, Theodore.” He hung up.

Sophie jumped up and grabbed him, hugging him tightly. “You did it!”

“Of course,” he said serenely. “0 ye of little faith.” He stuck his tongue in his cheek “False humility is only thinly disguised smugness. The file was sent directly to Amanda.”

Sophie whirled around. “I knew it. I knew he was there. Both he and Amanda lied to me. But why?”

“I should think that would be obvious.”

The door swung open and in walked an extremely thin Dr. Quist, a clipboard under one arm. “And how are we feeling today?” he asked, sitting down on the orange plastic chair. He crossed his sticklike legs and eyed them both noncommittally.