This Little Piggy Went to Murder (3 page)

“I’m sorry you had to hear that,” Luther said with more than a hint of disgust in his voice. “Since his stroke last year, his characteristic bombast has gotten even worse.” He glanced at Amanda. “One might almost say he’s become a distillation of his former self.”

“Oh, shut up,” said Amanda, breaking free of his grip. She rose and moved over to the windows, silently watching an ore boat drift toward the horizon. “I have to call Jack.”

“Jack will find out soon enough,” said Luther. “He and Nora will be here tonight. And besides, I don’t give a good goddamn about that old man’s money. Neither does your brother. And neither should you. Come on, Amanda — we’re hardly candidates for the poorhouse.”

“You’re a fool.”

He studied her profile. “What is it? What’s got you so damned upset?”

Amanda turned, forcing herself to smile. “I just need to make a short phone call. If you’ll both excuse me, I’ll be right back.” She crossed to the entrance and headed down the hall to her office.

Sophie found herself shuddering at the entire interaction. So much for marital bliss.

Luther stared at the empty doorway for a moment and then took out another cigarette, lighting it absently from a lighter on the table. He seemed annoyed by his wife’s abrupt exit. Remembering Sophie, he turned to her and shrugged. “Sorry. Not a very festive beginning to your vacation with us.”

“Luther,” she began in a whisper, not wanting to upset him any further, but not wanting him to remain ignorant of her plans either. “Bram and I were hoping to stay with you and Amanda tonight, but tomorrow we’d planned to drive farther up the shore. Bram’s writing a book. He needs a quiet place to work.”

Luther studied the burning tip of his cigarette. “Doesn’t sound like much fun for you.”

“I’ve brought some work too. And you know me: I’m easily amused. Last week I got this incredible new toy.” She reached into her pocket and drew out a small electronic gadget.

“What is it?” he asked, picking it up.

“It’s a tiny computer. With it, I can play four-handed bridge all by myself.”

“You and your games. I suppose you’re loaded down with them.” He handed back the computer without much interest.

Sophie watched his eyebrows tighten. She interpreted his expression as disappointment. “Luther, Amanda suggested that I talk to Bram. She thought
you
might be persuaded to let him use your study. I don’t want to put you out, but if Bram could work at Brule House, we might be able to stay a bit longer.”

Luther tipped some ashes into the ashtray. “Of course he can use my study. If it means keeping you around here for a few extra days, I’d camp out on the shore if I had to.” His expression softened. “I’m not complaining, Sophie, but Amanda has been so busy lately. It’s been —” He stopped.

“What?” she prompted.

He crushed out the cigarette. “Come on. You didn’t come to listen to my troubles.”

There was a strange desolation in his voice. Luther was a man who often appeared to be amused by some terribly funny joke no one else had caught. Today, that joke seemed to have escaped him as well.

“You were there for me once when I needed someone pretty desperately,” said Sophie. She squeezed his hand. “Come on. What were you going to say?”

He scratched his dark beard and looked down. “Just that … I don’t know. It’s been kind of lonely out at the house. Maybe if you stayed long enough, you could teach me to appreciate crossword puzzles.” He looked up and grinned.

She could tell he was embarrassed. He’d always had difficulty talking about himself. Sophie was a bit like that herself sometimes. “I doubt it,” she sighed. “A professor of philosophy simply does not have the brainpower to master the necessary nonsense words.”

“Ah!” He nodded.

“Lunch!” called Amanda. Her slender, Nordic frame emerged from the doorway waving a menu. “Enough of this doom and gloom. Sophie’s here, and it’s time to celebrate! I don’t know about you two, but I’m starved.”

“Look at these creases,” grumbled Bram, tugging on his badly pressed lapels. “Someone should have warned me about that cleaner. I look like I’m partof an exhibit on Japanese paper folding.” He straightened his tie and smoothed back his dark brown hair.

“You look fine,” Sophie assured him.

He grunted, eyeing her bare shoulders. “You look pretty fine yourself. I’m glad you decided not to come in disguise tonight. I like the real you much better.” His gaze took in her latest purchase: a black, sequined evening dress that worked in perfect contrast to her creamy skin and the short, reddish gold hair that feathered softly around her ears.

Sophie smiled, her eyes carefully examining the now crowded dining room. At least a dozen chandeliers glowed above their heads, bathing the guests in a deep amber light. Against the side waIl, a long, linen-covered buffet table was laden with the evening’s culinary offerings. Chafing dish after chafing dish was filled with succulent German-style meats and vegetables. The salads and home-baked breads were in the center; and the renowned pastries and tarts were being served from the far end. Everything and everyone in the hall looked so positively grand that Sophie almost imagined that royalty was in attendance. “Do you want to dance? I love this idea of having Thirties-era jazz tonight. It seems sort of … decadent. I can almost imagine what it must have felt like to be in Berlin on the eve of World War II.”

“Dance?” repeated Bram. “I can barely walk in this tux. They must have shrunk it, too.”

“Face it, darling. We’ve both put on a few pounds in the last couple of years.”

Bram looked down at his thickening stomach, patting it approvingly. “I’m not getting older. I’m getting better.”

“Oh, come on. Except for those sideways creases, you look perfectly spiffy.”

“Yeah, well.” He closed his eyes and thrust his chin in the air. “What can I say? You married yourself a pistol.”

Sophie snorted. “Is that what you are?”

From their first casual meeting eight years earlier, Sophie had found Bram Baldric a thoroughly appealing man. He had a strong, highly expressive face, hair the color of bittersweet chocolate, and an amazing pair of deep green eyes. Most importantly, Bram possessed a restless intelligence. He rarely accepted simple answers or facile solutions. Because of her own somewhat philosophically convoluted past, it was a quality she greatly admired. And then, of course, there was his playfulness and sense of humor. Her parents often remarked that he should have been an actor. Actually, he did bear a striking resemblance to the middle-aged Cary Grant. She couldn’t watch
An Affair to Remember
these days and not see her husband. Even the gorgeous voice was remarkably similar. A radio talk show was the perfect job for him. He could be as opinionated and outrageous as he pleased. The public ate it up.

He smiled at her, his eyes twinkling. “I like your new haircut. Short hair suits you.” He leaned back and studied her for a moment. “You know, you look a little like my ninth-grade civics teacher.”

Sophie tapped her nails impatiently on the tablecloth.

“Don’t misunderstand. She was the subject of more than one adolescent fantasy. A sort of sexy Peter Pan.”

“Peter Pan? You’ll make me swoon with such extravagant compliments.”

Bram sipped his Scotch and water. “I suppose I could drag myself over to the dance floor for one little spin. Are you wearing your stilts tonight?”

“Careful, buster. You’re treading on dangerous ground.” Sophie knew he was referring to her platform shoes. Bram hit the mark at just over six feet two. Sophie was barely five-three. “Look over there,” she said, snatching an olive off his plate. “Jack Grendel just arrived. I wonder where Nora is.”

“Try looking ten feet above his head. She’s usually aloft, pulling the strings.”

“Shhh,” said Sophie. “Be nice.”

“I’m not paid to be nice. I’m paid to be incisive.” He slapped her hand as she reached for another olive. “When I interviewed Jack last winter — just after the governor appointed him head of the State Environment Board — Nora insisted I go over my questions with her first. Don’t you find that a wee bit controlling?”

“No, I don’t. So what if his wife wants to take an active part in his career? Admit it. You just don’t like her.”

“She’s like a fingernail being dragged across a blackboard.” He tugged at his tight collar.

Jack Grendel floated through the packed room, his blond curls towering over the sea of guests. When he spied Sophie, he made his way straight for her.

Sophie had known Jack and Amanda ever since childhood. Over the years, their two families had spent many summer holidays and vacations together. Sophie liked Jack, though she’d been closer to Amanda. Jack had been a quiet child. Thoughtful, yet not overly sensitive. His insistence on privacy created a certain mystique about him, which, for Sophie, had never entirely faded. Adults had confidence in Jack Grendel. He rarely disappointed anyone. Yet, no one had been more surprised than she when he’d embarked on a political career.

“Ah, if it isn’t
Senator
Grendel.” Bram smiled. He stood and pumped Jack’s hand.

“Hold that thought.” Jack grinned, bending over to give Sophie a kiss. He pulled a chair away from another table and sat down.

“So how goes the image wars?” asked Sophie. She was struck by how handsome he looked tonight. He seemed healthy, tanned, even rested.

“Good. But what was it Abraham Lincoln said? If the United States was ever going to be destroyed, it would be by the not-so-noble hordes who sought to live at government expense as officeholders. When I first read that, I thought it extremely cynical. I now know he was speaking the truth.” He motioned to a young woman carrying a tray of champagne. “Thanks.” He nodded, lifting the slender flute to his lips.

“I understand the polls have you ahead,” said Bram.

“I couldn’t, believe my luck when I heard Heaton had pulled out. Not having to run against a Republican incumbent is going to make all the difference.”

“We heard the bad news about your father withdrawing his financial support,” said Sophie. “Will that hurt?”

Jack sipped his champagne. “To tell the truth, I’ve expected it for weeks. Yes, it will hurt, but not as much as he’d like to think. Minnesota leads the country in political sensitivity to environmental issues. If my father wants to remain a dinosaur till the day he dies, that’s up to him. My financial backing is solid. It’s really the least of my worries.” Seeing Sophie’s eyebrow arch ever so slightly, he added, “Elections aren’t about issues, anyway. They’re about personalities. What I
think
is of concern to a very few. Since I happen to be both good-looking and charming” — he winked at Bram — “I have the edge. My opponent resembles an aging, somewhat disheveled Chicago mob boss. It’s a pity. But I assure you, as Richard Nixon so eloquently put it, winning is the
thing
. I do have an agenda — perhaps even a revolutionary one — but first I have to win. And I will win.”

“Do you give unannounced political speeches at the breakfast table, too?” asked Bram. He popped a meatball into his mouth.

Jack winced. “Touché. I’m even doing it in my sleep. This should be Amanda’s night to shine. She’s worked awfully hard on the renovation. By the way, where is she? I didn’t see her when I came in.”

“Bram and I got here about six-thirty. She was back in the kitchen then, talking to the head chef.”

“Uhm.” Jack took a quick look around. “Will I see you two tomorrow? You’re staying at Brule’s Landing this trip, right?”

“We are,” said Sophie. “Bram’s brought some important work with him. I have, too, but may just take a few days to relax. We thought we might rent a cabin farther up the shore, but Luther’s offered his study and Bram’s going to give it a try.”

Jack nodded his approval. “Good. And you
have
to stay for the big Labor Day picnic on Monday. It’s going to be the social and political event of the year!” He grinned broadly. “I’m only a little biased, of course. We’re even going to have a pig roast. You have no idea how much I’m looking forward to that. I guarantee it will be a picnic like no other picnic you’ve ever attended.”

“You people really know how to twist arms,” said Bram.

Sophie was well-acquainted with her husband’s subtle sarcasm.

“It’s a political asset, I’m told.” He finished his champagne in one gulp. “Nora and I will be out for breakfast tomorrow. And I promise: no political speeches until after lunch.” He glanced at his watch, his expression registering concern. “I wonder where my wife is? She said she’d meet me here at seven.” Several men standing near an ice sculpture caught his eye. “Alas, duty calls. Even if you don’t start out a hustler, you quickly become one. See you two tomorrow.” He pushed away from the table and was swallowed by the crowd.

Sophie leaned back a little more comfortably and continued to sip her vodka and lime . “He’s grown into a very handsome man, hasn’t he?”

“Definitely one of the beautiful people,” mumbled Bram, stifling a burp.