This Little Piggy Went to Murder (7 page)

“Can I assume you and Jack are still close friends and that you’re an active supporter of his campaign?”

Luther brushed a piece of lint off his slacks. “We’re friends, yes. I can’t say I care very much whether he wins or loses. I don’t think he’s the messiah come to save the state from the wicked businessmen, if that’s what you mean. But he’s intelligent. That’s more than I’d say for his esteemed rivals.”

“You’re not much for politics, Mr. Jorensen?”

Luther laughed. “Don’t you find something inherently repulsive about a person hustling his own integrity?”

“Interesting observation.”

Luther shrugged. “The person who gets the brass ring is merely the best actor, the rawest hustler.”

“You think that describes Jack Grendel?”

“I think it’s a perfect description of his wife.”

Wardlaw hesitated, closing the door of the gun case. “You have some strongly held opinions.”

“I do. Last I heard, it wasn’t against the law. Now can we get on with this?”

“Of course. I’ll need to take this gun down to the lab for examination. It’s the right caliber. It may or may not be the right gun. I assume you have licenses for all of these?”

“Would you care to see them?”

“In due time. There’s no lock on the case, Mr. Jorensen. Don’t you think that’s a little foolish? Anybody could come in here.”

“Why? What would be the need?”

“It seems there may have been a need last night.”

Wardlaw sat down behind the desk. “I suppose you don’t keep the door to your study locked, either.”

“Only Amanda and I live here now. Jack and Nora visit occasionally, but you aren’t suggesting they had anything to do with the old man’s death? And Ryan Woodthorpe and Jenny Tremlet live in the lighthouse-keeper’s cottage. It’s about half a mile away. It’s part of our property, and we rent it out. They may visit here a good deal, but they’d never take something without asking. Ryan especially.”

“Why is that?”

“Why? You mean you haven’t heard of Ryan Woodthorpe? Jack’s new speechwriter? He’s the oral lightning rod of our age! It’s his mission in life to single-handedly protect the flora and fauna of the entire universe. He wouldn’t hurt a flea. I don’t believe he’d even eat a flea. It’s meat, God save us all. Only slavering carnivores like myself are still eating flesh these days.”

The edge of Wardlaw’s lip curled in a slight smile. “I’m curious, Mr. Jorensen. Did you and your father-in-law get along?”

Luther stiffened. “No.”

“Would you care to elaborate?”

“Elaborate? All right. Let’s see, how can I put this delicately? Herman Grendel and I mutually nauseated one another. Does that admission in conjunction with my lack of alibi mean I now need to call my lawyer?”

“I think we may want you to come downtown for a short visit. It’s just routine, since the gun belongs to you. And don’t worry. You can call your lawyer anytime you like.”

Luther smiled. “Your kindness overwhelms.”

Bram and Sophie strolled hand in hand along a deserted part of the shore. Both seemed to be consciously avoiding the subject of what could possibly be happening in Luther’s study. Out on the water, a large pleasure craft was making its way slowly toward the Duluth harbor, fishing poles attached to the back.

“You look like someone in a sleazy French perfume commercial,” said Sophie, squinting up into Bram’s face. “Did you forget to shave this morning?”

Bram was intrigued. “Really?”

“No, I take that back. You look more like one of those poor guys who sleep under the Third Avenue Bridge.”

“Very funny. If you must know, I’ve decided to grow a winter beard. A man’s face gets cold in this intemperate climate. Besides, this is supposed to be a vacation of sorts. Shaving isn’t relaxing. And if I ever do finish that book, I’ll look incredibly distinguished on the book jacket.”

They had reached the base of a newly fallen tree, its leaves weeping silently into the water. Bram picked up a flat rock and walked a few yards away, skipping it far out into the lake. “The operative word here is
if
. I’m not so sure this is the greatest site for my labors.”

Gently, Sophie took hold of his arm and eased him over to a driftwood log, waiting patiently while he made himself comfortable. “Listen to me for a minute. I simply can’t leave right now. Amanda needs me too much. Perhaps you should consider finding yourself a different place to build your paper airplanes!”

Bram raised an eyebrow. “How do you know about the paper airplanes?”

“The engine noise.”

“Cute.” He harrumphed. “Well, I guess I could try it a couple more days. Maybe I’ll move into that cook’s room on the second floor. It may not have quite the same ambience as Luther’s study, but it might do. As long as” — he narrowed one eye at her — “it’s quiet. By the way, have they set a time yet for the funeral?”

“There won’t be a funeral. Herman didn’t want one. His body is going to be cremated later today. When I talked to Amanda this morning she said Jack was going to organize a memorial service tomorrow at Lakeside Chapel. I said we’d be there.”

“Of course.” He took hold of her arm and drew her down next to him. “Are you all right? I mean, I know you weren’t very close to the old guy, but you’ve known him all your life.”

“I called my parents just after I finished talking to Amanda. Dad took it pretty hard.”

“Are they driving up for the service?”

She shook her head. “Dad would have come if he’d been asked to be a pallbearer, but since it’s just going to be a memorial, he said he’d rather not. You know how he is about things like that. Mom thought it was best if she stayed home, too. Dad always acts like he can handle anything, but she knows better.”

Bram smiled. “I like your mother. She’s a lot like you. Strong, yet essentially very kind.” He put his arm around her shoulders and fell silent. He knew she needed time for contemplation.

Sophie snuggled close and let her thoughts wander to the soothing sound of the water lapping lazily against the small rocks. Instead of Amanda and poor old Herman Grendel, for some reason her mind conjured up an image of her son, Rudy. He’d been living with his father in Montana since he was seven yearsold. She hadn’t heard from him since his last letter three years ago. At the time, he’d asked — no,
demanded
— that she stop trying to contact him. He wanted her out of his life. He couldn’t be
unequally yoked together with an unbeliever
. Sophie had been disfellowshipped by the World Order Christian Church many years before. Marked as a heretic. Even thinking about those archaic, King James words now felt like something from another life. Yet, just as she once had, she knew Rudy believed in the insane doctrines of Howell A. Purdis with his entire heart and soul. Nothing she had ever said could change his mind.

Twenty-four years earlier, when Sophie had been a young, naive seventeen-year-old, she had joined a fundamentalist Christian church near her home in St. Paul. Against her parents’ wishes, she attended Sabbath services every Saturday and Bible study every Thursday night. When she graduated from high school, she applied to Purdis Bible College in Los Angeles and was accepted within three weeks. During her four years there, she met and fell in love with Norman Greenway. As with most of the young men at the college, Norman wanted to be a minister. Shortly after their marriage, Norm was sent to a small town in Montana to be the pastor of his own church. Less than a year later, Rudy was born.

Thinking back on it now, Sophie couldn’t believe she had been so blindly acquiescent. Those years felt like a terribly remote, yet infinitely depressing dream. Still, in her gut, she knew how passionately the doctrines had held her imagination. After all, she was part of God’s
elite
. The rest of the world was filled with lies and religious error, but she was one of the chosen few who knew the truth. She must never turn her back on the Holy Spirit. There
were
unpardonable sins. The lake of fire waited for those who were weak, who yielded to Satan’s temptations. Even now the unrelenting litany of spiritual terror could be summoned at a moment’s notice. Back then, every part of her life was dictated by either church doctrine or her husband’s demands. It was a modern woman’s nightmare. Yet, believing in the righteousness of her decisions, she stuck it out until just after Rudy’s sixth birthday. She remembered the turning point vividly.

One cold November aftemoon Rudy had come home from school with a fever. Norman sent for one of the church deacons and together they prayed over the boy, anointing him with oil and asking God to heal. Howell Purdis, the founder of the church and God’s apostle to a godless nation, didn’t believe in doctors. The Bible’s way was clear. Call the elders of the church for an anointing and have faith. By evening, Rudy’s temperature had risen to one hundred four degrees. Sophie was becoming hysterical. She begged Norman to take him to the clinic in town. Instead, he left in his truck to go fetch a churchwoman known for her natural healing methods. While he was gone, Rudy lost consciousness. Sophie called a neighbor, a non-church member, and asked if she would take them into town. The woman readily agreed, pulling up to the house in her rusted Chevy van a few minutes later. She explained that the local clinic was closed, but she knew one of the doctors personally and offered to drive them to his house. Sophie was so grateful she cried.

Dr. Eli Bradly was having a late supper when they arrived. He checked Rudy over and suggested that he be admitted to the local hospital in Lewiston. Sophie knew Norman would never agree to it. But before she’d left the house, she’d packed a small bag and had taken all the cash she’d saved from her household allowance for the last four years, over five hundred dollars. An hour later, Rudy was tucked into a hospital bed, a nurse checking the IV that had been hooked up to provide him with both fluid and antibiotics.

During the night, Sophie had called Norman. She told him what she’d done. For some reason, she felt Norman was relieved. Perhaps, in his heart, he wanted his son to get medical attention, but couldn’t let the members of his flock know his faith had faltered. The fact that Sophie had done it against his will conveniently let him off the hook. She said she’d call him later and let him know how Rudy was doing.

The next morning, Rudy was well enough to leave.

Sophie phoned the same neighbor who had helped her the night before and offered to pay her for a ride to the closest airport. The woman, sensing Sophie’s desperation, agreed. Once there, Sophie booked a flight to Minneapolis. For the next few weeks, she and Rudy lived with her parents. Rudy continued to need medical care, and Sophie needed time to figure out what to do next. One thing she knew for sure, the truths of Howell A. Purdis had ceased to hold any meaning for her. The moral foundation of her life had, amazingly, begun to look like the pathetic whims of a sick, twisted, pompous old man.

Now it was Norman’s turn to be hysterical. He might have forgiven her for taking their son to a doctor, but he would never forgive her for the divorce papers he received two months after they left the state. On the advice of his lawyer, a loyal church member, he began a custody battle that ended in a tiny courtroom in New Prairie, Montana. With the entire church to back him, financially as well as emotionally, he produced witness after witness to attest to Sophie’s unstable, godless character. It had never really been a fight at all. Sophie knew she would lose as soon as she stepped into the courtroom packed with local church members. Norman was awarded custody, with visitation to be entirely at his discretion. Finally, he’d won.

Sophie had returned to her parents’ home in Minneapolis, dead tired and broken. Her parents tried to help, but it seemed that everything they said she mistook as veiled criticism. It was becoming almost intolerable, yet she had no money and nowhere else she could go. That’s when, out of the blue, Amanda had called. She’d learned through a mutual friend that Sophie was back in Minnesota. Why didn’t she just hop a bus and come up to Duluth? The invitation felt like a gift. Sophie knew she was making her parents’ lives miserable, and that only depressed her all the more. Luther and Amanda had bought the house at Brule’s Landing the year before, and Amanda suggested that she might like to come up and help them whip it into shape — that is, if she had the time. My God, thought Sophie; time was all she had left. Without her son, every day seemed like a pointless eternity. Intuitively, she knew Amanda wanted to give her a quiet space in which to recover.

Gratefully, she’d accepted. She hadn’t really understood how deeply depressed she was until she saw herself reflected in her friends’ eyes. Amanda and Luther didn’t say anything, but their tenderness and generosity became her lifeline.

Even so, three weeks after arriving, Sophie hit bottom with such a crash that she knew she’d never recover. One afternoon she found herself at Enger Tower, her eyes mesmerized by the sight of the ground three stories below. She was certain she would never see Rudy again, and equally certain that a stiff upper lip meant nothing in the face of such hopelessness. As she looked up at the sky one last time, the sound of footsteps caused her to turn around. There, at the top of the stairs, stood Luther. The silent, undisguised fear in his eyes stopped her cold. Slowly, he began to talk. She couldn’t remember now what he’d said. It wasn’t important. But, somehow, he’d convinced her to take a drive with him. He never actually said he knew what she was about to do, but strangely, he didn’t need to. That shared secret had instantly formed a deep, unbreakable bond between them. All these years and he’d never told anyone.