This Little Piggy Went to Murder (8 page)

After that day, Sophie had felt as close to him as she had to Amanda. In a strange way, they had become her saviors. Their continuing kindness and willingness to let her talk it out — after the attempted suicide the words burst forth like an August thunderstorm — helped her to heal, if healing was ever really possible.

And now, after ten years of brainwashing, Rudy would not even speak to her. The child whose life she’d fought to save believed his mother to be teetering on the verge of damnation. Norman had convinced Rudy that Satan literally lived in his mother. He was to have nothing to do with her. Yes, thought Sophie with a grim smile, thanks to Luther and Amanda I’ve still got my life, but Rudy’s never going to be a part of it. I can wish all I want, but my child will never know me, and I’m never going to know him.

“Let’s head up to the house,” she said, climbing to her feet.

“On one condition.” Gently, Bram rose and took her in his arms. A slow smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

Sophie watched the sunlight play with the soft, windblown curls around his forehead. “And what would that be?”

“I know what you’re thinking. It’s still bothering you, isn’t it? I can see it in your eyes. Why don’t you try calling Rudy again?”

Sophie shook her head. “I can’t do that.”

“Why? Because you’re afraid of rejection? Look, when was the last time you talked to him?”

“Three years ago. You know what it’s like. Norm won’t even let him come to the phone. It’s useless, Bram. I don’t know if you can ever understand what that church is like — the hold it has over your mind.”

“It didn’t hold your mind very well, did it? Rudy is your son. I assume he has your intelligence.”

“It has nothing to do with intelligence.”

“No? All right, perhaps not. But how old is Rudy now?”

“Eighteen. Last month.”

“An eighteen-year-old is a very different animal from a fifteen-year-old. I think you owe it to yourself — and him — to try again.”

“But I write all the time. There’s never an answer. Some of the letters even come back unopened. I’ve got to face reality or I’ll go crazy. I know you have a good relationship with your daughter, Bram, and I’m happy for you, but don’t you see? I’ve lost Rudy. I lost him the day he was born, and there isn’t a darn thing I can do about it.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “Do it for me, then.”

Sophie looked up into his tanned face, loving his serious demeanor, the deep cleft in his strong chin, his widely spaced, comfortable eyes. His concern warmed her like a winter fire. It was heartening to be loved so intelligently.

“All right,” she said, finding it a relief to acquiesce for once.

“Good. You’re making the right decision.”

“You mean I’m doing it your way.”

“Exactly.” He kissed her, touching her face lightly with the tips of his fingers. “I kind of like you, you know.”

“Good thing for you. I know all your secrets, and I work periodically for a large metropolitan newspaper.”

He laughed, spinning them around until they almost fell down.

“Come on, you lunatic! I want to take a little drive. Remember that note I showed you?”

“Yeah, the poodle at the Mudlark Bar. Sounds to me like someone’s been grazing in the mushroom patch too long.”

She grimaced. “Maybe. But I’m going to check it out anyway. If it’s a joke, I’ll simply have wasted an hour or two of my precious time.”

Arm in arm they climbed up the sandy hill to the woods.

As they approached the rear parking lot, Sophie noticed a car turning into the drive.

Bram whistled. “Pretty fancy wheels. Cadillac Coupe De Ville. Cherry red.” He squinted to get a better look.

As they came nearer, Sophie could see a balding, rather rotund man lean over in the front seat and search for something on the floor. A second later his head popped out of the open window. “Hi there, folks!” he bellowed. He opened the door and slid out, his eyes traveling up Sophie’s body until they came to rest on her face. For a moment, he seemed puzzled. Then he broke into a grin. “You don’t recognize me, do you?”

“No,” she said, cocking her head. “Should I?”

“Sydney! Sydney Sherwin.” With a shove from his meaty hand, he slammed the car door. His light tan suit looked stained and rumpled, as if he’d been sleeping in it for days.

“Of course.” She still couldn’t quite place either the name or the face.

“Luther and Jack’s old buddy.”

That was it. She remembered him now. Except this overweight, middle-aged mound looked nothing like the babyfaced young man she had known many years before. Without thinking, Sophie found herself staring at the top of his head.

Following her eyes, Sydney robbed his balding crown and replied, “Lost my hair years ago. Yup. Sure did. But I gained this.” He patted his belly. “Not a fair trade, but then life isn’t. You’ve grown up a little since the last time I saw you, too.” He smirked. “But you’re still short.”

“Thanks.” Under her breath she whispered, “And you’re still a charmer.”

He walked around behind the car and opened the trunk, lifting out a torn leather suitcase held together by a piece of thick hemp rope. He let it drop to the ground with a thunk.

“This is my husband,” she said, realizing she was staring again. “Bram Baldric.”

“Glad to meet you, Bram.” Sydney thrust out his hand.

Bram grabbed it, nearly getting his arm ripped from its socket. .

“Luther didn’t tell us you were coming,” said Sophie.

Sydney smiled with perfect insincerity and leaned back against the fender. “That’s ’cause he didn’t know. This is a surprise.” He almost giggled. “It’s been a lot of years since I last set foot in that cave. I thought it was about time old Sydney livened things up a bit. Besides,” he added, arching a serious eyebrow, “I’ve got some unfinished business I need to take care of. It shouldn’t take me long and I’ll be on my way.” He glanced at Bram. “Luther and Jack and I are old buddies from Nam. Old war amigos never die. Sort of like ex-wives.” He snorted at his own joke.

Sophie poked Bram in the ribs to stop him from rolling his eyes.

“Well, so.” He stroked the hood of the car. “She’s a beaut, ain’t she? Bought her the day before I left Fort Wayne.”

“Did you just get into town today?”

“Barely minutes ago. I thought, hell, why waste time? I gotta get out there and see my old buddies. Are they here?”

“Luther is,” answered Sophie. “Jack was here earlier but had to go back to town.”

“No matter.” His voice was creamy. “I’ll get to him, sooner or later.” He noticed Bram eyeing the car. “Wanna see inside?”

“That’s all right,” said Bram. “Another time.”

“Nah, it’s okay. Maybe the little lady should go first.” He opened the door and stepped away, giving a bow. “Come on, don’t be shy. Look at those gorgeous plush seats.”

He was like a car salesman from hell. Sophie peeked inside. The interior reeked of rancid smoke and sour sweat, all mixed together with the unmistakable aroma of a brand new car. The floor and seat were littered with empty bags of potato chips, and crushed cans of pop. Under a soiled shirt, she noticed a Duluth newspaper. That was interesting. She recognized it immediately as yesterday’s front page, the one announcing the death of Lars Olson. How did Sydney get hold of a day-old paper? The
Duluth Daily News
wasn’t generally sold outside of Minnesota. Unless? Had he been in town longer than he was letting on? Why would he lie? She pulled her head out. “Very nice!”

Sydney beamed. “Yeah. Well, I gotta clean up some of the crap from the drive, but she’s a winner, all right.” He stroked the fender lovingly. “Your turn now,” he said, turning to Bram.

Bram poked his head inside. “A lovely car,” he pronounced, using his deep, resonant radio voice. Smiling boyishly, Sydney slammed the door and picked up his luggage. “I see Amanda’s still quite the gardener.” He shot a patronizing glance at the luxurious flower beds that circled the house. “Things never change. Silly hobby, if you ask me. Well, I suppose it’s time I go knock on the front door. Sends chills up your spine, don’t it? Old friends reuniting.” He roared with laughter. Whistling the Navy anthem, he charged up the slope and disappeared around the front of the house.

The Mudlark Bar was in a strange building that stood several hundred feet back from the road. The original structure was made of brick. Somewhere along the line, someone had added a stucco addition off the rear. When it was turned into a public bar and eatery back in the late Seventies, another section was built haphazardly onto the front, with a deck encircling three sides. To complete the mishmash, two picture windows had been installed to provide a lake view. They did not match. Since it was so close to town, the weekend business was fairly brisk. White plastic tables and chairs had been set up outside for those who enjoyed sitting in the fresh air to sip their brew. And, since it was lunchtime, most of the tables were currently filled with customers eating the simple fare the bar offered.

Sophie swung her car into the parking lot and pulled up next to a pine tree. As she slid out, the stiff breeze off the water kicked up a heavy cloud of dust around her boots. She liked being out in the country. The lack of tar and concrete was a welcome change. Not that downtown St. Paul, where she worked every day, wasn’t an unusually beautiful city. It was just nice to get away from it all for a while.

Once inside the building, Sophie moved through the crowded room up to a long paneled counter. Since her last visit, the walls had been completely recovered in multicolored carpeting squares, with hideous plaster fish dangling from a series of nylon nets strung up behind the bar. Shuddering, she caught the eye of a young woman who was cutting up fresh pineapple near the swinging kitchen door. The woman set down the knife and wiped her hands on a damp towel, sauntering slowly over to where Sophie was standing.

“Can I help you?” she asked lethargically.

Sophie ran a hand through her windblown hair and attempted her most winning smile. “Yes, I hope so. I know this may sound kind of strange, but is there a regular customer who comes in here with a poodle?” She let the question hang in the air. After all, there wasn’t much else she could add.

The young woman took her time answering. “You mean Dolores Benz?”

“I hope so,” said Sophie. “Does she have a poodle?”

The woman nodded. “A tiny one. She carries it in her purse, sometimes. It likes it here. It just sort of sits and growls to itself. Kind of antisocial, if you know what I mean. That is, unless someone offers it food. Then it’s friendly enough. If you ask me, it’s getting fat. Dolores should put it on a diet.”

Sophie tried to look knowing. “I don’t suppose she’s here right now?”

“Nope. Haven’t seen her today.”

“By any chance, do you know where she lives?”

The woman studied her for a moment, leaning over the bar and looking down at her feet. The cowboy boots seemed to turn the tide of indecision. “Sure. Why not? She lives up the road about three miles. In Knife River. You know where that is?”

Sophie nodded.

“She rents the small apartment above Elmer’s Market. You can’t miss it. It’s on the shore side of the highway, just as you come into town.”

Sophie thanked her and headed immediately back out to her car. If this was going to be a waste of time, she might as well get it over with quickly. As she turned left onto the highway, she realized she hadn’t really rehearsed what she would say to the poodle woman — that is, if she could find her. Asking her what she saw on Thursday night seemed a bit broad.

Before she knew it, Elmer’s Market appeared on her right. The young woman had been correct. You couldn’t miss it. It was as if every sign known to modern man had been affixed to the weathered, perhaps rotting, wood exterior. Some of the advertised products weren’t even sold anymore.

Trudging up the side steps to the second floor, Sophie knocked softly on the door. She felt suddenly ridiculous, standing all alone, about to ask a total stranger a completely inane question. She knew she was losing her nerve.

A voice from inside yelled “Hang on!” A few moments later Sophie found herself staring at a plump, middle-aged woman with mounds of curly brown hair and a tight rhinestone necklace (collar?) around her neck. What was it they said about people coming to resemble their pets? She couldn’t wait to see the poodle.

“Yes?” asked the woman, tugging at the waist of her wrinkled corduroy slacks. She’d apparently not been completely dressed when Sophie had knocked.

“Hi,” said Sophie, grinning stupidly. “Yes. Well. I suppose you’re wondering who I am. My name is Sophie Greenway. You don’t know me, but I wonder if I could ask you a couple of questions?”

“You’re not selling anything are you?” The woman looked wary.

“No. Absolutely not.” She squared her shoulders and tried to appear respectable.