This Little Piggy Went to Murder (24 page)

Bram stood over the chair, glowering. “We are just dandy. We would be even dandier if you’d sign that inane procedural shit and let us out of here.”

The doctor studied him for a moment and then turned to Sophie. “How do your lungs feel?”

“Sore.”

“That’s to be expected. I need to examine you both one more time. If everything checks out, you’ll be out of here in fifteen minutes. Or we can sit and snarl at each other.” He looked up at Bram. “What shall it be?”

“Thank you, doctor,” said Sophie. “That would be fine. Where would you like me to sit?”

The doctor stood. “On the edge of the bed.” He glanced dismissively over his shoulder. “I’ll be with you in a minute. Take off your shirt.”

It was after two before Bram and Sophie were finally released from the hospital. After a short stop at one of their favorite cafes for a piece of homemade blackberry pie a la mode, Bram dropped Sophie off at Canal Park while he headed into town to visit an old friend who worked at one of the local radio stations. Sophie couldn’t stand the thought of being trapped one more minute inside some huge, stuffy building. She needed fresh air after breathing the stale hospital variety all night.

Canal Park was one of her favorite spots — or, at least, had been until Lars Olson was found murdered beneath the Aerial Lift Bridge. The mental image of his body hanging from one of those huge girders would forever taint her feelings about the place. And the worst of it was, she was almost certain there was going to be another murder — and soon.

As she pulled out the remnant of her hospital lunch to feed to the gulls, she spotted Jack and his niece, Chelsea, walking arm in arm down the long concrete walkway that formed one side of the narrow canal. They appeared to be deep in conversation. Sophie sat down on a bench and tossed crumbs into the grass, all the while watching them approach the base of the bridge.

Together they stopped and peered over the side. Powerful waves crashed against the concrete barrier with enough force to throw spray high into the air. After a few moments, Jack put his arm around Chelsea and gave her a hug. In response, she whispered something into his ear and they both began to roar with laughter. Feeling inside his raincoat pocket for his keys, Jack kissed her on the cheek and headed off toward the parking lot. Chelsea turned and watched him go.

Sophie took it as her cue to toss the remainder of her snack at one large, particularly noisy gull. Picking up her purse, she crossed the grass to the stairs leading down to the walkway. She got within a few yards of Chelsea before being recognized.

“Sophie! You’re the last person I expected to see here today.” Chelsea was wearing an elegant sand-colored silk blouse and darker, fawn-colored slacks. She was the picture of tailored perfection.

“Bram and I were just released from the hospital. I assume you know what happened.’“

“I was at the house yesterday when Father came in with the news.” Her tone was crisp, expressing no sympathy.

“Of course. I did know you were coming out yesterday morning. For Jack’s meeting.”

Chelsea nodded. After a nicely judged pause, she continued with the same studied indifference. “You look well.”

“I’m a little sore when I breathe, but otherwise just fine.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Sophie noticed an ore boat glide slowly into the harbor behind them. Normally she would he more than excited about watching such a huge vessel thread its way through the narrow channel and out into the vastness of Lake Superior. Today, the sight barely registered. “I saw Jack leave a few minutes ago. Do you get together with him often?” She knew the question was nosy, but didn’t care.

Chelsea’s eyes searched the horizon. “Uncle Jack and I are very close. We always have been. If I’d had my way, he would have been my father, not Luther. Unfortunately, we don’t get to pick and choose our parents.”

Or our children, thought Sophie.

“My mother and father are in extreme demand by the rest of the world, you know. At least they were when I was growing up. I used to figure that meant they were very important.” She laughed. “I didn’t realize all it really meant was that they were totally self-consumed.”

“Aren’t you being a little hard on them, Chelsea? After all —”

“You’re their good friend, right? You’re lucky. They make better friends than they do parents. At least they don’t forget you exist. But no matter. It’s all past. And the past no longer interests me.” She said the words coldly, her flawless complexion looking almost like a painted Oriental mask. “There’s very little worth remembering anyway. Just Uncle Jack. You know, when I was eleven years old, my uncle and I were roughhousing on the front lawn. I suppose I was giggling and trying to get away from him or something. I don’t really remember. But as I was running toward the cliff I tripped and rolled over the side. I landed on a ledge about three feet down. I must have scraped my knee pretty badly because I started to cry. I remember Jack’s face appearing above me. He looked a hundred feet tall. He reached down and drew me into his arms and ran all the way back to the house.

“I can still remember the feeling of his body, so strong and warm. But the odd thing was, he was shaking. I’d never seen an adult do that before. He carried me into the house and sat me down on the kitchen counter. I can still see the look on his face. He was crying. Actually crying! And it was for me. No one had ever cried for me before. I was so intrigued, I totally forgot my injury. He cleaned off my knee and put something on it, but it was his tenderness and absolute concern that I remember. He told me that day that I was the most important person in his life. He couldn’t bear to see anything bad happen to me and that I could always count on his protection. He held me for a long time. I think we finally ended up tickling each other and laughing, just like always, but I’ll never forget that one moment. Nothing he’s done since has ever led me to believe he’s changed his mind.

“At the time, I didn’t realize how dangerous that fall could’ve been. The thing is, even though the ledge stopped my fall, Jack saved my life that day. And I’ll never forget it. I’d do anything for him, Sophie. Anything.”

Sophie was struck by the story. She had no idea how miserable Chelsea’s childhood had been — or how bonded she and Jack had become. “But you were close to your grandfather, too, weren’t you?”

Chelsea twisted a lock of shiny blonde hair around her finger. “I suppose. In a way. But it seems like people have always wanted something from me. My parents wanted a quiet, undemanding little doll, who looked cute when brought out at parties and who would grow up healthy and happy with no real input from them. My grandfather was the opposite. He was willing to give me all the time and attention I wanted. That fooled me at first. I wasn’t used to it. But, in the end, all he really wanted was to mold someone into his own image. I was available. When I moved in with him, the year I turned seventeen, I knew I was unformed, raw. He taught me a lot. But the only person to understand who I really was, and love me for that, was Uncle Jack. He wanted me to be whatever made me happy. No strings. No demands. He listened to my ideas without superimposing his own. Do you know how important that is?”

“You’re lucky,” said Sophie. “Some people never find that.” She thought grimly of her own son.

“I know.”

“You must be very proud of him — running for senator like he is.”

“I am. Very.”

“He wants it pretty badly.”

“And he’ll get it.”

“You’re so sure? It seems to me that he may have an Achilles’ heel.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if I’m not mistaken, he spent a year at a mental health facility shortly after his return from Vietnam.”

Chelsea stood very still. “You’ve got to be kidding. That’s ludicrous!” She burst out laughing.

Sophie was momentarily taken aback by the response. “How can you be so sure? You weren’t even born yet.”

“Because I know my uncle. I’ve never met a man who is more mentally healthy. Where did you pick up such a ridiculous rumor?”

Sophie shrugged, feeling a little embarrassed. “It’s the truth.”

“You can rest assured it has no basis in fact. I can’t believe all the rumors that get started in these campaigns. Did you know he’s supposed to have had three illegitimate children by some woman in Arizona? And he wears a toupee? I think someone even swore he sleeps with his chauffeur. I mean, he doesn’t even
have
a chauffeur. Get a grip, Sophie. People throw around a lot of mud. Most of it never sticks.”

Her reaction did seem to be genuine. Perhaps she didn’t know the truth. And anyway, it might have nothing to do with the recent murders.

“I can see where you’re coming from,” said Chelsea. “You think Uncle Jack has something to do with these recent deaths in Duluth. Well, rest your mind. He’s totally innocent. He’s incapable of something like that. Jack is the most gentle man I’ve ever known.”

Sophie found it an extremely naive statement. “All right. Let’s say that’ s true. On the other hand, not everyone around him may be quite so gentle.”

“What do you mean by that? Who are you referring to?”

“Well, Ryan Woodthorpe for one.”

A faint smile touched her lips. “You don’t like him?”

“No. I don’t.” Sophie turned at the sound of a horn blast. The ore boat was alerting the bridge that it wanted to pass underneath. The bridgeman responded with two blasts of his own and a few seconds later, the bridge began to empty of cars. “Ryan’s going to be a father, you know.”

“What?” Very deliberately, Chelsea turned until she was facing Sophie.

“He and Jenny Tremlet are having a baby.”

“How do you know that?”

“Firsthand. Jenny came to see Bram and me at the hospital shortly after lunch today. She had an appointment with an obstetrician. She seems pretty happy about it. I understand you know her.”

“We’ve met.”

Amidst the clanging of warning bells the bridge began to rise. Sophie’s eyes were pulled to the spot where Lars Olson’s body must have been tied to the bridge. As the huge ship moved into the channel, she felt the deep horn blasts resonate inside her body. She waved at the boatmen standing high on the ship’s top deck. Several waved back. The boat appeared to be from Greece. She’d always wondered what it would be like, sailing through the November gales on Lake Superior, out through the St. Lawrence, and on to the Atlantic. The seamen’s lives were undoubtedly hard, yet ship life must surely have its pleasures. The boat moved swiftly through the canal and out into the lake.

“I’m just like a kid,” she said, watching it advance toward the horizon. “I’m always so ridiculously impressed.” She turned and to her surprise, found herself alone.

Alice Oag sat perched ona high stool in the lodge’s kitchen, busily frosting a chocolate layer cake. It had been a quiet day. The ancient radio that rested on a tall stand next to the table was tuned to her favorite classical station. She’d always loved opera. Tonight,
Tosca
was being broadcast live all the way from New York City. Her favorite aria, “Recondita armonia,” would be sung by the greatest living tenor, Luciano Pavarotti. Just thinking about it gave her goose bumps. She followed the melody in her mind, the last few notes swelling with a brilliant intensity. The metal spatula she held cut through the moist kitchen air as she directed the imaginary orchestra, remembering every flourish, never losing track of the violins. She stopped midverse when she noticed Sophie standing in the doorway, watching her.

“No, no, don’t quit,” said Sophie, leaning against the door frame. “You’re having such a good time. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

Alice straightened her apron. “You must think I’m a terribly silly old woman.”

“I do not! Really. I just thought I’d see what you were up to. The house seems so quiet. Bram and I just got back from town and he’s gone up to work on his book. We stayed to have dinner with some friends.”

Alice began filling a cloth pastry bag with frosting. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better, thanks. The doctor says we should both be back to normal in a few days.” She walked over and warmed her hands next to the stove. “It’s getting chilly out there. And the fog is rolling in. We almost missed the turn into the drive.”

Alice peeked out the window. “The six o’clock news advised people not to travel after dark. It’s only going to get worse.” She scraped the last bit of frosting out of the bowl. “That was awful, what happened to you yesterday. I don’t mind telling you, Mr. Jorensen’s been in a terrible mood ever since it happened.”

“I know. He and Amanda stopped by the hospital yesterday evening. They were both pretty upset. To be honest, Bram and I were going to stay in town tonight. We only came back to the house to pick up our things. Except, by the time we got here, the visibility on the highway was so poor we decided it was better to stay one more night rather than risk driving in this soup.” Sophie hesitated before adding, “But we will be leaving tomorrow.”