This Little Piggy Went to Murder Read Online Free PDF

been a prom queen, she had the moves down pat. The vapidity of it drove Bram nuts. She hoped it would have the same effect on Luther.
     
    Standing alone now in the growing dusk, she listened to the buzz of traffic along London Road. One thing was certain. No matter how much Luther tried to suggest otherwise, he wasn’t leveling with her. Sophie prided herself on her intuition. She listened carefully to the stillness around people, letting the quiet collect so that she could observe the tiny, almost imperceptible characteristics that could so easily be overlooked.
     
    She knew there were, more than a few demons inside Luther Jorensen which were far from being exorcised. His relationship with Amanda had never been easy. For nearly twenty-three years, she’d watched the two of them dance jigs around each other. They were obviously attached, yet she was confident that attachment didn’t exclude a certain kind of hate. Strange that she should be so close to both husband and wife, and yet they were so different.
     
    Realizing she wasn’t going to solve anything by remaining outside and allowing the mosquitoes to eat her alive, Sophie decided to return to the party and find her husband. As she was about to start up the steps, she noticed a piece of paper sticking out from under the windshield wiper of their car. At first she thought it was an advertising flier, but all the other windshields were empty. Walking closer, she saw that it was an envelope. That was odd. If someone wanted to get in touch with her or Bram, why didn’t they just come inside? Quickly, she pulled the envelope free and opened it. Inside was a sheet of paper on which someone had typed the words:
     
     
If you want to help those you love, ask the woman
with the poodle at the Mudlark Bar what she saw
on Thursday night.
     
    Sophie looked up at the huge, two-sided neon sign that sat high atop the restaurant, boldly blinking the words GASTHAUS RETHENAU to cars on London Road. Thursday night, last night — that was when Lars Olson had been murdered. Was there a connection? If so, what possible business could that be of hers?
     
    She read the note again.
     
    The Mudlark Bar. Sure. She’d been there many times. It was midway between Brule’s Landing and the outskirts of Duluth. Probably five miles or so from Amanda and Luther’s home. But come on. A woman with a poodle? This had to be a joke. Yet she knew she couldn’t ignore the possible implications. The first part of the sentence was what stuck in her throat.
If you want to help those you love
… Of course she did! What a question.
     
    Sophie looked around, wondering if she was being watched. This was too strange. Slipping the note into her evening bag, she crossed quickly to the steps. Perhaps someone was trying to confide in her. That was possible. There was, however, one simple way to confront this intrigue. Tomorrow she would take a little drive. It would sure beat playing four-handed bridge with a computer.
     

4
    Herman Grendel sat at a computer terminal in the study of his home on London Road. For the last thirty years, Friday evenings had been spent going over the weekly averages on the various worldwide exchanges. Taking periodic stock of his investments had always been part of his overall plan. At first, his assets hadn’t amounted to much. Yet, as the years passed and Duluth became a major inland port for the shipping of ore and grain, Herman saw his fortunes begin to grow. He had somehow stumbled onto the kind of success he’d once considered beyond his reach. It had been a roller-coaster ride; his blood pressure was living proof.
     
    Herman’s scowl deepened as the screen registered an unexpected three point drop in one of his most reliable investments. Damn. Why hadn’t his broker let him know? You couldn’t trust anyone these days.
     
    As he switched the computer’s library screen over to commodity futures, the sound of the front doorbell broke his concentration. Annoyed at