This Little Piggy Went to Murder Read Online Free PDF Page B

the interruption, he yelled for Carla to answer the goddamn door. The bell continued to chime. Of course, thought Herman. What was he thinking? It was after seven. Carla had left hours ago. She wanted to attend the reopening of the restaurant tonight just like everyone else, and she needed extra time to get ready.
     
    When he worked at his computer, time often escaped him. After the stroke he’d suffered, Carla, his personal secretary for over twenty years, had turned one of the downstairs rooms into an office. It was the first new furniture he’d bought in many years. Herman hated wasting money on interior furnishings. He’d changed virtually nothing in the house since his wife’s death thirteen years earlier. Carla now split her time between the corporate offices downtown and Herman’s residence.
     
    Occasionally, real estate agents would knock on his door to ask if he was interested in selling the place. They promised ridiculously high profits. It wasn’t that the house was so magnificent; it was simply that along with the property came several hundred feet of Superior lakeshore. To live that close to the water was an expensive proposition in Duluth. People paid dearly for the privilege. Herman laughed to himself. They were fools. He’d bought the house in 1947 for next to nothing. The place was cold and drafty, with a roof that leaked no matter what he did to prevent it. To be honest, he would have been just as happy to live in one of those modern condos like his granddaughter, Chelsea. But this had been home too long.
     
    The doorbell sounded again. Christ! It was cook’s night off, too. And the night nurse wouldn’t be along until eight-thirty. lf the door was going to get answered, he would simply have to do it himself. Pushing away from the terminal, he steered his electric wheelchair out of the room and down the long corridor to the front door.
     
    “Why am I not surprised to see you standing there?” he asked wearily,backing up and allowing his visitor to enter. “I suppose you might as well come in and join me for a drink. Come back into the study.” He wheeled around and headed down the hall. “Close and lock that door behind you. You can’t be too careful these days. One of my neighbors was burglarized last week.” Bumping to a stop directly in front of a long table filled with crystal decanters, he reached a shaky hand to lift the top off the ice bucket. “God almighty, Milda forgot to fill this before she left. That’s the third time this week.” He turned around. “You know whereto get more ice. And while you’re at it, bring that cold dinner tray she left for me on the counter. I hate to eat alone. You might as well join me.”
     
    “I can’t stay. I just stopped by for a moment.”
     
    “Hmph,” said Herman. “You came for a reason, didn’t you? Get that ice and my dinner and then you can make your pitch. I assume that’s why you’re here.”
     
    “All right. I’ll be right back.”
     
    Herman rolled to the terminal. He no longer had any interest in commodity futures. It was much more important to prepare himself mentally for the attenuated speech to which he was about to be subjected. Why did everything have to be such a pathetic struggle? He knew what was best. He’d always known. “Just set the tray over there,” he growled, pointing to a low table next to the couch. “And pour me a drink. Make it a rye and a little dry vermouth. Why don’t you have one yourself? You look like you could use something strong.”
     
    “No, thanks,” said the visitor, slowly mixing Herman’s nightcap.
     
    “I insist. And take off those goddamn gloves. You’re making me nervous. I’ve never seen you look so grim.”
     
    “Do I look grim? That’s funny. It’s not how I feel.”
     
    Herman grabbed the drink. “You came to talk about money, isn’t that right? Don’t bother answering. I was sure someone would come crawling out of the woodwork after my announcement this