This Little Piggy Went to Murder by Ellen Hart Read Free Book Online Page B

Jorensen.” He patted his coat pockets, feeling for a notebook. “Can you tell me where you were between six and eight-fifteen last evening?”
     
    Nervously, Luther cleared his throat. “Well, let’s see. I guess I arrived at the Gasthaus about five forty-five. I thought I might be able to help my wife with last-minute details. I left around seven-thirty.”
     
    “But you went directly home,” said Sophie, coming to his defense.
     
    “No, actually I didn’t. I went for a drive along the shore. I doubt I got home much before ten. You can ask Alice. She’s our cook and part-time housekeeper. She’d probably know the exact moment I walked in the door. Very little that happens in this house gets past her.”
     
    “Did you stop anywhere?” asked Wardlaw. “Did anyone see you?”
     
    Luther shook his head. “No one. I suppose that means I don’t have much of an alibi.”
     
    “This is ridiculous,” protested Amanda. A raw color appeared on her cheeks.
     
    Wardlaw turned to her. “Mrs. Jorensen, I understand your restaurant reopened last night after a lengthy renovation. Did you leave the premises at any point during the evening?”
     
    “Of course not!”
     
    “What time did you arrive there?”
     
    “Around five. Luther and I each have our own car. And I didn’t leave until well after midnight. I’m sure I can find a great many people to verify that fact.”
     
    “I’m sure you can.” Wardlaw’s voice was soothing. “Do either of you own a firearm? We’re looking for a .45 caliber handgun.”
     
    Luther raised a finger. “I believe I own one like that. All our guns are kept in my study.”
     
    “I wonder if you’d mind if I had a Iook.”
     
    “Please,” said Luther. He touched Amanda’s hand and gave Sophie a nod as he stood, leading the detective out of the living room and into a dark, rear hallway which ran the length of the first floor. At the second to the last door, he stopped, knocking softly.
     
    “Go away!” came a deep, brusque voice. “The muse is upon me.”
     
    Pushing it open, Luther allowed Wardlaw to enter first. Bram was sitting with his feet propped up on a large intricately carved mahogany desk, about to launch a paper airplane into the stratosphere.
     
    Luther breezed past the detective, gesturing with his thumb over his shoulder. “Sorry, Bram old boy, but you’re going to have to leave. Can’t be helped.”
     
    Bram yanked a Popsicle out of his mouth. “Yeah? And who might you be?” He glared at Wardlaw.
     
    “The coppers,” said Luther, grabbing his arm. “Come on now, be a good boy and go play by the shore for a few minutes.”
     
    Bram whipped a paper out of the typewriter. “He’s no policeman. My agent sent him to make sure I was
working
”
     
    “That’s a good fellow,” Luther cooed, dragging him to the door. “Catch you later. Well now,” he said, turning to the detective. “There it is.” He pointed to a cabinet against the side wall.
     
    As Wardlaw opened the case and began his search, Luther stood in front of a mullioned window and watched the gulls swoop near the water. The lighthouse was visible out on the point. He’d picked this room for his study because of the view, and also because it was the only room on the first floor — other than the living room — with a working fireplace. Patiently, he waited as the detective took a pen and lifted a handgun from the bottom shelf.
     
    “This looks like a government issue,” he said, sniffing the barrel. He dropped it into a small plastic bag. “It’s been fired recently.”
     
    Luther sat down on the edge of the couch, feeling the back of his neck prickle with a cold anticipation.
     
    “When was the last time you remember using it?”
     
    “A few days ago. I often take one with me when I go for a walk. It’s the rabbits. They’re all anarchists around here. They have no sense of property rights. Also, both my wife and I use the Knife River Shooting Range on