PDF This Little Piggy Went to Murder (Sophie Greenway Series Book 1)

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  2. Hart, Ellen 1949-
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I want that company of hers to build us a log house. We're done with our jet-setting lifestyle for a while, so I want to have a spot where we can go when we feel like getting out of the city.

A place where I can fish, and where your mom can meditate on her new Buddhist leanings. I'm an old man.

I can't take that kind of excitement. I know they have packages, standard plans, that sort of thing. Find out what you can, okay? I want to move on this right away when I get back.

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I'll call Elaine tonight. Maybe she'll give us a deal. Never hurts to ask. Where you are is yesterday. Where you are is Friday. And it's seven a. What time is it in St. In the afternoon. Since I always do what your mom says, I better get off the line. Talk to you soon, sweetheart.

Over and out from sunny Bangkok. To say her parents were a tad eccentric was an understatement, thought Sophie. Fifty years of marriage and they were still going strong, still having fun together. They were the happiest couple she knew. She wondered what their secret was. Sometimes they acted more like kids playing in the backyard than like an old married couple.

She couldn't help but think of her marriage to Bram, of what their future would hold. A maintenance man sailed by the office door with a dolly loaded with drenched boxes. Sophie called after him, "Did you get the water stopped? The pipe's got to be replaced. Her shoes squeaked on the marble floors as she made her way as quickly as possible to her office.

Several people stared at her feet, but she ignored them, adopting a look of what she hoped was quiet dignity. Once behind closed doors, she dumped her shoes in the trash. They smelled like sewer gas. She doubted she could ever get the reek of decaying pipe out of them. It was a warm September afternoon, so she wasn't going to catch pneumonia in bare feet. She took off her nylons and cleaned up in her office bathroom, then sat down behind her desk, not sure what to do next.

She had dinner reservations at Chez Sophia at eight.

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It would be a working dinner, a review for the paper. Rudy was supposed to go with her, but he'd backed out at the last minute. If she didn't come up with another dinner companion fast, she'd be eating alone. That's when an idea struck her. She checked her Rolodex, then picked up the phone and tapped in Elaine's number. She waited through a couple of rings until a woman's voice answered, "Veelund Industries.

Finally, Elaine's voice came on the line. What's up? It's on me. Chez Sophia. Are you planning to bring along that handsome husband of yours? Flaunt your good luck while I drool? We need some time to catch up. Woman to woman. What's it been? Two months? Can I meet you at the restaurant? And Sophie. This hasn't been the best week of my life. We'll talk more tonight. Now that her parents were on their way home, she felt a double impetus to make sure everything at the hotel was running smoothly. She was engrossed in the financial figures for August when there was a knock on the door.

Glancing at her watch, she saw that it was going on six. She had to get a move on if she was going to make it to the restaurant on time. Sophie always wore disguises when she visited restaurants for review. Her face was well known by restaurateurs in the Twin Cities, so camouflage was the only way she could get a sense of what the average diner would encounter. Tonight's disguise would have to be better than usual because the owner and executive chef at Chez Sophia was, to put it politely, an old and intimate friend. Ben Greenberg, her maintenance foreman, entered carrying a box.

As he stepped closer, she saw that it was made of metal, maybe eight inches wide by a foot long, and a good six inches deep. He set it down on her desk, then removed his cap. It's got a name stamped on the side there.

Hart, Ellen 1949-

Eli Salmela. And the date, It looks watertight, but it's old. I thought you might want to take a look at it--whatever it is. Eli Salmela was her mother's uncle. He'd been dead for over forty years.

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What on earth was a box belonging to him doing in the subbasement of the Maxfield Plaza? I'm afraid we lost a lot of paper products.

KDL What's Next® Database

Actually, I need to get back down there. I'll take care of the box. A restaurant critic's job was a dirty one, etcetera, etcetera. The box would have to wait. Because she was a shrimp--a little over five feet tall--she liked to wear three-inch heels when she dressed as herself. When she was disguised as a man, as she was tonight, her lift shoes--cordovan leather wing tips--gave her added height.

A dark brown wig covered her short strawberry blond hair. The addition of a beard lent her male persona a bit of class. Sophie felt she made a rather attractive man, albeit a short one. With an equally short female date on her arm, she might have pulled off the ruse, but standing next to the tall, elegant Elaine Veelund, Sophie felt like a dumpy fraud.

Not the best way to start the evening. See All Customer Reviews.