Free This Little Piggy Went to Murder by Ellen Hart Page A

A few moments later Sophie found herself staring at a plump, middle-aged woman with mounds of curly brown hair and a tight rhinestone necklace (collar?) around her neck. What was it they said about people coming to resemble their pets? She couldn’t wait to see the poodle.
     
    “Yes?” asked the woman, tugging at the waist of her wrinkled corduroy slacks. She’d apparently not been completely dressed when Sophie had knocked.
     
    “Hi,” said Sophie, grinning stupidly. “Yes. Well. I suppose you’re wondering who I am. My name is Sophie Greenway. You don’t know me, but I wonder if I could ask you a couple of questions?”
     
    “You’re not selling anything are you?” The woman looked wary.
     
    “No. Absolutely not.” She squared her shoulders and tried to appear respectable.
     
    “Come on in then,” said the woman, kicking a bunch of dirty cloths out of their path. “Saturday is cleaning day. As you can see, I haven’t started yet.” She leaned down and removed a stack of magazines from a chair. “Have a seat.”
     
    “Thanks.” Sophie perched uncomfortably on the edge of a bright orange recliner rocker and looked around the small, cluttered room. Bram would have felt right at home.
     
    The woman fell onto the threadbare sofa opposite her. “Do I know you? You look kinda familiar.”
     
    “I don’t think so.” Sophie hesitated. She didn’t know how to begin. “Actually, I mean, I know this may sound strange, but … what I wanted to ask was —”
     
    “Let me guess.” The woman tugged at her tight tank top. “You want to know what I saw last Thursday night.”
     
    Sophie’s eyes widened.
     
    “I’m right, aren’t I? You’re not the first person to ask, you know. Don’t look so surprised. I’ll tell you the same as I told him.”
     
    “I don’t understand. Who else has been around asking you about this?”
     
    “No one’s been around. I got a phone call. Yesterday afternoon. At first I thought it was one of those obscene things. I just hate it when they start that heavy breathing crap. But the guy just wanted some information.”
     
    A tiny white poodle crawled out from under the sofa and sat down, batting at its sleepy eyes with furry paws. It looked up at Sophie and whined.
     
    “This is Ducky Darling. She’s very old.”
     
    “Why is she whining?”
     
    “She wants you to feed her.”
     
    Sophie raised an eyebrow. Normally, she liked dogs. She and Bram had one of their own at home: a large black and brown mutt named Ethel. This poodle was the smallest she’d ever seen. And the most rotund.
     
    The dog’s manner changed abruptly when she saw that Sophie was not getting up. She glared as if Sophie were an imbecile.
     
    “Nice Ducky Darling,” said Sophie, reaching down to pat Ducky Darling’s head.
     
    Ducky Darling growled.
     
    “Be a sweet Ducky and give mummy a minute to talk to the lady.” Dolores grabbed the dog and dropped her somewhat absently into her lap. Ducky Darling began to lick her paws. Unlike the rest of her fur, the mouth and feet were a distinct orange color, undoubtedly a result of the brand of canned dog food she ate.
     
    “What were we saying?” asked Dolores. “Oh, yeah. About Thursday night. Well, to be honest, I don’t remember much. I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I’d had too much to drink.” She fluffed her curls. “I work — or I should say, I did work — at the university. I was fired shortly after lunch on Thursday. We won’t go into the details, but suffice it to say that I was completely innocent of any wrongdoing. Anyway” — she sniffed, closing her eyes and leaning her head against the back of the couch — “I got to the Mudlark about two. And I proceeded to get smashed. It seemed the appropriate thing to do.”
     
    “Did you see anything unusual?”
     
    She pulled on the dog’s ears. “Depends on what you mean by unusual. It
is
a bar, after all.”
     
    “Well, then, anything out of the