The Heirloom Murders (26 page)

I am so screwed, Roelke thought.

When he knocked on the door, Chief Naborski waved him inside. “Shut the door behind you.”

Roelke did as he was told.

“Sounds like you had quite the night,” Naborski began. “Simon Sabatola arrested for murder.” The words were fine, but the tone was not congratulatory.

“Yessir. I made a lot of—”

“I read Skeet’s report. Including the part where Sabatola resisted arrest. I understand you had to take him down. And that Sabatola cracked his ribs against a coffee table when he fell.” The chief’s expression made it clear that he questioned that last detail.

Roelke squeezed the arms of his chair. Skeet, you
idiot!
he thought. Why had Skeet lied? All that did was complicate the mess.

“I have yet to read your report.”

Roelke held it out, but instead of taking the report, Chief Na
borski folded his arms. “The head of the Police Committee stopped
by my house last night.”

The edges of Roelke’s vision began to waver, as if he was getting a migraine. When this was over he’d sleep for three days. Then he would try to figure out what to do with the rest of his life.

“They decided to give the permanent position to you,” Naborski said.

After a pause Roelke said hoarsely, “They … they made a mistake. The job should go to Skeet.”

Naborski stood, turned his back, and looked out the window. Roelke waited for him to say something. It seemed as if he waited a long time.

Finally Naborski turned again. He looked grim. “Officer Mc-Kenna, the Police Committee took their task very seriously. They invested time, reviewed the applications, conducted the interviews. They discussed the options at length and in good faith. I can go back to the committee and tell them they made a mistake. If I do, however, they will probably begin to wonder just what kind of department they’re paying for. They will wonder why an officer who’s put in a year of part-time work while waiting for a permanent position to open would go through the process, just to change his mind. Is that what you want me to do?”

Roelke couldn’t find an answer.

Naborski shook his head. “You have good instincts. This Sabatola thing is only one example.” The chief’s eyes narrowed. “But if you
ever
put me in this position again, your ass will hit the asphalt. Your career will be over. Do you understand me?”

Roelke jerked his head—one tiny nod.

“I believe your report was poorly prepared.” Naborski gestured to the papers still clutched in Roelke’s hand. “Do it over.”

This time Roelke couldn’t even nod.

“Dismissed!” Naborski barked.

Roelke stood, headed for the door. Hand on the knob, he turned.
“Does Skeet know?”

“He does. I sent him home. Told him to take a couple of days off so he can think about what he wants to do.”

Roelke left the office, dropped into a chair, and scrubbed his face with his palms. He had the job.

He also had one hell of a lot to prove. To the chief. To Skeet. To himself.

“I’m glad we came
to
Volksfest
today,” Chloe told Markus. Frieda and Johann had died just two days earlier, and she’d been dubious
about immersing herself in New Glarus’s celebration of Swiss
independence. Now, though, it seemed completely fitting. A flag-throwing demonstration was underway at the far end of the Tell Shooting Park just outside of town. Three men played alphorns nearby, the low tones making Chloe’s sternum quiver.

And the crossbow competition was underway, with Martine
already showing as a strong contender. As Chloe watched, she couldn’t help flashing back to Thursday evening when Martine had stood like some old pagan goddess, unmoving and strong, arrow pointed toward Guest.
Wunderlicher,
she’d called herself
.
An odd one
.

Well, you’re my hero
,
Chloe told her silently, as the other woman
took aim. Martine’s arrow whizzed through the air and hit the
target with an audible thump. “Way to go!” Chloe called.

When the applause died down Markus said, “I like Martine’s theory about her grandparents.”

Chloe nodded, suddenly unable to push words around the lump in her throat. Martine believed that Johann had died of heart failure without ever knowing what was taking place in the farmyard. And she believed that when that happened, after seventy-one years of marriage, Frieda’s heart simply stopped beating as well. Chloe had barely known the Frietags, but she missed them. The bond they’d shared made Chloe’s heart ache in ways she didn’t fully understand.

After seeing Martine win a medal, Markus and Chloe left the shooting area and wandered through the festival grounds. Children in regional folk costume darted past. The air smelled of brats and beer and pastry. As they neared the stage the alphorn performance concluded, and an accordion band took their place. When they launched into a lively tune, Markus took Chloe’s hand. “Will you dance a schottische with me?”

She smiled. “A schottische sounds good.”

After one or two hesitant steps, Chloe and Markus moved together as if they’d never been apart. They knew when to hold hands and skip-hop forward together; when to swing close and twirl. Chloe let the music sweep the sadness from her heart. By the time the piece ended, she was laughing and breathless.

“Let’s sit the next one out,” Markus said, and tugged her away from the crowd. Only then did he lean close and kiss her. She put her hands on his cheeks, feeling the angles of his cheekbones—almost forgotten, utterly familiar.

Finally he pulled away. “I have something for you,” he said. “Close your eyes.”

Chloe hesitated. “Markus, I—”

“Please.”

She felt a tiny whisper of unease, but obeyed. Markus placed something small and square on her palm. Her eyes flew open. She held a small jeweler’s box.

Markus swiveled the box lid open to reveal a diamond ring. One facet of the oval-cut stone sparkled in the sunlight. “Chloe, will you marry me?”

She struggled to find words. “Markus, we just—we can’t—”

“We
can
. We can make it work.” He spoke earnestly, the words coming faster and faster. “I wouldn’t ask you to move back to Switzerland. I’ll move here. I’ve already talked to Claude about it—”

“You’ve already talked to Claude?” The air suddenly felt insufficient for her lungs.

“—and I’ve talked with people in New Glarus who are planning to create a center for Swiss history and genealogical studies.”

“Markus—”

“I’ll have to work on a project basis for a while, picking up research jobs, but I can make that work. I can do family history stuff for people, too. And—”

“Markus,
stop!
”

“What?” He stared at her.

“You’ve done the same damn thing you did a year ago!”

“No I haven’t!”

“You’ve made all kinds of decisions for both of us. Last year you decided we were done. Now you’ve mapped out our future without even—”

“I wanted to prove how serious I am!” he protested.

“You talked to your boss before you talked with me. You talked with people at the historical society here before you talked with me.”

Markus stared over the festival grounds, then back at her. “I’m trying to take responsibility for what I did. Trying to make a formal commitment. And you still won’t forgive me?”

“I
do
forgive you, Markus.” Chloe spoke with a sense of wonder, because she hadn’t realized it was true. “I forgive you, but … I don’t want to marry you.”

“Take some time to think about it. Please. You don’t have to decide anything today.”

“Living with you in Switzerland was a wonderful adventure. But what we had there was all
you
, Markus. Your historic site. Your friends. Your country. I’m a stronger person than I was during our time together. I think … I really think we’re done this time.”

“Things can be different now!” he insisted. “I
know
we can make it work.”

“You didn’t even ask me if I like diamonds.” Chloe closed the jewelry box and pressed it back into his hands. “I don’t.”

The accordion band began a cheerful rendition of the
Beer Barrel Polka
. Markus opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again.

Chloe kissed his cheek. “Goodbye, Markus,” she whispered, and fled.

_____

Chloe tried not to think as she drove to Eagle. Her heart felt weightless and iron-bound at the same time.

“I’m sorry if I seemed distant these past few days,” Dellyn had told her at the hospital. “The thing is, when I showed Markus Old World’s gardens that day … well, it was fun! I enjoyed talking with him. But your cop friend saw me and Markus together at Sasso’s, and he didn’t seem to like it. Suddenly the whole situation seemed weird. I didn’t know what to tell you.”

Chloe had urged Dellyn to forget her worries, and she’d promised to bring Dellyn a few personal items from home. Now Chloe parked on the street, as if her friend might pull into the driveway any moment. Being here was a reminder that Dellyn’s problems dwarfed her own.
I pray that memories of our carefree childhood provide what you need to make your own way,
Bonnie had written. The wording was a little odd, but the sentiment …

Chloe caught her breath. She let Bonnie’s words slide sideways in her mind, exposing a new angle, just as a single facet in the engagement ring had reflected light. Then she got out of the car.

In the garden, the playhouse Mr. Burke had built for his daughters was almost hidden behind a trellised wall of pea vines. The child-sized cottage looked forlorn. The cheery paint was faded and chipped. The door hung ajar on rusted hinges. A few leaves had blown inside.

Chloe dropped to her knees, pushed the door open, and stuck head and shoulders inside. The package was propped against the front wall. She grabbed it, and back-scrambled into the sun.

She held a plastic storage bag. One of Mrs. Burke’s garden journals was sealed inside with a single piece of loose paper.

Dellyn won’t mind that I look, Chloe thought as she opened the bag. She read the paper first:

Dear Dellyn,

I knew you’d be clever enough to find this. I hid these things from Edwin and Simon, but I couldn’t bear to destroy them. Look at the page I’ve marked in Mom’s journal. Edwin has a theory that plant material and whey can be processed into something nutritious and medicinal, easy and inexpensive to make and ship to the world’s hungry. That sounds wonderful, but AgriFutures is about power and profits, not philanthropy. Grandma and Mom were wise enough to preserve these seeds and knowledge for all these years. I couldn’t bear to see those things feed Simon’s greed. I think you should take all the information to UW scientists. Let them figure it out and—if the process works—do something good with it.

Love always,

Bonnie

The garden journal was dated 1954—the year Dellyn had thought her mom skipped writing because of newborn Bonnie. Bonnie had marked a page headed with one underlined word:
Käseklee.
Chloe read how seeds had been shared with Mrs. Burke’s great-grandmother by Clarissa Wood, another Eagle woman who’d loved gardening. How Clarissa had gotten the seeds from a Swiss immigrant. What he’d told her about its healing properties, and what she’d discovered when her own curiosity drove her to learn more.

Taped to the page was Bonnie’s final contribution—a small packet of seeds, plucked from her mother’s stash before Edwin Guest had a chance to snatch it. Chloe touched it reverently before slipping the journal and Bonnie’s letter back into the plastic bag.

As she started to rise she glimpsed movement across the yard. Sonia Padopolous was about to scurry toward the lilac hedge marking the property line.

“Hey!” Chloe called. “Sonia!”

Sonia turned, one hand clutched across her heart. Her face crumpled when she saw Chloe, but something kept her rooted.

Chloe skirted the garden to join her. “What are you doing here?”

“I was … I just …” Sonia threw a nervous glance toward the house.

Chloe followed her gaze and she saw a cardboard carton on the back step. “What’s that?”

“Just something I borrowed,” Sonia said airily.

“Why are you returning it now? Do you know that Dellyn’s in the hospital?”

“Oh, yes. I just got off the phone with … oh.” Sonia put one hand over her mouth.

Chloe went to investigate. Sonia trailed along behind. Chloe pulled open the box flaps and saw a stack of files. The top one was labeled
Eagle Diamond—Primary Accounts.

“
You
stole all the Eagle Diamond materials?” Chloe demanded. “Not Alex?”

“I
borrowed
them,” Sonia insisted, her gaze darting everywhere but Chloe’s face. “If Dellyn hadn’t changed the locks, I could have put the box right back where it belonged. Her father never had time to write his book, you see, and I—well, I thought maybe Dellyn and I could work on it together.”

Chloe pinned her with a hard stare. “That makes no sense, Sonia. If you were interested in working with Dellyn, why not just talk to her about it? Why steal her dad’s notes? Why sneak back over here to deposit them the moment you discovered she couldn’t possibly come home and find you trespassing inside her house?”

For a moment Sonia’s mouth worked soundlessly. Then her face crumpled and she began to sob. “Loretta w-wouldn’t have m-minded! She knew how hard I struggled.”

“Struggled with what?”

“You could never understand!” Sonia wept. “I was a widow at twenty-four. I cleaned other people’s houses to keep food on the table.” She scrabbled in the pocket of her jogging suit and found a tissue. “Am I supposed to trust
Alex
to take care of me as I grow old? What comfort do I have?”

Chloe remembered what Roelke had told her about Alex Padopolous, and felt some sympathy. “Even so—”

“And it was Dellyn’s fault he ended up on a bad road. If she hadn’t …”

“Hadn’t what?” Chloe asked sharply. The sympathy vanished.

“The first time Alex ever got in real trouble was when she accused him of—of, well, practically stalking her. Her childhood friend! How could she do that to him?”

Chloe sighed. There was surely nothing she could say to change this aggrieved mother’s mind. “None of that gives you the right to steal things from Dellyn’s house. And it
was
stealing. And—geez Louise, Sonia, did you really think you’d find the Eagle Diamond?”

“Walt and Loretta had all kinds of things tucked away,” Sonia snuffled defensively. “There was no harm in thinking about it, was there? In looking for it?”

“Yes!” Chloe cried. She wanted to grab the silly woman’s shoulders and shake her. “Nothing in that house belongs to you!”

“Loretta would have understood,” Sonia said. “We were like sisters. She used to say, ‘Don’t worry, Sonia. We would never let anything happen to you.’ I always thought that maybe … well, if Walt had died first, maybe I’d sell my place and just move in with Loretta. She was my only real friend. And now she’s gone.”

Chloe rubbed her forehead. A century after its discovery, the Eagle Diamond still had the power to beguile.

Sonia blew her nose. “You’re going to tell Dellyn what I did, aren’t you.” Her words were flat. Her shoulders were bowed.

“No,” Chloe said. “As soon as Dellyn is strong enough,
you
are going to tell her.”