Old World Murder - Kathleen Ernst [108]
Well, she’d face that on Monday. “What about Mr. Solberg?”
“Carlisle denied being there. I think he was lying so he could get out on bail long enough to talk to Nika.” Roelke made a palms-up gesture. “The Dane County crime scene guys thought that Mr. Solberg hit his head on the corner of the desk. Maybe Carlisle startled him. Maybe he shoved him. Maybe Mr. Solberg got scared when he saw Joel, and tripped.”
“Did Joel say anything about me?” Chloe asked. She wasn’t sure what she was hoping for. An apology? Could mere words make up for what he’d done?
“No. All he wanted to do was see Nika.”
Chloe’s head ached, and her thigh was starting to hurt like hell. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just can’t think about this anymore right now.”
“I’ll get going. I just didn’t want you to hear about Carlisle’s overdose on the news or something.”
Chloe braced her hands against the table and shoved gracelessly to her feet. Roelke put out a hand, but she waved it away. “I’m OK.”
“I heard you needed stitches.”
“Just three. Are you OK?” Her face grew warm; she should have asked at once. “Where I, you know, hit you with the shears? I was aiming at Joel.”
“It was just a scratch.”
Thank God for that, too. “Good. But listen, Roelke?” Chloe caught his gaze and held it. “Thank you. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come.”
“You’re welcome.”
He matched his stride to her limping gait as they walked around the house. “Where is the ale bowl?” she asked.
“In our property locker.”
“I need to take care of it. It’s been in the stabbur all these years, and some of that fire retardant stuff might have gotten on it, and Joel dropped it, and—”
“It should get released pretty quickly. No reason to hold on to it, now.”
Right. No need for evidence anymore. “Well,” she said as they reached the curb, “I guess I’ll—”
“Chloe.” Roelke’s eyes suddenly bore into hers.
She took a step backward. “What?”
“With everything that happened, and Carlisle’s overdose, I just wondered … Well, you said you felt sad, and it made me think that maybe …” A ruddy flush stained Roelke’s cheeks. “Are you thinking, or feeling, like—”
“No,” Chloe said firmly, finally understanding. “I’m not. I’ll be OK, Roelke. Truly.”
He looked unconvinced. Two teens on skateboards flashed past, the wheels clicking on every sidewalk seam.
Chloe wrapped her hands over her shoulders. “When I was out at the farm with Joel, before you got there … I was scared, Roelke.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Terrified, really. I almost peed my pants.”
For the first time that afternoon, Roelke smiled. “Good.”
____
It was almost midnight before Roelke got home that evening. He’d done no more than remove his duty belt when he heard footsteps on the outside stairs, ascending fast—Libby. He opened the door before she could knock, and she barreled inside. “Oh my God,” she said, and wrapped her arms around him.
“What?” he asked finally, although he had a pretty good idea.
She stepped back and glared at him. “Why didn’t you tell me? I had to read about it in the paper!”
“It wasn’t that big a deal,” Roelke said. Although it was.
“You’re OK?”
“Yeah.”
“God, I hate your job sometimes.” Libby dropped into a chair. “And Chloe’s OK?”
“She’s pretty shook up. But not seriously hurt.” He reached for his kettle and began to fill it at the sink. “Want some tea or something?”
Libby watched him. “Are you in trouble?”
“I didn’t go by the book, so I’ve got a letter in my file,” he admitted. “But a commendation, too. I don’t think the chief’s going to hold it against me.” He fixed her with a look. “And Libby? That’s a good thing. Because I’m not going back to Milwaukee.”
“Because of Chloe?”
“No. Not because of Chloe.” Chloe’s career at Old World Wisconsin was evidently over. There was no reason to think she’d stick around.
“Then … why?