Old World Murder - Kathleen Ernst [111]
“I would have sworn that Joel would never have been able to hide anything from me. But even on Thursday, the last time we talked …” She wiped her eyes. “I guess he was thinking of suicide even then. And I didn’t get it.”
Suicide. Nika is the only person strong enough to say it straight out, Chloe thought, remembering how she and Roelke had swerved around the word.
Then she remembered something else. “How on earth did Joel figure out where the ale bowl was?”
Nika went to one of the battered old file cabinets she’d salvaged. She pulled open a drawer, revealing a neat row of folders. “Last Wednesday, Joel came here with me. We got in late because he’d felt sick in the night, and I insisted he go see his doctor. I think now he was just hyped up with worry about the trouble he was in.” A tiny frisson seemed to ripple over her skin. “Anyway, he wanted to help me. Just like always. I asked him to organize all those reproduction request files you brought over.”
“No.” Chloe felt a sinking sensation in her stomach. “Oh, no. Please don’t tell me …”
Nika picked up a piece of paper lying on top of the file cabinet and handed it over. Chloe read the penciled scrawl: Can we get a reproduction ale bowl? It would be great to use on Midsummer. When I was dusting the rosemaled artifacts in Kvaale today I noticed a tiny crack in the bowl with cow head handles. Somebody should look at it. I put it up in the stabbur for safekeeping. Ginny Dunning, August 3, 1978.
“The answer was in my car the whole time,” Chloe whispered. “The whole frickin’ time.”
Nika sank back into her chair. “Joel found that. He told me he was going to the visitor center to use the bathroom. I started wondering when he didn’t come back. Finally I went looking, and found my car gone. One of the interpreters came by and gave me a lift home. I didn’t know what was going on until the cops showed up.”
“I don’t suppose this matters, now.” Chloe put the note down on the table.
Nika laid a piece of tissue over the layer of stockings in the box with the precise care of a surgeon, then picked up another stocking to begin again. Suddenly her fingers clenched, crushing it. “Joel told me on Thursday that he was going to tell his father’s lawyers not to fight the charges. ‘It’s time to face the music,’ he said.”
And what about poor Mr. Solberg? Chloe thought. Did Joel mention him? But Nika didn’t say, and Chloe wasn’t brave enough to ask.
Nika swallowed. “I knew he was going to his parents’ house after he left me. I did not know that he was going to swallow a bottle of sleeping pills.” She was crying now, silently, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Mrs. Carlisle called me on Saturday morning, after they’d found him.”
Chloe’s throat felt thick. The sound of children’s voices drifted through the windows, followed by a chaperone’s shrill whistle. Nika finally glanced down, noticed the scrunched sock, and smoothed it flat again.
“Look, Nika,” Chloe said. “There are a couple more things we need to get out in the open.”
“Like what?” Nika asked warily.
“When I went to Madison last Tuesday, I saw your name on the patron roster in Iconography.”
Nika looked perplexed. “So?”
“Well, why didn’t you mention that you’d been there?”
“I’d been intrigued by those Dahl photos you had, and wanted to see the rest of the collection. I was looking for a project I could pursue on my own time. But I never discuss stuff like that. The academic world is too competitive.”
Nika made it sound so logical. “Fair enough,” Chloe conceded. “But there’s another thing. The night before I went to Madison, I saw an embroidered Norwegian apron here on the worktable.” She hesitated. Did Nika know about the apron’s connection to Berget Lund-quist? Since the donation had been made through the Norwegian Women’s Club, possibly not.
Nika folded her arms over her chest, looking more defensive. “Yeah? So what?”
“I’d just asked you if you’d found any ethnic pieces, and you said no.”
“I hadn’t examined that apron yet. I didn’t know it was an ethnic piece.”
More logic. “OK,” Chloe said. “But when I got