Old World Murder - Kathleen Ernst [112]
“Are you accusing me of stealing it?” Nika demanded.
“No,” Chloe said carefully. “I am asking you a question.”
“I took the apron and a couple of other pieces to Ed House so I could clean them.”
“Why not just clean things here at the church?”
“Here? With no sink? And visitors all around?”
Chloe thought that through. Cleaning white textiles meant soaking them on screens in plastic trays with a bit of archival soap. After repeated rinses, the pieces were spread on grass to dry and bleach. “I see your point,” she said, feeling like an idiot.
The strident chords of a pump organ suddenly came through the ceiling as the interpreter upstairs began playing for visitors. Nika pinched her lips together. “Do you know that I have an arrest record?”
Chloe’s eyebrows went up. “Um, no. I did not know that.”
“I thought Petty might have checked before hiring me. Well, you might as well know. When I was in high school, sometimes I went to antique stores. I was flat broke, saving every penny for college, but I just liked looking around. One day I talked my cousin into coming with me. In one shop I found this great embroidered handkerchief. I studied it for a while, then moved on. Suddenly a cop showed up, and the dealer accused me of shoplifting. He said the handkerchief was in my purse. It was.”
Chloe opened her mouth, closed it again. Shit.
“I did not steal it,” Nika said coldly. “My cousin had pinched it and slipped it into my bag.”
“But—but why?”
“I never got a straight answer from her. Maybe she just wanted me to have the piece I liked so much. Or maybe …” Nika shook her head. “Maybe she wanted to knock me down a peg. All she wanted to do was get pregnant and quit school. I probably talked way too much about everything I planned to accomplish.”
“Perhaps it was a little bit of both.”
“Maybe. I know I can be intense.”
“Kind of,” Chloe agreed. “But there’s nothing wrong with knowing what you want and going after it.”
“Maybe. But if I hadn’t been so focused on building my career, I might have noticed that my fiancé was struggling.” Nika abruptly shoved the textiles aside, dropped her elbows on the table, and buried her face. “If I hadn’t worked so many evenings and weekends, my fiancé wouldn’t have had so much time to kill in taverns.”
Chloe’s chest ached. What could she say to ease Nika’s burden? Not a damn thing.
No … wait. There was perhaps one thing, one small thing, she could do.
“Nika,” she said. “I think one of your female ancestors actually made the ale bowl. Do you have any interest in pursuing that?”
Nika looked up, her mouth twisted with revulsion. “God, no.”
“So you still need a project. A good one. Here’s the thing. I met with Margueritte Donovan this morning. It looks like the cobblestone cottage we thought belonged to a Swiss carpenter, didn’t.”
“It didn’t?”
“Nope. There were actually two small buildings on the lot. The records were misleading. The freelance curator who researched the building drew the obvious conclusions. But last week a newspaper clipping turned up that suggests that the lot was divided. Margueritte did some more digging. The cottage Old World acquired was actually owned by a Yankee woman from Vermont. Sally Jenkins. And get this: Sally Jenkins, who evidently never married, had some medical training. Her business notice in the local paper says ‘Dr. S. A. Jenkins.’”
Nika stared at her, mouth slightly open.
“So, how would you like to do the research report and furnishing plan for the Jenkins House?” Chloe asked.
“Really?” Nika sat up straight. It was a hint of the old Nika—alert, on the hunt.
“Really.”
“I would like that. Thanks. But … are you in a position to offer me that? Word I heard was that Ralph got the OK to fire you.”
“I met with him first thing this morning. And—well, he’s not going to fire me. At least not today.”
“How’d you manage that?”
“I ate a good-sized helping of crow.”
“That can’t