Old World Murder - Kathleen Ernst [116]
They floated down balloon-like. No plane noise. No wind.
Holy Mother of God.
It took a heartbeat, or perhaps forever, to see the earth rising beneath them. Chloe tried to process information again. Tuck your arms, lift your legs … She and Dave glided down on wet grass, both lifting their feet so they could slide to an easy, standing position.
Chloe felt her heart thudding. The scent of crushed alfalfa filled her nostrils. The world seemed amazingly, gloriously still. Dave began tugging on the clumsy harness straps and buckles.
Then she was free. Free of the harness. Free from Dave. Absolutely free. She didn’t know whether to rise on her toes or sink to the ground. She compromised by bending over, hands on knees.
“Chloe?” Roelke’s hiking boots appeared in her circle of vision. His hand landed on her shoulder. She shook her head, not ready for words.
“Chloe! Are you OK? Did you hurt your leg?”
With enormous effort she straightened. She searched Roelke’s face—the strong jaw, the straight nose, the startling eyes. It had somehow become completely familiar.
“Jesus!” he barked. “Yell at me, cuss at me, but for Chrissakes say something!”
Chloe took his hand and squeezed. “I finally know why birds sing.”
____
That evening she called Ethan. “I went sky diving,” she announced.
“You went sky diving?”
“Yep. Roelke took me. The cop. I know it wasn’t like what you do as a smoke jumper, but still …”
“It’s kind of a rush, isn’t it?” Ethan asked, as if confessing to a guilty pleasure.
“Yeah,” Chloe said, and laughed. She gave him the details, then happened to glance at the clock. “It’s late. I better go. Good-night, Ethan.”
“Chloe? Anything you want to ask me?”
She wrinkled her forehead. “What?”
“Nothing.” For some reason he sounded pleased. “Good-night.”
____
On Tuesday afternoon, the phone rang as Chloe sat on the floor playing with the calico kitten she’d brought home from her landlord’s barn. She tossed a toy mouse to her new fur ball and stretched to reach the phone. “Hello?”
“I’m off tomorrow night,” Roelke said. “Can I buy you dinner?”
“Dinner would be good.”
“Great. See you then.”
“What time—” Chloe began, but the receiver clicked in her ear. Well, he’d call back. Chloe turned to the kitten again. “Come here, you little munchkin—”
The phone rang. Chloe grabbed it. “I can be ready by six.”
Static crackled in her ear. “Hello? Chloe?”
She went very still.
“I’m at O’Hare.” The man’s voice sounded distant. A flight announcement sounded in the background.
Her grip on the receiver tightened.
“Chloe? I just flew in to Chicago.”
The kitten leaped for a fuzzy ball, overshot the target, and executed a flawless somersault. Chloe closed her eyes.
“Are you there?” he asked. “Chloe, it’s me. Markus.”
TheEnd
Acknowledgments
Almost every business named in the novel is fictional. However, I have happy memories of visiting Sasso’s, in Eagle; and the Nite Cap Inn, in Palmyra, and so included them. To the proprietors: Thanks for the hospitality, way back when.
Many people helped make this book possible. Thanks to all of my OWW friends, then and now; to the Writer Chicks, for a decade of friendship and insight; and to Katie Mead and Robert Alexander, for giving me a place to write.
Huge thanks to Chief Russ Ehlers and members of the Eagle Police Department for their patience, assistance, and encouragement. I’m in awe of what you do every day.
I’m grateful to my agent, Andrea Cascardi, and to the entire Midnight Ink team, for believing in this project.
I might not be a writer today if my parents hadn’t known that books are as important as food, and if my sisters hadn’t shared their favorites over the years. And I couldn’t make this work without the love and support of my husband, Scott Meeker—videographer, book hauler, proofreader, and all-around partner.
About the Author
Kathleen Ernst is a novelist, social historian, and educator. She moved