Old World Murder - Kathleen Ernst [12]
Tanika Austin, Tanika Austin? Chloe spread her hands.
“Your intern.”
She had an intern? Chloe tried to hide her dismay. Had Ralph Petty said anything about an intern? Perhaps she should have listened. So. She had an intern—
“Is there a problem?” Nika asked, her eyes narrowing.
“Of course not,” Chloe said. “I’m afraid I’m on overload. Still sorting out names.”
Nika eyed her a few seconds longer before saying, “No problem. I interviewed with Mr. Petty during spring break. I actually started last week. I’m sorry I wasn’t here on your first day, but I took a long weekend. My fiancé’s parents were celebrating their thirtieth anniversary. I told Mr. Petty it would probably be just as well to give you some time to get your bearings, anyway.” Nika’s voice was quiet but decisive, her posture full of self-assurance.
Chloe wondered if Nika expected her to have those bearings magically aligned after a day and a half. “I was just about to go out for lunch,” Chloe said, groping for a reprieve. “Care to join me?”
Nika hesitated, then nodded. “All right.”
“I’ll drive,” Chloe added. Maybe eating lunch would buy her enough time to figure out how she was going to keep an intern busy. After they’d slid into the Pinto, she tried to postpone the inevitable by turning on the car radio. A reporter was cheerily chattering about President Reagan’s trip to discuss the Falklands War with Prime Minister Thatcher. Chloe turned the radio off again.
“Not many places to eat in Eagle,” Nika told her, as they came into town. “Best is Sasso’s.” She directed Chloe to a tavern near the railroad tracks that bisected the village. Chloe pulled the Pinto in line on the gravel lot on the far side of the tracks. The three-story building had a vaguely Western motif. Peeking over the roof was the steeple of a church, and a yellow water tower painted with a huge smiley face. A typical message from small town Wisconsin: Welcome to Eagle. Drink, repent, be happy.
Inside the tavern, half a dozen tables clustered near the front windows. An L-shaped bar ran the length of the north and east walls. A crowd at the bar watching a television mounted in one corner began wildly cheering for race cars circling some track in a maniacal pack.
Chloe had never understood the appeal of watching cars drive in circles, wasting gas and spewing fumes and noise. She picked a table farthest from the bar. A waitress appeared quickly, gave the red-and-white checked plastic tablecloth a swipe, and handed them menus. “Anything to drink?”
Chloe suppressed the urge to order a cocktail; surely guzzling booze on state time was verboten. She ordered diet soda and talked the young waitress into asking the cook for a grilled cheese sandwich.
Nika ordered a cheeseburger and a side of fries. “Don’t eat meat?” she asked.
“Nope.” Chloe leaned back in the wooden chair. “So. You started last week? What did you do?”
“Well, not much.” Nika made a dismissive gesture with elegant fingers. “Byron gave me a quick tour of the site. Then I spent most of the rest of my time in the exhibit buildings. I made some notes about objects that need attention. Some need actual repair, but most of it would be minor cleaning. Whenever you have time, we can go over my notes.”
“We’ll do that this afternoon,” Chloe promised. Maybe this intern thing wouldn’t be a total disaster. “You’re in museum studies? I apologize, but I haven’t seen your records. What’s your focus?”
The waitress arrived with their drinks. Nika took a delicate sip of root beer before answering. “I got a BA in History from Marquette, and now I’m finishing up the graduate program in museum studies at Eastern Illinois.”
“Why did you apply to Old World for your internship?” Chloe was curious why a black woman would choose to work in a museum focused on white history.
“I have formal museum experience, so I wanted to work at a living history site to round out my resume. I’m particularly interested in racial and ethnic expression manifested in