Old World Murder - Kathleen Ernst [27]
God, she missed Markus.
“Chloe?”
“I was back in Switzerland,” she admitted. “It was just so damn easy there, you know? Markus and I—the day we met, it was like we’d known each other for years.” While Chloe and Markus lived together they’d spent some vacation days touring other outdoor museums and historic sites, interviewing elderly people on remote farms, attending conferences. Other days they laced up hiking boots and disappeared into the mountains with nothing in their daypacks but bread, cheese, and a bottle of wine. Markus and Chloe belonged to a folk dance group. She encouraged him to submit his account of his efforts to stabilize populations of two rare goat breeds, stiefelgeiss and fauengeiss, for publication. He encouraged her to pursue her long-held, mostly secret wish to write an historical novel. She—
“Chloe?” Ethan asked again.
She reminded herself that although Ethan was gay and oblivious to the charms of historic sites, he was one thing Markus was not: an ever-faithful best friend. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m here.”
“You need to get out of the house. Go do something cheerful. Remember that bluegrass bar you took me to that Christmas I came home with you?”
“The Green Lantern. It’s near Fort Atkinson.”
“Go listen to some music this weekend.”
“Maybe I will,” she said, knowing she wouldn’t.
“You feeling better about that car wreck thing?”
She hesitated. Her bedroom window was open, and a cow in the pasture just beyond the driveway snorted and stamped. “Well … There’s something going on here that I don’t understand.”
“Why are you worrying about it?”
“I promised Mrs. Lundquist I’d find the bowl.” She flexed her toes. “She came to me for help. I can’t help wondering if someone was bullying her about that ale bowl, somehow. Pressuring her to get it back. What if that’s what caused her heart attack?”
“If that’s the case,” Ethan said, “then I really don’t think you should get involved in it. You can’t bring her back. You have a new job to get a handle on, and your health to take care of.”
He was right, of course. The Old World collections, the interpreters and their artifact-related needs—she had overwhelming responsibilities. There was no time for unnecessary side trips.
“… so don’t try to take this on by yourself, too. You need to get out with other people more. Join a club or something.”
“A club?”
“There must be some kind of adult sports league or something around there. Get on a softball team. Didn’t you pitch on your dorm team?”
“That was a million years ago.” Another person, another life.
“Well, look into it, OK? And get a dog.”
“What?”
“Get a dog. They’re great companions.”
“I can’t get a dog,” she said slowly.
“Why not?”
“They’re—it would be too much responsibility.”
“What responsibility? You feed it, you take it out for walks. In return you get exercise and company and unconditional love.”
“I’ll think about it,” Chloe lied. A dog implied commitment. She couldn’t get a dog.
“Listen, girl, I should let you turn in. It’s late.”
“OK.” Chloe stared at the photograph of her and Ethan perched island-like on the empty bookshelf. She loved Ethan for loving her, through good and bad. She also cherished the living link to her life before her gradual unraveling. Ethan reminded Chloe of her old self—energetic, focused on growing a career, passionate about hiking and paddling and skiing into wooded hills. Content. Normal.
“Thanks for calling, Ethan,” she said. “You be careful