Old World Murder - Kathleen Ernst [29]
The old man sighed heavily. “I’ll miss her.”
“I’m glad she had a friend like you,” Chloe said. “When I met her, she seemed very distressed about that ale bowl. And then the police told me they couldn’t find any relatives. I’ve been very sad about it all.”
“Were you able to help her?” Mr. Solberg said.
“I’m afraid not. It was my first day, you see, and …” Chloe took a deep breath. “The form she showed me said she had legally donated the ale bowl to the State Historical Society in 1962. I’m afraid that kind of thing really can’t be undone.”
“I told her so, but she was determined to try. I can’t recall seeing her so worked up about anything since her husband died.”
“Do you know why she was so upset?” Chloe asked. “What made it so important for her to get that ale bowl back?”
Mr. Solberg shook his head. “She never said. She was a classy lady, never talked much about personal stuff. Not like most nowadays.”
“Mr. Solberg, I haven’t been able to find the ale bowl. It was transferred from the state collection in Madison to Old World Wisconsin in 1977, and it seems to have disappeared. I’d really like to find that ale bowl, and to learn why Mrs. Lundquist was so worried about it. If you can think of anything she ever said about it, anything at all, it might be very helpful.”
He turned sideways in the pew, a frown creasing his forehead. “Why do you care so much?”
“Because I feel badly that I wasn’t able to help your friend when she came to see me. I promised her I’d find the bowl. Even though she’s gone … I’d like to honor that promise, and to put the bowl on display in one of the Norwegian houses.” That much was true. Chloe chose not to mention her fear that someone might have been pressuring the old lady to produce the artifact.
His forehead smoothed out again, and he turned to stare thoughtfully out a window for a few moments. Then he shook his head. “Sorry, Miss Ellefson. I can’t think of a thing. I don’t know why she wanted it back so much. She had one son, but he died in Vietnam. Pretty early in the war—he was one of the first.”
Nineteen sixty-two, Chloe thought, remembering that Mrs. Lundquist had donated her heirlooms after her son’s death. “Did she mention getting a phone call or visit that distressed her within the last month or so?”
“No. And I kept a good eye on that house, let me tell you. I did it for her husband. I know he’d have done it for my wife if things had been different.”
“I’m sure you did.” Chloe gave him a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Solberg. I won’t take up any more of your time.”
She stood up, and he did too. But he didn’t step into the aisle. “I suppose you could look around,” he said slowly.
“Look around?”
“Her house. I suppose that would be all right.”
“Look around her house?” Chloe repeated stupidly.
“I have a key. I don’t know what’s going to happen to her things, but nothing’s happened yet. We can go right now, if you want.”
Chloe considered. She really should start that storage building proposal. Still, her afternoon was clear—she’d actually gone through her orientation notes the evening before, checking for any scheduled meetings. Nika had somehow badgered the restaurant staff into giving up two tables, and the maintenance staff into hauling them down the narrow stairs to the basement of St. Peter’s church. With her own portable typewriter in place, already hard at work, she wasn’t likely to even notice that Chloe was gone.
Mr. Solberg stood waiting patiently. “Sure,” she told him.
“I’ll just be a minute.” Mr. Solberg walked slowly to the coffin and stood, head bowed.
Not wanting to intrude, Chloe turned away. Roelke McKenna still stood near the back of the sanctuary. She joined him. “Good morning. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“When people die on my shift I always attend their funerals, if I can.”
“Oh.” Chloe stared back toward the casket, wishing Mr. Solberg would hurry.
“Did you check into the other donations?”
Chloe blinked at Officer McKenna. “I beg your