Old World Murder - Kathleen Ernst [38]
“Nothing concrete. But I locked that door properly yesterday,” Chloe said stubbornly. “I did.”
Roelke leaned against his squad.
She sighed. “Look, I know you can’t help me. I don’t have any evidence of a crime.”
“No. But I do agree that finding the lock on the ground is cause for concern. If something like that ever happens again, though, don’t touch anything.”
“You mean … so you could look for fingerprints?” She looked even more chagrined. “I didn’t even think of that. Sorry.”
“I’ll write up what happened, and let the other guys know. We can keep an eye out for a while.”
“I’m pretty sure someone messed through the records in the kitchen, but …” She rested her cheek on one palm. “Hank was right. I can’t be positive, because I’ve spent more time in the last week looking for that ale bowl than doing my job and starting a proper inventory.” She gave a mirthless laugh. “And I’m a state employee. That’s your tax dollars at work.”
“Would you like to come to a cookout tomorrow afternoon?” Roelke asked.
“Would I—what?”
He had no idea where that invitation had come from. “I’m going to my cousin’s house to eat with her and her two kids. You’re welcome to come with me.”
She looked bewildered. “Um … OK.”
“I’ll pick you up,” he said, feeling stupid. “Does three o’clock work for you?”
She nodded.
He got in his car and drove away before she could change her mind.
“What was I thinking?” Chloe muttered. She stood in front of the bathroom mirror, braiding her hair. Why had she agreed to go to a cookout with Roelke McKenna?
She heard his knock as she was tying a ribbon around the bottom of her braid. Squaring her shoulders, she went to greet him. “Come on in. I just need to put on shoes.”
He waited politely, looking only slightly less cop-like than usual in jeans and a plain blue T-shirt. The man definitely lifted weights. He did wear scuffed hiking boots, though, which was oddly comforting. They reminded Chloe of hours spent lounging in the lobby of WVU’s Percival Hall with college buddies, waiting for the next forestry class to begin.
“Still have a bit of unpacking to do, I see,” he said, gazing about at the untouched boxes.
“I’ve been busy.” She laced up quickly. “OK. I’m ready to go.”
It felt strange to climb into the cab of this man’s pickup truck. She gave him a quick glance as he pulled out of her driveway. Was this a date? Surely not. He barely knew her. She’d turned thirty-two in March; he was maybe twenty-eight, tops. He probably thought she was a nutcase, obsessing about a problem that had nothing to do with her. And he kept a photograph of a pretty redhead in his locker.
OK, enough of that. “I’m a vegetarian,” she said into the silence.
“That’s all right.”
“I should have mentioned it earlier.”
“It’ll be OK. Libby always overdoes on food.”
Chloe searched for another pleasantry. “Um, what does Libby do?”
“She used to work for the DNR, but she quit so she could be at home for the kids. She freelances now. Articles for magazines, press releases for local businesses. That sort of thing.”
“Yikes.” Chloe tried to imagine taking care of two kids as a freelance writer, never sure where the next paycheck was coming from. “That can’t be easy.”
“She seems to do OK with it. She’s always liked to write.” He glanced in her direction. “What do you like to do?”
What did she like to do? Chloe’s brain froze. She wanted to say, I write too. I enjoy folk dancing. I play the dulcimer and the recorder. But she hadn’t done any of those things in a long time.
“All I can think about at the moment is getting settled,” she managed. “I lived in Switzerland for five years, then moved to North Dakota last fall. Then on to here.”
“What were you doing in Switzerland?” he asked.
Getting my heart broken into glittering shards, she thought. “I worked at a huge historic site there. How about you? Have you always worked in Eagle?”
“I worked for the Milwaukee PD for six years. I decided urban crime wasn’t my thing, so I moved back out. My mom grew up on a