Old World Murder - Kathleen Ernst [46]
They crossed the railroad tracks to the parking lot. “I’ll meet you at the church at three to go over the plan for training,” Nika told Chloe.
“Right,” Chloe said. “Oh—Nika? I need to check on a wallpaper problem in Tobler. If I come by at 2:30 instead, do you want to go with me?”
Nika shrugged. “Sure, if you want.”
Nika’s no-nonsense demeanor was exactly what Chloe wanted. You are pathetic, she told herself, as she turned toward her car. Your intern is already climbing over you on her way to the top, and you ask her to come with you to check wallpaper. Wallpaper. Well, so be it. Tobler freaked her out, and she wanted company—
A wordless cry from Nika pulled her back. Nika and Joel stood staring at Nika’s Chevette. Nika’s expression was quickly changing from shock to fury. Joel, looking stunned, put a protective arm around her shoulders.
“What’s wrong?” Chloe asked sharply.
Nika put her hands on her hips, her face tight. “Some fucking bastard slashed my tires!”
____
Chloe was exhausted by the time she started driving home. She’d waited with Joel and Nika for the police to arrive. The responding officer—not Roelke McKenna—had been unable to guess why someone would slash the tires on Nika’s rust-bucket Chevette while ignoring Joel’s luxury vehicle. “Probably just random vandalism,” the cop had said.
Had it been random? Or … had someone done it because Nika was black? Chloe felt sick. Lights glowed from the houses she passed, warm and welcoming. She wished she’d thought to leave a light on at her place.
Then another light caught her eye—this one tiny, and red, and blinking a furious warning from the control panel of her car.
“Oh, no,” Chloe groaned. She pulled over and parked beneath a streetlight. She got out, raised the hood, and stared at the motor. No smoke, no flames. No obviously dangling parts.
Back in the car, she flicked on the interior light and retrieved her owner’s manual from the glove compartment. Her particular light translated to “See your dealer.” Right. She had no idea where the nearest Ford dealership was.
Headlights flashed in her mirror as a familiar blue Mustang stopped beside her. Rupert, the maintenance worker who’d provoked Stan to fury by coming in late, rolled down his window. “You all right? I recognized your car.”
“A warning light came on. I’m trying to figure out if I can drive to a garage.”
He got out and shoved his hair away from his eyes long enough to fiddle with a couple of caps, check a couple of dipsticks. “Fluids are OK. She making any noise?”
“Nope. Just the warning light.”
“You should be all right. I’d take it down to Elkhorn. George’s Garage. He’s pretty good. First Avenue, near the Fairgrounds.”
Chloe decided to believe that Rupert knew what he was talking about. “Thanks for the advice. I really appreciate you stopping.”
Rupert headed back to his Mustang, then stopped. “Hey, you gonna be OK? You need a ride from Elkhorn? I could follow you, if you want.”
“No, but thanks,” she told him. “My parents don’t live too far away. I’ll call them.”
Chloe drove off with her spirits lifted. There were still good people in the world.
She found the garage, parked her car, slid a note under the door for George to find in the morning, and considered. It was almost ten o’clock. George had thoughtfully installed a pay phone on his lot, but she didn’t want to bother her parents at this hour. She called a cab instead.
The cab arrived twenty minutes later, and twenty minutes after that, deposited her at her back door. “Thanks again for accepting the check,” Chloe told the driver as she got out, hoping it wouldn’t bounce. Cab fares were not in the budget.
Then she unlocked the door to her dark, empty house, and went to bed.
____
Chloe stared into the darkness, wondering what had awakened her. As usual, she’d raised every ground-floor window. Occasionally she heard snorts from the Holsteins pastured just beyond the driveway, but something unfamiliar had disturbed her sleep. She waited. Then she heard the noise again—a hushed scritch of sound.
She kicked