Old World Murder - Kathleen Ernst [54]
She had been like that, once.
She needed to have a strong working relationship with Byron. And, she hadn’t had a chance to ask him to identify any interpreters left on staff who had worked there in 1977. Why hadn’t she foreseen his possible objections to her training talk?
Well, she didn’t have a very good record of understanding men, now did she? Or of spotting trouble before it smacked her upside the head?
She certainly hadn’t with Markus. Three days after her miscarriage, Chloe had been curled on the sofa when Markus came home from work. He’d sat down on the floor beside her. “We need to talk,” he’d begun. Chloe remembered staring at a shaft of sunlight coming through the window, and noticing that the ivy plant needed watering. “We’ve had a good run, right?” he’d said in his accented but flawless English. “We never made assumptions, right? Maybe we should look at this as a sign.”
Chloe barely remembered packing, saying good-bye to friends at the museum, arranging transport back to the States. With nowhere else to go she landed at her childhood home. Chloe’s parents evidently had no idea what to say about her abrupt departure from Switzerland.
“You left Ballenberg without having another job lined up?” Mom had asked. “Well, my goodness.”
Her father hadn’t done much better. “You’ve got a lot to offer, kitten,” he’d said with fake heartiness. “You’ll land the perfect job soon.”
Neither of Chloe’s parents had even asked why she’d left Markus and Ballenberg so suddenly.
Chloe had applied for every museum job available. The first call came from a small historic site in Solomon, North Dakota …
Stop thinking about that time! she ordered herself. You’re letting things overwhelm you because you’re tired. And you’re tired because you got about three hours of sleep last night. It’s OK to be down …
But it was no good. She simply wasn’t cutting it at Old World Wisconsin. She wasn’t making progress with the collections. She’d alienated several colleagues. She hadn’t even learned anything new about Mrs. Lundquist and her ale bowl. Chloe’s new life, her new start, was an utter failure.
Libby closed the spiral notebook she’d been scribbling in as Roelke walked into her backyard. “Hey! What are you doing here?”
“I want to look at your kitchen faucet.” Roelke dropped into one of the lawn chairs on his cousin’s patio. “I noticed on Sunday that it’s leaking.”
Libby took a sip of iced tea. “I’ll take care of it.”
“I was driving by anyway. I’ve got my toolbox in the truck—”
“Roelke! Thanks, but I can do it.”
“I was just trying to help.” A dog down the street began barking. Roelke tried to figure out where he’d gone wrong. No telling. “Where are the kids?”
“Went out for pizza with Dan and his parents.”
“You OK with that?”
“No. But there’s not much I can do about it.”
“Maybe I should be here when he comes to pick the kids up next time.” Roelke wanted that, wanted to stare into Dan Raymo’s eyes with a clear message: You step over the line, you so much as put one toe over the line, you deal with me.
“If Dan gives me any more trouble, you’ll be the first to know. But I don’t want to turn into a woman who can’t do anything for herself. OK?”
“Sure, I understand,” Roelke said, although he didn’t.
Libby traced one finger around the lip of her glass. “I need to talk to you about something.”
Roelke was beginning to wish he hadn’t stopped. “What?”
“When are you going back to Milwaukee?”
“You mean to work?” Roelke asked, although this time he knew what she meant.
“Yeah. To work.” Libby gave him a level look, eyebrows lifted. “Look, you got the heck out of Dodge as soon as you had your high school diploma. You had a career thing going on in Milwaukee. Then stuff got ugly between Dan and me, and suddenly you quit your job and move back here.”
“I was tired of the city.”
“Bullshit. Listen, you big idiot, I know why you moved. And as much as I hate to say it, I needed you. But things have settled down.”
Roelke felt a growl rising in his chest. “Dan is still