Old World Murder - Kathleen Ernst [62]
Nika scowled. “Four new tires later.”
“Ouch.”
“Here.” The younger woman deposited a small wooden box into Chloe’s hands. “Be careful, the joints are loose. When we were all at Sasso’s the other night, the German lead told me she was worried about this piece. They’re supposed to bring stuff to Byron, but she was afraid to transport it herself, so she put it upstairs in the Schulz house for safekeeping. She wanted me to come get it. I told her she should talk to you, but …” Nika spread slim hands expressively: What else could I do? “I figured I’d swing by now in hopes you were still here.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Chloe said. “So, any plans for the weekend?”
“Nothing special.” Nika swung gracefully back into her car. “See you Monday.”
The intern was gone before Chloe realized she should have asked Nika for a progress report on the textile storage project. It would have been the responsible, supervisorly thing to do. Shit.
She carried the sweet little box inside. It was well constructed, with small dovetail joints. Some long-gone hausfrau had probably used it to store sugar or coffee. Chloe filled a plastic tub with water and gently submerged the artifact. The thirsty wood would soon swell, tightening the joints.
“I solved a problem,” Chloe announced. This was the way to approach things. Today, she had helped this artifact. On Monday, she would help one more artifact. Maybe even two.
That dollop of tranquility disappeared as a stray thought wormed into her consciousness. What had Nika said? The lead interpreter in the German area was worried about transporting the artifact, so she’d put it upstairs in the Schulz House.
Upstairs. For safekeeping. Upstairs. Out of public view, away from even interpreters’ hands.
I, Chloe thought, am a complete idiot.
She reached for the phone and dialed an extension. A gruff male voice answered. Lovely. Why did Cranky Hank have to be on duty every time she needed something from Security?
“Hi, it’s Chloe Ellefson,” she said, twitching the phone cord impatiently. “I’ll be stopping by Kvaale in a few minutes. I know the mikes are out, so shall I call you when I leave the building again?”
She heard a long sigh exhaled into the receiver. “What’s all the fuss about Kvaale?”
Chloe went perfectly still. “What do you mean?”
“Last night, tonight—”
“What – do – you – mean?”
“Look, don’t pop your cork. Marv was on duty last night. According to the log book, the sound system in Kvaale picked up some noise—”
“What?”
“It happens all the time. A breeze blows a branch down on the roof, a mouse gets inside—”
Chloe wanted to reach through the line and smack the man. “Did Marv check it?”
“Sure, sure. Didn’t find anything.”
“Look,” Chloe said. “As curator of collections, I must be informed any time there’s a possibility of—”
“Keep your shorts on. Marv even called in the Eagle cops. Mc-Kenna didn’t find any sign of trouble either.”
McKenna. Roelke McKenna. Officer Roelke McKenna had been called to Kvaale last night to investigate a possible break-in.
“The next time something happens in one of the exhibits that prompts a call to the Eagle police,” Chloe snapped, “I expect to be informed. Immediately. Make a note of it.” And she slammed the phone down.
Her palm was still stinging as she fished another number from her bag and dialed. Be home. Be home, you jerk.
“McKenna here.”
“Why the hell didn’t you call me last night?”
Silence.
“It’s Chloe.” She suddenly wondered if there might be any number of women waiting impatiently for Roelke McKenna’s call. “I heard you got called out to Kvaale last night. Why didn’t you let me know?”
“Because I didn’t see any need to. There was no sign of any theft or damage.” His tone was careful, considered, as if he was talking a crazy woman off a ledge. Maybe he thought he was.
“That’s bullshit. You know I’d want to hear about something like that.”
“OK, I do. But you haven’t shown the best judgment—”
Chloe clenched the receiver. “I