Old World Murder - Kathleen Ernst [66]
Chloe sipped. The concoction was strong and cold.
“When was the last time you ate a good meal?”
“Um … the last time I was here.”
Libby fired up the grill and moved back and forth from the kitchen with silent, fluid efficiency. Chloe watched a toad hop slowly through a forest of begonias, and sipped her tea, and allowed herself to empty out.
Libby grilled zucchini and cherry tomatoes, and tossed them with cooked pasta shells and almonds and grated Romano cheese. To Chloe’s surprise, the food tasted good. “And a peach pie for later,” Libby added, setting a foil-covered pan on one side of the grill. She lowered the lid. “So. What did Roelke do?”
“He got called out to Old World to investigate a possible break-in, and he didn’t bother to tell me about it.” Chloe tipped her glass from side to side, watching ice cubes slide back and forth.
“Sounds like him. My cousin has a Galahad complex.”
“A gallant prince?” Chloe tried out that idea, measuring childhood fantasy men against Roelke’s reflective sunglasses and tightly clenched jaw.
“Nothing so romantic.” Libby poured herself a glass of wine. “His dad could be a mean SOB. He never beat Roelke, I don’t think, but he hit Roelke’s mother.”
“Oh.”
“The point is, nothing trips Roelke’s trigger like a woman in distress.”
“But I … I’m not in distress.”
“He told me about the break-in at your farmhouse. He thinks you’re vulnerable.”
“I don’t need him to protect me,” Chloe protested. “I don’t want him to protect me. I never asked for that.”
Libby dropped a napkin, pinned it with a toe, then bent to retrieve it. “I didn’t either, but it doesn’t keep him from trying.”
Chloe was silent.
“Let me tell you something else.” Libby hesitated, looking unsure for the first time. “Roelke’s not always so good at figuring out the emotional stuff. Sometimes I think … I think the protection instinct gets mistaken for something more.”
A breeze whispered in the trees above the patio. The whirring sound of a skateboard on the street out front drew close, then faded away.
“I don’t want anyone to get hurt. You, or him. Just be careful. That’s all I’m saying.”
“I will,” Chloe said, because it seemed easiest. She set down her glass of tea. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll switch to wine.”
“I’ve got plenty.” Libby poured a glass of Chablis, and handed it over. “So. You want to talk about the other guy?”
“What other guy?”
“The father of your child.”
Chloe’s response formed clearly in her head: No! I do not want to talk about him! But somehow what came out was, “I met Markus when he visited a historic site in Virginia where I used to work. Markus Meili. He was looking at hogs.”
Libby’s eyebrows raised. “Hogs?”
“Markus’ thing is the preservation of old livestock breeds. He works at a huge historic site in Switzerland. Ballenberg. A lot of agricultural sites, all over the world, are trying to save some of the old breeds from extinction. I was working at a site in Virginia with a healthy group of Ossabaws. That’s a rare hog breed from an island off the Georgia coast, originally brought hundreds of years ago from Spain.”
“Um … that’s interesting.”
Chloe tried to smile. “I thought so. Anyway, he was at my site for several days, and we … hit it off. Then we spent every evening of his first month back home on the telephone. I did the math and flew to Switzerland for a week.” She sipped her wine.
“Switzerland.” Libby considered that.
“Two months later Markus flew back to Virginia. He told me that he was in love with me over pad thai in Alexandria. Not long after that, I quit my job and moved to Brienz.”
“Wow.”
Chloe watched a chipmunk beneath one of Libby’s bird feeders, stuffing its cheeks with sunflower seeds. “We lived together for five years. I began volunteering at Ballenberg. I eventually got hired to an education position.”
“You speak German?” Libby sounded impressed.
“Suisse-Deutsch. A little. I didn’t speak any when I went over, but most of the people I worked