Old World Murder - Kathleen Ernst [74]
She looked surprised. “You and your dad?”
“Yeah, why?”
Chloe dropped onto the sofa. “Sorry. It’s just that Libby said your dad …”
“Libby talks too damn much.”
They ate silently for a moment. Then Roelke heard himself admit, “My dad could be a real bastard. But … but there were some good times, too, especially when I was young. Before he got soured on life.”
“I’m glad.”
“I see too much crap. Too many men doing stuff they shouldn’t.” He looked at the model. “I try to remind myself that something made them that way.”
“Like something made somebody kill poor Mr. Solberg?” Chloe put her fork down as her eyes glazed over with tears.
“Nothing excuses that. But the killer probably felt that he had his reasons. It’s my job to figure out what those reasons were, so we can nail him.”
“It’s not really your job, though, is it?”
“Well, no,” Roelke conceded.
“I told the Dane County detective about the ale bowl.” Chloe used her fork to toy with a bit of egg. “He was … polite.”
“I’m going to take this to my chief on Monday,” Roelke told her. “I should be able to keep current with what the Dane County boys find.”
“Good.”
Roelke held her gaze. “And you are done with this. Got it? Done. This is a murder case now, and you – are – done.”
“There was something I wanted to tell you about Ralph Petty,” Chloe said quietly. Roelke tried to pay attention but as she talked of inventories and storage building plans, his mind kept straying to an unwanted fact. Because of her job, who she knew, what she worked with, Chloe would not be done until the killer was behind bars.
____
Chloe couldn’t finish her omelet. Still, by the time they walked back outside she felt collected enough to face what needed to be done. “I think I’ve got it together now,” she told Roelke. “Can you take me back to Daleyville to get my car?”
He frowned. “I don’t think you’re ready to drive.”
“I have to go to work tomorrow. No way I can take off after two weeks on the job.”
“I’ll drive you to work.”
“I need my own car,” Chloe said wearily. “I want my car.” She could not handle the idea of being trapped at her farmhouse, dependent on him—or anyone—for transportation.
He growled a bit more before driving her to Daleyville. Chloe slid into the Pinto quickly, keeping her eyes averted from the yellow police tape flagging both Bill Solberg’s and Berget Lundquist’s houses. The police were gone, though, with their cameras and notepads and questions. The tape drooped in the humid air as if ashamed of its role in the whole sad affair.
Roelke and Chloe caravanned back to the farmhouse, with her in the lead. By the time they pulled into her driveway, fireflies were blinking up from the hay field across the street. She and Roelke emerged from their vehicles and stood staring at each other, suddenly not knowing what to say.
“Thank you,” Chloe managed finally. “For everything.”
“Are you going to be OK here tonight? I could take you to Libby’s.”
Chloe shook her head. “I can’t hide at Libby’s. I’ll be OK.”
“You should get a dog.”
“Oh, Lord. Not you, too. I don’t want a dog!”
“Why not?”
“It’s not a minor thing! When you adopt an animal, it’s a commitment.”
“And why are you afraid of making that commitment?”
Chloe felt ready to drop with exhaustion. “Look,” she said, “I simply can’t have this conversation right now.”
“I’m concerned for your safety.”
“I know.” She watched him struggle to accept her message: topic closed, day at an end.
Finally he satisfied himself with an order: “Call me tomorrow.”
“All right,” Chloe said. “I will.”
Alone in the farmhouse, the silence seemed mocking. She paced. She watched the fireflies twinkling. She paced some more.
And she found herself in the bathroom. For a moment she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her hand opened the medicine cabinet. The prescription bottle still sat in the middle of the shelf like a piece of art, carefully placed. She reached for it, thumbed off the lid, stared inside. The bottle was almost full.
The prescribed dose was four of the tiny tablets. Chloe slowly shook them into one palm.