Old World Murder - Kathleen Ernst [8]
Ethan blew out a long, audible breath. Then, “What happened.” Ethan was so sure of his trans-wire assessment that the statement was flat, with no hint of questioning inflection. Damn the man for knowing her so well. Bless the man for knowing her so well.
“Well …” Chloe took a sip from the glass. “It was my first day on the job today, you know? And the thing is … I think I was … sort of responsible for an old lady getting killed.”
That stopped him. Chloe took another sip. Soda pop and rum: inelegant, but effective.
“You what?” Ethan asked after a moment.
Chloe told him what had happened. “So there really wasn’t anything I could do for her.”
“Then why are you taking responsibility for the crash?”
“Because—because she was a sweet old lady. For some reason, getting this ale bowl back had become incredibly important to her. People kept putting her off, saying she had to wait until I got hired. But no one ever told her you can’t just undo a legal donation. So she comes today, thinking I’ll help her, and all she gets is more runaround. She was really upset when she left.”
“And you think that’s why she wrapped her car around a tree?”
“Well …”
“Maybe she got stung by a bee. Maybe her brakes failed.”
Chloe pulled her heels up to the edge of the seat. “Maybe. But I can’t help feeling responsible.”
“I hope you didn’t phrase it quite that way to the cops.”
“I might have.” Chloe slid sideways in the chair. “This cop from Eagle questioned me. He can’t be more than late twenties, but he had this boss-man air about him. And he wore mirrored sunglasses like some motorcycle cop in a bad movie. He kinda freaked me out.”
“What happened was horrible,” Ethan said firmly, “but you can’t take any responsibility.”
She shrugged. It wasn’t that easy. “Well, enough about me. Tell me about you. What’s going on in Idaho?”
“The beginning of the fire season. Environmentalists and lumber companies chewing on the same bone. Lost campers. Dumpster-diving bears. Same old, same old.” Ethan worked for the United States Forest Service.
“How’s Chris?”
“Chris is good.”
“I wish you lived closer.”
Ethan laughed. “Wisconsin is a hell of a lot closer than Switzerland.”
“I suppose.”
“Hey, Chloe.” He’d stopped laughing. “Are you OK?”
“Yeah.” She got up and stood by the front window, the receiver still tight to her ear.
“Should I be worried about you? I mean, really worried?”
Chloe stared out at the last streaks of sunset staining the sky. “No. Really, Ethan. It’s not like last winter. I’m better now.”
“You’re sure.” He didn’t sound convinced.
“It’s weird, you know? Last winter the thought of death seemed like a comfort. Seeing that sweet old lady dead, though—it was horrible.” A shudder twitched over her skin.
“I can imagine.”
“I truly am better. I think.” Chloe sighed. “I just—I just still miss Markus sometimes.”
“Do you ever talk to him?”
“Talk to him? God, no.” Think about him—yes, every day. His quick laugh and knowing hands. His lanky stride on hikes to high hidden lakes. The smudges under his eyes when he’d been up all night at lambing time. The way his dark hair grew in a tiny cyclone whorl from a spot on the back of his head—
“Chloe? You there?”
“I’m here.” She swallowed down the sudden lump that had formed in her throat. “And I know it’s stupid to still feel this way. It’s been almost a year since we broke up.” Since Markus dumped her.
“It’s not stupid. It just is.”
“I miss school sometimes, too. The good old days.” Forestry school at West Virginia University. Backpacking trips with the Outings Club. Feeling completely at home in a place she’d never been before. Meeting Ethan, who’d become her best friend.
“Me too,” he said. “But now is good, too.”
Chloe realized she was exhausted, and that her glass was empty. “Listen, thanks for lending an ear. I gotta go unpack some boxes. Let me know if you get called out on a fire, OK? I’ll give you my new number.” She waited until he’d found a pencil before dictating the digits.
“Got it.”
“Hey, Ethan?”
“Yeah?