Old World Murder - Kathleen Ernst [85]
“Oh for God’s sake,” Chloe muttered crossly. “You’re her boss. You are allowed.” She dug gingerly through the aprons: 1940s gingham and 1880s lace, immaculate and patched, child-sized and tent-like. No Norwegian apron.
After returning the box to the shelf Chloe balled her fists in frustration. She didn’t know where else to look. Defeated, she locked up.
As she drove past the empty administration building on her way home, she swerved at the last minute into the small, empty parking lot. She might as well check her mailbox while no one was here. Much better than taking the chance of running into Ralph Petty during regular office hours.
The row of plastic mail holders used by permanent staff was posted just inside the door. Chloe grabbed her handful of stuff and got back into her car before shuffling through it. An ad for window treatments that protected historic interiors from ultra-violet light. An all-staff memo from Byron about July Fourth programming. A letter from a tinsmith, wanting an appointment to show his reproduction wares.
And a special delivery envelope from her mother: “Here’s the basic genealogy, as far as I’ve gotten. I’m just showing the direct line to your donor, but have info on aunts and uncles, etc. if you want it. Still digging.”
Chloe ran her finger down the page, following the lines of her mother’s careful printing, muttering as she read:
“Nels and Gro Skavlem emigrate from Norway to Wisconsin in 1845, five sons born before their only daughter, Astrid Skavlem (Nelson), arrived … Astrid’s daughter Brita Nelson (Haugen) born 1888 … Brita’s daughter Berget Haugen (Lundquist) born 1912. (1914, Emil Haugen born.)”
So much for Halvor Haugen. Halvor was evidently irrelevant, since the bowl’s provenance went back further than any Haugens in Berget’s ancestral line. Chloe had checked for a “Skavlem” file in Iconography before leaving the historical society, and hadn’t found anything. But at least she now had confirmation that Berget was descended from Gro Skavlem.
Curious, that with five brothers, Astrid had ended up owning three rosemaled pieces that had belonged to her parents, and that through two more generations, the family heirlooms had passed from mother to daughter. “Score one for the ladies,” Chloe said—
The answer hit her like a lefse stick to the head.
Ladies. Dötre. An embroidered apron. A rosemaled bowl which incorporated carved cow heads into the design, instead of the more traditional dragons or horses.
Chloe jumped out of her car, ran back to the administration building, wrestled with the lock, dropped her key, cursed loudly, got the door open, and grabbed the nearest phone. She dialed the Eagle Police Station first. It rang several times before she heard a click as the call was redirected to the county line.
She didn’t want to talk to the county dispatcher. She hung up and dialed Roelke’s home number. No answer.
Well, nothing to do but to try again later. Her thoughts still tumbling, she headed for home.
____
By eleven P.M. Roelke still was not answering his phone. In desperation Chloe called Libby, who said that no, she had no idea where he was.
Chloe’s parents didn’t answer their phone, either. In desperation Chloe called her sister Kari, who said that no, she had no idea where their parents were.
Where on earth was everyone? Chloe kicked one of the unpacked boxes before admitting defeat and going to bed. But after a couple of hours of restless sleep she found herself awake again, tossing this way and that, kicking off the sleeping bag she was still using in lieu of sheets, then grabbing it back again. Her body couldn’t decide if it was exhausted or buzzed.
Eventually she gave up and got up. Her head was in danger of exploding if she thought any more about Norwegian heirlooms, Mrs. Lundquist, and Mr. Solberg. She needed a distraction, something that would still her mind. She picked up Time and Again, put it back down. The book was