Old World Murder - Kathleen Ernst [89]
A murder investigation, Roelke thought, and a missing apron. If there was a link between the two, he couldn’t find it. “There’s something here we’re not seeing. Some incident that started a domino reaction.”
“I know.” Chloe pushed her hair behind her ears. “Did I ever mention that Nika got her tires slashed in Eagle one night?”
“That was Nika’s car? I heard about that at the station.”
“I don’t know if that has anything to do with anything, but it could.” She was silent a moment, considering. “Maybe two different people are hunting the bowl.”
Roelke tapped his thumb against the steering wheel. He didn’t know how to figure this out. He didn’t know how to protect Chloe. He felt powerless. There were few things he hated more.
“I’m just an Eagle cop,” he said finally. “You need to talk with the detective handling Mr. Solberg’s murder—”
“And tell him what?” Chloe demanded. “That I’m missing an apron now, too?”
“Then talk to your site director,” Roelke insisted. “It’s time to go on the record with all of this.”
“I can’t talk to the director.” Chloe looked out the window.
“Why not?”
“Long story. Believe me when I say I wouldn’t get a thoughtful audience right now.”
“Chloe—”
“I think the director’s going to fire me, alright? And if I get fired, I’ll never be able to figure this out. And I need to do this—”
“Why?” Roelke demanded. “Why the hell do you need to be the one to—”
“Because Mrs. Lundquist—”
“Mrs. Lundquist is dead!”
She shifted on the seat to face him. In the dim light he could just make out the hard set to her jaw. “Yes, she is. The least I can do is help find out why. And if the son of a bitch responsible for all this is the same person who tried to break into my house while I was asleep, I want to help catch him.”
“That son of a bitch may well be a murderer—”
“That’s right! And if someone who works at Old World Wisconsin is a thief and a murderer, this could just be the beginning! What if he gets away with it?”
“Chloe—”
“And you know what? I haven’t done much in my short time at Old World, but maybe I don’t want this going down on my watch. Maybe I want to prove Ralph Petty wrong. Maybe I want to accomplish something worthwhile. Maybe I want to feel good about myself again.”
Roelke had no idea what to say to that.
“Look,” she said, her voice quieter. “I don’t have any reason to think that the detective in Madison will take me seriously, or my own site director either. But I want to find out who thinks they can scare me out of my home. I want to get whoever scared Mrs. Lundquist, and killed Mr. Solberg.”
Roelke wished he knew how to make her back down. “Aren’t you afraid?” he asked finally.
She regarded him. “I wasn’t afraid when I saw that person climbing into my house through the window,” she said slowly. “Tonight, when that window crashed—that did scare me. For a minute.”
Roelke rubbed his eyes. It wasn’t enough.
“I still think someone was only trying to scare me tonight. I just don’t know why.”
“Somebody knows you’re asking questions. Somebody thinks you’re getting too close.”
“I wish it were true. I don’t feel close to anything at all.”
Roelke realized he could see smudges of exhaustion beneath Chloe’s eyes. He looked at the luminous dial on his watch. Five-thirty. Dawn was creeping over the horizon. Gene Holsworth and his sons were probably already milking their cows, while “the wife” measured coffee and sliced bacon.
“Where do you want to go?” he asked.
She blinked. “You mean, now? Home, I guess.”
Not the farmhouse. Anywhere but that damned sterile farmhouse, home to nothing but piles of still-sealed moving boxes, and too easy a target. “That’s a bad idea.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake, it’s getting light out. Don’t be a Neanderthal. I’ll be fine. I can walk from here if you—”
“How about I take you to Libby’s place?”
She sat up straight. “With the kids? No way.”
“Your parents’ place, then.”
“No! I’m not taking this to them,