Old World Murder - Kathleen Ernst [91]
“No,” she lied. “I still think the one to watch is Nika, anyway. Maybe I’ll see what kind of mood she’s in today.”
Roelke’s frown deepened. “You said she’s got a temper. Don’t go pressuring her with a lot of questions.”
“I won’t.” Chloe avoided his gaze by focusing on her eggs, which were oozing mozzarella and fragrant with basil. “These are amazingly good.”
He picked up his coffee cup and leaned back against the cracked red vinyl. “Any chance a hot meal has convinced you that going to work today is a bad idea?”
“None. I’ve got too much to do.” Chloe dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin.
“Well, keep in touch with me. My shift starts at noon today. You can call me at home until then, and reach me through the station after that.”
“OK.”
When they were finished Chloe wrote a check for their meal, hoping fervently that it wouldn’t bounce. The least she could do was treat Roelke to breakfast. The need to ask her parents for a loan was becoming inevitable. Humiliating thought.
“Thanks a lot,” she said, when they were back out in the parking lot. “For bringing me here, and—and everything else.” She noticed that he looked as tired as she felt. “Go get some sleep,” she added. “I’ll talk to you later.”
____
Stifling the urge to tail Chloe, Roelke drove home instead. He didn’t like the idea of her blithely going back to work, perhaps with the person who had hurled a rock through her bedroom window the night before; perhaps even with the person who had caused Mr. Solberg’s death. And he didn’t trust her not to do something stupid. But there didn’t seem to be a damn thing he could do about it.
Once in his apartment, he dropped into his chair, reached for the phone, dialed a number. After the fourth ring he heard a muttered greeting.
“Hey, Rick? It’s Roelke.”
“Jesus, Roelke—”
“Sorry to wake you.” Roelke stared out the window at a school bus rumbling down the road. “But I need a favor.”
____
Chloe drove to Old World Wisconsin, feeling more jangled than she wanted to admit, buzzing on caffeine and a growing sense of urgency. Someone had tried to frighten her last night. Why? Why? What was that person afraid of? She had to figure that out before Ralph Petty fired her, taking her keys and effectively barring her from the site.
It occurred to her that Ralph might be waiting at the trailers, so she swerved away from the restoration area drive and headed to the education building instead. She needed to talk with Margueritte before Ralph fired her, too.
It was just after seven-thirty A.M. and Chloe found both Byron and Margueritte inside, already at work. Byron was on the phone, but he gave Chloe a wide-awake wave. I am a complete slacker, Chloe thought. She considered getting to work by eight a major triumph.
Margueritte beckoned Chloe into her office, which was cramped and lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. The curator of research looked imperturbable and academic in a dark suit with white blouse, pantyhose, and low-heeled pumps. Chloe felt more rumpled than ever.
As if that mattered. Chloe pulled the unwieldy sheaf of photocopies from her briefcase. “These are all from Aldrick Tobler’s local newspaper. I need to show you one in particular.” She planted a piece of paper on Margueritte’s desk. The older woman raised her eyebrows, looking mildly put out, but Chloe tapped a business notice with her finger. “Read this one. It’s short.”
She watched as the older woman read the notice, frowned, and read it again. Margueritte sat up straighter, planted her palms on the desk, and read the notice for a third time. Then, wide-eyed, she slowly looked up at Chloe.
“I know,” Chloe said. “You’ll probably want to look into that.”
Margueritte grinned. “I love my job! What a treasure hunt!”
“Yeah.”
Margueritte looked back at the photocopy. “This … this might not be what it seems, though. This could be an error.”
“It could be,” Chloe said agreeably. “I’ll leave it in your hands.”
As she headed back up to her car, though, Chloe smiled. She was sure the notice was not a mistake. Maybe, in her short tenure at Old World