Old World Murder - Kathleen Ernst [95]
“An apron? Hmmn. I think I remember an apron.”
“Where did it come from?” Chloe squawked. “Why did you give it away?”
“I didn’t personally give it away,” her mother said, the frown back in her tone. “I was acting on behalf of the Norwegian Women’s Club.”
Chloe vaguely remembered Mom and her cronies gathering for krumkakke and slide shows about trips to the fjords.
“By the early seventies our numbers were dwindling. Some felt we were competing with the Daughters of Norway. We decided that we could better serve the Norwegian community by disbanding.”
“But how did the club come to own the apron?”
“The club did collect a few items,” Mom said slowly. “For a time we were hoping we’d find a permanent display area. In the library, or the town hall—something like that. But in the end we voted to give the pieces to the state historical society. I was secretary that year, so I handled the paperwork.”
“What I really need to know is who donated the apron to the club in the first place.” Chloe bounced on her toes.
“Well, I wasn’t directly involved in that. I think Elaine Bakken handled donations.”
“Do you still know her?”
“Of course. Fred Bakken is on your father’s bowling team.”
“OK, that’s great.” Chloe paced in a tight circle, tethered by the phone cord. “So, could you call Elaine and ask if she remembers who donated the apron to the club? It’s kind of urgent. As in, very urgent.” Chloe struggled to find the balance between motivating her mother, and freaking her out.
“Certainly, if it’s really that important.”
“It is. Let me know as soon as you find out anything, OK? Thanks … Oh, wait! Mom? Are you still there?”
“I’m here, dear, but—”
“I really, really need your help with something else.” Chloe vowed to never ever again get frustrated by her mother’s preoccupation with all things Norwegian. “Berget had a brother, Emil, born in 1914. Do you have any more on him? A death date? Marriage information?”
“Well, I’ll have to look. Hold on.” After a short eternity her mother came back on the line. “Chloe? I don’t have any information about Emil. I didn’t pay much attention because you were focused on Berget.”
“I was. But now I’m wondering about Emil. If you could dig into that, Mom—and as quickly as possible—I’d be forever grateful.”
“I can do that.”
“You’re a lifesaver. Really. I’ll explain it all later. Call as soon as you know anything. Oh—wait! Wait! Mom?”
“I’m still here.”
Chloe scrabbled through the papers on her table. “I need help with a translation. A Norwegian sentence.”
“Written or spoken?”
“Um, written. It’s—”
“Old Norwegian or New Norwegian?”
Chloe pounded one fist lightly against her forehead. “I’m thinking Old. Here it is.” She spelled the words that had been painted on the plate and embroidered on the apron. “Can you translate that?”
“Of course,” her mother said. “It means, ‘We must educate our daughters.’”
____
Roelke handled the dog-vs.-daffodil skirmish, made a loop through the school parking lot, and spent some time cruising Eagle’s mean streets Being Visible, which taxpayers liked. He got back to the station at 3:03, dropped into a seat beside a phone extension, and dialed. “Rick?” he asked, when the connection went through. “You find anything?”
“Just this minute,” Rick said. “Tanika Austin was arrested in 1975 for shoplifting.”
“Shoplifting?” Roelke pictured a teen pocketing cosmetics.
“She lifted something from an antiques store in the Third Ward.”
Roelke began tapping his pencil against the table.
“It gets better,” Rick added. “When a cop showed up, she resisted arrest. Ended up punching him.”
That was all Roelke needed to know. “Thanks, Rick. I owe you.”
After disconnecting, he tried to reach Chloe. “I’m sorry, sir,” the Old World receptionist said. “That line is busy.